The River Horse

Slow down your horses, clip clopping 
I have only just got to the river 

What's with this panting 
Galloping and hopping over fences 

Neigh with a push on my back to hurry up 
And snorts and whinny impatiently 

Waiting their rush turn to stampede 
If you rush you  get rushes 

Do horses get rushes 
Or turn into hippos as river horses 

To muddy the water you would 
With rush, to have dirt on your face 

Slow down your horses 
I have only just got to the river 

Trotro Stories #9 Accra with a Monday Blue Sky

Monday blues, sky and clouds 
Traffic jam and fine clothes ironed 

Monday hectic bustle, hustle in Accra 
Phones that ring, like music symphony 

Cacophony of  yelling sounds 
Money clocks ticking fast 

Reviews and implementation 
Subject starts with a cup of tea (Hausa koko if you like)

Awaken the tussle for the public transport trotro 
Air condition cars, segregated along the stretch 

If looks can kill, all in their private cars 
They will long be dead, uppity sectors of characters 

I was once like that with my private car  
Now I push and shove for the joy of trotro 

Like a born again, more fanatic in the looks 
I give to the private car drivers/ owners 

Hawkers hug the kill zones in between fast lanes 
Lord send angels to protect their vulnerability 

Monday is here again, blues 
Sky and clouds and traffic jam 

Addressing the Preacher

Helen Ward, had the same mind 
As George Orwell, I trust this to be true 

May be separated at birth 
But never on their essence of being 

Today frogs and their cohorts 
Stand on ceremony, demanding to be addressed 

I have long protested the arrogance 
And dishonesty of politicians "pigs" by George Orwell 

They make me sick to live in filth, plastic waste 
And demand to be called honorable 

But even for them, oh even with them, I spare 
I spare, for they are as politicians are 

I have come to associate them 
With a type in character, set on position 

The pontification frogs of this nagging address 
To this picture caption Helen Ward graced me with

Claim to hold holy his name 
And abuse their position on holy grounds 

They pay no taxes and con their way 
Into the pockets of the poor and vulnerable 

Offering miracles at a price, for self fortune 
Self anointed kings of the religious domain 

Quick to curse and doom any that question 
To the hell fire, "You do not question a man of god" 

They use their relation with their church members' positions
To threaten any that question, I have seen it happen

Helen Ward had the same mind as George Orwell 
To see these frogs with loud voices quoting scriptures 

They rob from the people they are suppose to free 
The Shepard who sold all his sheep to the cheapest bidder 

Memory, a picture book

Memory, snap view

Ray of the sun gaze, colours

Print out xerox 

The trotro stories #1

The trotro front seat hugger  
Sir in long sleeves acting all so refined  

Not to be mistaken as thus often the case 
For a chauffeur driven car, to one's sir 

As pleased; bought a car much of late, recent 
For that, it matters, to the point being made 

Personally with preference 
A taste acquired from childhood reminiscent  

I rather the back seat and its comfort set 
Three in a lane, oh how times have changed 

From the big mama that squeezed me 
To the near brink of extinction  

Armpit odor and the art of arms stretched 
To the driver's mate, for bus fairs paid 

He half pretends to half forget I gave him this much 
Hugging my balance change on tricks of tactics 

The battles fought at Nkrumah circle 
Legendary at peak times, off peak no bother 

Gentility gets pushed out of the way 
Essence is on the strength of gladiatorial  reign 

But he always looks so refined, Sir, our Sir 
Sitting at the front of the trotro hugging looks

Tears through our life time

Tears through our life time 
Tears in a bottle packed 
This is the story of  life told 
A life time of tears, Birth cry 

Sleepless night, expressed emotion, Birth cry 
As birth as new, Birth cry 
Tired eyes, as said baby  rattle, Birth cry 

First tooth Birth cry, Poo, poo Birth cry 
Terrible two, hair torn out, expressed emotion, Birth cry 
Tooth falls out, tooth falls off, fairy tooth lady, Birth cry 
Messy mess all around, crayons on walls, Birth cry 

Birthday presents, Birth cry 
Expressed emotion of what to get, Birth cry 
Report cards, not impressed, Birth cry 
Money asked for, like cash machine, Birth cry 

Frustration being expressed, Birth cry 
Rebellious, piercing, tattoo, Birth cry 
Boyfriends and Girl friends drama, Birth cry 
Dreaded sex education, Birth cry 


Joyful joy, graduation gowns, Birth cry 
Home leaving, worries expressed, Birth cry 
Heavy emotions being expressed, Birth cry 
Married, joyous emotions expressed, Birth cry 


Child birth cries, grandparents, happiness, Birth cry 
Old age, weakened muscles, memory loss, Birth cry 
Limited mobility, dependence on others, Birth cry 
Emotions frustration being expressed, Birth cry 


Nostalgia, a road through memory lane, Birth cry
A few lost friends, then more to the rose cottage, Birth cry
Death bed, last breath, Birth and Death cry 
A bottle full of tears, a life time tears from birth, Birth cry 

Step stepping, stepping stone

Step, stepping, stepping on stones in ways 
In ways you have never heard of, balancing 
Never ever even dreamed of, forward movement 

We look up, up above  
Above all seek, seeking guidance   
Ways for answers from the one above 

Directions sought for, too many crossed roads 
Making choices more complicated  
Stunned by past moves made before 

Now with hesitation's grab hold, complexity 
Still bearing scares from the battle fields 
Oscillation now being expressed in one's steps 

Signs of  the crosses made like last rites on the chest 
Its all or nothing, steps to be taken, steps, steps
The choice has already been made for in essence 

Dead weights dropped, river crossing stones 
Step stepping, now stepping in unknown territories  
Heads held high, vim on horse back ridden 

Today is a good day to die, brave heart 

But not yet, still step, stepping, hills to climb 
I look above while still, still step, stepping

Setting tones

An early wake announces 
A fresh new beginning 

Setting tones, streamline dreams  
Travelling boats 

The sea's high tide has withdrawn 
The fishermen have long left to sea 

The birds that migrate south 
Have set flight to destined lands 

My body clock has come good today 
Beating mechanical alarm clocks to wake me up 

Resolutions are as steadfast 
Joints have been re-oiled and stretched 

This season holds a milestone intent 
To be accomplished, strikes on maps drawn 

If we should find the coastline 
Send words back home that we have made it 

We did good, and came good on dreams 
Send words back home that we made it to land 

A Hungarian Pepper

You know me 
My love knows me 

From looks to act to what excites 
And what triggers me, pepper 

You know me, Bimbi  
My love knows me  

And I know you 
Like the better half of me 

As the better half of me 
I know you, I know my love 

Your likes, your dislikes, your love
Your joy, your understanding 

I know you, I know my love 
From looks to acts to what excite 

And the smile you hold  that glimmers  
Such molded unique keys to my heart 

I know you, my darling sweety 
For all that you are..

My Hungarian pepper, spiced 
My darling you...

Living on the dew of the sea

You are without need 

Not thirsty for quench, dew holds 

Oh rosmarinus 

The Tilapia Saga

Tilapia is nice, yes I have tried it 
Tilapia is very nice, as a delicacy 

Tilapia is nice, when grilled on fire 
Tilapia is nice when roasted fine 

Tilapia is nice when, fried with oil 
Yes I have tried it, bites size chunk to have 

Tilapia is nice when cocked, boiled 
Soft and melty in the mouth as made for 

Tilapia is nice when had with onions 
Tomatoes sliced on top as crunchy decorations  

Tilapia is nice believe me I have tried it 
Patience with time it took to make it 

Tilapia is nice when served with banku 
Always the combination best to go with 

Tilapia is nice, just so nice, I mean so nice 
With blended tomatoes, onion and pepper 

Tilapia is nice to have, so nice to have 
Tilapia is nice, as Ghana's delight 

Best eaten with fingers, as spoon God given 
Gives one the chance to lick the tasty juice off 

Oh how nice the taste of Tilapia 
Such a delicacy to have a king of appetite 

Just that with the pepper and a stomach 
As mine, so sensitive I always end up paying 

A few days later, Number 2 a call as emergency 
But for the love of Tilapia I would always 

Have this pepper hot, just as made 
For it is a combination one can not do without 

Rules in a comedy club

Have you ever come across in play 
A funny angry comedian begrudged 
With a chip on his shoulders, a poet enraged

It is never a good idea as ideas go  
To sit in the firing line in the front row  
In front of a stage before a comedian present 

That is just asking for trouble, believe me 
I have seen many, turn into subjects 
To be discussed on point, for other's laughter 

These are the rules to keep 
If one finds one self 
In a comedy club 

1) No  shiny ball heads in visual view it calls for attention 
2)No average looking man should sit next to a good looker 
3) Calm down on the makeup, no competing on the joker's looks 
4) A long hair extension spells Brazilian do, go figure what comes after 
5) A frown in a comedy club is just asking for it 
6)Do not over laugh it brings attention to you 
7) Do not get up, go out and come back in again.... 
          That only means two things, number 1 or 2 
          and both have enough material to give
8) If you are sitting around a table don't keep asking for more drinks 
9) Don't whisper to a friend next to you, while a set is being performed  
10) Most of all if you are self-conscious or quick tempered avoid the comedy club 

Shifting Sand Dunes

An elastic stretched too far 
Will loose its elasticity, breaking point 

But then, whats the alternative to give 
Somebody loses out even when all seems settled 

I have seen soft balls without trickery 
Suspend in the air levitating, whats the catch 

And rabbits in Alice's rabbit hole, sticks 
Digging their foot in, with carrot contest 

Is there a colour left to be picked 
When all three choices given have been used  

Do escape clauses still apply 
And against the small print, who wins 

Is the bitter sweet end, better 
Or a sweet bitter end, is there a difference 

I have seen the sand dunes 
Shift too many times to follow suit 

Yet to travel through the Sahara, to make it 
One has to know a few markers, spots 

Do not try to define me 
Such few markers stick like road maps 

I am like the sand dunes, I just realized 
I am still, shifting with the winds, forming 

Dry Run

Tearing papers, liquid emotions, surrealism 
Hair particles left in the palm 

Thinkers clock implanted in the mind 
Set on wake by thoughts provocation  

The body is just good on respond 
Reaction, tune in and up on brain activity 

Should I ponder or wonder, bewildered 
I ask the gods to let me be at peace 

Thoughts should be by day as day work 
Allow my body to recuperate 

To serve the task of day I have to  
To slave for my earn I have to 

Why tire me constant at night 
Denying me fresh as wake 

The Minute Maid Case

A case about the Minute Maid 
On point, at an avenue I rather spare... 

I am not pissed off
Not by a long shot 

Not on protest for spent reward
Not as a subject on interlude, sound bites 

Just that, someone had my 
Minute Maid, my Minute Maid 

Not as given on gestures of a kind 
To a recipient known to me 

For handshakes and face known 
Not like that, as that at all 

Someone took my Minute Maid 
Left me thirsty and out of breath for quench 

Just when I was ready to acquaint myself 
"Lord have mercy", with my Minute Maid 

I was left in shock, struck by perplexity, dumbfounded 
That Mr Sticky fingers, helped himself 

I am not pissed off, no no no 
Not by a long shot, no no no 

Though fumes can be seen 
Emitting from my nostrils, no no no

Not on protest for spent reward 
Not as interlude of disgruntlement  

It is the principle, you see 
It is the principle of the matter 

That matters the most on warrant 
Though for names and venue, it's right I spare 

Starving the grounds that requires

Wishing wells, full to the brim 
Buckets with long strings attached 

Queue of mankind, a stretch this far 
Each with their own needs, needy require 

A bucket full, fetched each time 
A distance walked, to store gifted load 

Habits, as are the greed of mankind 
Always carrying a load too much, for actual need 

Overflowing and to the earth that wants none 
It pours and not to the grounds that requires 

Waste of resource, starving others, none to have
While stocking up aqua, for tomorrows rain 

This is the culture of our civilization 
Where charity is given on pretense of help 

While global trade is kidnapped and held to ransom 
By a few, well to do, asking for more to their name 

To the brim of pouring bucket loads  
On the face of the earth that needs none  

Surpluses, and reservations, stocking up 
With piecemeal, given as handouts to the needy 

In the name of charity, as a helping hand they give 
To say this is help, cooperative charity with noble intentions 

Who took the fetching bucket away from the well 
Who greedily took the fetching bucket home  

Starving the grounds that requires 
Holding humanity to ransom 

Pictures by: http://art-for-a-change.com/blog/

A hundred birds on a tree

When I started life I started well   
Somewhere on a tree I knew a hundred doves  

Each season, one flies and others follow 
Sometimes, sometimes they come back 

But most times, each season 
When they fly off, not as many return 

I started with a hundred doves 
Stood, on my favored tree

One named, Peter, Julie, Sarah  
And Paul was another with a name in line 

When I started life I started well 
Somewhere on a tree  I knew a hundred doves 

Each season I lose one or two or three 
Sometimes more, at a go 

Last I counted, I was down in figures 
On single digits, my tree looks empty 

Most of my doves have long flown off 
And each season I keep losing more 

Hoping to reverse this extinct fear 
Each year I lose more and more 

The weather, has changed 
The earth is with thirst, harsh the sun  

A hundred friends and love I have lost  
Each year I lose some more... 

Thatcher, The Iron Lady

Melting ore from the earth

We come raw as resource to be molded 

Cast in shapes to be formed on dreams 

Defined by character, strive to be known

She walked fearless in the lions den

Tested by all that she came to know 

Both friends and foes, with daggers drawn 

To see what matter her heart was made of

She stamped her vision on an institution, stubborn

Made of old guards, conservative in nature

She took on those that walked for hunt

Crawled on the under belly of the earth they did

Hardened by their environment to stand opposed

They brought back dark coal, gold as harvest

She went to war with them and more of men on Falkland battle 

She stood her ground and was crowned a warrior queen

Named the Iron Lady and revered by all

She was as the Queen of Sheba, Cleopatra and Yaa Asantewaa            

To have died and be made an immortal legend

So few from once humble backgrounds in play 

Will rise up this high to the throne of glory  

And become an inspiration for a whole generation 

Maggie, Maggie, oh Maggie 

With Thatcher-ism and hair-do 

May your soul rest in peace, mar-mite 
While we argue on your controversy 

Taking sides, for or against 
May your soul rest in peace, Maggie 

A Day Like Monday

As the sun comes out
The birds sing to wake my soul

The dogs gr-avail with growl, barking  
Fearful tactics to ward-off competition

On breakfast banquet 
Served for the morning wake, rise and shine 

My heart slowly wakes to welcome dawn 
Of a new day, to celebrate life with breath 

But this day, somehow, someway 
It is not to be, following drum roll 

The gates of the flame of life that burns 
Seems half stuck, jammed in position 

The winds are absent from the windows 
To bring fresh air into stuffy rooms 

My thoughts are clouded 
It seems the rain is coming, but then it doesn't 

And then Monday is over 
I am sitting in the bright orange roof house 

Admiring the view of the hills and the sky 
And the weight is all gone 


Picture by: http://dzordzorme.blogspot.com/

Clouded Sunday

When the other side, other half  
Comes to church on pretense 

A theft in a church, sticky fingers 
On a Sunday, dressed to steal

In a Church, after prayers 
And prayers for giving thanks 

A theft in the church ground 
With "holy his name" prayed for 

A theft in the church 
A theft in the church 

Who steals from a church in fellowship  
Is the forgiveness of God 

To be expected for the kind 
Who wakes the morning  

Washes and dresses up, walks the distance 
Marches to the church grounds 

To steal from another in worship 
A theft in the church 

A clouded Sunday 
Who steals from another in a church 

What becomes of such a sinner 
In the house of the Lord 

My heart on fire

Radiation burns me

Convection arouse conduction

My heart is on fire

Tired machines

Today I was dead tired
No breath left to pull on

Vocal Portraits

Late hear, I heard some beautiful 
Serenading, sound calling rhyme 

I heard words turned rhythm  
Into lyrical vibes mystic yearn 

Sudden waves jump melodies 
In-tune on each word pronounced 

No scratch on leaves 
No dent on cotton 

No thunder sound on broken voices 
Just as beautiful, blue sky shine bright 

This was vocal portraits 
15 poets, 15 voices, soul searching 

The Sailor's net

Truth or dare, I dare you
Blink and miss this revelations

Pictures are what the eyes
Take, in sequence, flipping pages

The mind reads and then
I think, I saw, I witnessed

I will lay claim to this passage
And the memory of it roses

Tomorrow's waves will
Bring a bountiful harvest

My net full of fishes
My boat would hold this catch

And lead me to shore
Truth or dare, I dare this to be true

#Oh sailor's boat 
#Ride all night long 

#Through the high waves 
#And the low, and the low waves 

#With your belly full
# To the bream you hold 

#Oh sailor's boat 
#Ride all night long 

The count down

So here we go again 
Straight suits worn 

Straight bags carried 
Straight shoes worn 

Traffic jam, queue on queue 
8am till 5pm on the books 

So here we go again 
Alarm bells ring to robotic wake 

Fax machines and land-line phones 
Ring, ring, conversation of financial make 

Photocopy machines, back from rest 
Paper jams, and run out of inks 

Some office bully, you wish was never around 
Count down of clocks, tic toc, tic toc 

But without all the hustle 
There would be no payday 

So here we go again and again
Straight suits, straight shoes, straight bags 

Traffic jams and robotic wake 
Now for the count down to Friday 

Art by: HIrotaka Suzuki 

I buried my heart

Slowly, silently, now the moon
I laid my dogs to rest this day 

Over the advent season 
Where death became of the lord 

To awaken as prophecy, the old religion 
I laid my two little puppies to sleep 

I dug a hole one next to each other 
And had my puppies buried in the ground 

Along with an affinity to the old religion 
Along with an old bond once so strong 

I laid my dogs to rest, once as a best friend 
In seasons of advent, now we let go 

Of betrayal common to bring death
I buried my left arm, it worried me 

It was too heavy, it drained me 
My heart, it left me without calm  

So just as I buried my two little puppies 
I buried my worrisome heart 

Slowly, silently, now the moon 
Beneath the moonlight, I buried my heart 

Picture by: http://dzordzorme.blogspot.com/