My heart is hanged

I have seen the hardened rock of the sea water 

Fall like curtains, drown an eye with love begrudge 

Walked on a thin layer of the heart string 

It tore and I fell deep into breath of  heart's thorns 

My shadow carried chains locked on my ankle 

I smelt nose bleed like rose petals that fall 

My hands as liquid hold strong roots 

My skin just gave way to the winds 

Death welcomes a new day, clocks melt 

This is the planting seasons for corpses 

A casket is made from the heart 

In Royal Wootten Bassett for old soldier's walk 

They haunt the roads at night as red runs 

Memory with nostalgic wings hangs hearts 

My love is the child that haunts the old house 

Built on hills of  weakened crumbling mountain's heart 

Written for http://dversepoets.com

Who owns the dollhouse

I  just learnt of an important trend 
I just observed an underlining current 

Not that it matters, as it were, smoke screens 
But it matters most to a degree, as it were

Above the norm to be expected, as it were 
It really matters in circles, realms of the high 

Between the powers that be, strings to ropes 
And how the weathers play, as it were 

It matters most, when spotted 
And assigned a scrutiny, "assigned as it were" 

It warns one, in such subtle terms, as it were 
Larking with innocence pretend no physical form 

"I have got k9 teeth, a set full, dog shape, but I wouldn't bite 
Just for show, this is, to show and tell,  just so you know" 

Until that is, it is needed, as it were 
To show and tell, show and tell 

I just learnt of an important trend 
I just observed an underlining current 

I just realized we are in a puppet house, as it were 
With invisible strings being pulled on acts  

I just realized we are all puppets in play  
I just observed an important trend 

Strings on my shoulders 
Jerking my arms, pulling my legs 

I just waked up in a puppet house 
Surrounded by familiar faces with smile 

Yet all puppets in play, strings attached

Who owns the dollhouse,

Unveiling the smoke screen 
We live in a puppet house, a dollhouse 

Brown and Agile Child

Brown and agile child, the sun which forms the fruit
And ripens the grain and twist the seaweed
Has made your happy body and your luminous eyes
And given your mouth the smile of water (Pablo Neruda)

Dying trees, falling leaves, rebellious
Brown and weathered with gravity force pull
Dying bond, loosened tiers decapitated alliance
Brown and agile child, the sun which forms the fruit

The sun has exploded, loosing its form
The rain would only fall in the east, these lines drawn
Protest of family feud, detached with amputated arms
And ripens the grain and twist the seaweed

Out on land similar to others as weed with inversion
Plant but will die from this environment and grain alien
Yet green and wet you will be until the sun
Has made your happy body and your luminous eyes

Dry and empty and now with savage
To taste the blood of all on a platform of scorned
Eager with dead eyes of revenge for vampire thirst
And given your mouth a smile of water 

Trotro stories;The premium rate #7

The third party driver
Today was different one might say

Upgraded though that is subjective
And balanced  on interpretation

Traffic is hectic at the best of times
Never mind the worst of times, regardless 

So on a commute we find ourselves
Not as a diss to my favoured voyager 

The sixteen seater trotro groove 
Call this one a brother, younger brother 

A friend may be, or a rival, or something closer 
Either way, not a sixteen seater 

Few in numbers means higher a charge 
Not sure if it is deserved, higher the charge 

But for commute it seems to run a lot quicker 
With the charge comes some privileges expected  

Like with a passenger, giving route direction  
Not this driver, god of the road 

He wanted none of that, not on his patch 
He would not stand for none of that

Stack in his ways and making one late 
This was me thinking I paid a premium rate 

Premium rate for express travel 
Yet he drives as though we are sitting in a sixteen seater  

The beam of the lighthouse

On the hills of carpeted lands 
Sprinkle spread as far the eye can see 

Dandelions claim this land as their own 
Bright and yellow like victory songs loud 

On the hills of carpeted lands 
At an advantage for the observers' watch 

Lighthouse stands like flag post to spot 
Beaming light for sailors' rescue 

On the hills of carpeted lands 
Structured built as a mighty house 

To give the light a backbone of rock to stand on 
Grand and symbolic to journeys' end 

On the hills of carpeted lands 
Wild as weed, voyagers travel out to sea 

Seeking route to adventures' fortune 
And assigned gift of promises of faithfulness 

On the hills of carpeted lands 
A pact is made, a happiness awarded

A symbolic medallion for travelers comfort 
That the home of hearts will wait for love 

On the hills of carpeted lands 
Spring would beam bright the essence of dandelions 

Picture by: Lighthouse Dandelions by Jamie Wyeth 

Imprisoned, the life of modernity

I am a painter 
Or at least I try to be one 

A world renowned painter 
I am to be known for my works of art 

Indeed I am a painter 
Gifted an eye to see structured colours 

Though I feel my hands are tied 
Roped strung and bound firm in bondage 

To look on, onto canvas 
Calling out, with edge to display 

I am a caged beast 
A lion from the far lands, eastern hills 

Where the mountains gave way 
To giants of men who walk with confidence 

Conquered all and placed flags of honour 
I saw them as nothing more than mole hill 

I am god sent 
But just as a mere mortal  

To die, perish one day 
As proof of my mortality as human  

With visions of god sent 
Gifted to weave words into meaning 

A creative art as parable 
Allowing an underlying current to flow 

Testing the wisdom of wise-men 
To interpret concepts laid to adopt 

I am an engineer
Hanging on spinning wheels 

Adjusting and twisting nuts 
Bolts to positions fixed 

To accelerate motion 
Steam engine trains on rails 

But sometimes I drop my spanner 
Into the depths of clogged machinery 

I am a travelling man 
A voyager from distance lands 

Each step a testimony of my resolve 
Each voyage a proof of my blessed deed 

Though sometimes I feel my hands are tied 
Roped strung and bound firm in bondage 

I am an artist of sorts 
No less in regard 

A canvas sits empty before me 
Brushes and paint colours line up in jars 

Visions lay plentiful in my head  to share 
A beautiful master piece awaits the light of day

Though I feel my hands are tied 
Roped strung and bound firm in bondage 

The prayer then that 
The gods will hear us today 

I pray tomorrow, the gods come back with grace 
I pray tomorrow my hands are set free again 

To paint modernity on these lands 
And see it manifest into reality 

Setting free minds that lay conservative  
Imprisoned in their own built up cages 

I am a painter of words 
Watch meaning unfold, or at least I try to be 

The trotro stories: Throw down your gauntlet #6

To have angered a Greek god 
The god of voyager on tarmac asphalt  

None more infuriating to the driver 
In his office sat with his steering wheels  

Than the ones that for a brief moment 
Occupy space, two seats beside his throne 

To have engaged the Greek god 
In a tussle of words, not wise 

Have you no regard for the craft 
The art of voyage and the Greek god 

A period in time, as service rendered 
Customarily to get one on Aladdin's carpet  

To a place need be, for family or friends 
For the workers keep as required 

Why then anger a Greek god 
Tasked to carry you and life to a place in time 

Most if talk be done, would be by the mate 
A god none the less, though with patience to deal 

More akin to the nagging ungrateful qualities 
Of the mere humans they carriage to safety 

Through down your gauntlet, and step up 
This is a fight for honour 

To have angered a Greek god 
God of voyager, tarmac asphalt 

Mother oh mother

Mother oh mother 
You gave the breath that made me so 

You nurtured the tenderness in my heart 
You gave me a shoulder to cry on, I cried 

Mother oh mother 
You gave me the confidence to believe in me 

You always remained solid as a rock to stand on 
You never lost, hope, faith, I know 

You cradle me from young without feathers 
And to adulthood your warmth is still felt 

Mother oh mother 
You are the comfort I know and trust 

You are the truth in sincerity 
You are the conscience in my thought 

You are the restraint to my unleash 
You  always know to stop me from burning bridges  

Mother oh mother 
You are the strength that sits in me 

You are my heroine of great name 
You are an inspiration from gifted bless 

I will always be in debt as assured
With what gratitude I owe you Mother 

You are and always will be through eternity 
My Mona Lisa...sweet mother 

Mother oh mother 

The Ladybird's Songs

Don't wake me up from sleep 
To disturb the magic chime I hear 

Crimson dash of red wine 
Thirstily defined from a distance  

Senses eyes wide open on observation 
I conspire to the school of thought 

Of the alluring imploding beauty 
The red rose flower, bright on a sunny day 

Immersed in the rapture of emotions 
Sending observers sitting up straight 

To hear what sounds of music jazz 
Serenading melodies are sung with groove 

From the red lips of a sound-ful
Soulful angel singing harmony  

Pouts a bit, smiles a lot, eyes do too 
Graced with a wonderful spirit 

Don't wake me up from sleep 
I hear the ladybird's songs 

She is with that red colour bright 
I hear the ladybird's songs 

Don't wake me up from sleep 
To disturb the magic chime I hear 


In support of the: New Morning Arts Cafe' Theatre & Creative Centre 

The trotro stories; Sweat comes easy #5

Sweat comes easy 
Sat queued in traffic in a trotro 

Jammed packed back to front 
Back to back like a factory run belt 

CO2 here produced in batches 
For each cough from the exhaust   

Hugging the outside lane constant  
So we going no where slow 

Everything moves in this said 
Bone shaker, constant with shake 

My neck constant with hydraulic posturing 
Like a wall gecko sat on a wall with nods 

Tiredness comes quick like possession 
Before destination reached 

The radio is loud breaking my ear drum 
Fighting with sound, I can't hear my thoughts 

This as the roller coaster 
For work commute is not funny 

The trotro stops I am to get down 
To allow another a passage out 

Call it courtesy; oh but here we go again 
Rudely another passenger grabs my seat 

This trotro journey feels so long today 
Thank God it is Friday for rest stops 

Love Questions

Classic! Could you be loved 
And be loved? (Bob Marley) 
And be loved, love you always 

A question is asked and answered 
A lingering feeling remains, back burner 
On quest at the most silent hour of day 
 
Is the answer a complete one? 
Answered as true, to form  
To emotions that feeling 

If that be the case 
Why the cold silence on ponder 
That fills once mind, unsolved cases  


One which comes from the soul 
And lives this lingering thoughts 
 Answers still unanswered ? 

Could you be loved? 
And be loved!!
A question is asked 

The trotro stories; Bleoo the boneshaker #4

Two can play that game, a tango
On the road with old knights, bleoo, bleoo 

The boss when challenged would respond 
Bleoo, bleoo and yet he would respond 

Slowly but surely, grace and trust to  
His old horse and carriage, bleoo, bleoo 

Ordinarily he says no word, galloping bleoo, bleoo 
He is with eyes set on the path ahead, bleoo 

Only to hold grudge if need be as often 
With the other gladiators on the road 

He will get me home safe as usual, bleoo 
He got me to the fields of earn the same 

He will get me home safe as usual, bleoo 
While in his buggy he is my knight 

To slay the dragons on the road with ease  
That obstruct my smooth passage home, bleoo 

Two can play that game and he is good at it 
Weaving through traffic with ease, bleoo, bleoo

The boss when challenged would respond 
And he will get me home safe, bleoo, bleoo 

No speedometers and speed counters 
To mark the pace we travel, bleoo, bleoo 

Destination is all that matters as snails we crawl 
Bleoo, bleoo and we are sure to get there 

Complete me my love

Complete me, with strokes of your love 
Brush, with paints on our affection 

Complete me, for without your touch 
I will remain forever incomplete 

Define me, hungered I am 
Of your essence and allure 

Complete me, I sit as a subject 
A model in an artist studio 

Waiting to be drawn into life 
Breathe your love on me to complete me 

Complete me with all the colours 
In your heart, be the one that makes me whole 

Complete me, as Leonardo would have done 
Draw the opposite gender of Mona Lisa to complete me 

The trotro stories; The naming rights #3

All trotros should have a name 
That is the tradition, naming rights 

"Family Is My Problem"

A name as a phrase long 
To be labeled at the back 

"You Lie Bad"

Every trotro should have a name 
And can only be called after pass 

"Who Is Free"

As most often, the favored   
Place of label is at the back 

"Thy Will Be Done"

Bible verses are often a preferred choice 
Philosophy follows suit 

"Trust God"

Some just pick what sits comfortably 
Or otherwise in their minds as label 

"Heaven's Gate No Bribe"

But all as a reflection of the owners 
Mantra, this is my call my motto  

"Observers Are Worried"

All trotros should be named 
So from a distance I can call each 

"Wuanu Peh Asem" 

By his name and expect a respond 
Though half the time they contracdict 

"Di Wo Fei Asem"

In what the naming says 
And the driver and his mates act 

"Who Knows"

Just like a person called mercy 
Who is far from merciful 

"Eye Asem oo hmm"

I guess that is just part of life 
But all trotros should be named 

"Love Is Expensive"

How else am I going to 
Hail each to my beckon call 

"Trotro Blues"

All trotros should be named 
As naming rights require 

"Wo Nyamesom Mponi" 

"Oh God Save Me"

The Birthday Wish List

The birthday wish list 
Candle by numbers, do not mention 

Just one as a figure would do 
No point counting all that 

What do you give to a person 
That wants none, none to ask for 

None at all in material need 
As value not needed,on bequest 

What do you do to show an appreciation 
To celebrate the life of a human angel 

Most would weld a string 
As whip to proclaim their strong hold  

But in life there are classy walking angels too 
Mothering the masses in want of harmony 

That teach with radiant character on deeds 
As an inspiration for others to follow 

What do you give to a person 
That wants none, none to ask for 

But a beautiful smile, none to ask for 
None to ask for, but the harmony of her flock 

We searched hard to find the gift 
Most with value to sum your essence 

We ended up with words to say 
For all that you are, you are appreciated 

And we hold your legacy as built 
Being built, as seeds of characters to have 

What do you give, as gift with more in value
Than material gifts, cheap on currency 

A life time of appreciation as an inspiration 
You are appreciated, for all that you are.. 

No counting of candles on cakes 
We are only here to make wishes 

Don't you know it is rude to
Ask a fine lady her age.....

I am not an age count 
I am retro! from the time of the analog 

Written on request by: Yayra Deynoo
As a birthday present for: Mary Abla Apaloo Kessie

Grace of the hummingbird

Lovers' rock should 
Steady hold  these rocking boats 

Voyage out at sea and 
The storm is coming in 

Winds protest strong 
When the south meets the north  

Typhoons and tornadoes  
Cyclones with bluffs called  

They all come out to play 
Like the raging bull  

Slowly slowly 
As the saying goes 

Catches monkey 
No banana slippery business here 

Water would not sit 
In the palm of the hesitant 

Buddha is not a man of mystery
Don't let any one mislead you 

He is just with patience 
To have observed  

The magic and beauty of the 
Humming bird's flight 

For the secret 
Nectar the flower holds 

Lovers' rock should 
Steady hold these rocking boats 

The trotro stories; The morning stress #2

Height gained from my sardine seat 
Packed in sides of four tight 

This here a worker's carriage 
As May day to celebrate the working man/woman 

In a line sat and we squeeze to skin touch 
Comfort spared in public transport 

Radios play radio commentary 
Dortmund and Real Madrid 

Battle on fields for winners stake 
Chatty chatty blast the air waves 

Fingers fast turn on screen 
Touch speed to type away

Sentence flow as rain drop 
Uninterrupted as I finger tap 

Free flow to the commentary 
On the radio play scores inquiring 

Trotro poetry fast served 
This I have to finish just in time 

Before my junction to alight 
From tic toc worker's parade 

Cheers from behind as joys
For another goal scored 

A trotro journey one stop away 
From my journey's end