OJ's on a Friday

Where do all  the men and women go
In the evening, to gather and be free
No one with judgement on moral stand

Shisha and ethanol in t' mix,  twisted hair
With shaved sides, skirts as short
And yet no one sits in judgement,  no one

The music misses no sound or words
Saying it as it is, with beats a' words like
Hoes, bitches, niggers a' fuck t' police, regardless

Expression on material things, vanity allowed
Cars in the parking lot, all large with persona
Half unregistered, illegal at this hour

Dance how you dare to, it's your floor
No eyes glued on shocks to adjust
Like mirrors that look with discontent

Middle fingers in the air
Like we don't care, yeah we don't care
Whoever, however, either way, we living it large

This is like, how the dogs meet at night
Yelling barking to the tune of crazy
To their own delight "who let the dogs out"

No miss goody two shoes
To judge on hypocrisy pointing fingers
And raising noises like a stink is in t' air

Where do all the men and women go
In the evening to gather and be free
No one with judgement on  moral stands

I think t' cops just stopped us on moving
Wheels, walking in straight line is not an option
To be asked to tip toe a ballerina

Using DV plates at this time of the day
A payment of sort, is required as custom
Penance of catch a' release t' cops are fishing 

A Fool's Paradise

We are friendly people
We are always a friendly people
We are fools living in a fool's paradise
With the sun out and the breeze so nice

The shoreline lies with so much beauty
The waves coming in with songs of joy
Coconut trees line the beach lines
As boarders to our paradise

The drum and dance of the land
Adds to the vibrancy this land gives
They all say my people are friendly people
We are friendly people

Akwaaba, akwaaba are welcoming sounds
To be greeted with on arrival, oh a' those smiles
Greenery from the old trees that stand
Maintain that sense of paradise we offer

But don't look close, not that close
To the streets and be faced with
The reality of what stands as naked
Clear to be seen by all

The politics and religion of the day
Feels like brain washed gibbrish, garbage of drama
T' is concocted up in a false sense of morality rush
Pushed down the throat of the masses, force feed

T' guilty a' free and bold, the innocent surfer always
So t' value t' request a' now short of t' bear necessity
Settling for "it cloud be worse than this"
A' "give it to God" (fa ma nyame) as comfort slogans

Our institutions are all ruled by self proclaimed
Kings, men who expect and believe in t' resolve
That standing on ceremony holds more value
T' dealing w' t' nitty gritty of t' problems of t' day

We are friendly people
We are always a friendly people
We are fools living in a fool's paradise
With the sun out and the breeze so nice

Last Night's Dream

                    

Angles protruding at the edge of reasoning
I was told to climb up the mountain
The wise man lives there

Dreams are explained by him
W' leaves mashed up a' placed in a cup
To drink and be told of your future

The clouds will open up to the sea blue sky
So we can watch the birds fly in formation
Following the sunset for sleep in the night

In the morning they will descend
The trees, mountains and hills, down the valley
In search of food or tweak to build t' nest home

Do birds a' mammals h' to deal w' conflicting issues
Family worries and sibling rivalry like humans
Do they h' to deal w' bad blood a' family pressures

T' are wet leaves left at the bottom of the cup
Looks like it is time for the old wise man
To interpret last night's dream

Picture by Salvador Dali

Butterfly In the Wind

Butterflies have wings
Like birds so colourful a' with allure
But butterflies are not birds, regardless

Though they receive t' same accolades
And are often overly praised
To that of their cousins, moths

To be treated like birds of paradise
Butterflies I am telling you
Are not birds, never have they been

Though they feed on nectar
And spreads pollination like birds
To add to their essence

Butterflies are not birds
And for those who are caught in an illusion
Of false thought, self worth a' a sense of security

Just because of the attention
They receive, get from parade
Butterflies I am telling you, are not birds

Pride spells bullseye on such creatures
Butterflies to be spotted with loud colours
By birds that feast on insects

To have made a meal out of you
My dear; butterflies are not birds, do remember
Dancing in t' winds, naively away from t' meadows

The bug of an old fool only finds out
After he has been made a meal of
T' as butterfly he was just an insect a' not a bird

Picture by http://www.dianamcalister.com/

A Broken Wing's Tale

Broken wings always feels
Sensitive even after healing
When in flight, a reason to be cautious

Or when the weather turns cold
Piercing itching pains in the bones
Like rheumatism with full grip

To make the strongest look vulnerable
Holding onto what seems like
Their very dear life

An old wound with scar
That holds old stories of a time
In the midst of the wilderness

I have seen angels fall
Broken all their wings
And walk the earth like destitute

A jump would even be a miracle
For once such powerful
Old kings from the heavens

They crouch when they walk
Slowly with fingers to the floor
Like Smeagol mumbling "my precious"

The only sign of who they are
Is from the dog's hysterical bark
When they sense their presence

Do not ever point and laugh
For ignorance on such matters
Is not bliss of blessing but a curse

For if the angels can fall
And loose their wings
What more of man w' nothing but ego

Broken wings always feels
Sensitive even after healing
When in flight, a reason to be cautious

Listen to the cautionary tales
Of the old folks and take heed
When they say, even t' mighty angels fall

What more of man w' nothing but ego
Building on quick sand so fast
A lego castle with haste, racing against time

The Phantom of the Opera

Let the phantom think he is mighty
With smoke gather to form
A look of the beast so great

And scare the little ones
Running to hide under beds, yelling out
For Mother a' Father's protection

I had a nightmare, a bad dream
A monster appeared on the shadows
Of my bedroom wall

When I was young
I was always scared
Of the dark, it haunted me

Leave the light on
Allow my closed eyes
To catch them red handed

When I open my eyes
No dark shadows on t' wall to hide in
Only coming out when it suits

When I open my eyes
Will you appear
Phantom of the Opera

Will you appear
Phantom of the Opera
With drama to scare a' nothing else

Puff and you are gone
With smoke gather to form
A look of the beast so great

A Quota for Heaven

Where do all the good
The bad and the ugly go
When heaven gets full

Queues long a' winding, bending
But only a few places left
As spaces designate

Is it by default
That so many souls
Would be damned

Or was it all planned
From the very beginning
How fair is that on a balanced scale

So what happens
If the scale of preference
Changes tipping to the right

And more than less
Are in for a good run
Keeping a clean sheet

Would the quota
Set as numbers limit
Be reviewed, a clause some where

To accommodate t' born agains
Or are they damned
Regardless of what they do

Are we elemental
So that we loose in weight
The more good we do

To become light as a feather
Do we shrink into tinny grains
Of sand to all fit into heaven

Or stay as large
As a haunted ghost
With sins and anger so heavy 

The Face of Love

It has been long, truly
Since I saw the face of my love

Candle lights blurred to the visions I hold
Always blind in the darkness

My senses though heightened
To walk blind, my hands stretched as guide

Bats are to be my new masters, they see in t' dark
To use radar, while I bump into walls, head first

The night is a torture of relentlessness
Sweating so hard, I am dehydrating in my sleep

The early morning brings a sigh of relief w' breeze
Though sleep finally makes a claim on debt owed

And so I am late waking up as usual
The alarm bells made redundant even after yell

My office look, is ravaged with wrinkles a' creases
In my shirt, no iron hot enough to clean this mess

Looking out of place has become the norm
Back to basics like a time in the eighties w' no light

Work takes a better part of the day
Until t' evening dust releases me from slavery

It has been long, truly
Since I saw the face of my love

An Anarchist Call Card

I wonder who pulls the anarchist's strings
We all serve a higher purpose, am told

And the politicians of the day 
Well, are not who I worry about for now 

We all know their ways are wrong 
As are their motivations on corrupt virtues 

Though for the ignorance and arrogance 
Of t' rebels with false strength, I am left at a loss 

(influential groups none ever so independent, 
tied to their source of finance ) I cannot overlook.

Confused as to who is behind the curtains
Pulling their strings on agenda, they gather 

Did we not see Libya fall to the hands
Of the anarchist, in the Arab spring

Only to become a failed state
Where no man, woman or child is safe

From the cut throat knives of the ISIS
Iraq and Syria stand as hostage, ransom is t' dead

Gaddafi and Saddam Hussien's ghost that haunt
Playing peeka boo with Casper the friendly ghost

To watch our confused and driven youth
Run from home to become our worse nightmare

Jihad John with an accent so familiar
Cutting heads like it is a fun day in the park

If the blind leads the blind, blindfolded
What good is the cries of another blind man 

Insisting on leading the blinded sheep. 
You fool, #Philosophy #politics #life 

I wonder who pulls the anarchist's strings
Are we ever so prepared for their rule.

On Church Grounds

The more churches I see
The more morally corrupt
Society seems to be

A few good men left
Quickly turning into
No  good men in this town

Is it so cheap now to confess
And have our sins forgiven
I ask

Void is flagellation
As a sign of penance to give
#philosophy #life #society #religion

Bless me father for I have sinned
Replaced with cash and carry
Blessing and sins on barter trade

The richest is the most holiest
And highly morally corrupt
Blurred lines all in the grey

Schematics
No one is looking that close
To see blemish on white canvas

It is all clock works
Days into night
ORANGE.

The (in)dependence of Ghana

Denounce the government and embrace the flag‪ #‎wendellberry‬.
‎
The politics, ‬ independence is a scam, all politicians are the same. We are in debt, but I owed no man, I borrowed no money, I sleep in the darkness but I paid all my bills. My pipes lie empty, I am forced to drink from plastic bags. The Doctor is in on the scam too; he's is no longer a noble cause, he writes prescriptions as a way of extorting money from the sick and vulnerable, then kills me dead on negligence, no recourse no one is held liable. 

There is no blood at the hospitals, even though Jehovah witness are refusing blood, we are all selfish to give, though even after giving, storage becomes a problem. There is no air in the oxygen cylinder, watch me chocking dead. The medical stores are all on fire and the last remaining salvaged drugs are expired, being forced down my throat.

 The condoms imported are too small for the African size, they rip off, thorn to shreds at the first thrust, and so I am left with a scare.

Our institutions are inactive, the country is run by sleeping sheep. The upper class are all foreigners living in gated communities, entered only by invitation strictly by invitation. The high end restaurants and hotels will not have me for being a second class citizen. 

My roads are dusty red, dust covers my throat I am a Martian to be from Mars the red planet. Our farmers are under attack, Monsanto wants to play God to kill all our seeds and starve us dead, so the west can show us on TV begging for charity "please sir, give me some more sir". But how can I blame the West, it's a dog eat dog world and we beg to be eaten. 

Denounce the government, embrace the flag, find your patriotism and stand for a cause, for politicians are all scam, in it just for themselves. ‪#‎Ghana‬‪#‎Africa‬ thinking out loud it's about time.