The Debt Collector

I have stopped
Doing good for now
It is costing me too much

Like the sales seasons
Reduced to clear of summers
Wear no longer on the racks.

Debt collection
Has become too much
Of a hustle now

As agreed rejected now
Having to chase
Dear old regret

Just to put things back
In their rightful place
Back to order

Loosing on opportunity cost
Where whole meal is now
Reduced to piece meal

I am forced
To pick crumbs off
The table

Less than bite size to nible on
When it is my own cake
To have

I called a guy
Who owed me one
He did not pick

The next time we spoke
It was all awkward
Why awkward

When I am
Just taking back my own
Owed me

Why gain interest of stress
As value added
On loans given

Legends of the outpost

Case in point, Frank Matthews
Like a page in a chapter
Opened in a book

Verses, what I have read in pages
Are pages to my left, flipping
Reading like a testimony of events

Functionality of  blurred lines
With reality, stranger than fiction
And you can't write  like nature

Even Shakespeare wouldn't try
And if there are masters
To be mentioned he stands

Suspense volcanic tendencies
That keeps one at the edge of seats
Closer each time to the tip

Hearts palpitations
Of  mounting notions
A slight change in the atmosphere

Third eye, sixth sense, web energy
On vibrations, the winds have picked up
Fair warning is like insider trading

To be given an unfair advantage
To fold up on poker tables with poker face
Cash in your chips and walk away

The house always wins in the end
But only against the greed that got stack
That stayed for far too long in the end

There are legends in this game
They are the ones that lived
To tell their stories that excite

Old school, that say we owned
This town and painted it Red
In our days, red in our days

And left some raining day money
We living on fruits of planted seeds
Raining day money, raining day money

And like Shawshank redemption
We walked away, clean exist
Into the sunset as legends of the outpost

City Life

City life,
We are all guilty
Of the crime

And yet we are all
Victims of the crime,
Be it for love or greed

Honesty is knowing
The moon has no light
But who cares

When saying
The moon's light is beautiful
 Just sounds right.

No oné seeks to be clear
On the sides we stand on
As black or white,

We just want to know
How to handle grey,
On cloudy days

For that is reality
In the míst of it all
All around us

And what remains after
In the míst of it all
When all is said and done

When all is said and done
When all is said and done
When all is said and done 

In love and war

When guns are pointed
 Even in peace times,
There is always the risk
Of friendly fire.

The enemy within,
With itchy trigger fingers
Always looking for a reason
To execute excuse actions

Where innocent souls
Are lined up on firing squads
On pretence of an invite
To break bread at Sun set

There will be tragedy
When perfect aims are taken
And shots fired on command
By Generals sitted blowing peace pipes

As strategy in war games
Awaiting news from the front line
What gives, what gives
Am I to fold, waiting news from Waterloo

Sir your heart is not in it.
And it is bad games manship
To sit and keep watching time
Are you in expectation

Sometimes Trump's character
Is needed giving fair warning,
He may sound rude but fair
Enough  to give fair warning

Than to pull daggers
And stab while talking peace
And demand medal of honour
As a brave warrior a soldier 

Night and Day

Night expects day
Just as day
Expects night,

Like work shift to clock off
After handover on
Twelve hours long

And the moon
Is warned, be warned
To bear witness at night

As friends of the Sun
But not to speak of
What is seen

And the ecslipe is
Told the same
Be warned, you are warned

Recognising it was a privilege
To have been invited
To bear witness

Not a right
To have a view
And comment on what was seen

It is rude to have a view
Without a given right
To comment on what was seen

For night to be
And expect day
As welcome

And for day to be
And expect night
As welcome

Meek Mills on the cotton farm

What the neighbours don't realise is that
They are still living on the cotton farm

Chains are now like luxury items worn
But to the effect it's purpose it serves

This means any one of them
Can be pulled off, at any time

Of cause the masters
Do that On the regular

It is a must
It has to be done

To enforce the condition
That must be kept

Neighbours on the cotton farm
Working hard to please Master

The celebrated amongst them
Oh and there are a few to name

They are glorified as heroes
But dare not act away from the farm

They are the once with
The highest cotton pick on the farm

The celebrated neighbours
The best cotton pickers

But oh from time to time
Master has to put them in their place

Master is good, Master is good
Master lets us play on the cotton farm

After we have picked so much cotton
Master let us play on the cotton farm

Today though it is Meek Mills turn
He was naughty, naughty, naughty

Master pulled him away
He will spend some time in the cooler

No longer allowed on the cotton farm
He once was the best Cotton picker

But Master has to make an example
Master has to make an example of

Here on the cotton farm
The neighbours sometimes forget 

The Doctor's Time

If time is given
Its due respect

Ghana will go
A long way

And Ghanaians will
Accomplish a lot more

Before they die
Rest in peace, free of time

Ask me why,
Why why why

I have been sat
Long in waiting

For four hours long
This morning, and counting

Clocks still ticking
Tucking, ticking away with fingers

Loud to my ears
On fustration

My heart pumping
Blood pressure up.

I need a Doctor
His time waste is killing me

On self diagnosis
This much I know 

November my dedication

My Father is a son of November
I  am a son of November
And my dedication follows

November is when
I am aligned perfectly
With the universe, serendipity

My web energy
My Source energy
Are fully charged

This is my birth month
My grace period
My dedication follows

My thread always finds
The eye of the needle
Around this time

On first attempt
Always on first attempt
My dedication follows

I am well centered
Well balanced
Around this time

I am in great expectation
Around this time
My dedication follows

I have my hands opened
Being patience in waiting
A great gift from the Source

My joy is compounded
My cup overflows
My dedication follows 

Being me

If you see my, foot steps
In a sand, steps marked
And you place your, foot in

Granted, it does not mean
Granted, you have walked
Granted, in my shoes, No!

You only placed your foot
In a mark I left in the sand
I left behind, I did that

A by product
Many of which I have left
Many times over in my walk of life

If you are that desperate
Then try my worn shirt
For size, one size, fits all

Filled with my sweat
Left in my laundry basket
Maybe a day or two to fester

Yes, it stinks a bit, a bit it does
But I tell you, hear hear
It  is the closest you will get

To an idea
Of my essence
Through my journey

A wax work at Madame tussaud
Is just that, a wax work
Resemblance on plastic like Barbie

Acting on scripts, actors
Would not know my pain
How can they, how can you

And if we stood on the same
Platform for a brief period
It does not mean we are as one

When sounds are made
It echoes from a distant
But echoes can never claim ownership

If you see my foot steps
In a sand steps marked
And you place your foot in

Granted it does not mean
Granted you have walked
Granted in my shoes, No!

You only just read
My script as an actor
You just mimicked my steps

Crowning a King

Summon all the elders
And ask, do ask
Who will be made a King

He sat humbly
At a corner unassumed
Almost out of pictures frame

A few others frantically
Waving hands for attention
And attention given

He saw no need
No need  to
why ever to

Relevance can not
Be contested when left
For prosperity to judge

Hang ons, hang ons
Fall off past their value
Just over the atmospheres range

We seeing stars
And we seeing stars
We seeing stars

Hold on, seatbelts on
Jet propelled set
Over the horizon

Just there
Different perspective
Relate on reasoning

What is a King to a God
What is in a name
To energy and beyond

What will  your views be
After  you have  been
To the other side and back

I can tell,
Your whole body language
Your  radiant energy will tell

Summon all the elders
And ask, do ask
Who will be made a King

He sat humbly
At a corner unassumed
Almost out of pictures frame

How is a King made
Live long enough
And be a blessing in people's lives

And you will be honoured
Honoured by them
And you will be their King

ECK DEYNOO