Poetry and Politics, Sakawa

I don't like to write poetry any more
As politics has taken over my lot

From parrots that sit and
Open their loud beaks, to profess nonsense

And be judged as guilty for being guilty
Only to have the pressure mount

On the sitting order to take a stand
Being forced to stick his hands in a blender

Oh what a blunder
When chiefs and ministers add their voice

How would the first Gentleman be seen now
Caught between a hard place and a rock

Betrayed by he's own that sits with him
Expected to stand in solidarity than to plunder

I don't like to write poetry any more
As politics has taken over my lot

What is to become of the order
When self interest and influence is to trump all

And trump mentality is becoming the norm
Loudish and flamboyant with empty shells

It's an election year, plugged off is the truth
The masquerading of false promises is in play

And the promise seekers are out
Like harvest seasons, willing to be false fed

By miracles of wonder
Man made manna from the heavens

The politicians and the priest
Are all in suit, it is hard to tell the difference

I don't like to write poetry any more
As politics has taken over my lot

Oh my lot
As politics like virus has taken over my lot

Road Kill

Our roads are a slaughter house, butchery
And all farm animals are to be spared

Lined in rows on speeding wheels
Cuts and bruises are the norm

Death trap metal mangled up
Going fast past the speed limit

Breaks replaced with blowing of horns
A crush is preferred to a stop to save lives

Selfish greedy personalities queue
Each morning on the roads in waiting

Before the day ends rest assured
The morgue will be full to the brim

Pot holes, dotted on the roads
Traffic lights incoherent acting gaga

Road lights absent where needed the most
Road signs lost in time with meanings expired

Oh and at night and at night
High light drive in crowded areas as usual

Blinding all, all is blinded driving blind
Blinded men behind the wheels

Our roads are a slaughter house, butchery
Like an abattoir, ready for the slaughter

Last I heard there was a threat of mass burial
The morgue is full and there is no where left

Just enough meat for the Friday night
Wake keeping party, hungry mourners to feast

I heard someone say it was God's calling
Their time to go to heaven, they have been called

Oh but the farm animals are to be spared
Just the humans, dogs and cats for road kill

Our roads are a slaughter house, butchery
This week close to a hundred came in as meat

Just that a slaughter house, butchery slaughter
Lined up in rows and rows for the road kill

Politics, Rhetoric and A Voters Register

Sticks and stones on crush course, no seat belt 
And they said, we will not break, nor sweat as much 

But the police got offended 
Court injunctions before march on junctions 

Something about, someone said shouting 
Koti ooo koti, on demonstration with a cause 

Let our vote count 
Or was it new registration, some thing on rhetoric 

Graffiti splattered, plastered all around town 
Awareness, preparedness, excitement on adrenaline 

On both sides tension heightened mount 
Counting down on D-Day, today be today 

No shaking, we dey form, we dey 
Bravado sipping cocktails of adrenaline 

Something about, someone said shouting 
Protest, protest, lets protest on a hot afternoon 

Then someone said, shouting in response
Koti ooo koti on un-designated paths 

All hell breaks loose 
Skin to batons, batons to skin, for autograph's display 

Skid marks left for political talks on radio, Radio parrots, knock knock; who is there 

To be or not to be, William Wallace 
Aggrieved on judgement stand 

Society left standing on weighted average 
Waiting to see where the weight will drop 

We must be entering the election season 
Democracy, is demonstrating craziness 

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

Charlie Hebdo; No religion

I am a cartoonist, an artist 
I am just a guy with a pencil and a paper 

It is not as though 
There is too much salt in the water 

It is as the situation stands 
The whole water is just salt 

There are no religions
There are no sinners 

My country is without boarders 
I am a man without a country 

There are no black areas of shades  
There are no white areas of shades 

It is all blurred in grey 
No blood so red 

No cut so deep 
No handle on the butcher's knife  

No symbols and affiliation 
No secret handshakes on alters 

We are living in a nightmare 
Where all the monsters dreamed of, come alive 

The nut house is empty 
The inmates a' the guards running this ward

The President has a secret 
Greater than the man about to be hanged 

Do not look directly in their eyes 
The sun will blind you a' rob you of the day 

Hide the last manuscripts 
The decree ruled, is to burn all books 

Do not look for mother 
To be our saving grace  

She has long converted 
And we are all aliens to her course 

Blood is lighter than water 
And the sun dries it out so fast, desert rain

Amnesia is our luck to be found 
Stops us from remembering the pain 

I am a cartoonist, an artist 
I am just a guy with a pencil and paper 

Why would you brake my pencil 
And scatter my blood so raw

Ghana's Independence; a satire

The fool finds pleasure 
In celebrating illusion and refuse to wake 

Like thinking the world 
Is no longer connected by wires 

Many of which runs on the floor 
Of the deep blue sea, lets accept miracles 

But of cause we would, magic to embrace 
We would want it that way, detached from reality 

Reality is a pill hard to swallow 
And for the kid that hates medicine 

Crushing the pills into his drink  
Works the magic, the fool with illusion 

A zombie nation, continent, where all that matters 
Are foreign owned, yet we declare independence

I would cry but I am not with enough tears 
To bail, this bankrupt nation of it's woes  

To say freedom is ours to choose 
Only a fool would be blind to the chains 

Worse is we beg for these chains 
On all four, we beg and beg 

And beg some more, for weights so heavy 
It cripples us, that is where we find comfort 

An excuse to shout victimization 
Seeking attention from the very people we accuse 

A nation is like a house, I say, an analogy 
With it's living room forming the capital 

Accra would hold that honor  
Shameful, smelly, polluted Accra, our living room

Our living room, where we host our guest 
And say, welcome to my beautiful country 

Just don't look past the air-conditioned tinted glasses
To the foreign owned hotel we will take you to rest  

To be hosted in our foreign funded and built 
Presidential palace, and our western suit in hot weather 

The middle class youth with ignorance and two phones, self-worth 
Attached to ipads like their lives depends on it, enslaved 

Yet failing to make good use of it, opportunity 
To educate their mindset about their environment 

Forgive me, I forgot to mention 
We are celebrating our independence 

With the loan money you just gave us 
Come, come you are invited as our guest, special privilege    

Come and drink and merry make 
Help us celebrate our independence from you 

Tomorrow we will be with our beggars bowl 
At your door step, bright and early for more handouts 

For we are an independent nation 
Magic and illusion, miracles we adore

Freedom and justice is a bore 
Mind over matter, it matters not, it is all bore 

Popo, Kpoti, Bobby on the beat

What do I think of the Popo, Bobby on the beat 
Officially still at work, what can he do  Kpoti 

Officially someone is taking the piss koti 
Being driven around as a third wheel hangin, Kpoti 

Officially being driven around Bobby duty bound 
Osu Oxford Street on the night rounds, "Kpoti yes sir"     

As demanded, supposedly as an escort to the honourable 
One Mr Important's, not so Important son, Kpoti 

I could not but see a satirical joke, koti  
In the scene that witnessed my presence 

So to the point of the car parking, Kpoti 
Some SUV of a kind new on the plate, Kpoti 

But looking unwanted with opulence 
What can I say, I observe I write , Kpoti 

All four doors open like sesame, Kpoti 
Then out comes Young Mr not so important 

And his entourage, following dog tale 
Of cause Kpoti gets out as well 

Officially still on duty with piss take, Kpoti 
Officially being driven around double piss take 

For someone's pleasure 
But wait Kpoti, koti gets left out 

Standing next to the locked up car 
To stand and wait, for hours long, Kpoti 

For Young Mr not so important 
And his entourage to go have fun, Kpoti 

On a friday night, he is on the beat, Kpoti 
What more would Popo, Bobby want on the beat

Officially still on duty, piss take on Kpoti 
Officially koti has been assigned 

The generous tax payer, to foot the bill 
Why not, monkey dey work ...Kpoti 

For piss take and the rest, Baboon dey chop
Poor old Popo, Kpoti, Bobby on the beat 

Banksy's Christmas Postcard

Jesus wept 
And Jesus protested 

Jesus would not reach bethlehem 
This year, for his ceremonial birth 

Marry and Joseph would have 
To make other plans for this year  

The promised landscape has changed 
Emotion has fed of hate, full to the belly 

And peace is a foreign word 
Never heard of, in this land 

The bible is back on the editors desk 
Typos to be edited, it was rushed to print 

A few incoherent stories 
And lines to be omitted 

Someone went back into time 
And built a wall to block pilgrim's path

The star is in the wrong directional location 
For Marry and Joseph can not reach 

The three wise men without GPS 
To navigate their way around the wall of jericho 

So the good bible will have to be edited 
For religion to make sense again 

All because someone decided to 
Build a wall and block pilgrim's path 

Jesus would not reach bethlehem 
This year for his ceremonial birth 

Marry and Joseph would have to
Make other plans for this year 

#Its the season to rejoice in 
#la la la la laaa la la la laaa 

An Enemy Within, Our heroes never reached home

I was told to look out of the window
Keep looking south, friend
Our brothers and sisters that went to war
Are on their way back with victory

They have defeated the old enemy
And so we need not worry no more
Not ever again on this land 
Richly blessed our forefather's left us 

They were spotted in a distance
Crossing the rivers that stands
Tall next to our land the whole stretch
That means they are already home

For the river is on our land
The Gate way to the village
Yet it has been days now
No one has heard word from them

The celebratory drums has been played
It has been beaten hard to tiredness
With holes in its heart bleeding
Begging a reprieve for sight of our heroes

Cannibalistic manners being portrayed
Our leaders have betrayed us 
On all political front and civil heads follow
Both the right and left and those inbetween 

They ambushed and ate the flesh 
Of the sore wounds of our fighters 
Like maggots with greed hunger  
And corrupt deeds that leaves our land dry

The land as a skeleton without flesh
Stripping in a frenzy the very structures
That holds sanctity and value of our people
Our heroes never reached home

The enemy was not that which we conquered
When the river sits on our land once so rich
Yet we starve of thirst and import
From our distant neighbors fish and food

We are no longer able to raise our flags
That once glow through the night
And made us gods of the night
We sit in darkness, our leaders sold it all out

They sold a half piece of the material
The one so precious that holds our soul 
Now when we raise our spirit flags
It no longer shines in the dark

They sold it all for greed, an enemy within
Our leaders are cannibalistic in nature
Pillaging the land dry for greed
An enemy within, our heroes never came home

Democracy, democrazy; let my vote count

When my words are asked in demand 
When my hands are requested on alliance 
When my legs are borrowed for support 

To walk this journey 
To stand this ground 
To pledge an alliance 

Where my stakes do count, thumbprint 
Where a queue means possible change 
Where my presence has effect, dominoes  

And the puppet masters need me now, to pull strings 
And I am made a king maker with cast 
And I am thus destiny onto them as will 

Will I know what to priorities 
Will I know what my interest are 
Will I be wise enough to know in essence 

That the table has turned, favored positions 
That the value is on me, precious 
That I am with vote, a commodity sort  for 

A bargaining chip, to state my need 
An upper hand on chess game, to win a post 
A trading ground, a barter trade, for fair trade my interest 

Or will I just follow party politics 
Waving flags as my interest pledge, banners barmy 
To say it is them against us, foolishly with protest 

Two brothers on opposing sides 
Who is to build our father's house 
To say it is them against us, foolishly on stands taken 

Following party politics, Montague against Capulet  
Let my vote count, so not to demonstrate craziness 
As mine democrazy, my interest is to be seen to as mine 

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/

An Uneven Relationship

I love the west, though I hate the west
I hate the west, and yet I love the west

It is not for like or love or hate that entice me

To be of a kind and be so conflicting

To love the west and hate the west

I hate the west and to love the west

Though I love the west, I hate the west

And I pardon not my grievance so strong

For I gathered with a thousand around 99 
We were to  fight this course of freedom

I love the west, to assemble such courage

I love the west, brave William Wallace

Yet when questions were asked
For patronage of the course sincerely

I found I hated the west though I loved it

For double standards, I hated the west

Marvin the Squirrel King of Nuttella

Marvin the squirrel lived on a plantation of nuts on a farmer's land on the west coast, near a  human village, not far from the shores of the Atlantic Ocean. The land was rich in gold and oil, but much more so in nuts. So much so that the village was called Nutella. 

The village had a share of nuts and nuts so bountiful it pleased and fed all to excess. The village farmers mixed the nuts with chocolate and exported it to the human village nearby. They gained a lot in return and could buy all that they needed. 

When Marvin first came to the farmer's land he was very malnourished, skinny and small, and wore tattered clothes. With so little to eat he was starving and so was named Marvin. Dear starving Marvin.

The farmer saw Marvin the skinny squirrel thin to his bones, from a distance and rushed to his rescue. “I am going to save you”, the farmer said “ and you will be my blessing Marvin and others will benefit from such blessing, you will be my legacy Marvin" 

The farmer quickly took Marvin the squirrel into his hut; he fed him and clothed him, keeping him warm at night from the cold. Once Marvin gained his energy, strength and health, the farmer adopted Marvin the squirrel as his own, he made him a member of his family and called him the son he never had. 

The farmer made Marvin the Councillor of the village. The whole village voted. Some were  not particularly pleased that Marvin the squirrel an outsider should hold such a prominent title. But in the end the farmer's wishes were granted by the villagers and Marvin was made the chief Councillor of the village.

To satisfy and settle minds, the privilege bestowed on Marvin was set with a time limit and his responsibility was to guide prosperity and care for the villagers, as the farmer cared for him, when he first came to Nutella the land of riches with plenty of nuts and nuts, to feed the population.

After a while the farmer passed away and Marvin found he had all the power to govern until the next scheduled election. However Marvin became ruthless as he ruled  and he asserted his authority to crush any opposition. Soon voting day neared and he became so determined to hang on to power that he devised a cunning plan.

As the time neared for the election, suddenly the price for nuts shot up and know one quite knew why. The demand for nuts had not increased and the harvest was just as plentiful, yet there seemed to be a shortage of nuts. Strangely, around the same time little hills, started appearing on the outskirts of the land. The hills were fiercely protected, guarded by the elite guarding squirrels, hand picked by Marvin himself.

Within a  short time, the villagers became very hungry except for a few. The rest starving like Marvin was when he first came to the village, thin, boney wearing tattered clothes, begging for rescue. 

A little village squirrel called Johnny happened to be playing on the fields where the hills had appeared. He had sneaked out onto the hills without being seen by the guarding squirrels. As he jumped up and down from hill to hill, he suddenly fell through one of the hills and there it was; all of the nuts from harvest seasons, carefully packed in heaps of sacks. They all had little stamps of ownership on them, neatly scribbled was Marvin the squirrel's name. 

Johnny the little squirrel was so incensed he run to tell everyone. He thought to himself everyone should know about this but just as he came out of the nut hill, he bumped into the guarding squirrels.

The guarding squirrels went wild and laid into Johnny beating him soundly. Then kept him imprisoned to prevent him from blowing the whistle to the whole village, telling them where all the nuts were being kept while they went starving and hungry. 

All the time that Johnny the little squirrel was being kept against his will he wondered why the guarding squirrels were happy to help Marvin the squirrel hide the nuts, while the villagers starved. 

The guarding squirrels were from the same village Nuttella, they had family members starving in the village, they had friends starving in the village, yet would only give the nuts to those who gave their support to Marvin. Johnny the little squirrel wondered what would become of the village if Marvin held on to power at the elections. He wondered what it would mean to those that  voted against him. 

In foreign lands the farmer's little village Nuttella was still being praised; some said, it was of great richness but others who have heard recent stories from Nuttella were of a different opinion, they spoke of a decaying and run down Nutella, with little prospects and high corruption since Marvin took over. 

Johnny the little squirrel suddenly felt a need to use the bathroom as he sat caged behind bars. That was when he opened his eyes and realized it was all a dream. He had fallen asleep after reading the oracle's letter. Marvin was still the heard councilor of the village, there was plenty of nuts in the village and the election was quite a distance away.


In the kitchen, as Johnny the little squirrel made his way back to his bed room, he noticed a jar of Nutella,  Johnny stuck his head deep in the jar, to  completely wake from his nightmarish dream, thinking the oracle must be so wrong, surely that could not happen... To Be Continued ............