BP 's Troubles

Nothing new here, on this earth..

Nothing said, nothing done,..

Nothing new, in love and hate..

Joy and cry, In wishful thinking..

Birth and death, hungers grip,..

Nothing new, here on this earth..

Nothing new, nothing new..

But for that, in man's hands made..

For a blessing of being intelligent..

As a curse for the same thing be..

And in greed in indulgence..

Oil spill in ocean blue..

And death becomes of all things aquatic..

In living swimming breathing, chocked..

Just for the sake of being man made..

Nothing new here on this earth..

Oh and for that sake..

Just that sake, what tragedy...

It bears in equilibrium scatter...

Of saboteur, by man's hands made...

Nothing new here on this earth...

Just a time table to be ad-heard to..

Man in charge, man in charge..

Who went and put man in charge..

And for his intelligence as a curse..

On mother natures back gardens..

Nothing new here on this earth..

But for the tragedy of man's hands made...

Playing God, in natures back yard..

Nothing new here on this earth..

Black Star, Black Star..

What is the name of a place..

What history it holds..

With strengths it bears, carries..

What is the name of a treasure chest..

Sand kissed shore lines..

Sun shines blessing,
Felt like rain wash, shower..

Body shape like pregnancy..

In cares it holds, it's beloved..

And for the Black gold, Gold..
Cocoa, Coconut, Cashew..

Shea butter, to melt on delicate skins..

What is a name of a place..

What with freedom and of justice..

Carried in DNA's of breaths..

Painted the star black to shine bright..

To be set on paths, pace others follow..

What is a name of a place..

Where nourishments crayons the land green..

Gold in sparkle of wealth it holds..

Droplets in reds that flows through its vein..

What is a name of a place..

Where names of Nkrumah..

Ahzuman, Kofi Anan stands..

Where Sons of Monday..

Will always be Kodjo...

Mutaris, Vorsahs, Amoah, Kingson..

Appiah, Boateng , Ayew, Owosu Abeyie..

Kingston, Gyan, Tagoe, Panstil, Adiyaih ..

Carry flags on pitches ..

To bring us pride, to bring us Ghana.. 

Burning Books

In thoughts of revelations inspired..

What it is, to have had enlightenment of..
Words jumping out of chapters, fast  like "street lights"
 Effects on view, to be shared with the world..

And wisdom manifesting..

From ball ink pen unto paper..

To be shared with the world..

Like Shakespearian words, stories told..

He said this is my gift to the world..

To culture; to religion to civilisation to drama..

This is my legacy to have left behind..

And I am to be named the author of..
And my name, made timeless to be known..

Bookworms took to read..

Deeply indulged in what stories told..

In lines after lines worded in chapters..

Till the last chapter the last word read..

Spring cleaning gave charities, charitables..

From the scholar, who once owned a copy..
This is my legacy, my gift to the world..

To civilization, to finesse 

He passed his library to charity stores..

It was with sadness feel,..
Of swords piercing deep into chest cavity..

To have witnessed this, it hurts 

My own eyes lit with sorrow so deep 

The jaws of crush fed compactors books..

That authors left behind as a legacy..
This was behind charity stores 
They crush and burn old book

Why burn books, why..

My crumbs on Tables

If this is what, we have to do..

To earn a crust, my crumbs, 
My crust, my crumbs on tables..

Thank God, we did not go for a whole loaf..

But the government did, and the banker did..

Miss piggy bank, piggy bank, had a big appetite.. 
But then, gobbled a bit, too much..


Greed, on taste and had a big leak..

And piggy bank, piggy bank , lost some weight..

But no one noticed until the fat lady lost her voice..

For who much is given, much is expected..

Not for these lot, they were never told before..

And now the government, wants my feed..

Now the banker, wants my feed..

And now the fat lady, needs my feed..

She just called it, a fancy word “Austerity”..

Starve me dry, Oliver Twist in my pocket..
Bleeding me dry..

But all I worked for..

Was for my crust, my crumbs, 
My crust, I need my feed..

To tell you the truth..

It has been hard..

If this is what, we have to do

To earn a crust..

Thank God we did not..

Go for a whole loaf..

Still the government wants my crust..

Miss piggy, miss piggy bank, wants 
In need my feed, my crumbs..

If this is what we had to do..

My crumbs, my crumbs, my crust..

I need my feed..

Story Vile

One day I will look back and laugh..

Talk about the ups and downs..

Of ups and downs and downs and ups..

In sat behind tables of Russian roulette..

False starts in Olympic tracks, trail runs..

Illusions of lights seen in tunnel's mirage..

Tied down to turtle legs in chains..

With stallions hearts, zeals in rage..

Sat on by misfortunes lust..

In gauging lust, of deprivation..

I said one day, I will look back and laugh..

That is in the script written foretold..

Seen when went peeping in..

Into Gypsy's shamans tents..

She wasn't around to see me do it..

In peek on snick previews; tomorrows script..

These days I am still with layers..

Shedding each in roles played on onions format..

And it builds me, annoys me, gets to me in parts..

Such it is with needles, nurses weld..

Injected to pinch in sensation boost....

To elevate in systems rockets blast..

One day I would look back and laugh..

Many a tribulations in dragons breaths..

And of molehills attempts, to besiege on me..

One day, one day  I will look back and laugh..

With many a story to tell, in story telling..