There are men
And there are Men
But there are also MEN
MEN are the real juices in all fruits
Men are the “mmotromodwos”
That state abhored by even the heavenly father
While men are the tins of milk without content
Drop them from the mountain top
And see how they will battle the stones
Infuriate all ears
And remodel negatively their shapes
Men then will sit on the fence
Giggling here, laughing there
Like plugged robots
While MEN try to make them see
The importance of those stones
In maintaining their balance
And possibly climbing to the top
I love no men
I abhor all Men
And pray for many MEN to enrich my path
Who has breath to waste
On men and Men?
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) August 30, 2016


On the threshold of my fate
Lie the perfect gait
Calculated steps
Fitted shoes
And keys to answers to puzzles tricky
And ready to block in lock
I know
And rush not
For I am too special to run

None knew Agya Ananse
In its fragile and slimy state
Could be the star of  Gold Coast folktales
And be the lesson to great lions
And all citizens of the animal kingdom
Adding fun in wits
Class in the mass
Inciting fear even from the rear
So I live like a seed in growth
Every stage being too special
For I am too special to run

There are those
Who run
Carried by the passing wind
And dropped from the top
Like wrappers of the real ishes
All their wishes dishes of clichés
Fermented and made the yoke of jokes broken from shells of passing fun
Oh no
I sure won’t run
I am too special to

What about those who sit
In pushy kaba and slit
Poisoning minds, their spit
Hovering, always their bit
Until their chits get to their pits
Of course they then call quits
Forgetting previous hits
I can’t in those fit
I am too special to leap before the walk

God’s time for each is set
Mine needs no bet
So what I dislike is to fret
Time will drop what I get
In my hardwork net
All others will be added pets
So why run?
I sure am too special to
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 28th August, 2016


Black and red
Mate to date for the fate of the late
Like soldier ants in warrior parade
Faces varied in smiles, frowns and indifference
For the fallen whose journey goes beyond eyes’ foresight

Songs with “we have a living God” lyricals
Taunt the fallen with many misconceptions
‘We live like dead swervers
Because we have God the warrior
Oh weak soul!
Lie cold in your bowl to your rot’
‘We serve a living God
Whom you never knew so was pushed into death’s crew’
‘We serve a living God so we worship in your absence’

Oh how the departing turns like an angered soul!
In a worship ground he knew so well!
Pleased by the many faces in last company
Scared by the loneliness
In the hole sealable and heat contagious
All the battles of training
For maximum and minimum forces
Have been conquered by the unseen taker

Forgive us for thanking God
Upon your silence at your nomenclature mention!
We know yet we ask
But know that we lack foresight
Lead kindly light
So we yet to be conquered
Will have ghostly eyes to see our path
We taunt today but will eventually turn taunted
All the romantic and “akutia nnwom” as our last soothings
So lead kindly light
In this hawk taking fight
Oh ye cock taken in broad daylight
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 27, 2016


Once a pig was born in a sea
Making fishes bring it up to fish be
When the pig was grown and wise
It broke chains to be on land

All the dirt was its to take
All the gutters was its to shake
All the dumpsters were his pool so cool
That its visit to the seas
Poisoned their flawless meals

They would bath
And dip it in spring water
They would bribe it
To just stay in
But nothing could free its mind from dirt
And so the lesson visited their heads
That pigs will always be the pigs they are
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2016


You want the Olympic Gold
But you don’t train for the gold
You want to stand on the podium
With a year’s training
For a year’s event
You want the fame of the game
But not the pain for the gain

You want the life that I live
But you don’t work the work that I put in
You don’t want to scrub, clean, organise as I do
You want my man but you know you can’t maintain him
I pay the bills
Will you pay the bills too?
You want the fame of the game
But not the pain for the gain

You want the greener pastures over there
Do you have the knowledge to plant the green
Water the green
Trim the green
You love the rules over there
Start by obeying the rules in your neck of the words
You love what you don’t have
Only because you don’t have
You want the fame of the game
But not the pain for the gain
Abla Dzifa Gomashie (c)  August 18, 2016


Walking through this book of life
Which flips and turns in love and strife
How can I the best’s wife be
If I read not of kings doting on skirts of their shes?

In the read
Hides machetes which tears ignorance in shreds
Kwaku Ananse’s morals
Which walked the spoken of the sages of Ghana
Can be met in different shapes
Different sizes
Different heights
With different dices of mischiefs
How can I not read?

They say love is like the bread of life
Many a men have battled like gods
To get on board the ships of their beloved
Like the third eye looking for flutters
I follow
Like the lost ghost looking for its body
I follow
Like the romantic waiting to be excited
I follow
Reading being the key to this beauty
Through the doors of cover frames
How can I not read?

None can seek God in isolation
Even to the ancestors
Possession was taught to the chosens
Every career hides secrets in organised alphabets
How else can I stock
The library of my vocabulary?
Why would I not read?

What feeds wisdom
Includes minds bled through inks
Minds which have been flushed through sinks
And succeeded to rise through
The gutters of their failures
Ha! Many adorable characters live in reading towns
Tell me how can I not read?

Where else can I see butterflies acting birds in sky plays?
Where else can I see lions in cat replays
And feel the stabbing knives of suspense?
Where else can fools not see with eyes
And act tools and are used like bulls?
Where else can pain be hilarious,
Happiness draw tears
Indifference hunt anger
As strangers open arms to embrace?
Where else can life hold a mirror
To show flaws and predict their endings
Pillowing consciences to opt for sanes?
Ah, think about it,  how can I not read?

From Shakespeare
To Mawugbe
Angelou to Nwelue
Abrahams through his mine to Nyantakyi
How can I miss
When heartbeats call for knowledge
Through livers’ experiences?
How can I not read?
I read because alphabets gather in right shapes
For reasons worth decoding
So I read and will read on
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) August 19, 2016


Quack quack quack
The voices of ducky deceits sing
Like a choir in symphony
In temples haunted by God
Monies from impoverished pockets
Cry for their owners
From bellies to clothes
To shoes to watches
To cars to perfumes
On parodies of preachers

Ghosts of stomachs haunt houses of worship
Pernury taunts clever minds of tricksters deemed real
Claps in worship aimed at poor Satan
Fetching fires on leaders of the demonstration
What an irony!
I am sure Satan soliloquys his fun
Seeing the comedy of disasters
On podiums of supposed praises

How many temples are marked
For the fun of the fallen angel?
How many of his disciples lead mock
Demonstrations of his opponent?
How many souls are harvested for his storage in a minute?
Oh how many births float from his seductions
Of Marys’ turned Eves?
How many heads lie prostrate to him
For the sake of cash?
I can’t think of the tongues that mean
“Caught, slayed, hanged, fetched”
Could it be
“Hiri baba makye matwa masen, masa, hirididididididi?”
How many truthful ones still live
Under the umbrellas of trust?
None sees the diamonds in filth
God’s cane awaits much whipping
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) August 21, 2016

Book Readings by Nana Damoah and Kofi Akpabli


Amedzofe. In biblical terms that would be our version of the Garden of Eden. In Ewe language, this place name means “the origin of mankind”. In a sense, that makes sense. The town is not only the highest human settlement in West Africa; in this part of the world, it is also the closest place to the heavens.

At Abraerica, the reception is sited on top of one block while the guestrooms are in another storey-block facing Mt Gemi. So we had to descend several steps first, before we climbed up the stairs to my room. As we moved, I could see well-lit towns very far away. It appeared the way one sees places from an airplane in the night.

“Where is that?” I asked.

“Kpandu,” he replied.

“And that?”

“Ho, Hohoe.”


I woke up sometime after midnight. Curiosity made me run to the window. I looked hard for the view outside but I couldn’t see a thing. Was it just fog or we were enveloped in a cloud? I went back to sleep hoping to dream about the heavens.

~ Kofi Akpabli, Romancing Ghanaland

** Pictures by Isaac K. Neequaye

*Join Kofi, Alba K Sumprim and Nana Awere Damoah for book readings in Accra and Kumasi in September 2016. 3rd and 24 th respectively.


It is a machine
We, rolling to end up drawn
Like lotter numbers
As seen and unseen souls jubilate
But a win today
Expires tomorrow
A loss today
Heals tomorrow

There is nothing too awful
Some live like vultures
Not that they crave not for belonging-beds
But misfortunes have housed them into vultures
Always hovering for crumbs
I pray for you

There are body parts
Being pounded by pain
As they are arrested by ailments
And imprisoned in beds
Waiting to be served hot
On the plates of death
You aren’t alone
I pray for you

There are those traped by the traps of others
The pins and blades cutting
Deep into their skins
Flawing their souls
As no eye tries to help
Let alone, a mouth to help in cry
I pray for you

There are those stuck in dilemmas
All paths looking promising
All paths looking deadly
All eyes looking on
Jeers towering the cheers
I pray for you

There are those
Caught in the web of loneliness
Haunting fingers penetrating
Their darknesses
As pillows feel the blows of tears and fists
You are not alone
I pray for you

There are those robbed by fate
Like the biblical Job
Without even a robe
You are not alone
I pray for you

There are those on trucks of poverty
Left from the mountains of riches
With no driver
You are not alone
I pray for you

Oh tsunami sufferers!
From Katrina to whatever
From your horrid goosebumps
To the hurtful punches of reality
I flow with your flood
I pray for you

Every hiding hurts
Biting blasts
Taunting haunts
Scaring scares
From any corner of the world
No matter how obscure
You are not alone
I pray for you
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) August 20, 2016



This Saturday and Sunday, #GIGI will steal the show at the #ChaleWote festival.

Everyone who comes to the fair wearing #GIGI will leave with something exciting.

There will be a draw, and winners will get FREE #GIGIs (show up at the WearGHANA stand in your #GIGI, drop your card or name on a piece of in the bowl and you could be that lucky customer)

But there’s more, come take a pic with our #GIGI koliko, load that up on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram with #GIGI, get the most likes and you get to win a #GIGI. And there will be an amazing #GIGI parade of #GIGIlets. You really don’t want to miss out on that.

Together, let’s steal the show. #GIGI anaa no size. Enti hy3 wo #GIGI na hyia y3n w) #chalewote


Dancing in possessionisms
‘Akom’ climbs the seat of Christiandom
Veiled by the all Powerful Holy Bible
Hiding the powders and poduas
And straw skirts
In suits, and clothes sewn by modernity
What is the name of potent but failed gods hiding in alien myths?

When did Atwea house abosom kokroko
To get legs to impress
Through miracles of failed gods?
Again I ask
What is the name of potent but failed gods hiding in alien myths?

Heads with sleeping minds
Stop dozing in the land of reasoning
And wasting the pains of your hardwork
In absurd promises,
Horridly readable revelations
And un-undersatandable prophesies
Where are your eyes
That your bodies suffer the whips of deceit?
Where are your ears
That your legs travel into dens of robotics?
Again and again I ask
What is the name of potent but failed gods hiding in alien myths?

When did the calabash of palm wine
Turn into the Lord’s Supper?
When did the podua
Turn into oils on bare hands?
When did the chains for the mad
Develop legs to walk into churches
To lock sanes with higher ambitions?
Again and again and again I ask
What is the name of potent but failed gods hiding in alien myths?

I await the words from the ultimate mouth
As people in famine await the mating of seeds and soil
To come with machetes
To separate weeds from plants
I await thunders of the higher being
Like the thirsty awaits rain in drought-land
To shoot like fire warriors into the dry hay of deceit
I await the handcuffs of the most powerful
As maidens await their lords
To come and arrest the possessed erect in biblical handkerchiefs
Until then
I say
‘Obinim nea obi ahyehye’
But God knows all the corridors of right and wrong
Until then
Annuit Coeptis
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 19th August 2016


Take me back
Back to gold coast
Where salt and mirror
Beat the price of gold

Take me back
Back to Gold Coast
Where naivity was bliss
And minds suckled from the breast of nature
As none cared about the peak of stature

Take me back
Back to Gold Coast
Where snow so alien
Dug gold
Dug hands
Dug hearts
Under the black skies

Take me back
Back to Gold Coast
Where malaria fought battles
Meant for landowners
And keeping names was
More Herculean than keeping lives

My feet won’t hurt
From retreating
My heart won’t break from the human hunt
My mouth won’t close
On opening eyes
To keep us us
Lotus flowers which disinfected
Our fertile forest
The important thing
It to shade eyes that dust aimed
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) August 17, 2016.



It is a weird night
A weird night where hens
Open their traps of bliss
In contrast to the merry go rounds
And dizzy spells penaltying for the goals

It is a weird night
Even femme frogs block the commercial street
Hoping to pay off buyers
After giving off their best goods for free

It indeed is a weird night
That night when bats scout for youngsters
Instead of meals
Knowing the vehicle of morning
Speeds to their skies

It actually is a weird night
That night when owls watch
And are pimped like pins
By prostituting magnets

Even lionesses roar for beckoning
Not to prey
Hyenas beg to pamper not mischief
Monkeys sing on the temples of pleasure
As trees beg to be spared the sights

It sure is a weird night
One so filled with canes for the walk-alone
One filled with scissors for the tattered sanes
Mouths of entrances of the earth
Are widely opened
I wonder the mouldings
Which can win the competitions
To see daylight
Who at all called for this?
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) August 15, 2016
Photo Credit: Mike Kwafo



Skies of the throne of Freejustice
Rain to ruins
Like ships draining their seas while at sea
At high fees
The waves that keep them afloat
Are divided into three

The blind waves
Which push like donkeys even in drought
The on-fence waves
Which would give their lives
Than lift fingers to right any wrong
And the opposing waves
With thoughts of ‘all ships are the same’
Which see all flaws
Rebel in stagnancy
Caring not when  tsunamis would strike

I had a dream
Not like that of Martin Luther King
A dream that the red broke into the gold
The gold lost its balance
And fell with its black star into the green
The green helplessly fell apart
Into the latrines of war

I had a dream
Not like that of Barack Obama
Soldiering warriors stood still
Like robots on display
In pretence of obedience to their regulations
As the fires of corruption
Sped their ways through them
With their human fear giving the horrors
In their eyes away
In that same dream
The flood of division
Begged at the feet of destroying tsunamis
Pain was busy frying beings in their sorrow pans
As death’s plates overflew with meats
Of grasses who loved their divisional teams
Funny,  how the chaos discriminated not
Funny how the cries were in symphony

I had a dream
Not like Joseph’s
Because he was the redemption
I felt the hellish heat of regrets
Saw consciences holding powerful canes
And whipping heads which housed them
Feeling the fear of last days
Confessions falling into gutters of
“What is done is done, we are already in hell”

Books laid on seas with arms wide open
Calling on eyes to see the hidden truths
Read the success paths left far behind
But even the fishermen fled the seas
As they drowned silently in floods of neglect

I woke toasted by fear
With sweats of a thin escape
But what is a tiny voice among multitudes of voices
When all mouths talk at once
Deafening ears
Confusing eyes
As legs walk into traps of destruction
Even blessings of God need planning
To fit in
Making a nation strong can’t just be the words of prophecies
Boldness to defend calls for pain of ridicules
Who is ready to start the defense?
Even the anthem lies on the executioner’s table
All together in support of its murder
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) August 15, 2016.
Inspired by Mike Amon Kwafo’s painting;  Upheaval Africa
Painting by Mike Amon Kwafo


I know God is on board the human ship

On this wobbly twerking worldly sea

He is the air that blows so fair

He is the water which quenches all thirsts

He is the myth that saves data of our minds

He is the breath that engines our moves

The question

Why He hides in rides beside

Why He shys from sighs and cries

Leaving it be is what


Ghana is a country blessed. I say this not because it is beautiful, has many mineral and agricultural assets or living conditions are better, but because we have the crown of peace.
Of late, I foresee chaos as many decisions we are making today are like terrorists of our peace in the near future. Why do I say this?
1. Because we now mark everything with different political logos. From regional affiliations to radio stations. There are regions so passionate about some political parties,  so much so, they can kill an opposition member who dares to challenge. Some stations are known to be for some political parties and allow defamation of all in opposition without fear or favour. (Need I need to cite an example, Kpokpogbligbli should do)
2. Some ethnic groups are static in their support where politics is concerned. They see no evil where evil reign and trust blindly forgetting the country is an asset that needs to be kept safe in all spheres. To these people, their blind love for some political party supersedes the country in itself. Sad, so sad.
3. Foot soldiers abound for all major political parties. They will kick anyone and anything for the right prices and promises. This brings fear and so the strongest in foot-soldering win many fearful votes.
4. Many are poor and politicians in Ghana know this, capitalising on the low level of education to buy their votes for as little as 50 cedis. Because they do not know that the right policies can fetch them more than necessary. There are even rumours gifts are forced and receivers of such gifts are forced to swear oaths to potent gods to honour their bit in voting.
5. Politics of insults is undermining the laws that bind and if the law is affected, where lies those the law protects?
6. The elites who know better sell their minds for contracts citing they cannot allow their youngsters to make policies for them. Very funny. That brings us to the next point.
7. Politics knows no qualifications so the efforts one puts in, determines his profits. Why can’t we set standards? Doctors go through years of training in order to be gainfully employed, teachers go through training to teach, why can’t we outline qualifications in political hierarchy for fairness?
8. I believe Ghanaians believe in everything with the right emotions attached, funny thing though is that they easily forget follies no matter how grievous a problem. The problem is that,  those who believe in everything can easily be incited to war and those who easily forget are easily taken for granted.
War is the most painful thing that can happen to any country. We are one people with different opinions. Democracy is there to guide us to select the best, forget the worst, and retain fairness in the reigns to show potential politicians the right paths. Democracy is not there to aid and abet criminality, fan our passions or support blindly. Democracy is the eyes of power, the mind of choice, the mouth of healthy arguments, the legs of right destinations,  all leading to safety and satisfaction. If Ghanaians continue in this fashion,  we will destroy our golden peace as those we protect fly like eagles to seek refuge. Let us ask ourselves; how many family members you can airlift when the need arises? I will end by using the inspiration of our National Anthem to say:
God bless our homeland Ghana
And make our nation great and strong
Bringing sanity where madness has bitten
Pushing indifference into actions
And forcing the resignation of unscrupulous men
To aid us in the protection of the continuous peace we seek.
May it be so.

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2016


The annual 2016 Ghana Association of Teachers of English has been held in Tamale from Sunday, 7th August to Friday; 12th August 2016. The conference held on the theme: The Falling Standards of Teaching English,  The Role of Teachers of English took place at  The Tamale Polytechnic at Education Ridge, Tamale.

On Monday, 8th August 2016, delegates were tutored on Fun Ways of Teaching Poetry, Prose and Drama. The Head of African and General Studies, University for Development Studies (UDS): Dr. Damascus Tuurosung took delegates through the ‘bitter pill’ to Increasing Students’ Interest in Prose.
Many questions were raised including many teachers complaining about the unsuitable prose selection for Core Literature currently,  specifically,  No Sweetness Here by Ama Atta Aidoo. The lecturer in addressing this, blamed Teachers of English,  saying they are consulted in the selection.

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On Tuesday, 9th August 2016, the opening ceremony was held with representative of the regional minister in attendance. The representative of the regional minister promised his support for teachers of English language and promised to work towards scholarships for teachers. Blessed by a cultural group with the disabled, the opening ceremony was a success. Presentations for the first lecture followed through and ended the day early for rest.

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On Wednesday 10th August, 2016, delegates were taken through How to Teach Oral English, Comprehension and Grammar. After that, delegates voted to select their national leaders.
Joseph Kwame Dzasimatu retained the presidency along almost all of his leaders.

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Thursday 11th of August saw delegates through the much anticipated trip to the Mole National Park, the return trip ending with each delegate receiving certification.
Friday morning was departure. All is well that ends well.
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2016


If the winds destroy the umbrella
And the elephant finishes all the grassy trees
And the cock pecks all the worms and crumbs
And the eagle eats the cock
Do remember
Still the naked land stands

The naked land will stand
Like a queen caught by prostitution law
Of an unforgiving god
As stones from rejected lovers
Leave Indelible scars
On her once fresh and fertile frame

The naked land will still stand
Like a waterless well
Which once quenched the thirst
Of all throats
Watching helplessly like a prisoner
As thirst drags its beings
Into holes of hell

The naked land will still stand
Like a farm turned dessert sand
Hating itself for killing its own
When it turns into the hands of the winds
To slap its children
Through noses to lungs

The naked land will still stand
Like a clown
In the middle of a lively town
Wearing the shameless gown
Of naught
Dancing to the ridicules of draftsmen
Whose happy palms get greased
Thanks to their apt predictions
And history ascribtions

The naked land will still stand
Sold cheaply off to some maniacs
To  use as a rubbish damp
With fetuses so famished
Fishing through dirt to see daylight

It behoves the grasses
Of today
To protest in protection
By putting minds in correction
In positive reaction
Uprooting inaction
To soar the land’s production
To let nature do transactions
Of changing generations
Minds open to thinking
Know the land will still stand
Damned and disgraced
Or Great and glorious
Your acts today
Making the choice of tomorrow
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2016


The creator wove his world
Like Kwaku Ananse weaves his web
Giving unto each gifts to fend
I can’t fathom the choas in chimes
If goats were elephants
Can you?

From the hair of the sky
To the toes of the earth
Everything in and without
Would shiver and hover
At the visit of every second
If goats were elephants

With their speed
They could catch all they fancy
With their colour
They could eavesdrop to haunt
With their sizes
They could shake to destruction
Drumming every ear killing piece in sight
With their weight
They could kill all aggrieved
In their game of criminology
If goats were elephants

Who could have eaten but them?
Who could have slept
With their sleep in travel?
Who could’ve breathed
While their trunks still worked?
Who could’ve sat
When they jumped up and down?
Who could’ve worked in peace as they moved?
Need I mention mating their mates could not suffice?
A goat today
Sheep tomorrow
Cow, the next
Lions must follow
Would humans be ruled out?
Ha ha ha ha ha
Surely, none knows what could be
All sounds would’ve been swallowed
If goats were really elephants
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) August 12, 2016.


Over pampered knowledge
Is now climbing the staircase of madness
When it reaches its peak
Many movements will germinate
Like strong weeds
Which fear no cutlasses, hoes
Let alone mowers

If fingers break through
Eyes of the expired
They are sure to call a battle for their eyes
On the grounds of hallucinations
Where sanity is banned since conception
And mobility is non-existent

More of everything
Hides ghosts of disadvantages
Which can turn hounding demons
With crowns justified in certification
By their creators

The future of peaked creations
Is a heavenly hell
Where none can be shelved
Dogs may not go hunting for man
And shed their security posts
Because of rivalry of same minds
Lions may organize and ambush humans
Creating their world of perfection
Aided by their strength
And gifted hormones
All might want to watch out
As pigs might demand beds instead of stys
Even mosquitoes
Might file for their rights to suck blood
With no harm
Just ask yourself the favour bed bugs will possess
Human carnivores will suffer most
Who becomes the chewed?

Days cannot enumerate
Movements of personal rights
By creatures with human touches
Blame none then
If by the human hand
The precious gift of knowledge is lost to the ruled
Because of greed
Whose fault can that be?
Modelling horses
Monkeys with make ups
Stylish fowls
Rabbits in shoes
Goat play boys in women chase
Kingly cows commanding worshippers
Dancing snakes
Star birds
Oh I wish I could leave an eye
On the tallest tree of the future
To record the fun of ridiculed Gods
Chased by the scary feet of their creations
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) August 10, 2016


A decade ago
I was a decade less from three
My leaves as fresh as the morning dew
My stem as strong as the odum tree
My roots as firm as the nim tree
But here I wilt
Into the dungeons of death

My voice was as sharp as the sharpest sword
Cutting down all annoying word beings
Defending my beloved like a knight
Why does frailty lay claim
In the veins which then reigned?
Why am I being pushed
Into the dungeons of death?

Every day fetches from the calabash
Of my strength
Every day cuts a chord from my brights
The world becomes darker and darker
Time pushing me tock after tock
Into the dungeons of death

I now see clearly
What experience
With the aid of blinding brightness
Hid and still hides
From the strong, young and vibrant
The wisdom of a clearer vision
Now the flies of regret buzz
As vultures await my safe arrival
Into the dungeons of death

How I wish I could make them see
Their eventual fee
When they get to my place be
As the ropes of time them pull
Into the dungeons of death
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2016


Koo Kum anticipated and anticipated
Like a villager promised a city tour
His crown being his foolish grin
When he thought of his awesome spin
On top of the heavenly angel
Whose beauty had consumed
All her gargantuan flaws
In his eyes

Mere fantasies made him drool
His perfect words
Manly looks
Controlling initiation
Rewarding sounds
And perfect poundings
Nothing went wrong in the land
Of his make belief
Boosting his confidence

Finally he was joining the table of men
To dine in the pot
Age had cooked into heated cold
Switching to perfection with the mood
Yaa Afranso, his deary dear

Who cared how many hands
Eat from her heavenly pot?
Who cared about her ‘akolomia’ legs?
Who cared about her infested sofas
Arrested by rot from avenging foods
Which had suffered years of butchering
Grinding and swallowing
From the little toffee
God gave her to invest in her growth?
Even she turning an ‘opremire’
To shed her skin in multicolism
Bloated his yam tuber
Buried deep in the land of his apparels
Making it the visible snake in daylight

Then the day which had travelled
Through time’s bridal walk arrived
Hailed by his enthusiasm
Dark room, he thought, was best
As none must see to know
Until after he had conquered his task
All preparations packed their bags
And left with his vigour
But Yaa Afranso won’t let go of his soil
She dug into his land and easily uprooted his tuber
Her foul aromatic meal
Arresting his nose with sharpness
Whipping him to reach for the switch
Flood of light showed all the dancing viruses and germs
Hiding in her smile
His bloated tuber already forcefully stirring her meal
Lost its air in action
Causing him to call on God
The one person he hid from to get this far
But He showed his mercilessness with His quietude
And Koo Kum mentally buried his tuber forever

And so it was
That Koo Kum became the Tuesday weeder
Chased by angry sleepy gods
In his beloved home ground
Attracting giggles from maidens
Who bought the tall tales of Afranso
With their hard earned time
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c)9th August 2016


Fire for fire
Hired by sires
Like rains univited
Kills desires

Every mouth with a sound like a linguist
Yearns to be heard
Every head with a mind like a king
Yearns to be studied
Every heart like a die hard fun supports its products
A look down on one
Pumps out disaster
From the gutters of emotion

Fire needs water
Water needs heat
Blows promote defeat
And seat choas
On productive thrones
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) August 9, 2016

Nana Damoah and Kofi Akpabli to Host Book Readings In and Outside Accra

Last year, two Ghanaian writers Kofi Akpabli and Nana Awere Damoah gave themselves two targets: to do regular (preferably quarterly) public book readings and to extend the reading sessions beyond Accra.


Last year the duo held two readings. But could not go outside Accra.

For 2016, they had the same objectives and so far, they have done three readings: at PaJohn’s (Jan), Sytris Bookshop (Feb) and Vidya Bookstore (June).

For this quarter, Kofi & NAD intend to do two readings and finally achieve the second target: a double-strike; readings in Accra (3 Sept) and Kumasi (24 Sept).

They continue on their mission to make reading hip again. These writers, with 10 books between them including popular titles Tickling the Ghanaian, I Speak of Ghana, Romancing Ghanaland and Sebitically Speaking, believe that reading should be done for pleasure as well and not only for exams.

Come enjoy the sound of the written word.

Do share with another friend! Bring a friend!

Get caught reading.

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Kwabena Amoafo lives in a bottle
A bottle too small even for his hand
A bottle whose scent
throws more punches
To noses than the best boxers alive
But like a diminished grasshopper
He lives in what he blinds
Putting pressure on his people

What at all is in the bottle
That has the power to handcuff
And carve your soul to live within?
What at all is in that bottle
That burns your tongue into addiction?
What  at all is that bottle
That has the power to imprison you so?
Is it living in abstraction?
Living like a distraction?
Or living the fools action?

Why Kwabena?
Why does the bottle control you so?
You are its puppet
Finding bed in filthy liquid
In uncomfortable gutters
At its whip
You are like its stooge
Spewing secrets to eager opposition
With no knowledge
You are like its fool
Dancing off key
Like a tool in the hands of a clumsy mechanic
You are like its slug
Sleeping off your timely strength

I need the whip of your lord
To whip it out of your throne
Serving it is your hell
Not serving it seems to you your hell
It’s a pathetic post you pose
Where are the ninety nine gods
Of your land?
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) August 8, 2016



Pleasure rains are falling
Funny how many drains
Need to reign
Red stockings
Beautiful and wicked heels
With a shameless mask
On a cute angelic face
Hairs stand guard
I am out of control

Out of control
The chariots are heavily decorated
Flowers with pouty mouths
Daring to be plucked
Hearts on fire
Calling only the bravest
To walk through
Eyes blazing
Mouth subtle
Cheeks on fleek
I am out of control

Chickens are roosting
Only nightingales are at post
Thanks to their charming voices
Who can take that chance
To be toasted into boasting
After roasting by my hosting
Oh deary!
I am out of control

Sky beings are hiding
Only the moon stays as hostess
Having been paid in duty
Witches hide in watching
Demons hide in doom
It is a night for a queen
One like the goddess of impossibilities
Who is coming?
I am so out of control

You will beg for a whip
To hell the heavens
Which whirl to coil
You will beg for bites
Whose pinches will hold steadfast the worldly dreams
You will beg for the cross and hanging
Where panting will hold firm your heart
But in the end
All the marks will speak in pleasure tongues
I am so out of control
Come! Ye brave-head
And get your stamp
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) August 7, 2016
Photo Credit: Google pics


I saw a juicy fruit
On a very huge tree
One said to have fruitful seeds
Making “kwaa-brefre” stand at ease

Its smell, so potent
Its colour so attractive
A youthful and ripe look
I stretch but can’t fetch
Its tree holds it so high

Thorns are hired to it protect
Leaves are tasked to it shade
I need this fruit
Only this fruit in whole
To make me whole

My seeds I need
To feed from it
My grounds and I need it
To stand so firm
So other trees and plants
Will recognize our stance
Fall like my manna
Ye goody fruit!
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 6th August, 2016


A fish with parched throat
Afloat the vast ocean waves
Gets no mercy cries
From a flying bird right up
Drought in flood is deceptive

A bird in flying
Can never show breathlessness
Let alone be saved
By a sheep walking the land
Can minds be blamed for thinking?

A sheep in sweating
Gets no handkerchief offers
What none sees, none cares
What none cares, surely none shares
There are thorns in every cloth
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) August 6, 2016


Flapping wings
In anger slings
Break down
Even in centre town
Let’s forget it all
With beers and cheers

The naughty spider
Hides as a hurtful rider
Must we chase and chase and chase?
Let’s forget it all
With beers and cheers

Dogs fancy their backing
Licking their lovings
Scaring their foes
Let’s leave them to work
And forget it all
With beers and cheers

There are hearts accepting hearts
Hearts trampling on hearts
Hearts indifferencing hearts
Hearts killing hearts
Whatever must be
Surely will live through its woes
Let’s forget it all
With beers and cheers
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) August 6, 2016


When the shores of sleep
Wash dreamed souls
Into immobile bodies
At the first crow of the king of cocks
Let not the waves of stench
Give away the carcasses
Slaughtered by fantasy horses
Who fled and led their opponents
To their chambers
To take what souls they deemed needed

When tears from priced eyes
Of the sky
Roll ruling dust into mud
Relieving eyes of prisoned blindness
Let no tear give away the hurts
Of stirred loss
Let no sound
Give away the melancholy of slayed dreams
Let no heart
Heat like boiling water only to cool
For even the slightest time
Owns eagle wings

It can be no fault of none
But hardwork
It can be no cause of none
But indifference
It can be at the cost of no blood of royals
But pride and egos
When the die is cast
And pain blasts
Let no thoughts walk miles in blame
A mirror is all one needs
To see the evil within
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) August 5, 2016


All in slumber
By the crow of cocks
Wake and line by your street
Especially those with itchy ears
Busy mouths
And gossip eyes
Abena Gyantra
I will be seen passing

After working my pants into tatters
Messing my hair into dreads
And working my waist into a cripple
That should add to your fun
Why is that a sin?
If all eyes see
Ears hear
Mouths blabber
Are my busy thighs
And lovely waist at work
I should hail and regard my strength
And explore my horizons
‘Gyantra’ you say?

Like an insomniac
I wake at night
Working like a bat
Seen like an owl
By eyes in close watch
And when day opens its curtains
I am like the dog of life
Roaming the bushes
For what little I can find
For my mouthy masters
Who in pleasant mood
Throw me some bones
No wrinkles are noted
No pain is seen
All that show are the little glitters
Caught by the eyes of the sun
And reflected to you
But what?
I am in ‘gyantra’ business?
How cool can that be?

If the vagina of my mind
Mates the penises of thinking
After engaging in romantic ideas
Tasting deep penetrations of failure
And howling in tears
As eyes of walls close to my tears
And conceive some successes
While you snore
After doing your literals at night
And studying my results and hypothesis
How should that be my sin?

Let your imaginations run
Like rabid dogs in chase
Creating for me customers of the night
I will gladly accept your minds’ gifts
As you derive pleasure
In my make-believe pornography
My only plea
Is you upgrade their class
And make sure I raise many a glass
And much wealth amass
Of course, for all my crimes
I will need a pass

I will take the ‘gyantra’ tag
At least it makes me a rag
Carried in fancied bags
I will take the ‘gyantra’ tag
And give it my understanding tag
‘Jumping across the fire’
Burnt or alive
I know some polishings will go on
With them, some smiles
A win win
You and your wild thoughts
I and my cool results
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) August 5, 2016


His ladle is busy
Stirring them together
Seeking harmony where hardness reigns
Don’t they hurt?
His arms?

I am a watermelon
I see some mango
And oh! There is an orange
And ah there lies some banana
All shedding their juices
Hoping for a common ground
Look at how that apple struggles to blend

I am like a goody bliss
But I can never blend
God willed me in aloneness
Giving all goodness in monotony
I can never blend
None can make me
Lest I poison
Even cool cats bite
At the smell of danger

So blend me not
In your fruit salad
You can have as many as you want
Add a little bit of me
Even for a while
And at best look like a hairless crow
I sure will love the sight
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) August 4, 2016


Heed peace’s call
And stand tall
Or fall
Look what just fell in your court
The option ball
So don’t be dull
Gather all
In the thinking hall
And strengthen peace’s wall

From the days the cock crowed
On the Ghana throne
To these times of the umbrella
We have kept it strong
No matter how long
The elephants battle the umbrellas
No matter how strong
The coconuts taunt the doves
No matter how severe
The cocks assault the eagles
Hands mould our peace
To wall us into protection

What do we have but peace?
Pull its plug
And fall into death’s dug
Like a smelly bug
Slapped from a priced jug
None will in there hug
Crave for peace
Save for peace
Vote for peace
And let peace, like the greatest warrior
Fend for us
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) August 4, 2016


When you taste the sweet
Savour the taste
And dance to its beat
Like a queen who has conquered in war

When you taste the sweet
With bitter pinches
Hold your reins
Like a great warrior at war
And follow the trot-rhythms
Of your cherished horse

When you taste the bitter
With sour swords
Which cut into the roots
Of your teeth’s canal
Like a strong Atongo
On his farming ground
Hold your pride
And send back the tears
With visions of sweetness
In the future of sourness
Even when sores plague your ground
For you are a conqueror
A great great warrior
Who holds her head
Even in defeat

You are just like fresh meat
I know
But have conquered many heat-like foes
Even those who leave scars
Have been battled and battered
You are not on an ordinary
But on the great Jemremedua
Hold high your head
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2nd July,  2016


What is good about me?
I am a pen
Who shines bright in sadness
Selling my pain
As traders sell their goods
With and without shame

What is so good about me?
I am a pen envied in happiness
Selling success as the sky gives rain
Standing far and untouchable
Receiving bullets of curses
From heard and unheard sources

What is good about me?
No matter what I am
I show my all
If I am a flower
I show my thorns like a priced soldier
My thorns show all blood sucked
Maring my beauty with cruelty
No matter the soap of clearance

What is good about me?
A chirpy hand in all stances
Gratifying the gracious
Satisfying the melancholic
A vulture around funerals
Carving beauties from pain
Always wearing the clothes of all
To feel the pinches and pleasures
Marking references where none sit
I am a bleeding rose
One whose colour is seen by the colours of seasons
What is good about me?
What is good about me?
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c)1st August, 2016