​ROMANTIC GIGGLES

Screaming pores are appalled

By the disco light-like mounds

Which tickle in pinch mode

Dancing to the whispers of air

See the feet of seduction touch the skin of need

The sky, today, is not fair


II

Peacocks hide themselves in their wings

Shedding fowl tears of yearning

Afraid to be caught by nightingales

Eagles have descended from their high stools

Into caves where lionesses beg for the touch of lions

Praying hyenas drive further away

On their amorous flirty trains

Tender bodies stooge for the whips of painful canes

Well, isn’t this queer?


III
I have seen this day

Where the earth mates big trees

Until their firm and big rears unplug from its sockets

Who thought this day would come?

See owls grovelling in daylight 

In search of pairs to heat their needs?

I see a dog working bedmatically with a goat

Strange airs in muffled pairs


IV

Never knew rains could fill the mouths of drains

Driving them insane into spitting to slap the innocent

Never thought beds could complain

See them break through creeks into loud speakers

Pleading for calm from their turning loads 

Mischief giggles and tickles with furs


V

I now know the reason Adam’s Eve was built

I now see the season which gave reason

For living pairs

Many spirits hover in wait of womb openings

They are sure to get rooms today

Although many would be ejected as soon as they land

Lucky ones would see the light in nine moons

Still, strange is the test of the sky

Which serenades with thunder and lightning-fireworks

To lure innocent bodies into thoughtless passions

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) July 25, 2017

​SOUNDS OF CHILDREN

Little children go to school
To learn to use the pen as tool

Guns and knives are not so cool

In the careless hands of fools


II

When they count from one to ten

They get the happy sound of a pen

Which leads them from fools’ den

Into the high wise stools of men

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) July 25, 2017

​THIS BATTLING SEA

Many voices
Roar in this fiery sea

Voices of rivers 

Whose feet have tasted different sands

Voices of rains 

Whose bodies have tasted higher heavens

Bodies of fluids

Whose noses have smelt rotten foods

Vomited by covered human gutters

Bodies of sweats 

Which have explored varied pores

Each lamenting like lost pilgrims

In the end a blend in chorus

Disturbing or angelic, they live as one

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © 24/07/2017

​MURDEROUS DRUMS

Fetch the myth that struck the bamboo
And woke the sounds of chaos

At a time when sleep is most sweetest

In the royal palace

“Ama Mpapahene ne fontonfrom retwe kora

Wɔ nananom nsamanfo ahenkrom!”
II

Arrest the mice whose blood lured the teeth of vampires

To our Bragoro festival

And dug out rich “amoasene”

Rained on by brand new wombs

To the horror of fleeing warriors

“Kon-kon-kon ne kan-kan-kan de abɔ ani

Wɔ nananom nsamanfo dabrɛ oo”
III

Get the hands who married hay to a lighted match

And made the hot sun their witness

Housing them close to the country of barns

After a tiresome harvest

“Wɔn de asemkese adane abaa

Rebɔ animguase dondo wɔ amanaman agua so”
IV

Now silent but defeaning sounds

Gobble the sounds of royalty

Unplugging the veins of ears from all perfect beings

Turning wise men into unsuccessful mouth readers

In a kingdom of sages

“Animguase a asheshɛ Ghanafo ntaade

Ɛresa ‘afrɛfrɛ’ asa wɔ amansan awukugua so

Ah agya Anansesɛm abrɛ agu!”
V

The mouth whose words

Led the lost little soul in the dark 

Into the den of evil spirits

When rain mated clay

Shall surely get the  dreaded visit

Too bad, its neighbours would welcome the feared feet

As salt diggers welcome heavy rains on a sunny day

“Nkwasiasɛm a ɛso Asantifo nkutokwee”
VI

For now, beehives have been invaded

The thief soiling each home with the stolen honey

What can one do but attempt a cleaning?

Let breasts wake to make their milk sumptuous

And hard chests stand to teach threaded paths

To prevent toddlers from bee hunting

Who can piece together spilled milk?

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia ©July 22, 2017

Photo Credit: Google pics

​A NEW OPENING


As hands of dawn open the rest cage

Do consider this queer adage

That hands won’t feed if there be no work

And like the wisest version of Ananse

Build us into a harvesting web


II

We are hens

In worldly dens

We are cocks

Between some rocks

We are comfortable tourists

Who are blessed with blindfolds

So do build us into a comfort web


III

As a mother feeds her young

Let every rock

Bring us stock

Let every gravel

Help us more unravel

Let every deed of a dove

Bring us more love

As we roam like fowls

Into the coop of another darkness

Amoafowaa Sega Cecilia (c) July 21, 2017

Photo Credit: Google pics

Barcamp 2017, Tamale

Barcamp Tamale 2017 is a free networking forum bringing people together for a day of learning, sharing, networking and dialogue on Tamale, Ghana and beyond. It will take place on July 29, 2017 at the  Tamale Sports Stadium. The theme for this year is “Empowering the Youth through Innovation and Professionalism”. About the theme, the lead coordinator for Barcamp Tamale, Nashiru Muntasir, said “This year’s theme seeks to foster innovation and professionalism among the youth.”.

The GhanaThink Foundation has successfully organized 72 Barcamps in Ghana as part of its Barcamp Ghana program since 2008. BarCamp Tamale 2017 will be a showcase of leaders, entrepreneurs and innovators in the Northern Region. Discussions will center on empowering the youth for better development across all sectors. It will be an event for many people who live and are interested in Tamale to learn, share and network. Ato Ulzen-Appiah, the director of GhanaThink Foundation, said “So many young people here have been empowered through Barcamp Tamale, and this is the 7th edition. We’re excited about its continued impact”.
The Barcamp will feature multiple user-generated breakout sessions about business, social entrepreneurship, technology and development, alongside topics relevant to the Northern Region and beyond. There will be a speed mentoring session where mentors will give insights and answers to questions from attendees. Confirmed resource personnel include Alima Bawa of CowTribe, Sachibu Mohammed of Green Eaf and many more experienced mentors. 
Register/RSVP at the BarCamp Tamale eventbrite website (barcamptamale17.eventbrite.com) or text “Barcamp Tamale [name] [email address] to 1945 through any mobile network. Contact the team at barcamp at ghanathink.org about any partnership opportunities or enquiries. Barcamp Tamale 2017 is supported by Tigo Ghana and  Coca Cola Ghana Ltd. Our media partner is StarX TV and Zaa Radio in Tamale. Join us to move the Northern Region and Ghana forward.
Stay tuned via our #bctamale hashtag.

Stay tuned via our social media. Twitter | Facebook | Google+

​STRENGTH FOR THRONES

Let the ancestors listen!
Listen from their working places

Let them listen!

Listen in their working gears

Is this the vision for which they drained their precious body rivers?

Is this the picture they offered their bodies

To the human abattoirs like cheap goods for?

Is it?

Is it!
II

Ants are now known as crawling insects

Their needed minds being grinded by wrestling feet 

Of elephants and cows

Hyenas and baboons

Tigers and lions

Porcupines and pythons

And oh, existing ant holes are being blocked by lost and fleeing sands

Is this the future you envisaged?
III

Did you visualize your “mmeri ntamah” turn ovened suits calling for carcass freezers?

Freezers which drain the daylight out of night?

Did you envisage your ahenema turn talking walkers?

Your tongues cut and replaced by that of some contaminated dead?

Did you per chance wish for a tired table for your enemies

As your children wait for the crumbs of their sweat?
IV

You must speak from beyond Nananom!

Did you pray for prayers?

Prayers which would turn thunders and lightening into our stooges?

Stooges which would travel miles to provide all that we call?

Did you?

Did you?
V

What at all did your blood preach?

A battle for thrones like dogs who have run amok

Where the winner takes all?

Can’t you see your Frankenstein Monsters go beserk?

Can’t you see?

Do you really not see?
V

Bow your shamed heads from beyond

For like losers on the lose, you live unseen

Your crowns of nobility have long fallen

Your regal rings are now handcuffs

And your fiery spirits live as haunting ghosts

Need I say more?

No, not befitting of your respect customs

So I lock the gates housing this tongue

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) July 19, 2017

​IRONY OF ODDS

A dove has been bathed into a vulture
A sheep transformed into a goat

A wall gecko now lives like a cobra

Which waters clean the clean into dirt?
II

A lion is now a cat

A tiger living as the dog of a crab

That eagle is now a “borla” bird

Which airs travel in exhaling

To change destinies like diapers of a running infant?
III

Odomankoma’s eyes must be floating  on seas with pinching salt

Boiling by the fury of rage

As spirits with divergent hearts fight

On the battlefield for souls on soles

As he watches his flawless creations

Turn monsters in mythical mirrors

Yet stay like untainted dolls in his daylight vision
IV

Amazing how innocent baby teeth

Turned carnivorous, love the taste of flesh

Flesh which houses their very selves

Hadn’t heard demonic laughter harvesting standing ovations

Until the veil of innocence tasted claws of enlightened machetes

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) July 19, 2017

​5 REASONS WHY YOU SHOULDN’T WATCH KOBINA ANSAH’S TRIBELESS!


From the days of his seasonal stage play, This Family Is Not For Sale, playwright and producer, Kobina Ansah, has flaunted his brilliance when it comes to having good, quality fun on stage. His unique style of writing has carved a niche for him in the theatre industry. No two ways about that. 

However, his new brainchild, Tribeless, showing this September at the Efua Sutherland Drama Studio on University of Ghana campus may not be one stage play you may really want to see. You may have been wowed by his I Want To Sue God! but trust me, this may not be one of his usual side-splitting pieces.

Call me a hater but I would not mince words especially when I would have to call a spade what it is. You really want to know why you shouldn’t watch Tribeless? This is it!

FIREWORKS!

One word to describe Tribeless? Fireworks! This electrifying stage play is going to hold theatre lovers spellbound for two good (2) hours. If you’ve seen a Kobina Ansah play before, being held at the edge of your seat for that long is no news but Tribeless is just something else! The streetism-themed musical will use contemporary forms of rap, dance, music and drama to tell the story of four (4) street friends with a dream.   

INFECTIOUSLY HUMOROUS

Good humor is one thing to expect at every play written and directed by Kobina Ansah. The My Wife In Law writer has a cunning way of brewing humor with his characters and this play is no different. Want to have good fun? Tribeless is highly recommended!

HIGHLY MOTIVATIONAL

If you’ve followed the writer for a while, one thing that comes easily to him is motivation and inspiration. Tribeless is a motivational play that will inspire one to hold on to their dreams despite what happens. 

VERY CREATIVE!

Kobina Ansah plays on some contemporary songs in his banger, Tribeless. He remixes Davido’s “If”, Runtown’s “Mad Over You” and even Rihanna’s “Diamonds”. Yes! The wow moment is when he laces these with rap to convey his message. This is what every youth can indeed relate with!  

MOVING!

There are going to be twists and turns the audience is going to love; from the romance to the heartbreaks and even the victories. This energetic four-cast musical is not a comedy but you can’t stop laughing. It’s not a romantic story but you can’t stop loving. It’s Tribeless!

You know why you shouldn’t watch it? It’s contagious! You may never want to stop watching! Well, I have booked my seat in advance this September 23rd and 24th, 2017 at the Drama Studio. Let’s have a date there. First show is 5pm. Second show is 8pm.

Source: Scribe News 

​WHEN LOVE’S WHIRLWIND SWEEPS

When love’s whirlwind sweeps
It moves fearlessly like a monster looking for keeps

Pressing hearts into one until it, one sound, beeps

II

When love’s whirlwind arrests

Every sour taste blends into milk like a newborns’ from breasts

Making unfathomable ills honoured crests
III

When love’s whirlwind stamps

Its desired sounds beat no ear-blasting amp’s

Even stinky hovels become exploring camps
IV

But when it slaps

Even Satan’s right hand claps

Applauding the athletes caught in their hearts’ traps

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) July 18, 2017

​SWORD OF THE MOUTH

Long ago

In a happy hollow cave

Peace reigned

Except for the claps of teeth

And the darkness in residence

No toe of chaos ever touched its dust

Until a soft meat-like towel became resident


II

Its presence provided inmates

With a turning toy

Introduced them to fragile bodies and blood

And brought angelic sounds where stone clapping existed

But it introduced another scare


III

Meaning

Meaning in calls

Made it a stall for ears

Some sounds brought laughter

Others brought tears

Some sounds brought chaos

As inmates wondered where in the boneless skin

Hid it’s powerful blade

And wondered how it made them accomplices


IV

Though blameless, they endured

Until it got entangled in other attractions

Like magnetic poles in assemblage

Repelling those without its factor

Beings rose against beings

Houses against houses

Villages against villages

Cities against cities

Nations against nations

And continents against continents


V

Inmates were like electric poles 

Struck by lightning

Their wondering turned into shock

Their shock turned into mock submission

Their mock submission turning into chaos

Chaos within and without


VI

None saw how it came about

None knew how to eject it

None was sure how to live without it

But all got to know in record time

That it sure is the harmless harmful

Which hid the murderous sword of all time

Protected by arranged stones 

In the hollow cave called mouth

Only protection mechanism:

Handcuffing it between locked lips

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2017

​WHERE ONLY MOUTHS WORK

There is a reason hands hung

Legs stand

Eyes see

Ears hear

And mouths talk

But in my home 

Mouths walk in talk

And swing in fling

Closing ears like clashing bombs

Forcing eyes to shut in disgust


II

Little things turn typhoons

Then tsunamis

Covering bigger fishes to sail beneath national seas

As small ones turn dishes on influential wishes

Multiplying the earthquake of development

Still hands hung

Eyes watch or close

Legs are rooted like static robots

As mouths stand in boxing rings

In competitions of no winners


III

As baby teeth dream of the future fights

And matured teeth drum their mouths

Into greying heads

What is change to do but sigh?

As generations of mouths

Graduate from talks with no walks

Where lies the future of a debating history?

Where lies the pots of progress

When hands remain clean as mouths knead fantasizing moulds?

I am but a little mouth 

Flowing from my fingers’ ink

An ink flying spittle may erase

In this mouth cage

Still, what is this realm to do?

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2017

​A ROPE IN A HOLE FALL

Once a vibrant bird fell
Its pain and sadness was like hell

Its chirps could pierce a tortoise’s shell

But none threw even a healing gel
II

Its broken wings begun to swell

And watching birds begun to sell

Its sad state was the definite sell

As many mimicked its sad sad yell
III

Rumours of a hungry eagle spread

Like wild fire in a cotton bed

Eyes kept watch in a bushy shed

Beaks kept pens in the noise’s dead
IV

Until darkness rose from its day’s dead

And the poor bird on death’s prayer fed

But before darkness’s myth was heard

A rope’s hand, a saving, led
V

The poor bed did pray its last

At least let my death be so fast

So my pain will fail to last

In this poor script where I’ve been cast
VI

“Open your eyes drama king of kings

Not all beaks are chirpy swings

And as everyday holds its night’s wings

So will help find troubled dings”
VII

And so it was that a darling came

Through an elder to wipe its shame

And helped to fix its living name

Oh its thanks to the rope which suddenly came

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) July 7, 2017.

​LOVING YOU (STYLED SONNET)

Do not grovel even in a hovel
For each of our remains will taste the dig of a shovel

Idolize your mirror reflections

Even when you face constant rejections

For you are a soul in a body

And a spirit not at all shoddy

You are like a myth in passing

But a warrior on a battlefield facing an axing

Your crown can be knocked onto the ground

Held by a hound

But your swiftness can let you win

Even after being shoved in a bin

None can be a perfect fan for you

Than you

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) July 6, 2017.

​THE SMOKE WORSHIP

I thought only noses of the earth

Drugged deep by rats and mice

Caused hunters to rear smoke 

To sneeze out deli-meats

Little did I know some heads are rat holes

Hoarding abominants 

So owners light their mouths

To sneeze their fall
II

How heads have turned “muchia” 

To cook brains into highness

Bleach mouths into coal

And eyes into blood-balls

By the abled fan of holes for edibles

Is above my share of Twereduampong’s knowledge  
III

Manifestations of some “lighted heads” 

Clearly show works for Pantang 

As crowns mark kings,  only this time, in non-reverence

Yet many fuel its gas of need

Becoming seeds for guttered minds

Soiling the future’s up-beings meant for driving nations

Definitely their stations
IV

They say words on books rush into heads without efforts

Their legs moving like comfortable sneakers 

When the head is high

They say the waist get wings to grow huge trees for pounding hidden sweetners

When the head is high

They say the mouth opens in braveness

As commanders leading their troops 

When the head is high

So they preach on

To soil the blood and waters

And light heads for a great boosting
V

A rotten tooth digs under neighbouring teeth

He who knows no death should watch sleeping faces

We cook or roast to eat or use not to seat to cheat

Let those with holed-ears hear

That the smoke and coke can choke brilliance

And brand our shaking labour hands lepers 

With no visible fingers to proceed in succession 

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) June 26, 2017

INNOCENT PRISONER (CRAZY STANZAS)


Our elders ask 

Only one saw so who is the witness? 

I am a victim of circumstance

One caught like an innocent antelope

In an unknown hunter’s trap

One set in a cage meant for an unknown

One substituted by chance with a lucky being

Protected well by a worldly antagonist whose apparel fits me now

In eyes of all including the law

I am a victim made culprit 


II

They say God is all seeing

Why then can’t he be all saying?

Cutting thorns of deceit to free an innocent’s defeat? 

They say God is all merciful

Does his mercy favour brutes and dishonour the virtuous?

They say He is all fair

May I doubt that without a blasphemous whip 

Mythically chasing my soul? 


III

These are the hardest times

Times when my body rots in a cage

As my dreams sit in rage

Times when I turn Jesus with a cross too heavy

Yet without Pharisees to nail my body into it for eternal sleep

What is worse?

Living like a ghost to see your kind live their dreams

And dying for others in just days to become a celebrity forever? 

Oh that no one will mention me

Even in places where my placenta dwells

When I fall into the unreturnable hole in this sadness

Kills my trust in a super being


IV

They said a life of another I took

When even that of a cock I am yet to book

They said the house of a prominent I shook

When I am yet to air that of my unknown enemies 

They claim a presence at a time

When Samaritarianism called was my crime

Even my own got caught in support

As charges climbed ladders and stood like carpenters

Nailing me to this gaol

“Baako akohunu,  dansefo ne hwan? “


IV

I live here

I am wrinkling here

Days battling in height with night

Making me the silly audience

Oh how I wish time had wings

To fly me from this nightmare

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) June 27, 2017.

​NKONTOMIRE VRS SARDINE


The clock of change ticks

Transforming in shockaholics 

Yet many feed after thorny pricks

In places whose geography elude mapachronics

Living healthily by the green waters of kontomire

As others blinkardly gobble dead fishes in oily rivers


II

Gone are the days when elderly buttocks

Filled seats before their young

Gone are the days when older mouths talked

Into younger ears without boxing words 

Wearing fiercer gloves to houses into boxing ring of words

Gone are the days when skins lived in nature 

And returned to their maker without peels

Gone are those days when monies had no hands

In the preparation of peace meals

Gone are those days when chiefs were politics

And politricks hid in darkest places without celebrations

Gone are many things including nightfall

As night light battles that of day


III

Now one living in “Werewerekodi” struggles 

Without knowing the knots tied on his head

On an international market

One at “Frefrekobo” feels the heat of need

Without knowing his debts incurred for him

By names he will never be able to transcribe in life

Many unfortunate things have bodies

Parading like the ishes 

And becoming many’s wishes


IV

If time could turn back to reverse some things

Setting rules before eye openings

Making hugs physical and not imoginal 

Squaring lives instead of half elevations

Life would have been better

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) June 28, 2017

​CHURCH PALAVA

They say he who fetches water

Breaks the pot

So he who goes to sit under Odomankomah’s umbrella

Enjoys the shade under torrential rains

And is able to dodge the scorching sun

But did I fall into an army of hungry ants

Bathed with sugar?

I went to the temple

To listen to the gospel

And saw some Adam’s apples

Dancing on God’s perfected tree

 Winking flirtatiously in whispers with the blowing air

To wake the demons asleep in my throat

Agya ei!

If Adam who had direct contact with Nyankopon Twereduampong 

Couldn’t resist just one apple in temptation

How could I resist the many

Whose succulence filled the lenses of my eyes

Wherever I turned?

This na church palava!


II

Our elders know best

That is why they asked that sleeping dogs be allowed to lie

Even when new wounds are formed

So who asked them to wake mine

When I had multiple gun shot and arrow wounds?

There were the needy prayers

Whose voices could wake the rotten dead

The lusty preacher

Whose eyes could pierce through a heart millions of miles away

Combing through in selection

And oh

I saw the mutual winks with some apples

And I felt the fallen and ones being hunted to be plucked

What was I to do?

Rome’s rules are meant to be followed

There were the long hands

Waiting for the coffers to taste the dew of darkness

There were the ladder climbers

Combing through hidden CV’s to find their bearing frames

And two leggeds calling with body light

For a pair to pair

So why couldn’t I take a bite of an apple

From a tree which saw to my birth

When doctors say their needles are kept away

When an apple a day is taken?

This na church palava!


III

With these walking noisily in my mind

Why did the preacher pick his words from the scented flowers

Of songs of Solomon?

Where the allure of seduction walked like a beautiful mermaid

Sent by the goddess of twisted love

To harvest ripe and growing tree muds

Whose power bombs are locked away in cages?

Why did they have to open these safes with fire?

Ei!

This na church palava!


IV

Every crown must have thorns

Every clothes must have biting ants

Every pillow must have haunting dreams

Every bed must have piercing thorns

As every right goat and its stinking pate

Chai!

Akuoko!

Here I stand amidst three apples

Now knowing they were harmless fruits

Whose hurt could turn them blood suckers

Which part of my body will first taste a vampire teeth?

Oh! And just after church service!

This na proper church palava!

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (a) July 2, 2017

​WHEN A YARD IS GIVEN

When a yard is given

Extending to a mile is a given

Then some come in needful farm

Regardless of the harm
II

When a gate widely opens

Even mosquitoes can turn royals

Dictating to owners when to sleep and what to keep

Of course the malaria virus becomes a necessary tag 
III

Draw a needle for your poor pest

And it will turn into an axe

Give a knife to your foe

And it will metamorphose into a machete

Make tears quench the thirst of a dying in drought

And he will be sure to drive on your pain 

For your eyes to always rain
IV

We have given more than necessary 

Now we forget the owners we are

In our love to serve

In the end

We are dancing clowns

On a stage set by blood so precious 

Blood of our ancestors 

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) June 24, 2017

Launch and Live Streaming of FaceOff With the International MP by Rodney Nkrumah-Boateng

This link is for the live streaming of today’s launch.

Foreword to FaceOff With the International ‘MP’

“It is often said that we take ourselves too seriously, and do not laugh enough. If this description fits or suits you, then please stay as far away as possible from Rodney and his writings [scratch that!]: read the book in hiding. I introduce to you a reverently irreverent writer who pulls no punches, wears no kids’ gloves, bars no holds and suffers no fools gladly. There is not a topic that Rodney is shy to address, and frontally and bluntly too. Rodney treats, [scratch that!] specialises in the topics that one might want to avoid; but by the time he is done, you absolutely relate to both the matter and his treatment of it. Or you hate him for it. His presentation is rich in language, imagery and humour. He is not shy to take digs at himself and so when he does that to others and the issues that he handles, it is just Rodney being Rodney.
I first ‘met’ this self-described “Honourable MP for Facebook” on (you guessed right) Facebook. Nobody elected him. He does not stand for re-election. He is self-anointed, self-appointed and self-titled. And to top it all off, he has chosen his own “Stool Wives” (three of them!), explaining that the position of an ‘African’ MP on Facebook must come with certain ‘fringe benefits.’ He has carried this make-believe ‘marriages’ so far that once when he had a public ‘tiff’ with one of the ‘Wives’, he received a genuine inbox message from a reader, reprimanding and excoriating him for quarrelling with his spouse in public!
We were students in the University of Ghana at the same time; or so he claims – I have absolutely no memory or recollection of him from those times. And I don’t remember whether he requested my ‘friendship’ on Facebook or I did his. I think that was the time he was about to relocate to Ghana from the UK. But somehow we got connected and hit it off like a house of fire. Once he settled in Ghana, he turned his fire and ire on the things that keep us back from moving forward as a people; and with his finely-honed wit, unrestrained humour and biting sarcasm, he has sought not to throw the fabric of who we are away, but to change some of the weak strands of the fabric, one frustrating strand at a time.
Rodney does not hide his obvious political bias, and freely admits that his political views are deeply influenced and coloured by that bias. Yet when you read him teasing, and ripping and tearing into his own side of the political divide, you are left wondering where that bias is…, until he returns to teasing and ripping and tearing into the opposite side of the divide. When he does that, he invites leading proponent-opponents to read his writing and answer back. He relishes in the exchanges and is full of witty comebacks. He wears his opponents out with sheer energy and vim.
Occasionally, he takes one on the chin. But I have seen him ride the punch and come back even stronger. He is your YING-YANG, at once your light and darkness, softness and hardness (Rodney, no naughty puns intended), in and out (Rodney, be careful!) and giver and receiver (Rodney!!!) This book marks his transition from the soft copies of electronic media to the hard copies of traditional paper books. But it doesn’t change who he is and what he does: an enigma and a riddle, confused and confusing at the same time.
You will find in Rodney, your well-hidden antithesis that is probably your real self, the self whose existence you deny to everyone and even convinced yourself does not exist. Thus in welcoming you to this book, I just welcome you to yourself. ”
— Ace Kojo Anan Ankomah. The 290-page book by Rodney Nkrumah-Boateng, his third book, is published by DAkpabli & Associates, Ghana, and will be launched on 23 June 2017 at the Christ the King Parish Hall, Accra. All are invited.

Kindly like and follow facebook.com/vividstreamlive when we are live, you will get notifcations.

(Courtesy: Nana Awere Damoah) 

IF YOU MARRY ME

If you marry me

You will be my sea

And I your fish

Preparing for you many a sumptuous dish

Giving life to many of your wishes


II

If you marry me

Your happiness, my wish will be

I will be your warmth in the cold

And your cooler in heat’s fold

Blanketing you from troubles which weather the skies of love


III

If you marry me 

My love will be your fee

You as the only he in all my she

In all I own, you’ll own the key


IV

If you marry me

Your returnings will be your fantasy 

As all that is royalty you will see

Chaos and pain will be our enemies’ fallacy

And our bed’s chronicles will rival the Songs of Solomon


IV

If you marry me

You’ll be my friend

And my healthy loving fiend

Wearing your love like a uniform for all to see

Even in a university of marriage institution 

Where diverse clothing are in store


V

If you marry me

I will complement you

Looking up to you even when  I stand taller

For you will be me and I you

As the buttocks of a legless man lick its very grounds


VI

No night will enjoy our separation in full

Our souls will be like Siamese twins

Stuck together by God’s perfected glue

No eye of a day will witness our fallouts

No ear of man will hear our differences 

No eye will see our cracks

For God will be our adjudicator

If you marry me


VI

I won’t need you but want you

I won’t hurt you but protect you

I won’t embarrass you

As that will dress me in a veil of shame

I know you will love me

And I you will reciprocate with more

I will be your cocoon

When you need a shed

And your stage when you need a page


VII

If you marry me

If only you marry me

I will make you see

That world where two should be

Being your fan even when all hate hail

As we on the stormy seas of this life sail

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) June 2017

​AS MY YEARS TRAVEL

(In celebration and reflection on my birthday) 

As my years travel the world

Questions act like soldier ants

Who have chanced upon a loot

In a land of famine


II

The biggest captain being achievements

Co-captained by failures

All curious as to the shrouded steps left

To the hungry hole of endings

III

The frightful words of holy books

Stand with their fiery canes ready as hell’s cooks

Who can beat the holiest trait which act rag before the ultimate judge? 

Definitely not a lightweight like me without gloves 

In Satan’s boxing ring

IV

Many experiences still hide deep 

As untapped minerals hidden in unexplored realms

Many delicacies hang on trees of cook books

Taunting this tongue whose hands are still short

Enough to reach 

Will it ever reach its mark

Before the body mates ice

At the cue of the mysterious one

Who shares the “odomankoma” title with God himself? 

V

What about toes which have scars 

Traced to my high heels? 

Those the sun of my day helped me visualize

And those fearfully hidden by my cruel shadows? 

How many surprises will jump to my slap

When I stand in the judgement box of oblivion?

VI

The celebration is icing on a rotting cake

Every day punching muscles into weakness 

Every month deepening circles around failing sights

Every year sipping colour from battling hairs

Will dancing fill the blanks of this truths? 

VII

As my years travel

Humility mask gratefulness

Which in turn mask sadness

In a heart which thinks realities

In a typhoon where fruits dance together with hidden stones

On mysterious trees 

Which unfairly set the run of blindfold

In their enjoyment of soul hunting

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 21st June,  2017.

​HELPERS LIKE EVE

Those days
When light only came from the sun rays

As fruits fed from their ripe stations

Have no living nations

II

Those days

When charms and pushing gays

With domestic care so rare

Were all a woman needed to be fair

Have gone under

As today, more need surrender


III

Eve was a blessing

Who hated her no dressing

We are interesting 

Even in our no resting

Our morn calls for care duties

Then the hunt to help

Noon calls for roaming 

Then the pain of thoughts

Evening calls for supper 

And preparations for a near future

Of course night has its unseen duties

Of marathons of turnings and pantings


IV

We are now like Frankenstein 

We have created a monster of freedom

Which has taken over our little rest

Making us workaholics with no visible acknowledgement

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c)  June 19, 2017.

AGYANOM

Happy Father’s Day to all fathers. Enjoy this piece:

Whoever said chicks follow hens

Wash your faces with treated water

And watch

It is that day

That day when some cocks act hens

As some hens model in cockdom 

This world!
II

It is this day

This day when the pains of motherhood

Root firmly in the sheltered sacks of fatherhood

This world
III

Not many hit to run

Not many seek the fun

Not many impose a ban

But many do as they can

Fathers
IV

So bring those flowers 

And shelve the towels

Build those houses 

And leave those sandals

Discard all bitterness 

And hail this plantation which blooms

Into a garden of fathering care

Exuding fragrance of love

In its rightful place 

Formerly loaded on tired femi-heads

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) June 18, 2017.

NIGERIA TRAVELOGUES

I was glad when two gentlemen I knew from the Ghana Association of Writers contacted me and asked me to apply for the Ebedi International Writers Residency. The thought of a cozy place to complete works I deemed difficult,  was very welcome. Then I thought of going through Togo through to Benin to Nigeria. Seeing parts of three countries (no matter how small) and I felt happy. So I shelved all ideas of going by air. In any case,  travelling by road was less expensive.  So after going through with the Autism Help Foundations “Lightasit”, with permission from my workstation, I left the following day, 14th April, 2017, tired but ready to explore. 

My godmother booked me on a Chisco Transport. One that promised air-condition, comfortability, safety and food. My bags were checked right up to my little feminine toiletry bag and tagged before it got a place in the bus’s cargo section.  Then the bus took off around 7am. 

My tired eyes could not close because hardly had the big bus taken off did I begin to sweat. Many people complained about the missing air conditioner and the fact that the bus had a huge gate that separated passengers from the driver, turning us into some upgraded form of cargo. I kept mute,  sitting there like a lost soul,  many eyes roaming what I later got to know as “my little classy frame”. We opened the windows,  risked being blessed or cursed by the rains which decided to bless the land that morning. 

We got down when we reached the Aflao boarder and walked with our passports or ID cards in check, then boarded again only to get down at every boarder for clarification. What thrilled me most was the firing of the Pidgin language and its funny punches in the vehicle.  I had wanted to record some but realised my phone was off. Accustomed to the situation, I dozed off a bit until I heard a lot of noise.  

We were in Lakoge, right in the heart of Benin. Just a peek from our window made us see the spectacle that we were. The driver had been ordered out and the passengers were locked in. But we could hear the scuffle and curses that trailed each other outside the bus. Our driver continually cursed “The person wey do dis tin, ino go be better for am o”. I was still at sea.  I had not uttered a word since I sat in the bus. I turned to the gentleman sitting beside me to ask what was happening and he replied “I think somebody kept Igbo in the car and so we have been arrested”. It was my turn to ask if people from Benin had something against Igbos. This generated a lot of laughter from those close. After that they explained “igbo” was actually  marijuana. I was confused and felt fear for the first time on the journey. 

I had spoken to the one who was to pick me up and he had asked that I found I place to stay for the night for pickup the next day. Since I did not know anywhere and I had not budgeted for it, I called a few people I knew in Nigeria but it was too soon to make those arrangements so I called the one person I knew would not disappoint: Femi Akomolafe. Of course he arranged with one of his friends who was an MD,  to book me a room at Sheraton Hotel. The man also asked his secretary to arrange for a pickup. When I told them I was coming by bus,  they were very afraid for my safety. So telling them it was not a big deal as Nana Awere suggested I got a place around Maza Maza,  the MD contacted Nana who also contacted me and told me he would send his driver to pick me up though he lived far from the station. But there I was, caught in a drug arrest. 

After about an hour of being locked in, the Benin police ordered the driver to bring us out. Over three hundred Beninois stood watching us. Every individual was asked to take his or her bag. After all was done,  three huge “Ghana Must Go” bags sat unclaimed. The driver and his mate begged the owner to own up but none did. Then we realised it had no tag. A woman passenger who loved to talk whispered to me that she saw the one who loaded the cargo taking lots of twenty Ghana cedis notes and afterwards pushing those bags into the vehicle. She added she could make the owners up but they were not in the bus. I pretended I had not heard fearing to be caught in an unqualified “witnesship” and got up from the water-logged gutter in which we were being scrutinized. 

I missed Ghana my motherland. The land which I loved but never appreciated as much as I should. I knew for a fact that no person arrested from another country would be interrogated in a sand filled gutter in an open space watched by all who wanted to watch. To top it up,  there were mosquitoes everywhere even though it was barely 5pm. We spent over four hours in the interrogating gutter before we were transported to a fenced but opened park where heavy duty trucks parked. That place too had potholes everywhere with stagnant water. A royal palace for mosquitoes. I had to find a way to charge my phone in order to contact Nana and the others. I had written some numbers on my ticket but I needed my phone as no one was willing to give out his or her phone. So I went to one of the security men there who asked why I came with Chisco. According to him,  Chisco had these drug troubles three times every week if he was not exaggerating. He added that we were the third to have been brought into the yard that week. He told me he would help but asked that I be careful as thieves came into the yard to steal. He recommended GUO the next time I wished to travel by road. I was grateful. 

One of the male passengers followed me and together, we charged our phones outside the only building in the yard. Again,  I was baffled as to how nationals from other countries could be left with inadequate protection in a dangerous zone after their driver and mate had been handcuffed and sent to their prison or wherever. I knew that Ghanaians would never do a thing like that. 

I decided I would not sleep. I spoke to Nana who at that point was worried and spoke to the administration of Ebedi who were equally worried but I assured them I would contact them the next day. At around 3am,  I could not keep my eyes open even through the chorus of mosquitoes. I decided then to nap for some minutes just beside the gentleman whose phone was also on charge. I woke up abruptly and reached out for my phone,  I think 15 minutes after my nap and my phone was gone. The other gentleman’s phone was also gone. My chips were on the floor. I thought it was a bad joke but it wasn’t. I looked at the gentleman and thought for a moment that he could be the culprit but decided to let him be since he also claimed his had been stolen. Of course I am sure he might have felt the same about me if his phone had really been stolen like mine. I went around asking those who were seated around but they all said the same thing “Be careful around Nigerians” Even the Nigerians said that proudly. I checked into my purse and realized the little money I had on me was also gone. Having left my ATM card at home and stranded penniless in an unfriendly land, I felt my end had come. Even getting to call home was a problem. 

Around 8am,  on the 15th of April, 2017 when there was no sign of another bus to take us to our destination, many passengers left on their own. A gentleman from the Volta Region volunteered to lend me 5000 naira. I used some to call home and the residency. I was told by those who recommended me to come back as they were afraid for my safety. They kept saying Nigeria was worse than Benin where crime is concerned. Of course even my fear could not force me to quit.  I am Amoafowaa after all. 

At around 2pm,  the replacement bus came. Out of the over forty passengers,  only about fifteen remained. The rest of the journey was longer than I thought. We stopped almost in every two minutes to go through one check point or the other in Nigeria,  most of whom wanted their palms to be greased. It was funny how they feared Boko Haram but could accept bribe from those without proper identifications and allowed them into their country. I watched as a woman came in to sell yellow cards for 2000 naira. Cards stamped with no requirement for vaccines or the like. Pathetic, I thought. Ernest,  my saviour bought a registered sim bearing whoever’s name and with that,  I was able to contact a few people. Nana Awere called after getting in touch with the administration of Ebedi,  obviously having had a restless day. We reached the Chisco Station around 1am. Thankfully,  there was a place to rest for a small fee,  and a good bathroom. I put my head on my laptop bag without sleep. I felt someone pulling my bag from beneath my head,  woke up and asked “oga, wetin be your problem?” To which he naturally strolled off.  That ended my lying down.  

Ernest and his friend volunteered to take me to the Ibadan Station in Lagos. Although I protested,   they told me I looked too refined with an aura of wealth so if they did not accompany me, swindlers might harm me thinking I had some valuables. I was lost,  I looked my humble self in a Kente designed simple dress and a comfortable wedge footwear. After getting to know that there was no Ibadan vehicle at the main station, they took me to a private station where they boarded the vehicle with me and sent me straight to Ibadan,  specifically to the Mr.  Biggs Fast Food Joint which was yet to be opened. That was 16th April 2017. There, I sat on a small fence and watched as huge men smoked “igbo” in the open space without a care in the world. At around 9am,  the ride to Iseyin arrived with Bode,  the administrator and Gloria, a resident from Kenya and the affable driver. I thankfully got on thankful for the comfortable ride and the friendly people who laughed their heads off at my dramatic journey from Ghana to Nigeria. 

IN HONOUR OF MAJOR MAHAMA

Image result for pictures of major mahama maxwell

We cry your liquidated soul

Which has been forcefully fried

From your solidly mobile form

We hail your gallant nurture

Which prevented your strong nature

To harm a hair of your enemies, oh you with good stature!

We pray for your hovering soul

Which stands on the invisible soles

Of all that you hold dear

We pray for your fruitful walk into eternal rest

Even as your wronged soul

Deserves a fair revenge

The law stands and haunts

The law whips and taunts

The law whose neglect saw to your fall

Calls and stalks to fetch and prosecute culprits

You are a warrior of heroism

Caught in a silly sport of cruel tragedy

Death bemoans your shining presence

Just as your wife feels the absence of your presence

And your children’s growth miss their oblivious presence

We pray for your forgiveness

For cutting a tree which yearned

To stretch in the sky way above the ground

Depriving its roots from its warm and cool shade

Walk like the soldier you are

Model like the gentleman you are

Take strides knowing we have fantasized your future

The future you envisaged

Your Major dreams have been achieved

Major Mahama Due ooo!

Damirifa Due!

Major Mahama! Damirifa Due!

Due Due ne Amanehunu!\

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) June 9, 2017

Photo Credit: Google pics

GIVEN TO TEACH

Image result for pictures of major mahama maxwell

The code of souls was breached

When I saw the gates of death

Being torn by many who morality preached

When their swords of advice wore their breath

In hidden and opened quarters of their sons

As they pushed me through by cruel runs

II

I felt the lighting slaps of hands

And bore the gruesome breaks of stones

I felt the painful hits of sticks

And the bruising peels of blocks

I felt the fleeing pins of dust

None showed a friendly sight

But I stood and was blinded by the pain of loss

Which mine would feel at the sight of my last days

III

I prayed the chaos would rise to slap

And not form a cane or a death slab

I prayed to be the end of the crap Continue reading “GIVEN TO TEACH”

PITY OUR LAND

Image result for images of beautiful ghana

Pity our land

A land arrested and tamed

Into a free wild horse on its very habitat

Sat on and dragged with so many heavy things

Fed crumbs from our own pots

Oh cry! Cry for our land!

II

Pity our land

A land with so much yet thinks so little

And was confined by the mere sight of a gun

A land which fought their greatest enemy’s soldiers

Into a slight wake

A wake that stuck at freedom of body

And not of mind

Oh pity! Slap this land into Wakefulness!

III

Pity our land

Cry for this land of loam

Whose knees love the taste of sea sands

Oh Pity! Pity this land!

A land whose thoughts love to steal from itself

Digging its seeds before they germinate

Soiling its rivers before they join their seas

Oh pity! Pity our land!

IV

Pity our land

Pity our land so full yet so empty

A land so beautiful but stuffed with self-hatred

A land so wealthy with brainwashing of poverty

A land ridden by shadows

Shadows which blend with our darkness

Darkness with no distinction

Oh pity! Pity our land

V

Pity our land

The land which knows no greatness unless its sunset

And knows no morning unless neighboring cock crows are heard

No matter how hard theirs drum in crowing

A land whose day lovers suck its blood at night

And pretend to water and till in the day

A land bedeviled by its own thoughts

Haunted by fake nightmares

And flogged by manipulations

Oh pity! Pity my land!

VI

Pity our land

 Pity the land bleaching away its melanin

In hopes of seeing protected blood

Thinking vulnerability is ability

When its suns spew wrinkles and wilting

Pity o pity!

The land which lives in begging dreams

Begging which begs for its own destruction!

A land of scribes filled with filth 

Pity! Oh pity my land!

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 7th June 2017

Photo Credit: Google pics

THE MAJOR MAHAMA LYNCHING, NOT A DENKYIRA-OBUASI THING BUT A GHANAIAN THING

Captain Maxwell Mahama

It is sad to hear that Captain Maxwell Adam Mahama was mistaken for a thief and brutally lynched on May 29, 2017. But I am amazed at the fact that this is just getting the attention of the Ghanaian populace now. I will not say it is a Denkyira-Obuasi (Central Region) thing but it is a Ghanaian thing. I have not lived that long on earth but have witnessed more than four of these crucial murders and heard more than a dozen happen in Ghana. The question is, did it have to happen to someone well placed in society to gain the attention it deserved?

In 2009, while returning from school, I was horrified to see the burning frame of a human being at the Ayigbe Junction, Israel, in Accra. The taxi driver taking me to my destination then, seeing how shaken I was laughed and said:

“Ei! Small madam! This is normal! Any robber who gets you first will kill you so get over this. It is normal! Maybe you have not had your things stolen before or do not know how painful it is to lose someone to robbery.”

There was nothing I could say. When I reached home my mother briefed me, that he was a man of about twenty six and was spotted stealing from a wayside kiosk. As to what he stole, no one could tell, except the owner said he took a chair and left it, picked some of the things she was selling, put them down and continued picking and dumping until she blew the “ewi” alarm.

The next day, his parents came to the spot, obviously after the police had come for his burnt remains, and poured libation amidst curses. They explained that the said man, was on the autism spectrum and had lost his way. Those who witnessed the lynching then claimed he was shouting

“Mama, it is hurting me! Stop it! it is not good to hit people!”

All the time they were beating him. My question then was, couldn’t those brutal murderers know there was something amiss when the said thief was saying all those things? Although I did not witness the beating and eventual killing, eye witness accounts replayed in my mind up till date.

Mob justice has never been fair. It is shocking that we had to travel into 2017 and see the murder of Captain Mahama in order to be serious about it. I believe the Denkyira-Obuasi group are just serving as scapegoats. In a way, it seems to be unfair. What about all those who have murdered innocent souls in the past and gone scot free? Who gets justice for those who have lost their loved ones unfairly? I believe even some of those speaking loudest against it, may have history of mob killing.

No amount of money, no greater crowd of mourners, no words of sympathy, no state burial can fill the void left when innocent souls are squashed between horrid societal flaws and the quest for peace which the security agencies fail to give. The law enforcement agencies should also “up their game” so to speak, because no matter how brutal instant justice is, it is a symptom of loss of trust in the security agencies. Let the rumoured corruption be squashed

I pray that the politicisation of mob justice be quenched so it can be fought with conscience because many things can go wrong when a crime takes place. And a human being is not a toy to be broken and fixed. Amoafowaa writes this poem in honour of the fallen soldier.

BRUTES IN BEINGS

Many things walk the land like beings

Things with no souls on soles

Acting like they deserve what moves

Pretending to think in growth

But May on its 29th leg on 2017 stand has set their stage

II

A handsome father has been plucked

Plucked from the tree of life

One who promised on his honour

To protect his land even with his life

Many speak in opposites even with their sympathies

III

From slaps to slab hitting

Sticks to stone biting

Block breaking to naked strikking

Dragged in bragging like a dead goat

Killed in shaming 

With one in a womb lighting a match

On one like a king on his own soil

On an unfamiliar ground

IV

Hypocrites cry foul

Pretending to care

When all they want is their political share

It did take a gentle soul to knock the pity

How many lives have seen such fate?

Instant justice? I say a brutal pain!

V

Who will warm the bed of his half?

Who will cradle his sons to sleep?

Who will guide his little ones into growth?

Who can quench the pain of his loss?

I hope the noise will create a choice

A choice which will parade conscience in a proper palanquin

And stop the spectacle

Which publicises blackness in demonism

In spells irreversible after activation

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) May 29, 2017

Photo Credit: Google pics

IN HIS MAJESTY’S QUARTERS

Image result for pictures of a african king and queens

In His Majesty’s quarters

Women are flowers to be gathered

Into an unharmonious bouquet

From colours black to white

II

In His Majesty’s quarters

A step calls for stooges in circled clichés

Ones who see God when his shadow

Draws in closer drawings

III

In His Majesty’s quarters

The devil’s shed stands for evil check

Spraying calamity in hunger

Trapping murder in anger

IV

In His Majesty’s quarters

A rude act calls for nakedness

He who loves his head

Checks his weirds in His Majesty’s quarters

V

Bring hunger for murder

Bring problems for slaughter

Work like a great servant for titles

Gift in gratefulness for mentions

In His Majesty’s quarters

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © 18th April 18, 2017 (After visiting the Aseyin of Iseyin

PHOTO CREDIT: GOOGLE PICS

A FLYING BIRD

 

A flying bird in troubled nest

Can never have a needed rest

A flying bird in a troubled nest

Clearly may have no request

 

II

I flew from heaven to here

Thinking I could find beauty in the road to steer

But found a rope around my leg as the ground did cheer

Poor me and a pain so dear!

 

III

Thinking me tied

A fly I tried

But my wings’ strength were immediately dried

By stones a mischief did so fried

 

IV

Now my love for nature has turned to pain

Although an angel did all insane

To have me freed from my ropy chain

And nursed my wings to its strength gain

 

 

V

Exploration turned exhaustion

Reverence in clear abortion

Now I do have an apt notion

After drinking from the experience potion

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (April 2017)

 

MY MAMA MY LOVE

Mfoni mbuayɛ ɛma PAINTINGS OF MOTHERS AND THEIR CHILDREN

Maame

Mama

Maa

Ima

The first pillar of contact

The first room with the warmest of bedding

The first breath shared like a sweet meal

The first wall in a kick

Maame

Mama

Maa

Ima

One who accepts madness for what she terms the blessing of motherhood

And feels the pangs of her child’s suffering

Like a super bluetooth which gets signals

Whenever, wherever

The one who sang the best lullabies

No matter how difficult

To chant out sleep to soothe her young

“Oba yi

Hen aba ni

Maame Yaa ban i

Wonfa no nkoshe abe ase

Abe ase wo nsoyensoy

Wonfa no nko si onyina ase

Onyina bebu abo me ba

Abo me ba

Abo me ba ei ei!”

Oh all the playful songs of assurance

Of trust

Of love

Of fun!

Maame

Mama

Maa

Oma

Your palm hits are like massages of comfort

One who chastises to pamper

Beings who develop wings like angels

In protection of their kind

He who sang this song did sing from truth

“Sweet mother

I no go forget o

For this suffer wey you suffer for me ei

Sweet mother

I no go forget oh

For this suffer wey you suffer for me ei

When I no chop

My mother no go chop

When I no sleep

My mother no go sleep

She no de tire aa

Sweet mother

I no go forget this suffer wey you suffer for me ei ei

Stop stop

Stop stop

Stop stop make you no suffer again o”

Yes he did sing it right

But his last point was like a rubber bullet on a thick metal

The beak of a hen knows no fears

When its chicks are in danger

And no matter the warning crows from cocks

The safety of her wards reigns supreme

Mother

Mama

Ima

Slender like a doll

Strong like an eagle

Where in your bodies lie your strength bank?

You are fierce like lionesses when woes chase your young

Mama

Mother

Maa

Ima

Just as dawn paves way for the morning

You are our dawn

A dawn that is never curtained by daylight

A dawn that battles furious suns and storms to bring warmth to her offspring

A dawn that shadows to love wholeheartedly

And will willingly submit to the fingers of death

If that will bring safety to her young

Mother

Mama

Ima

It is sad to know you are our mistake punch bags

It is sad to know your knees are never shy to kneel when our flaws stand out like Afadzato

Why do you accept our blames when you are in no wrong?

What kind of love flows like the rarest of spring water

Even in drought?

All the pinches of our hearts

Are calmed with just your touch

All the clashing sounds in our heads

Harmonize at the sound of your voice

Mama

You deserve this song of praise

“For my Mama an honour

For my Mama this praise

For my mama all thanks

Oh mama my love

You deserve it all

The showering of love

You deserve it all

The attention in all

You deserve it all

Our pampering

You deserve it all

Our faith

You deserve it all

The celebrations

You deserve it all

Our all

Flowers and buildings and money can’t show

Hurdles and mountains and shame oh can’t blow

Mama o mama my love

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © 2017

Photo Credit: Google pics

THE FOURTH ARM

 

It is amazing how the fourth arm

Works with its arms

From acting like robbers with arms

To being eyes without qualms

II

These are the times

Growth with accountability rhymes

These are the times corruption bells must chime

To wake sleepers who throw in their dimes

To get fingers acting in mime to get to all needed dimes

III

So if whipping pens

Turn their powerful dens

Into coop where they turn hens

Then there is no lens

For our motherland and fake men

Will turn power upside down

IV

Those climbing the truth tree

Which is being shaken to free

If you fear your downfall and go on a running spree

Then truth  losses to its opponent

In your hands as your land weeps

V

It is the time for shoot

That time to praise

Shoot for the wrong

Praise for the right

You are the power hands

The right arm for the right path

So power up to lead the change

 

MY FAVOURITE COLOUR

Artistic, Bright, Color, Colored, Colorful, Colors

Some questions echo and bounce

Pinch and scratch

Confuse and drain all morsels of words

In the earthenware of my mouth

One such is what is your favourite colour?

II

Red is the colour of my blood

And is like the bridge from chaos to my peace

It is the symbol of life’s fluid

A hidden river which defines humanity

The color of fire which drives cold

The colour of courage and visibility

Its connotation of danger and mourning

Does nothing to take away from its beauty

And reminder of its continuity through life’s baton

III

White is the colour of victory

Of perfection

Of innocence and purity

The colour of clarity

The colour of truth

No stain can hide in any part of its world

White is the colour which defines cleanliness

Even sacred beings are seen in white by all minds’ eyes

What is there not to like about it?

IV

Black is the colour of power and of sympathy

Like the safest room in a chaotic house

It shields the weary

Comforting for tears to flow until eyes dry out

It is the cocoon every eyelid needs for rest

A colour of elegance and formality

It has its flaw of aiding and abetting creepers of criminalities

And has its portion of grief

But life without black is life impossible

V

Green is the colour of fertility

The colour of growth

The colour of vegetation

Without the colour green many plants will lose themselves

Green wakes for famine to flee

The colour with much healing prowess

Oh colour of wealth!

Even its lack of experience association

Cannot dim its enduring trait

Every heart that loves not green

Backstabs itself when it feeds to live

Oh colour of hope for the future!

What is there not to love about green?

VI

Grey is the colour of wisdom

Black turns grey on every head land

To tell of days bodies have travelled through time

The colour of maturity!

The colour which is the bridge between youth and elderly

A phase normalcy grants all lucky in living

Is it not a colour of blessing?

VII

Gold is the colour of refinement

A colour with the best advice through its processes

Going from earth to dug

Dug to fires

Fires to moulding

Moulding to refinement

It shines to reflect in stardom

After its beautiful end

Ordinary in nature

Star through fires

A colour everyone loves to own in something!

What is there not to like about gold?

VIII

Blue is the colour of strength

The colour of the best part of the sky

The colour of independence

Of intelligence

Of trust

Of tranquility

Of sincerity

The masculine colour of stability

The colour which serves the best seas to eyes

What is there not to like?

IX

Pink is the feminine colour

A colour which flutters hearts of teens

And glitters hearts of females

The colour of romance

The colour of love

The colour of friendship

A colour which gives possibilities of daydreaming

A colour which makes femininity a beautiful possibility

What is there not to like about pink?

X

Yellow is the colour of the sun

The colour of sunrise and sunset

Of ins and outs

An associate professorial colour to pink in feminism

The colour of beginnings and serene endings

Beautiful and cool

XI

Brown is the colour of satisfaction

The colour which reminds all of the goodbyes of love

Such sadness and melancholy

With obvious message of living to the end

Brown is the colour of the earth

The mother of all living

The colour which makes the tree of life sane

Springing into elimination

Brown is that colour not many bodies get the chance to be

Let alone to willingly fall

Still, it is a colour to die for

XII

From purple to indigo

Violet to wine

No colour lives without a charm

So why should I choose one?

Why would I choose just one among the lot?

 

 

Photo credit: Google pics

FLY

Try not to cry but fly

You broken bird on a land so dry

Try not to cry but fly

The only right thing to get you by

II

Try not to cry but fly

Manna falls not at the sound of a sigh

Try not to cry but fly

Like antelopes knowing danger is nigh

III

Try not to cry but fly

Pain, when worked right, takes you high

Try not to cry but fly

Instead of only asking why

IV

Try not to cry but fly

It is in what you vie

And what you try that kisses your fails goodbye

Try not to cry just fly, fly, fly until you reach your high

TELL ME ODIKRO

With the arms of the mountains in protection

Tell me the brooms that sweep nightmares into heads

Show me the airs that aid their heads into homes

Is it the calls of horny beads of widows for what fate has snatched from their sides?

Or the rumbling stomachs of widowers for their gone lovers?

Tell me Odikro, protector of peace

II

There should be many things that little head heard

To drive it into flights of fright

When darkness yoked the earth

And day strolled outside earth

Tell me Odikro, all seeing

What you saw from her inverted pupils in sleep

III

Could it be because the ancestors

Have been replaced by prophets and saints?

Could it be because the gods have been booted from heaven doors

That we shout in vain to reach the heavens?

Could it because seers have been mistaken for devils

With plucked eyes and defeated souls?

Tell me Odikro, this itchy ears need it

IV

If the shrines call for fowls in tones undecipherable

And the trees feel the disturbances in sways unreadable

Write us a letter in our sleep

Not nightmares which stretches goose bumps of fear to our skin

We are your children after all

No matter our colours, no matter our greed

We are the results of your lovemaking with thoughts

 

CONTRASTING INEQUALITY

When salt sellers hear of rain
On open market days
They flip and trip and slip to pray
But a farmer waiting to farm gives praises to his maker

II
We are in a world where same buildings welcome infant cries
And send off living souls
A reflection of virtues and vices
Staring eachother in the faces
Celebrations and mourning
Laughter and tears
Boldness and fears
Successes staring straight at defeats
Unthinkables walking in the world of brains

III
Same position can be celebrated or forfeited in bitterness
The latter from promotion
The former from demotion
It is a world where lizards envy butterflies
Knowing how fragile they are
And eagles envy fowls for their easy lives
Knowing they are occasional delicacies

IV
Isn’t it problematic
When the sun envies the moon
For its gentility knowing it works harder
To battle darkness?
Isn’t it even more problematic when the moon covets the sun
Knowing it burns to settle
In an already clear day?
It is a world filled with contrasts
Each leg wishing to be in another’s ground
Knowing not the thorns, fires, broken bottles
The other painstakingly hides
We are beings fighting their shadows
In this contrasting realm
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 26, March, 2017.

ANWENSEM

(To honour World Poetry Day)
As the day spells your mention
And the rays promise your distinction
I bow to the holy minds
Which brought you to bind
With passionate souls
To massage our tired soles
From weariness of spirit
Giving us breathing chits

II
You are in countless forms
Giving us ready picks
To mix and carve
As carvers cut, shape and build their art
You have all the sides
The good
The bad
The loving
The sad
The intriguing
The disgusting
Is there any unknown in your known?

III
You give chances of choices
For words to hoard voices
Voices channelled in riddles which fiddle
Wise minds to giggle
Or tickle sad souls to wriggle out of depression

IV
Our heads have lighted our eyes
And curved upright our mouths
Thanks to your gift of blending
Your existence and our insistence
On not resisting your assistance
And making you the fountain worth watching
And the gutters worth sympathising
Is worth aromatically-arousing-praise

V
Our eyes have been clouded and rained
Rivering into seas of memories
With their sharks, mermaids,  and all their inhibitors
Serving as the routes for our boats of aging
Bringing us to regrets and or gratefulness

VI
You are as old as age
As cool as fantasies
As protective as knights untouchable
You are the mortal remains of our immortality
Lover of the lonely!
Friend of beaten!
Warmth of the cold!
Cool breezes of the heated!
Punisher of evil!
Stooge of all good workers!
Light for the blind!
Rain for the thirsty!
Food for the hungry!
Although you can be abused in our confused state
You do all
Anwensem!
You deserve all
All our felicitations in your celebrations
P-O-E-T-R-Y
Poetry!!!
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 22nd March, 2017

I AM A STUDENT

I am a student
A student is I
Who dresses like a brushed kangaroo
With eyes of a determined eagle
And the spirit of a meek sheep
Hoping to be strong in mind like a blessed ant
To grow in wisdom as giraffes grow in neck

II
I am a student
A student is I
Who fears the scent of dangerous smoke
Abhors the curiosity of treasures hidden in skirts as a he
And fertile trees hidden in trousers as a she
For I know hidden treasures for the former
Are traps of eternal doom
And fertile trees as the latter
Are nothing but dangerous snakes

III
I am a student
A student is I
Who is like a learning lawyer
Practising what is preached to me
In annals of guidance
Obeying voices of the siren
Going when it instructs
Coming when it says so
Eating when it orders
Sitting to learn when it commands
And sleeping when it barks
For only in that do I see a future
Where I climb mountains of success
To have the power to attract minds
Like the siren’s voice

IV
I am a student
A student is I
Who burns oil of sleep like thinking sages
Letting my mind travel through mating words
Arranged horizontally into verticalism
Searching their voices through pages
To light the bulb of enlightenment
In my growing mind
And learning from the mistakes of leading feet

V
I am a student
A student is I who knows
The future holds blank vacancies
And my acts today secures for me my deserved
So I could be a black sheep if I act like a goat
And could be a nation’s knight
If I act like a sheep hoping for wisdom wings

V
I am a student
A student is I
Who blesses family
To bless a society
Blesses a society to bless a nation
Blesses a nation to bless the world
Blesses the world in my breathing time
To guide the future of tomorrow
When the lids of my eyes
Taste moths
And blends with earth
I am a student
A student is I
Who cares for all students to be students
To make our future the brightest stars
The world has ever known
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2017

FUNREHOTRICS

When songs of nightingales
Hit blocked drums of infatuated cocks
They cry loss but look hardest
Cursing the hearing maker

II
When the ‘borla’ bird
Dreams of cuddling a peacock
It shivers at peck-like-axing
One that can give away its intestines
In a split second

III
Every struggling soul
Like a beheaded fowl
Kicks and fights to retain breath
Funny how something unseen but everywhere
Serves to suffocate then strangle
Anywhere, everywhere
With tickets on every head
Causing fear and panic

IV
Many run from their bonded shadows
Loving the dark which swallow the shadows up
Hating sunshine which shows them
Exactly where to spot them

V
There will always be elephants struggling to be ants
And there will always be ants praying to be elephants
There will always be eagles praying to be guinea fowls
And vice versa
If truth could lead us
Life would be spent before being bought
And regret could be shelved till our dusts settle
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) March 16, 2017

INHERITINGS: SINS OF THE FATHERS

When sadness sits like a chief
Brewing the pungent and ugly grief
Siding with all words but brief
Stealing a heart like a shameless thief
Why do you say fate’s ladle is deep?

II
When this chick chirps as a bird
And its mother finds it absurd
As its rival families root for it as dead
And peers and strangers hate to it heard
Why do you say fate’s ladle stir deep?

III
Each is born
Each would be gone
Each, in time, finds its own corn
Each harbour its scorn
Each knows not its last dawn
So why will a menace blow its horn
Onto a new generational lawn?
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 11th March, 2017

FARMERS

We are farmers
Farming our kind
Tilling our lands to plant
Selecting best and compatible seeds for plantation
And when the earth houses the seeds
We water, provide sunshine and air

II
We may give too much water
When the young shoots emerge
We may give too much sun
We may even provide winds instead of air
But that is our need calling to feed
And harvest the best

III
There are occasions rare
When pleasure birds nurse our land
And make us hate to touch a strand
Leaving young plants in thorns
That is the balance of fairness
Or seeds of lack of it thereof
But we are farmers nonetheless
Farming to give the future
The food of humanity
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) March 6, 2017

WOMEN OF THE WORLD

Women
The glorious beings of this worldly den
The best hearts likened to hens
The most gifted of all of life’s pens

II
Women are the flowers so bright
They blossom for all but their thorns do fight
Against pests in hurried flight
Great agents who fear no problem of height

III
Women are wondrous plants
They can grow even on slants
And can take many rants
Their wisdom is like the biblical ants’

IV
Women do honour
As soldiers wear their saving armour
We are the best of earthly banners
And do shine no matter how small our corners

V
Women are magicians
Carrying natural homes and are great tacticians
They glow even in blows but are still beauticians
In this dog eat dog realm, they’re the best politicians

VI
Women are the waters of life
Just a sip and their love erases strife
Step hard on their hearts and they turn to knives
Give them wounds and your home will turn into a beehive

VII
Women are the air so fair
Block their souls and their winds will stir
Confine their will and their ills will stare
Slap their pride and their tsunamis will clear

VIII
Women
Fearfully and wonderfully built
Miraculously carved
With beautiful weaves
Sparks of passions
Fires of loving
Wired with diversity of love
There is a long tale of famishing
On a soul which has tasted not
The love of a women
Rage and rant but your knees know their owners
Women
The best works of the heavens
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 8th March, 2017.

MELANCHOLY IN PATRIOTIC ALCOHOLISM

We live in the sought after gold
Clothed by a land fertile enough to banish the barren
We live on a land so expensive
Blood so precious protect
Only to make us free
We live on a land so wondrous
Black star lights to guide us through
When did a blessed turn cursed?
We are the chosen on the best ship
Whose captains never fail in their traitorhoods
But hope leads our choir

II
Let’s shed the sea analogy
And work with land
Shepherds have led
And shepherds are still leading
Yet hyenas and foxes
Break our boxes
Causing us losses
Many claim our shepherds have claws like our monsters
Making heavy our crosses
As age adds to our aging
And eyes afar look back in mock horror
Why do we make cats guide our abattoir?

III
We are the richest but the poorest
The strongest but the weakest
The bosses turned crosses
We grovel when we hold the power to give
Now our white hairs put us in the boxes of self questioning

IV
Six decades
Many horicades
But our strong nation stands like a great mountain
Six decades with many scandycades
Yet we sing hospitality and cast out animosity
Six decades and many barrings
Yet we rise through every fall
We are the wondrous team
Great
House
Amazing nests
Nurturing feats
A royal team
Who can beat the expensive beads
Which talk with a lot to stock?
We will get to the dock of satisfaction one day
And our mockers will give us a standing ovation
For we are who we are
The wealthy struggling to breach the gap
That robbers left on our shores
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) March 6, 2017

I AM A CITIZEN

I am a citizen
A citizen paid by citizens
I am like a chicken
Fed grains to reproduce grains
I am a hunter and the game
My effort contributing to my gain
So why should I rest in labour?
Will a sheep pray for the blindness of its shepherd?

II
I am a citizen
A citizen born by a citizen
A citizen whose past or fellow citizens might have been butchered like sheep
Right before her eyes
In sacrifice to the land which gives me the citizen tag
So why should I feel like a rag?

III
I am a citizen
A citizen whose ancestral citizens
Were aided and helped by powers of smaller gods
Gods who solicited rains and protected its water banks
Gods who punished to teach
And warned to reach
So why should I feel like a leech?

IV
I am a citizen
A citizen made complete by my other citizens
Their contributions to society
Through hardwork and mischief
Their conflicts of interest and disinterest
Through legal and foul means
Their laughable and serious jokes
Blasting through air and rumoured waves
So why won’t I my place save?

V
I am a citizen
A citizen paid by citizens
A citizen neighbored and loved by citizens
A citizen blanketed by the protection of the city
I need no pity
This city is mine
Mine to wine and dine and in it whine
But no matter the ills we face
Ships fight waves and are pushed to their destinations by some waves
Why will I name my city a cave

V (b)
I am a citizen
A citizen by all standards
A citizen born by a city
A citizen nurtured by a citizen
A citizen made whole by my citizenship
I am glad I am a citizen
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 5th March, 2017

GOOD DAYS GOING

Almost gone are the days
When good songs told stories
Stories of morals and uprightness
And were whips for wayward consciences
To run to the right paths

II
Almost gone are the days
When rivers of wisdom
Flowed into empty wells of youth
To seal the future of morality and discipline
Eternal darkness is falling on a sun zone

III
Almost gone are the days
When the elderly had his space
And the young served into the promotion of growth
The order now crumbles under rights with fearsome weapons
Oh generation where honey drips from metal bees!
What will your future be?

IV
Spaniard immorality on make-believe screens
Blood sisters always ready
Like dogs
To fight over a pestle
Using their ready mortars as baits
Our ancestors weep the plague of incestuous longing!
Our people covet the realm Where love corrodes sanity
And madness cancels sacrilege
Eagles now walk as pigs dream to fly
I wish I had future eyes to see the end
Of this looming tragedy

V
Clothes of nakedness
Covering none yet sold in gold
Paintings of sand
Changing none yet sought in bold
Claws of horror
Loved for their error
Of incapacitating fingers
Rings on fingers
Strings that linger
If there is a God
His judgement books will need years to travel
To get immortal lawyers
To read to defend

VI
I am but an eye with no audible mouth
I am but a pen with not many students
I am but a little soul lost in a poor bowl
On a ship that sinks on this sea of life
I am like an unpleasant passing air
What can I do but scribble their wriggle
On a major morality day?
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) Feb. 26, 2017

WHEN POTTED FLOWERS DISAPPOINT

I always aimed to be a potted flower
I envied their supplies
From waters carried by muscles
To the manure bought to feed
Talk less of their pampering of shades and aids
And their protection and attention

II
They were like the dream
Which emptied me from their cans of dark bliss
Onto scolding thorns with sharp blades
Were their possessions curses?
Were their bliss phantoms?
Were their feeds poisoned with complacency and failures?

III
How far has time travelled
To have my envy burned into pity?
How much has the world changed
To have a flower in the wild
Live to the chorus of ovation
While potted flowers sqirm on bended knees?
How strong were their benefactors
To have their fates destroyed by perfect handling?
Why do I bless the bird who spat me
Into the thorny desert
While they curse those who pampered them on beds?

IV
Life is two way microscope
Watchers turn watched in split breaths
Funny how heroes turn villains
And are thrown out of their star parade
Forget-me-nots must thread cautiously
On bruised weeds
For time may plant its flowers between them
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) February 24, 2017

I WON’T HOUSE A MOUSE

If I build a house
I won’t house a mouse
Mice which crawl in clothes of darkness
To eat my rice
Rolling my dice
And putting my eyes in a quandary of lies
Are nothing nice

II
Roasting on ghost nets
After walking on the finest clouds
Being toasted on fear fires
Like a lost “akrantie” whose fate
Marked a reflection of jubilation for its predators
While its lost family search in mourning
Is nothing nice
I won’t house a mouse in my house
No matter the space

III
I would rather house a lion
Whose heat iron my pores
Causing sores and rivers of blood stained sweat
For in every scratch
I will a plan hatch
In every fear
I will dig a hole to be whole
In every barred fangs
I will be tutored by pangs
I will never house a mouse in my house
Those creepy leepy peeps
Who blow the eyes to rest only to loot
Aren’t ones to skip my gun
So search to scrap your inner mouse
Before stepping into my house
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) February 20, 2017