Wednesday, July 15, 2009

To the tune

Democracy shall surely be our dance

To the tune of Ghana's bloody past

Lyrics written with the pain and pride

The toils and oft freedom forever cries

And this call to hope, we never deride

The battle-line drawn and the trigger pulled

All poli-tricksters should take their guard

Against the Kokromoti-esm thumb combat



Ghana is the honey, just no money

Oh yes! but in the poli-tricksters pocket

I find the key to the golden symphony

The chord never played on stage

So now, we know how to dance

Even when the music is so baaaaad...



By: Ezekiel A. Johnson

In response to Nana Frema Busia's poem “Ghana sweet oo”

Monday, April 20, 2009

My Ekua


By Brother Biko

Two most beautiful women in the world
My one and only ekua and the rest
Two most beautiful women ever made
My lovely ekua is the very best
Ekua never passed thru varsity
But she holds an enviable love degree
Ekua is bright smart conscious courteous
She care less about church yet she’s righteous

Ekua is neither rude nor arrogant
She’s responsible not extravagant
Ekua is sweet sweeter than berries
She’s mindful of her thank yous and sorrys
Ekua knows why she has ears and a mouth
She don’t let me say enough is enough
I don’t have a cause to fear or doubt her
We belong to each other she’s aware

Ekua is her own standard of beauty
She don’t covet an European identity
A beauty in the truest sense of the word
Not the type to let a man lose his head
Ekua never wears perm wig lipstick
She don’t respond to pig tags like bitch chick
Ekua knows her rights and also her limits
No matter what we shall not call it quits

For ekua my heart always sings a song
A d ay without her is like a year long
Better to spend time away from my life
Than spend days away from my future wife
Whenever she’s talking I am all ears
Her voice kills my pains and towels my tears
I am not complete without my ekua
I need her today next and forever

I Speak of A man

By Nii Lantey
In the name of art history
By way of poetry
I speak of a man
I tell of his works
His works that stand conspicuous
In the swathe of the ruins
Of his detractors’ subversive activities
I speak of man who gave birth to a nation
I speak of a man who lived and died for his people
I speak of a man loved and hated by his own people
I speak of a 20th century political Christ
Accused, Abused and Refused
I speak of a man vilified and demonised
Castigated by his generation
Today I speak of a man
Vindicated, celebrated
And almost deified
A man who started a fire
That burnt down towers of powers of oppression
Operating in Isms and Schisms
Colonialism and imperialism
Powers that raped and robbed my people in Africa
I speak of this man
I speak of his works
I speak of the father of my country Ghana
I speak of Osagyefo Dr Kwame Nkrumah
The black Star of Africa
Nkrumah show boy
The Giant killer
The light bearer
The answer to the question
The wind of black Africa liberation
The bear chest of the new Africa
The crown of the black pride
Take it or leave it
The army prophet general of the struggle
Take it or leave it
The tallest of the standing tall
The warrior for the soldiers
I speak of a man who brook no dread and dared to stand against the system
Kicked out the crazy baldheads
And trampled down Babylon
Home and abroad
I speak of a man who brought the sum dowm on the John Bull’s empire
I speak of a man who never dies
I speak of the man whose voice is still talking revolution
After 100years
I speak of Osagyefo Dr Kwame Nkrumah
To the galling of his detractors
He is the one
The only one
The man of the millennium
The greatest of all
I speak of no one but him
Osagyefo Dr Kwame Nkrumah
Twa Omanye Aba

Blacks and nearly whites

By Brother Biko
Blacks and nearly whites lets do something right
Let’s come together and fight the good fight
We cannot sit down nor spend our precious lives
Serving greedy slave masters and their wives
As they loot from our national coffers
And brand our continents super worthless
It behoves on us to build a society
That believes first in human equality

Blacks and nearly whites let us see the light
Try and help each other with all our might
Life is for a collective benefit
Not for ones outrageous greedy profit
Let’s reach into our minds and delve deeper
We can move on as each others keeper
Bring out the best in our collective selves
And be grateful to life for what she serves

Blacks and nearly whites life has one secret
Which is to fear nothing and be discreet
Let’s build a world pretty much like heaven
We are capable when we look within
Good attitude to life is all we need
Let not despair and hopelessness breed
Too late to think of making a good beginning
But we all can make excellent ending

Blacks and nearly whites its time for a change
If we just sit down things won’t rearrange
It takes scores of ten thousands to be poor
For one fool to get rich and rule the law
As long as there are billionaires on earth
Millions of people shall live in pain and death
Its time for us to act lets be working
Against the system of a queen and king

Afrika

By Brother Biko
In afrika all things happen
As long as leaders say amen
To the World Bank and IMF
To rip us on masters behalf
But we can turn the table
And make the continent stable
If we mean to rule destiny
And not sell our souls for money

Afrika shan’t be safe and sound
When grave exploitation abound
When we sit on gold to be poor
Whilst masters hide behind the law
If we change our mentality
And wreck the cause of poverty
Rape murder robbery and crime
Shall run to once upon a time

When people do not find justice
Then justice finds highest office
You see ballots thrown far away
Bullets rise to have the final say
Social insurance of one all
Leaders followers great or small
Is the key to stability
That’s no gift from god almighty

Learning to become foreign tools
Producing their raw materials
Neglecting our common sense
Holding fast to indifference
Can only lead us to deepest hell
Let’s look within and make things well
Lets be our one and only hope
Life is far from opera soap

Children of civilization

By Brother Biko
Children of civilization
Now set to abject destruction
Frozen is our desire to know
Little we think we know aren’t so
Children of greatest mind makers
Perishing amongst non thinkers
Our minds are on serious run
We are like captives in the can

Our men energetic and strong
Almost cannot tell right from wrong
Our women pretty to behold
Mostly sex items to be sold
We awakened humanity
But out of goddamn naivety
We are still down not ready to rise
And leaders are still telling lies

Our nations are right down the drain
Our youth are hooked on gun and cocaine
Our leaders mostly deaf and blind
System won’t allow them to be kind
The creator gave us a head start
How come we failed to do our part
We must research and find ourselves
And give system what it deserves

Christianity came by way of gun
Islam by means of a swordsman
We were the pagans they did say
Foolish were we to choose their way
Let’s find our own ways and means
We can’t live on slave religions
Five hundred years in abject mess
Time to say no to oppressors

Beautiful great women

By Brother Biko
Beautiful great women of afrika
You aren’t objects for bad men to conquer
Beautiful righteous women of the world
You must be seen but most of all be heard
In unity lie your hope and power
You mustn’t wither away like flower
Don’t let cheap chocolate vibes confuse you
You deserve the best you deserve your due

You are the most important in this life
Nature made you to be more than a wife
You are too great to be disrespected
Too glorious to be misappreciated
You are more than things for men to look at
You don’t deserve to serve as a doormat
United you can do what you need to do
Don’t let any pig discourage you

Let not men sing praises of your behinds
And still treat you as very little minds
To have emotional intelligence
Doesn’t mean you have weak rational sense
Time is ripe to rise on your brain and feet
Aim at every parliamentarian seat
If you allow men to make all the rules
You will be left with kitchen tools

Religions are there to oppress women
Don’t follow doctrines to sexist den
The myth of eve made you the most hated
That of Delilah made you least trusted
Holy books by men are politics of sex
All written to leave you in hell annex
Know your story and get understanding
That your life did not begin in Eden

What we write

By Brother Biko
What we write comes from heart bleeding
Minds set on rapid fire blazing
What we write expresses anger
Torment anguish danger
We write a straight forward invite
Which leads to afrikan light
Light of awareness consciousness
Light to empower powerless

We write what has long been written
We speak what has long been spoken
We write a common peoples manual
Unsorted natural factual
We write protest songs street anthems
We make you aware of problems
You need to take note of this hint
Nothing we write is a blueprint

We write what was in sankara
We write the mind of Guevara
Nkrumah Lumumba Biko
Even mumia on deathrow
What we write survived cold regimes
That of smith Leopold and their dreams
We write blood against oppression
And all forms of exploitation

Our writings stand firm for justice
So you should know we are for peace
Justice for our people and all
Justice bold firm standing tall
What we write is crap to the stupid
Bloody nonsense to the timid
Blasphemy to the self righteous
Yet nothing stops what we write oh yes










What we write comes from heart bleeding
Minds set on rapid fire blazing
What we write expresses anger
Torment anguish danger
We write a straight forward invite
Which leads to afrikan light
Light of awareness consciousness
Light to empower powerless

We write what has long been written
We speak what has long been spoken
We write a common peoples manual
Unsorted natural factual
We write protest songs street anthems
We make you aware of problems
You need to take note of this hint
Nothing we write is a blueprint

We write what was in sankara
We write the mind of Guevara
Nkrumah Lumumba Biko
Even mumia on deathrow
What we write survived cold regimes
That of smith Leopold and their dreams
We write blood against oppression
And all forms of exploitation

Our writings stand firm for justice
So you should know we are for peace
Justice for our people and all
Justice bold firm standing tall
What we write is crap to the stupid
Bloody nonsense to the timid
Blasphemy to the self righteous
Yet nothing stops what we write oh yes










What we write comes from heart bleeding
Minds set on rapid fire blazing
What we write expresses anger
Torment anguish danger
We write a straight forward invite
Which leads to afrikan light
Light of awareness consciousness
Light to empower powerless

We write what has long been written
We speak what has long been spoken
We write a common peoples manual
Unsorted natural factual
We write protest songs street anthems
We make you aware of problems
You need to take note of this hint
Nothing we write is a blueprint

We write what was in sankara
We write the mind of Guevara
Nkrumah Lumumba Biko
Even mumia on deathrow
What we write survived cold regimes
That of smith Leopold and their dreams
We write blood against oppression
And all forms of exploitation

Our writings stand firm for justice
So you should know we are for peace
Justice for our people and all
Justice bold firm standing tall
What we write is crap to the stupid
Bloody nonsense to the timid
Blasphemy to the self righteous
Yet nothing stops what we write oh yes










What we write comes from heart bleeding
Minds set on rapid fire blazing
What we write expresses anger
Torment anguish danger
We write a straight forward invite
Which leads to afrikan light
Light of awareness consciousness
Light to empower powerless

We write what has long been written
We speak what has long been spoken
We write a common peoples manual
Unsorted natural factual
We write protest songs street anthems
We make you aware of problems
You need to take note of this hint
Nothing we write is a blueprint

We write what was in sankara
We write the mind of Guevara
Nkrumah Lumumba Biko
Even mumia on deathrow
What we write survived cold regimes
That of smith Leopold and their dreams
We write blood against oppression
And all forms of exploitation

Our writings stand firm for justice
So you should know we are for peace
Justice for our people and all
Justice bold firm standing tall
What we write is crap to the stupid
Bloody nonsense to the timid
Blasphemy to the self righteous
Yet nothing stops what we write oh yes

Monday, February 16, 2009

WHEN I LUV U…

by Maame Ama Pratt

We’re friends
We’re friends on earth
We’re friends in my dreams

We talk on phone till the sun sets and the cock crows
We seize every opportunity to be together

I feel blue…
I hear your voice…
I feel gay

Sorrow clutches at my heart…
Need your soothing voice to calm me
Your broad shoulders to rest on
Your eyes to tell me
Everything will be alright

I’m happy …
Have to share my joy with my boo
Have to laugh at you
Have to laugh with you

My day dreams are vivid images of us strolling on the beach holding hands
Running in the rain, soaked, cold and happy

My night dreams are scenes of us walking on the moon with the sun in our hands and the stars at our feet

With you, I feel visibly invisible

Is this love?
Is this love that I’m feeling

Why do I love you?

Could it be your smile
That lights up a room and brightens up my world

Could it be your soothing voice
That vibrates in my ear long after you’ve gone

Could it be your heart
Your good, warm, thoughtful heart

Could it be your lips
That curls up in that sweet manner
When you say …
I love you

I love you too

I don’t know why

Maybe I’m just a foolish girl
Maybe I’m just sentimental
But maybe it’s because I love me
When I love you!

MAN IS GREATER THAN ALL

By Kwakuvi Azasu!
In the eventide I wearily plod
The shrub fringed path to Luhue in flood
Numb and weary, wearily on, I plod
They, many creatures my feet disturbed
From slumber troubled and perturbed
Run frantic into the running water, to the sound “plop”
The snake like the butterflies
Wriggles harmless as it flies,
Away into the running water, to sound “plop”
On, on I walk the water brim,
To wake a crocodile from his dream,-
With an ugly deftness and splash! Away to swim!
All creatures nimbly make way
All creatures nimbly make way
For me as they plunge with awe
Into the depths of running Luhue.
Suddenly! And I wonder
Why a colossal hippo also thunders!
Into the water with a deafening – splash!
Then the thought shoot my brain
Shattering ignorance to establish truth:
Man is greater, man is greater! Than all!

LIFE

By Vivian Golo-Kumah
My soul wonders in thought of life
What life will I behold as a young woman?
Will I be powerful and mighty as they say?
Or live in my little timid way of life.
Life has become nightmare of uncertainty,
Yes! The past I know, the present I live in
But what use have I made of the present
This is all I have and know of, I think of and cherish.
And steadfastly I hold
The future is my deepest fear and has caused me sleepless night.
The Fear of living in perpetual guilt of failure to achieve my heart desires.
The fear that haunt me like death, ghost and like a monster.
Life oh life! All I ask for is fairness
All I hope for is greatness, happiness and fulfillment in life.
Oh life, oh, oh life so unpredictable
Oh life, oh life so gracious yet unassuming.

KINDNESS

by Vivian Golokumah
There’s a pretty woman somewhere I know,
Before whose eyes greed is transformed into generosity
In her mouth a tongue of soothing comfort
And in her breasts sweet milk of sympathy.
All she could, she gives the needy;
And when she can’t she encourages true
Those in pain she pampers with pity.
Her hands are magic wands of mercy,
Which bitter poison alters to sweet honey,
And resolves wars into painless peace
Ugly Anger! Her smiles change into dainty love.
She is great! That woman I know:
Never frowning – always smiling
She is Kindness who but a few do know.
By Vivian GoloKumah
Dedicated to my mother

POOR WOMAN

by Vivian Golokumah
Poor woman, look how oppressed she is
Suppressed she has been all this years.
Marriage has limited her to little chances,
Marriage has put her in captivity of no choice of
Her.
Poor woman, she can’t speak when her husband
Speaks, she can’t even have a decent conversation
With her husband without being beaten like a thief who
Has Stolen.
Her very existence is pain, anguish, anxiety and nightmare
Because she is a woman who married to a beast as husband.
Poor woman, she has no right over her sexuality, her husband own
Her like a piece of land, he decides when to plant, nature and cultivate
The land.
The poor woman has to be submissive and loving unconditionally
to the husband. She is like a piece of wood before her husband she
can’t have equal love and be treated like the woman that she is.
The poor woman has to produce children as a prove her womanhood
Marriage has enslaved her.
All in name of womanhood.
All she ever wanted as woman was happiness as a married woman.

Monday, January 26, 2009

Sardine Happiness

By Al-hassan

It was a Saturday morning

Big Boats from Apam visit Gomoa Fetteh

It was low tide, the see is calm

Exposed rocks green see weeds

It smells fresh and green

Young men in shorts carrying sardine boxes

Boys snatching sardine

Fishmongers busy bargaining for sardine

Pure water and orange sellers were all there

It was a joy to see happy faces chit-chat

My feet rooted in sand

I could not leave the harbour

Sardine “don’t bring” happiness to Gomoa Fetteh

FREEDOM CENTRE

Amewuga Ablordeppey

What Dom,

And from what Free;

What Ta,

And from what Cen:

Yeah Freedom Centre,

I’m glad I don’t pay to enter…

Here my ears are brightened,

Here my soul is flamed in wisdom,

People mind beautifully high,

I mix in and peacefully sigh…

Yeah Freedom Centre

Keep sculpturing this banter…

Hold high poetry’s torch,

Shine it all over very much,

My asanka says you’d call all,

That beyond and ever you’d stand tall,

Yeah Freedom Centre,

Thank God I’m a poetry repenter

 

Thursday, January 22, 2009

Mashed Yam

Papa Alata

Mashed yam and palm oil,

Soothing meal will it be,

Soothing meal down my throat,

World competitors it will conquer.

When I savour

Childhood delicacy

Of much adequacy

As motherly message

It gives at home

Down my throat

Mummy is an expert.  

The Lorry Station

Papa Alata

The little rising dust

Like brown water spray,

Of a fountain overburdened,

Junked up palm kernels noisy,

With torn – up tarpaulin tops

These wooden body Lorries,

Their blaring horns,

Like the unheeded mournful tones

Of a whale calling;

All in a confusion of burying humanity

That was the lorry station

Of the birds eye view.

Five Little Sisters

Papa Alata

Five little sisters

Each as a mistress

Live they in distress

Created by the seamstress,

Thinking under great stress

They go up with slow steps

Unattractive cut of dress,

Up the chapel with mindful steps

Sabotaged by the priestess

Their spirit in a great mess.

Love Me, God

Papa Alata

Love me Mummy’s God

Daddy’s Lord,

Everybody’s Call,

Of the Nazarene Cult

Love me ,God

Even when the gourd,

Is used for your lot

From the fetish call

Of the animist cult.

Love me, God

House Nigger

Betraying his fellows,                                                                                                                                                                     

Privileges does he win                                    

Of not working in the fields,

Betraying his fellows,

Elevated he does become

 Insuring the neo-colony

In Black Atlantic

Better skin colour,

A woman of the Master Class

House Niggers

Most have the Cream become

The best of sable Crowd,

Better slaves

And ethnic purity disgraced,

Even in these days,

Of going our own way.

When our own should hold sway;

Black Cush,

Seize the times.

 

Saturday, January 17, 2009

By Brother Biko

oh geez oh please

a week in office

some are saying hes slow

as if they dont know

that one misruled us for eleven years

and we gave him an extra eight

another came to tie us to hopelessness

and he had eight to waste the state

both cant be better than atta mills

unless he learns their special skills

we need a change we need a change

but some comments are so strange

for ghana to reach the top

some may really have to shut up

My Colour Never Gets Tired

By Brother Biko

being traumatized dehumanized despiritualized disconnected

yet my colour never gets tired

passed thru colonialism passed thru slavery

thru the hands of jesus mohammed to be damned eternally

yet my colour never gets tired

being beaten raped hired fired

yet my  colour never gets tired

passed thru wars hunger diseases

manmade catastrophies and crisis

yet my colour never gets tired

being pinched stretched bleached discoloured

yet my colour never gets tired

passed thru ruthless invaders brainless leaders

mind destroyers liars reverend pastors

yet my colour never gets tired

fraustrated humiliated segregated denigrated

yet my colour never gets tired

buried in the atlantic sea ripped from mothers belly

life is still ugly life is still bloody

yet my colour never gets tired

tied shackled manacled fettered

yet my colour never gets tired

my colour is still fighting to be free

and  my colour shall be free for the world to see

Colourless Curse

By Brother Biko

oh soweto

oh children

oh zimbabwe

not yet uhuru

theyve not changed

they wont change

we have to change things

chaining our feet

hanging our mind

tearing us apart to build themselves

satisfying their selfishness and greed

on our mind and our back

destroying our cultures

stealing our  myths

and giving it back to us

to make us look stupid

giving us a god to worship to  keep us in slave ship

diverting our attention to the skies

as they dig beneath our sole

for the gold that made europe and amerikkka

drowning us in angry oceans

casting us into prisons within prisons

for the crime of speaking about freedom

as they sleep with our wives

rape our mothers

snatch our husbands

kill our fathers

shattering our families into irretrievable pieces

battering our heads for refusing to be slaves

chopping off our hands over rubber

making us do the same to ourselves

for them to get their blings

demonizing us for reclaiming our farmlands

confusing us to the realities of this life

crushing our aspirations and giving us false hopes

unfair trade deals here and there

allying themselves to oppressive pro western regimes

providing tips to blind our foolish leaders

for them to keep the people in poverty

by bringing in idiotic problematic solutions

to aggravate white mess all these years

and yet the slavemasters talk about a curse on afrikans

what curse do we know of if not they on us

what curse is undoing afrikans

if not the same old colourless curse

 

Tuesday, January 6, 2009

Where Can I Be Heard?

By Vivian Golokumah

My Friend, my friend, my friend!

Where can I pour my thoughts?

Where can I pour my heart, where can I share

My worries and fears, where can speak my mind,

When there is none to hear me?

Where can I shed my tears when they can’t be seen?

Only in poetry can I be heard.

Monday, January 5, 2009

The Coming Storm In The Village

by P. A Oranmeyen

The wind comes blowing through the louvres,

To run over my skin,

Cool and soothing,

As I stand at the magazine stand.

 

Twinkling in the night sky outside,

Are the many stars,

Little eyes of the unknown do they look;

Eyes smiling,

Over the subdued city,

Underneath the huge overturned bowl,

That the night’s sky is.

 

The sound of traffic comes faint and singing,

But unusual silence envelopes the hall,

And I turned round;

Seven faces,

Thinking of home’s comfort,

And turning out the last reader,

Me.

 

Outside,

And to me comes the night’s coolness,

 Doubly strengthened,

Caressing my arms and cooling my forehead.

 

The wind howls now,

Pieces of dirty paper,

Are in the streets flying;

Deserted streets,

Save the lonely souls hurrying,

To the comfort of home.

 

Cool wind now,

Speaking to me,

Of of childhood days;

Days of innocence,

When the very air,

Was great discovery,

And the paper kite,

The greatest invention.

 

Cool winds speaking,

Of the early life,

Mother’s warm breasts,

And the comforting laps,

The soothing palm in the thunderstorm,

And the ample arm,

Protection itself it was,

From lightning’s flash;

Her warmth,

And,

The calming words,

For her frightened prince;

Her great prince,

That even cats could bully without trying,

Who ruled her heart,

And her motherly love held,

That great prince that was so,

For being her first living male.

 

 

The drizzle comes now,

Cold,

Like alien snow in the darkness,

As I break,

From the dark and lonely streets.

 

Neon lights here,

Psychedelic and inviting,

Like unconcerned mutes,

They smile in the rain,

Doomed to the elements,

And happy in their work,

Bringing to me,

Thoughts of Mother,

Happy she is in her work at home.

 

Mother,

That would slave for her children’s happiness,

Mother that would starve,

If feeding them meant going hungry,

To whom the greatest sorrow,

Is the frown of her children,

On her advice.

 

The rain grows stronger,

And with other victims,

Do I seek shelter from the lash,

Under the upper floors,

  The closed shops,

Listening ,

To the animated chatter here.

 

Woman behind a big pan,

Porridge seller;

The ladle dips,

And disappearing,

Brown bowl comes to view;

White inside receives,

The hot brown liquid,

With money bowl beside her,

Of water and coins,

And daughters behind giggling,

With two youngmen joking.

 

Street lights shining on the watery street,

Like a million fireflies,

Under a ruffled sea;

In keeping beat of movement,

With whistling,

Of a cinema house nearby,

And taxicabs crawling down the street,

Windows closed,

Like so many tortoises in the rain.

 

And I stood by the hurrying humanity,

Beside the porridge seller,

Listening,

To the soothing sounds,

Savouring,

The singing ring of her voice,

The homely sound that called for customers,

Before the closed shops,

Business place of the Levantines;

While against a pillar I lean,

Thinking,

Of the night life and the rain,

Darwin,

The Beginning,

And of Mother

Saturday, January 3, 2009

Bellytricks

By Jonathan Langdon



If you don’t know
You don’t know
The greatest puppets
Have the most to gain
Their padded stomach
Insulation against the plight
A quivering layer of dependency and drought

If you don’t know
You can’t know
All that shouting
The violent vociferous velocity
Of insults and exclamations
Is camouflage for
Ballots bought, ballots bound

If you don’t know
Should you care?
This belly politics
Is like a disease that blinds
With religious-like zeal
Swearing what is white is black
And what is black is white

If you don’t know
You should know
Politics, they say politricks
I say bellytricks, like insect-tics
They are parasites sitting heavy
Blotting out the possibilities
Of this misnomer we all
Haltingly call democracy

Followers