Poets' Corner
Forsaken Accra
Those lovely beaches of Accra,Whose fame re-echoed near and far;
Whose charm seduced both young and old
With seas of blue and dunes of gold -
They are no more, they have been quit
Because they're now a PILE OF GRIT!
(Even poetic licence will not permit the substitution for the last three words!)
Ghana's decadence
Pickpocket and whoreWithout any shame
Make money galore
In Sweet Ghana's name…
John E.S. de Graft Hayford
The Stricken Epicurean
There's an endless round of institutionswhere, with a bowl for some more, one receives
countless debt, dirt and death.
To the proud nation
fruits of charity are hard to bear:
in blood-sweat-and-tear,
interest payments,
injury and insults.
In the humiliation of the spirit
do some nations pay
the benefits received
at the hands of philanthropy.
Every bed of charity
must have its toll of a bath.
Every loaf of bread...
its compensation
of investigation.
Wherefore is it better
to fend for ourselves
than the nation's bosom affairs
meddled with unduly
by the cunning hounds.
The few breathing defiance loudly
driving the majority
into poverty
in a manner most costly:
hunger in the midst of plenty
I say.
A quest of thoughts:
Let's greet fortune
in our own turf
on our own terms.
Anis Haffar
Monday after Sunday
Monday came after June 19thThe hour frying and the minutes choking
We marched crossed lengths
The faded streets of Accra damning dissidents.
That Ghanaian beggar eyes lost to disease
Begged our clamouring world
Filled with
Long live Workers Solidarity!
Unity and Service
Long live Rawlings
Long live Ghana!
But we marched on failing him.
The starving leper saw no place to spread
Tales of his past uncleanliness
But just beside the castle road.
Amidst the dinosaur security,
Clapping his hands inhumanly
Indifferent to our march
Those sickly eyes squinting at
J.J. we support you!
J.J. forever
J.J. the people's man!
Kill the bastards!!!
At Makola the women heard about it;
Hid strips of calico
The Sunday showered in its wake.
The streets and schools which were out of session
Enjoyed our 'Suomo Adjole' songs.
Suomo Adjole mebe obaa ba ee!
Suomo Adjoleee...ooo!!..aaa...
Love, my lover
When will you return
Love, my lover!...ooo!!!...aaa!!!.
The secretary who got our memoranda
Pinned an ideological grin,
Eyes pearled with celebration gin
Kept steadfast on
Stability! Unity! Peace!
No more coups! No more anarchy!
Freedom and Justice,
Freedom and Justice
Long live Ghana, long live Junior Jesus!!
All this perhaps unimportant -
The blind beggar not pinching a coin off us,
The leper man starving
Rebuffed us.
It was our march back variously
The sun all harshness and
Traffic fastidious.
Another mad fellow stood
A syphilis-rotten penis
Stinking between his frazzling thighs
Wielding with as much thought
As he would need to shit on
The placard somebody dropped
'Long live Chairman!
Long live the People's Democracy!'
Tehtey
Black Power
Black powerubiquitous
invisible
omniscient
loves hate
hates love
damages the undamageable
invisible hands astride a
visible world
manipulating
Black Power
Kwadjo Attakora Baah
Evening at Begiaka
A stranger's gaze falls in perfect grace.On the trimmy, shiny azores.
Against the monstrous background of hills;
In agreement and betrayal embrace.
This vintage of gracious love;
Stripped, and whipped to the skin of the eye.
The streams in letter S entwine.
The bulrushes flowing in thin air.
Each second, the rocks receive a dash,
A splash, a patter, a clatter, a hush.
There is a wedge; and a hedge.
Down there;
Frogs are celebrating a wedding.
To the leeward sides, you'll find;
A human thoroughfare, the thousand years old.
Mothers and kids, strapped to backs;
Manoeuvre their skills.
Down the hills.
Along valleys where huts await with open arms
The gentle breeze tossles the coconut leaves.
There is a ballad of songs.
Ascends the scent of spiced soups.
Mouths water, tongues are cured;
Palates gratified, stomachs grumble.
Lips choose and chew.
Then, the evening sleep.
Akeh-Ugah Ufumaka
Bronx, New York
