Posts Tagged ‘kwAbena agyare poems’


 When years of love fade with failing seasons
I shall remember  times that tickle crevices
on a moment’s journey

before this story departs
and settles on dust
I shall write a love poem

of that combs quills
and dazes beam

hedging a staggering emotion
that questions existence

so whilst it lasts
I  shall journey to the great beyond
where silent fathers hum to a script

and I shall sit in eagerness
awaiting  heaven’s signal

but if none of these happens
this shall be my love-anthem


      ( In Solidarity With My Nigerian Brothers And Sisters)

    Orphaned tears rain today
The sun does not dry the spots on leopards

        And does the storm make idiots out of our men?
Death is not to be smeared on the innocent

        The fathers kill their seeds
Stars are plucked in the day

         It is not night yet

        How can the elderly call stump in the river, ” a crocodile” ?
How can the river eat the sea?

           Ogun must be drunk from blood stained bottle gourd
Erzulie, wake your husband up

            The souls that wail traffic in our being
bring the daughters home

           bring back our daughters
bring them back
back home

The internet is a bridge. Many of us would have remained where we were if not for this invention. Let drink to celebrate. Shall we?
When my Nigerian friend, Obinna Udenwe contacted me to be part of this, I was first surprised he chose me. When I had recovered, I thought it was a brilliant idea. Please, keep up with him here : and on Twitter, @obinnaudenwe. ” The idea of the Blog Tour is that all writers who get involved answer four daring questions that give insights into what they are working on and their writing life, after which they pass the baton to three other writers who answer the four questions too and the chain continues, so if you follow the blog tour you will learn firsthand and exclusively about upcoming books.”
Here we go:
1. What am I working on?
I have been working on two manuscripts- A Day To The Grave And Other Poems and Love Is A Miracle Or Maybe A Dream. Both of them are collections of poems. They are like my entire savings in life. Just a few days ago, I took on another project. I am doing a collection of personal narratives on my home city, Kumasi. The working title is A-W-A-Y Bus. I seek to delve into the lives of everyday Kumasi folks. I will write about trotro the public transport system in Ghana ( It is called Danfo in Nigeria), Kajetia Bus Terminal, the famous Kumasi Central Market and generally, the Asante (Ashanti) kingdom. I seek to interrogate what thickens life in the Garden City.

2. How does my work differ from others in its genre?
This is a tough one! Writing is water. The cylinder you choose to put it in is the genre. When I look at my works, I see ”water.” I do not want to be confined by the frontiers. I do not want to take shape. I just want to be because I exist. Above all, I want to disturb it and see how far the ripple effect will go. I am like that,water.

3. Why do I write what I do?
First of all, I write to keep my sanity. It’s for me, a spiritual journey. Journey to find self in the midst of distraction. To find meaning in shallowness. To find a voice. It is about contributing to human advancement. What borders me is my imagination.

4. How does your writing process work?
It’s a random process for me. I sometimes plan stuff in my head for weeks without writing. I just keep editing in my head until I feel good about it. I then begin to write. Sometimes, I just write without thinking. After that, I edit and flesh it up.

And now, I hand you over to three of my contemporaries, all from Ghana.





1. Naa Takia writes poetry, short stories and inspirational pieces. She blogs at Her Twitter handle is @naatakia.


2.  Joseph Yaw Frimpong normally writes macabre. He is a student of Kwame Nkrumah University of Science and Technology, Kumasi. He blogs at and .  His Twitter handle is @jyfrimpong.



3.  Fiifi Abaidoo writes poetry, short stories and essays. He blogs at His Twitter handle is @fiifiabaidoo.


Songs will be whistled along

when the rains paint your name

as they trickle down the roof



The poet is a market

and his pride is the people


When he leaves the stage,

he shall nail you as a memory

to the crevices of his being


His life is a symphony composed on violin

and you are his pitch,

a taste like aging wine