Wednesday, 8 October 2014

HellCare - a Poem

The pharmacy not opened
I worried this would be
Ghana once again
When it did the PC
Had gone on strike
"This is a surgical case"
"Be patient we will get the drugs"
How can a Father be patient
On her daughter now a patient?

When I returned
You lit up with smiles
Your grandmothers said
You know your Daddy.
We suited you up
And you were soon gone
For surgery.

They broke the queue up
I saw those who picked out drugs
For some on that tall list
Was 20 Ghana Cedis expensive?
Then a man begged me
To buy him a band aid

His NHIS was useless.

Monday, 18 August 2014

A Poem - Are You the Walking Dead?

Ebola here.
Ebola there.
Ebola are You the Walking Dead?
The Chinese may cure you Zombie
With some burning garlic
But they do not claim it’s a curse

The wind that carried the ghostly scent
In Monrovia to Lagos
Also blew anger that arose the Dead
To tell stories of fear of more death
Can the Preacher’s Holy Water stop
You? Ebola are You the Walking Dead?

Our People now pick curses like stones
And hurl them at the White Saviours
Why they did not come early
With a cure? Or was it the joy of orgasm?
Of sheer power and where power lies?
But Ebola are You still the Dead walking?

And now rumours and rumours of an Instigator
Rummaging through the bushes of nearby Kinshasa
Then appearing in Conakry and then where?
Carrying along to the jungle his American lab
So the markets of Freetown are free
The life in Kenema sucked dry
Loved Ones wrestling the Dead from the Dead
Littering Death by the touch of the hour
Ebola You are the Walking Dead.


Friday, 15 November 2013

A Review of Martin Egblewogbe's "Small Changes Within the Dynamic"

This week is Ghana Literature Week. An event where Ghanaians are asked to dedicated the week to reading fiction, poetry or short fiction once it is by a Ghanaian. It is hosted by Kinna Likimani. Here, I write a short review of "Small Changes Within The Dynamic", a short story written by Martin Egblewogbe and contained in his collection Mr Happy And The Hammer of God & Other Stories. (The collection was first self-published by the author in 2008 and republished in 2012 by Ayebia Clarke Publishing Limited. It's available on Amazon)

Starting with what seemed at first as a frivolous fixation on a boot, the reader is pulled along slowly with the narrative. Quite frequently, we are tossed to and fro - the boot still being the ne plus ultra of it all. Then we are teased with the thought of a camera recording and sex and the intension of a man to arrest a situation for confirmation. 

This is how Martin weaves the story of an accomplished man who is married to Fidelia, a cheating wife who is shameless about her escapades, and yet triumphant in her illicit affairs. She has sex with other men in her marital home. And her husband, the narrator, becomes aware of her affairs and puts in place a video camera to capture all on tape. He does. He watches the lurid tape and contemplates murdering his wife Fidelia.
                "Now is the moment for strength.
                  I am going to kill her." p 35

In an instance, one could say that the man - fearing the ridicule of a society that sees him as successful, but would jump on an opportunity like vultures should he divorce Fidelia - decides to end things his way than face public ridicule of failure in marriage. This is telling of an all too familiar condition where individual suffer needlessly for the collective. The confused state of the man is shown in the ambivalence of the society: that the man married a whore, a woman less of himself; yet, the man cannot divorce Fidelia because that same society would ridicule him.

The narrative is slow but not painful. And the deliberateness of it can be exciting. When Fidelia comes home with Mike, her sex partner, the man says to himself:
                  "The cloying sense of her perfume makes me think of a funeral parlour... I will kill
                    two people instead of one. I have become evil:..."
The end is fit for a Hollywood film adaptation. Fidelia looks at herself on the screen, engaging in sex with Mike. She adulates in it. She tells her husband: "That was an invasion of my privacy". The man finally decides to kill them both. But Mike, he has an automatic pistol pointing at the man

                   "That cylinder on the snout is a silencer.
                     I look at the boot."

Friday, 16 August 2013

Cosmic Pandering - A Poem


A poem I wrote together with Dela, aka Efo Dela. I had begun to write a poem, and he genuis-ly picked up on each line and continued. The result was this poem.

You can follow him on Twitter: @Amegaxi. But please, be warned. He can be wretched.
So here we go--->

No rhyme or reason
No time or season
I saw death. All of it. And it was me
I felt life's breath, felt its heat, please let me be
But the shadow remain. Fearful and brunt
The hollow expands. Hopeless and blunt
Deep within the rubbles. In the trenches of your heart
High above these castles, in its crevices let your soul start
It is lost. For death has no heart
It is the cost. For life has no cast
And turning nature's head. Twist it backwards
And sleeping in destiny's bed, there's something we move towards
Yet to every step. Distorting nature. You pay with balance

13 December 2012
Osu, and elsewhere on Twitter.

Tuesday, 23 July 2013

Smolt - A Poem

Let me drop my eyes
Aligned, to the edge at the touch of your skin
Where your thick thighs
Descend to where my passions begin

Hinged to the rapturous wait
Along the contours of your exterior meat
Acoustically humming to the tingling
Of sensors awakened below my man-ness
As my eyes near your pleasure’s end

I feel your nails etch gently into my skin

My palms bury your firm posterior
My lips perch in your crotch
Inching in on your labium
My tongue cursorily flick its orifice
Continually: gates of joy flow: a drizzle-drozzle
Wet, we lose our-selves in unguided accuracy


23 July 2013. Ridge
"I would be quite satisfied if my novels (especially the ones i set in the past) did no more than teach my readers that their past - with all its imperfections - was not one long night of savagery from which the first Europeans acting on God's behalf saved them from."
Morning Yet on Creation Day, 1975. Chinua Achebe.

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