Posts Tagged ‘music’


 

Take-my-hand-feel-my (1)

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In-China-a-zoo-of-soup


(First Published in the Enchanting verses literary Journal in India and Poetryspace UK)

Imagine this good life;

The bursting sunset,

As a window on the world

Setting at the edge of the desert, 

The roaring oceans with tales of mermaids,

As warmth to our coldish strife 

Uplifting, washing the shore.

 

The cushioning clouds, 

Shelter us, condense showering drops of dew,

To dampen our nightmares 

The angelic array of stars;

Zodiacs and light in the night sky,

Ease our blindfold scare 

And ride over our hopeless ambitions

 

 

The unseen magnitude of planets, 

Allows mysteries to be unraveled

To house the fate and character of man

So we understand seasonal trends of ice and harvest

The jungles deep but serene and green,

Barks of trees as herbs, and dancing monkeys

Humming bees flying, peaceful doves,

Trumpeting elephants and chirping birds,

Create nature’s delight, of

How wonderful Earth would have been

Without conflicts that wound.

 

 

Copyright ©

Michael Kwaku Kesse Somuah

aka Poet et Cetera


(to Director of Omilos Eksipiretiton, Mrs. Klairi Lykiardopoulou (1931-2015))

 

We shall live

We shall die

And should either happen

Love was greater.

 

Therefore,

Someone has to be bold

to stand the rains and defeat the ruins.

Someone has to be King

to decide good over evil

and plant Kingdoms in civilized patterns.

Someone has to be a woman in fur a coat

to obey the weakness in me,

so non shall woo my emotions into distress.

Someone should not die in war

for the coward to hymn its muse

as brevity of warriors,

are not meant for the worms.

Someone must find love in religion

to keep the Magistrates pidgin

and to tell of the epiphany.

Someone should judge beauty

in a pageant of monkeys and baboons

to laugh yourself away.

Someone should be a villain

for peace to prevail

so as to bail our tribes from the boots of traitors.

Someone should be for family

to stand for the trials

when the fist of the team are broken

and the mystery knots seem too difficult to untie.

Someone should be remembered

on what he lived for

as stars cannot shine without darkness.

 

Someone, and just all of us

Should hail seasons that age

but draws midnight memories

of either laughter or mourning

 

We shall live

We shall die

And should both happen

Love was greater.

 

Copyright © 2015-05-14

Michael Kwaku Kesse Somuah

(World Empowered Youth Poet 2013/National Youth Achiever in Literary Arts/Kostis Palamas Poetry Prize Winner/World Peace and Cultural Ambassadorial Award Winner/Director-World Poetry Canada and Reading Series/Member-Omilos Eksipiretiton/Author of This Sweet Name Like Magic Has Made Me)


NIGHT WORKER IMAGE

This is how my story began

The symptom of my bitterness

The devourer of my firm spirit

The undue stain of my virtue right

That makes me cry myself to sleep.

 

It was a June morning

Moms kiss on my forehead was poor

Her skin looked dry in a wrapped perfumed cloth

Though “shea-butter” cream was an ally in our straw hut

She looked unbridled by the frowned wrinkles

And had worn her anniversary gown and a wig hat

To that unusual bright and sunny hour

She looked unperturbed by the fact that, the compound had not been swept

Nor the barrels filled with the first tears of the stream

It was such a strange dream

And an infant day to have weird thoughts

On that lazy mat of mine

 

We only heard Papa’s name was “Forster”

He had divorced Mama during our early teens

I was the eldest amongst five children

A lady with vibrating limbs and skinny piercing physique

purposed to stand as a man for my siblings

Papa’s shadow was the scarcity sight in our home

As we grew younger and older

dearer and poorer without a fatherly clove of love.

 

 

This is how my story began

The symptom of my bitterness

The devourer of my firm spirit

The undue stain of my virtue right

That makes me cry myself to sleep

 

In my awakening by the cockerel’s crow

After succumbing to that bitter dream

about my mother,

I walked to Mama’s door

And knocked to hear her deep responsive voice

But silence had eluded her.

 

“A funeral under a leaking roof”.

The symptom of my bitterness

The devourer of my firm spirit

The undue stain of my virtue right

That makes me cry myself to sleep

 

We cried and tore pieces of our clothes

And painted a mood of bitterness

to deaths’ venom bite

I then understood the prophetic passage

I encountered in that mid-night dosage of sleep

And I wept and we slept in miscarriage,

As I had been welcomed to the hill

Where many had died on

 

This is where my story began

The decisive point of strength or failure.

 

Copyright © 22-02-2017

Michael Kwaku Kesse Somuah

aka Poet et Cetera


To Rahmat Haidari and Sajia Hussain of Afghanistan

 

If our hopes and dreams

are not allies to the fertile passions

of our inner selves

but broken into junctures of silence-

our thoughts would be infertile

to the currency of art,

and stamp flakes on the page

of tomorrow’s history.

 

The dark shadows scar,

flare daunts

and haunting grief of disbelief

engraved on pure hearts

that have wills of self

and pleasures of gold

to the echo that fades

in lingering distance

 

The bitter path

has “condomized” my senses

to poor spectacles of the world’s beauty

and now,

I live in emptiness

I walk in a young day

I pray in the lost souls of time

For I am that unknown poet

Forgotten by the winds

 

Copyright © 20-04-2013

Michael Kwaku Kesse Somuah

aka Poet et Cetera

 

This Poem sings a song of empathy. I wrote this piece after watching the documentary on a young Afghan woman( poet)and her struggles to survive in the world of writing) trailer:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T0FPPddB6UY 20 minutes, English subtitles.


OBAMA

A man who calls his kinsmen to a feast does not do so to redeem them from starving.

They all have food in their own houses.

We also gather together in the moonlight village ground,

not because of the moon’s boon

but we come together because it is good for Kinsmen or people

to do so. (Chinua Achebe, in his book, ‘Things Fall Apart)

 

Therefore,

It is amazing how cultures differ

Religions transform

Marriages cut borders

And human societies flourish

 

When I hear a Chinese speak

that is soothing enough to be a song

When I see a Japanese dance in mid-morning gong

that is rich food to satisfy an empty soul

from the grips of depression.

 

When I sit on a dinner table with a Panamanian

that is brewed taste of reggae love

and an echoing worship,

mildly singing “Love each other”

 

When I chance into Russians and Germans

there’s fine Vodka and Beer  away

summoning my instinct to keep coming back home for more

 

When I am home with an Italian couple

that is pure art of a rising sun

and an emotional spot for unmarried poems

who are yet  to taste the stanzas and rhymes of beauty

 

When fine art of lazing smoke

entraps my inquisitive nostrils

that’s a Cuban Cigar of magical wonder

attracting as the wealthy queen of Arabia

in dancing yonder

 

When you spot Elephants on the Chobe River

and the Makgadigadi pans experience rains

that’s a Batswana painting and sight as a Mona Lisa

 

When a Zambian is served an Nshima with an Ndiwo

that’s an expression of tales of hospitality and folklore

brewed from an African pot

 

 

When I stare in awe to the Samba by a Brazilian

that’s times way of healing in the most unbearable of pain

 

When you greet a Ni-Van and she responds unusually gently,

ask her about the meal she prepared for dinner

and if it is rice, then, there is famine in her home.

 

Wear the traditional canon of an Ethiopian shawl

and that’s a taste of elegance before the altar of prayer.

 

When I see a Kenyan on board a Delta Airlines flight

In snooze mode to America

that is another Obama in the making

 

When you fall in love with a Ghanaian

that’s immortality in the face of death

and a cure of depressed hunger

 

Therefore,

We came together for a grand feast

which exposed us to different traits and characters

So,

Let’s recognize ourselves as a people

dealing with people

even in the scarcest of cultures and religion

as we might not know where another Obama could be born.

 

      Love Each Other.

                                           Keep on loving each other

                                                                                  As I could be the next Obama

                                                                                        ‘coz I felt in love with a foreigner of another land.

 

Copyright © 25-06-2017

Michael Kwaku Kesse Somuah 

aka Poet et Cetera

Written in Beijing-China during a 3 week seminar on Climate Change where I fell in love with the amazing people from different cultures and backgrounds.  Credit to Igwee of Kenya and all participants to the conference. It was nice seeing you all.