I wish….

Meesage from the belly

• 

To do or not to do

• 

The Voyage

• 

…. through the mill…

Knowing Christ, I wanted him to come through speedily
I needed an instant miracle
to justify that He was God
I failed to realise that, if he had been there all these years
helping me escape traps that I didn’t know of
and providing for me even in my state of immorality on a conscience of a guided lifestyle of morality
then, he would surely come through for me
in a due season of my new found intense belief.

I kept wondering why he was delaying
in the process of my mill to greatness
after receiving His programme for my life
At certain points, I felt like giving up
but He reminded me of Hannah,
and how he personally had a hand in the closure of her womb
I sometimes questioned the mysteries of God
until I came to an understanding that,
“He’s an all knowing God,
who does not satisfy earthly pleasures that bring temporary satisfaction
but execute His doings in a weight that I could carry “.

In my steadfastness, correction and guided prophetic principles,
I won, kept soaring and living in testimonies after being naked before Christ.

You give up at your own peril.

Kwaku Kesse
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the toast

 

Lekker Afriku

 

 

NATURE’S DELIGHT

(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

UNWRITTEN VERSE

(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)

TALES OF A NIGHT WORKER

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