ImageNations

The lines blurred over teary eyes As yesterday's sentences crawled through the crenels of a hypnic-jerk mind Afraid to think of things the world taboos Yet bold to defend it resolutely in conversation with itself As I looked down from the roof of the earth I recreated your little cheeks swelling with laughter... the twilight twinkles in those tiny eyes... We may have endlessly, hopelessly fallen into this thing which has for years written itself into society's hypocritical epithet And we may have to ball it up and dump it in their dump-truck... Or timidly follow their path and forever hide this primal base from their accusatory eyes, away from: Them who hide their dangling scrotums in hideous togases to deceive naive maidens Them who walk the shore to rebuke the footprints of yesterday's memories Them who cast stones from behind books and creeds... But tell me, how does one bury a sailing cork? Why should one pluck a smile from 35,000ft and smash it agroun...

I am sharing with you my first poem in more than two years.  You were like a lady’s handbag Cavernous Binging on all the lists they provided; You were ravenous… Having not learnt the hows and whens of letting go you swallowed all:             the pens, the sandals             the pains, the scandals You imbibed them and you swell, like a river in July, and hanged on On a branch whose xylem has been beaten by the Harmattan On a ledge whose underbelly has been eaten by salt On a hand that gets weaker every step of the thousand miles And the wind came and broke the branch and shook your outstretched hand and the bag fell from its ledge onto their torrid faces Exposing the dross – The gross congeries of misshapen things; An amorphousness Of memories lost and forgotten Of things seen and unidentified O...

It has been a long time since I posted my own poem on my blog. I think it's over two years since my last post. I wrote this a very long time ago, more than a decade and half. Let me know what you think. Perfect are all things made Man made perfect in His image Creation in perfection portrayed The sun to shine in the morn The moon to wax in the even As day through dawn is reborn To order do all things respond The stars in the sky, the seas too The life we live, the world beyond A world of famine, a world of fear A brother so dear, another to fear Each in the universe a part plays In that mystical equation Of Divine Proportions and Geometric Models

Let me say that when the idea of providing a platform for those who want to pay tribute to the renowned  poet, Kofi Awoonor, was introduced to me I never thought it will go beyond the first day. Today's entry, the fourth in the series, is from Yaayi Aawa , a Senegalese poet. Yaayi's tribute to Kofi Awoonor is a poem by Birago Diop , a renowned Senegalese poet and part of the Negritude movement. The poem is in its original French; however, for the sake of other readers, I have searched for its English translation. The title Souffles is translated as 'Spirits' in English. According to Yaayi, I did not know about Kofi Awoonor before this tragedy, and this is truly sad, but I do feel it is a great loss not only for Ghanaians but for the whole continent. So, that piece ... is my tribute to him. -Souffles- Ecoute plus souvent Les choses que les êtres, La voix du feu s'entend, Entends la voix de l'eau. Ecoute dans le vent Le buisson en sanglot: ...

This is the third in a series of tributes dedicated to the memory of Kofi Awoonor, the poet, academic, novelist, and politician who died during the terrorist attack of the Westgate Mall in Kenya. Kwabena Agyare Yeboah , the author of this poem, is a young poet and a blogger. ImageNations is providing a platform for people who want to pay tribute to Kofi Awoonor in the form of poems or even essays. the night speaks of the cousins who mat at the shore in a howling silence rekindling the voice of the flute that adorns glorious dirges Awoonor, the day is sleeping your sail has seen darkness and Keta's wall is maimed kutsiami! ferry the eagle home as times merge as memories that fade journeys into a cast eternity on this path called home mortals will gather tears and trail your walk Awoonor, mention us to the forebearers and sleep not on our struggles adieu, son of the land

The series continue with the tribute to Kofi Awoonor with a series of poems from Celestine Nudanu of . I will create a space for anyone who wants a platform to share their tribute to Awoonor. Reading Pleasure When Meaning Eludes Us 1 winds of death sweep in a convulsing arc we strive for meaning 2 we strive for meaning in a world of blood and tears frozen in our hearts 3 frozen in our hearts grief blurs with unspoken words nation mourns her son 4 nations mourn her sons as Africa kills her sun we strive for meaning

The death of Ghanaian  novelist, poet, politician, and academic Kofi Awoonor in the Kenya Westgate terrorist attack by al-shabab is no longer news. Several news outlets have talked about this eminent Ghanaian poet. ImageNations is offering a platform for those who want one to share poems of tribute to Kofi Awoonor. Edzordzi Agbozo-Hero begins this series with  The Hippo Turned our Cannon .  This series will run as long as there are submissions. The Hippo Turned our Cannon Nyiᶑeʋu meᶑea keʋu o The hippo does not overturn The canoe with sandload Nyiᶑewu meᶑea keʋu o This hippo overturned it This hippo overturned it We are the snake Whose head Al-Shabab caught We only wag our tails defenceless The hippo overturned our canoe But never it’s content For the sand is too light to sink Your voice, too loud to sink In this corner of our common fate Fire in a neighbour’s farm Consumes all farm-huts A dirge from a distant drum ...

I am posting three poems by the Zimbabwean Mbizo Chirasha. I have read and enjoyed Mbizo's works and it is not out of place to feature some of his works on this blog. Read, enjoy and comment. Though this is not going to be a regular feature, I hope to once in a while bring you 'new' poets from Africa as part of my vision to Promote African Literature. 1. Children of Xenophobia Children eating bullets and firecrackers Beggars of smile and laughter Silent corpses sleeping away fertile dreams Povo chanting new nude wretched slogans Overstayed exiles eating beetroot and African potato Abortions and condoms batteries charging the lives of nannies and maids Children of barefoot afternoons and uncondomized nights Sweat chiselling the rock of your endurance The heart of Soweto, Harare, Darfur, Bamako still beating like drums Violence fumigating peace from this earth. 2. Kalinga- linga A daughter of revolution fed on rich political nutrition Wit...

In 2005, I set out to write poems for individuals who mean a lot in my life. At the time, I had heard of Ken Saro-Wiwa and even with little knowledge of his works and deeds, I set out to write a poem about this man. This week I am read a book written by him titled A Month and a Day & Letters . It is funny how much of what I captured fits in. I am sharing this one with you to celebrate this man who gave his life and also all individuals who fight against injustice everywhere and who are persecuted for doing so. (Only the weak fight with Guns) EVENING (DARKNESS) Between the cockroach and the cock all disputes are settled with a peck. You eat the gods’ sacrifice and you owe them twice: no crow to bring you kernels no stone to crack them; The pigeons’ pinions are wet Their legs tied to their nests. Pocket torn Stomach churning Maize farms yielding swallows Thieves singing praises for their daily bread They sow not, reap the lot My eyes are ...

the ballot-man, moulting into a bullet-man, belts through cockroached tunnels (in a bullet-proof Limo) seeking out those animals that would eat their intestines to calm growling bellies those whose hunger is only sated when another’s blood spills on mouldy minds to these animals are offered alcohol laced laxatives and: guns, cutlasses, and a list ___________________________ *Agbogbloshie is a large market in Accra, Ghana.

I am breaking a tradition I have held for so long: I don't post more than two items in a day. However, all my posts today are time and day specific. For instance, today is Monday and so I would have to post the weekly Proverb Monday , a list of Literary activities for this month (beginning today) could only be posted today if I am to talk about today's event and, finally, today is World Poetry Day - can't leave without a poetry post. So do forgive me if I have made you visit my blog more than once today. So you think you know Death when at the point of divergence you took that path; when you submitted cruelly to his subtle cravings talking about the love he has not. Death has never been a destination we arrive at; Death has never had presence or an essence – in a sense Death has no existence – it plays pretence with reality. At transformation’s point the soul’s vibrations increases – that little tapings hidden on the borders of the soul – and the light shines in degre...

Nkosi sikelel’ iAfrika* elderlings with telescopic spectacles toddlings still fumbling with sagging breasts whose milk had long since been swallowed up by the Sahara zombied towards a mystic call to rid themselves of the Mule-barking wolf a parasite that had sat in their throats since their eyes opened and had made speech impossible that they could not pronounce their own names becoming unknown to themselves and to posterity and when the Mule barked for his men to scissor the umbilical cords of the toddlings before their birth; before their first draught of air and the elderlings before their death; before their last draught of air when the Mule-barking wolf sent his armour vehicles armed with incontestable death warrants and a warning to challenge the Nile in length and strength with Miles of blood and to redden the Red Sea; when the Mule-barker did these and more the elderlings faced these armoured men with schizophrenic excitement and curlicued walking sticks and the toddli...