Thursday, 8 December 2011

Just A Thought

Only the softest souls feel the deepest pinch,
when dust and doubt reach an all-time high.
We'd neither travel a meager mile nor inch
despite the crucial yearn calling far from nigh.

Smiths have inhaled many volumes of smog
But never have they fabricated gold from silver
Whilst charming a prince into royal frog
many a being would artlessly fail to deliver.

Monday, 24 October 2011


Every single time I intend  to extend these heavy words to this glorious gem of a lady, time and chance plays hide-and-seek with love and fondness. I’ve longed for her warm embrace and the slap across my face for cheating on her; that is, if I foolishly do so. Many friends and acquaintances become instantly awed at the sight of her backbone and her frontal zone. It’s probably due to their respective sizes or maybe the swagger capturing her catwalk. She’s worth much more than human eyes can envision: and even lighter than most heavy minds would attempt to fathom. But my impasse defined by her unwillingness to receive this message of mine, has most certainly caused me to stint on the inherent blaze dying down with each turndown.

Her name rings the royal ringtone each moment it’s mentioned. Not the type adorned and ensconced with the raiment of humans or commons: the kind woven by powerful ones sadly unseen and unheard of. Though fairer than a Cleopatra, she risks losing her independence despite her unwillingness to create some sort of alliance. Dodging the bullets, or better still, the arrows of the purest archer of affection, presents the said bearer of them with an uphill engagement that even Hercules would succumb to. But her resistance is surely as ephemeral as a timeless sunset.

This unsent textus does me no good as long as it remains so. Owing to the fact that it has consistently avoided an encounter with this primus inter pares, the current place of occupation burdens the memory space of my mobile device. Maybe this note should keep its virginity and withdraw itself from utter rejection that could suffice in the not too pleasant but proximate future; that’s if I can’t help it. For your information, I’m not making efforts at divorcing Lady Loneliness just by settling for this goddess: I believe she’s the ladybird that has perched on my livid leaves despite the lack of gloss. Her spots continue to enchant my vision, those visible dots conspicuous to sages without dark hair follicles.

The message is still pending because she’s got no seconds for spending....

Tuesday, 4 October 2011


Let those inner demons out
They seek to burrow into you
Raising alters of death and doubt

Allow the flow of fresh tear
You wouldn’t want to be inundated
Drowned in floods of fear

Release bouts of bliss
Life is nothing without joy
In a hateful dark world like this.

Let your knees feel the ground
God can’t speak to men
When they make no heavenly sound.

Monday, 3 October 2011


It’s like being stationed in an observatory, but without the telescope to provide that closer view of the distant. Perhaps, the only far-reaching instrument at work in my present state is the seclusion driving me crazy. I’m currently trying to seek solace in my room’s chalice: staring into the sky adorned with grains of stardust poured out for the optical pleasure of humankind.

My strange desire for these shimmering masses of energy has been borne out of the immeasurable surge of loneliness, much stronger than earlier envisaged. My colleague just distracted the deadly description I was about to unleash. But I’ll disintegrate the complexity breeding in my bowels before my eyes begin to feel weary. I must be gazing at one of the many constellations which seems to be mystical or something out of the ordinary. I postulate that of Pegasus, which seems fascinating enough for a quiet enthusiast of the night sky. Maybe the aerial-bound horse would tickle many a fancy, but the fact that this mythical mammal remains upside down, sums up the current state of affairs this gentlemen is juggling with.

Are my hormones just messing with me? Well, I can’t say for sure. There is that one thing burrowing into my soul though: emptiness. With an episode of disappointment just passing by, the once impregnable sense of security I cherished may have suffered a severe jolt. Nothing seems impossible now, I mean, apart from translocation taking place with the sudden blink of my simple eye: where I could appear in Beirut or Bangkok from my current position, my wildest imagination and fears have a chance in the “real world” game show. That probably explains why I sleep so much; my dreams supersede the very obvious reality.

I should be lying If I told you I’m feeling much better since I begun stroking my keyboard. In fact, my inner contents feel like gushing out at the least instigation. This condition might draw suggestions of nausea or something similar. But trust me, I’ve checked my temperature and it’s high enough to restore the icebergs melting on the Arctic. Let’s hope that some stars would decide to collapse in on themselves and create a black hole, that would swallow me and gradually allow gravity modify time: sending me into another dimension offering more happiness and less pain.
Emptiness fills this brief, with nothing but gloom and grief....

Monday, 26 September 2011



Most Ghanaian tertiary students are very familiar with this term, especially when lecturers burden them with overbearing amounts of assignments and group projects to be completed within a very short period of time. More often than not, out of sheer laziness these degree-seeking vampires neglect the fulfilment of their scholastic obligation. And when these works are left to the very last minute, the cycle of laying blame at their doorposts is set into repetitive motion: which usually champions the widespread illusion that miniature gods sitting in offices and pretending to teach, only sought to fail them at the end of the semester.

Or maybe, whilst trying your very best to enjoy the many commercials that annoyingly interrupt the telenovela gripping your sensual side, the lights give out. We somehow (and absurdly) manage to think the company tasked with ensuring that electricity supply is maintained, deliberately deprives the general public of this so crucial utility, or to assume a more paradoxical stance, some trained toddler constantly toys with the switch, which supplies the grid covering our most immediate environs. How cynical can people get!

Mafia actually refers to the name of a slack but solid association of criminals; this group occasionally bound together by blood oaths. Originating from the southern island of Sicily separated from mainland Italy by the Strait of Messina, this enormous but isolated land mass housed the development of this cult in feudal periods in an effort to protect the estates of property-owners indisposed at the time. They never had a fulcrum controlling affairs or even a hierarchical order of any sort: just a bunch of crooks limited in terms of power within a particular district.

This post is specially dedicated to all the dudes around the world who buy that condom just before prom night and finally blame their promiscuous girlfriends for sharing some virus, or the well-armed rogue roaming the streets, searching for the lady who forgot to pick her pepper spray, willing to do him a favour under duress. Whichever personality we are referring to, he has only that one thing in mind: causing damage unlimited till satisfaction is attained, but sadly forgetting about the consequence.

And to the students wasting away precious time, your end might be awfully sublime...

Monday, 12 September 2011


More often than not, the working population without vehicles of their very own take the early bus to work with large notes looking to escape from hot pockets: but the beautiful exchange that ensues, speaks of the dirty dilemma our innocent hands have to endure. 

The fresh and unadulterated smell of a cedi is quickly relinquished for a folded note impregnated with filth, thumbprints, and possibly semen. You think that is outrageous? Puh-lease! The very elaborate Kamasutra sex positions are not even as remotely extreme as the state of the once unblemished powerful slice of paper after going through the palms and pockets of different locations and adorned after varying vocations.

Lets not forget the market-woman who hides the fruit of her labor, accrued from selling her merchandise in the hot sun between her falling cleavages. That scorching heavenly body forcing the salty sweat from within her epidermis, which interestingly enough, culminates into the stench stronger than a sumo-wrestler. You might wonder what drew my attention to this seldom spoken of but very popular eye-sore: allow me to illustrate the scenario then. This bus driver's mate hurriedly took the fare from each passenger till he asked me, "Yesssssssssssssss, your money!" I fumbled to pick coins from my back pocket, only to realize I had none. The notes in my frontal sac decided to take initiative, leading to the exchange of tidy for dirty.

You might fall ill not because of the dangerous mosquito: it might just be that dirty money...

Written by : Kojo Essuman Ackah

(C) Copyright ~ 2011 All Rights Reserved

@Poetikojo<-----------Follow me on twitter

Wednesday, 7 September 2011


Its just been over a year since we recounted the brief but beautiful past we both shared. Those times where the world didn't matter, when we became the impregnable unit that has sadly crumbled to non-existence. It would be a great farce to inform the general public and the entire world of me dreaming about you everyday: having your image engraved on the nucleus of my brain cells surely seems enough to keep me haunted forever, which remains my most treasured relic. Constantly chased out of sorts by this nightmare of a memory, I ridiculously wish it would become reality.

Although our intimacy was devoid of salivary exchange, your absence has incurred an omnibus of solitude. Bringing with it, chilly morning breezes,  it sends me a reminder of how warm your cuddles kept me on a daily basis. I certainly don't allude all this to that misinformed meteorologist on the television, or even nature's great antiphon in climate change, but each gust approaching sub-zero temperatures, has felt the fist of my tongue.

In relation to an inter-ballistic missile, missing you would be life-saving, a believable sham of a lovely life worth rescuing, identical to that deep mirage formed in the figment of my  imagination. I identify it as such for the simple reason of not having you around. Just as contagious as a flu might be, I'll keep catching you no matter how sore your falling would be. Now I'm drunk with nostalgia of our sweet past, probably because those epics glide wide apart from this painful present handed to me. Wish you had stayed, when our love frayed: hope time had waited, whilst your patience wavered.

Just a day before, it was born: now its all gone...

Written by : Kojo Essuman Ackah

(C) Copyright ~ 2011 All Rights Reserved

@Poetikojo<-----------Follow me on twitter

Wednesday, 24 August 2011


Why do I still feel so strongly attached to this imaginary lady? My sensual affiliation seems so non-existent when she avails herself. This mystery maiden doesn’t complain about my messed up hair, neither does she keep silent for days without calling me. She makes her presence so obvious when I’m alone and utterly morose by the stinking stillness of my life. I face this menace ever so often when my queen decides to temporarily forfeit her sovereignty and take her throne for granted.

Indignation is my daily bread, especially when I sulk so much at the inability to check on her supposed king. Although many damsels have traversed my path, my devotion remains solely imposed on my affection towards her. It almost feels like I have fallen face down, bursting my eye-balls out with no chance of seeing any other forever.

She lethargically steps up the ladder of maturity, feeling very comfortable where she currently resides: under the tutelage of dear daddy. Taking both weekly wages and instruction from him, the rules of engagement don’t matter as much as her trips to the hair parlour. Can I really blame anyone? After all, it was my choice to sentence myself to this rigmarole called courtship. Although, the clarion call for patience relents at the forefront of counsel received, I honestly prefer that virtue being left behind the long stream of thoughts running through my mind.

Every second without her stretches towards infinity, maybe because I still recount the softness of her royal regalia as I unfolded the hidden: that unseen beauty well concealed on the count of chastity and purity. This false reality continues to engrave itself on the mind of the other man, that image in the mirror fixated before me. He makes mockery of my seductive ineptitude, which fails to translate this young woman to that white polyester platform popularly known as sheets.

Waiting for that dastardly day, just wish it would be March or May...

Saturday, 20 August 2011


Ever been in that awkward situation where you just wanted to vaporize in an instant? When trying to act nice to a stranger becomes an impossible mountain to climb, or opening up to that lovely lady seems deeper than the deepest mining shafts at the Obuasi Gold mines? Well, I have always wanted those situations to arise, when I had built up enough gusto to face them. But unfortunately, they seem to be trickling in at a pace faster than I could possibly imagine. Some seem to think the liquor, whether hard or soft, would carry those moments aloft. But I beg to differ with that plastered plot.

Taking shots of alcohol have helped many a man to lay away shreds of fear and frequent fits of low self-esteem whenever they deem it crucial. Chemically belonging to the group of compounds known as ethyl alcohols or ethanol, these tonics have taken centre-stage in our daily lives. Though the original name denoted any fine powder Alchemists of medieval Europe applied to essences, obtained through distillation, its present usage has absolutely nothing to do with powder but has everything to do with short glasses and tall concoction bottles.

If alcohol would rid my being of self-belief bankruptcy, then I’d rather remain sober and out of sorts for the rest of my natural life. It’s completely outrageous to think that attaining drunkenness would somehow help in overcoming an overly-intimidating backdrop, which could be an office occupied by a bevy of ladies or your father finding you and your girlfriend in the most preposterous of positions in his master bedroom. I have not tried a full bottle yet, but I’m pretty sure its magical powers do not exist.

And to those impotent male Homo sapiens, who think the millions of mitochondria lurking within their scrotal sacs would multiply instantly, I dare say, you are in dreamland: sadly enough, without Alice as your companion. Many of these dreamers actually sit behind the wheels of our public transportation pretending to take control of their vehicles until Mother Nature feels cheated enough and slaps the living daylight off their faces. This actually happens on a daily basis here in Africa, with the culpable ones always left off the hook by the open arms of death.

Just gave a beautiful belle one lusty smirk, with no whiskey at work.... 

Written by : Kojo Essuman Ackah
(C) Copyright ~ 2011 All Rights Reserved

@Poetikojo<-----------Follow me on twitter

Friday, 19 August 2011


Plethora of reasons leave me bewildered as to why I awake so tired and totally worn out. The many billions of mitochondria could have not just disappeared. After all, nothing naughty transpired the night before bed. Even if something did happen, I’m sure it would have provided a source of refreshment rather than a pile driver through my back. Maybe my body took advantage of itself and decided to work overtime in keeping my sugar levels intact: based on last night’s chocolate delight.

With Lupe Fiasco blasting through my cochlea, my body’s cognitive skills appear to experience a sudden surge in the most uncompromising fashion, probably in response to my outcry of weakness: kind of showing me who’s boss right? But believe me, my body is boss alright, especially when it comes to waking after being unaware of your surroundings for hours on end and expelling fluids from within without my permission

Just recently, I stumbled over some very useful information on mechanisms of the sleep cycles mostly encountered. It’s interesting to note that during your nights of respite, they are characterized by moments of rapid-eye movements and non-rapid eye movements. Certain neurons within the brain just above the spinal cord are supposed to be rendered active and inactive, with respect to the previously mentioned activities. But what’s more captivating about this fact is that these neurons actually prevent sleepers from acting out their dreams, and instead, allow only twitching or very unnoticeable movement. If this wasn’t the case, many of us would either have hurt ourselves or forcibly found our way into our partners, lawful substitutes for the wonder woman seductively approaching in our virtual world.

Even though this naturally occurring phenomenon may be at least as important in calming the inward pressure ongoing within as the never-ending cycle of metabolic activity, excessive sojourning down the Slothful Street can be disastrous to say the least. So the next time you are aboard the ‘Goodnight Express’, tell the conductor to skip that bus-stop for your own sake.

Charging is currently complete, and I'm so dead beat....

Written by : Kojo Essuman Ackah
(C) Copyright ~ 2011 All Rights Reserved
@Poetikojo<-----------Follow me on twitter

Thursday, 18 August 2011


I continuously fail to phantom how fate blessed me with such a wonderful opportunity: a chance to collide with someone as sweet as you. It is true; I can’t afford to lie and simply can’t hide why: the reason for loving you. Countless times, your kindness has embarrassed me and amazed my friends: telling me what looks good on me and what food was harmful to my health. My mother would most certainly be the only competitor, but you surely would be a worthy challenger.

Some years back, a trusted someone told me not to settle down with you, because apparently I hadn’t met half the number of ladies I would eventually come in contact with through my entire lifetime. Well, I guess this friend of mine was unaware of the fact that this period of existence would be shared with an angel, regardless of the Pamela Anderson’s or Jessica Alba’s I’d eventually become acquainted with. You certainly don’t resemble that pretty pair, but baby, you are my brightest sun without which my galaxy would cease to exist.

Don’t be astounded, I mean it all. Life does not always hand everyone such a perfect deal, because if it did, an increase in wages, or that ever-growing yearn to stay forever young would be the least of our headaches. Believe me, proviso quod there were a million and more ways to express my love for thee, I’d exhaust them all with much pleasure and glee. Some say, “Love is unreal: it’s a great farce”. Maybe they should have met her before I did, because she’s the other half of me.

You complete and complement me at the same time: something of a rarity. Life would be blurry without you: lacking much clarity. So please don’t blame me for loving you like this. ‘Cos now they know that this picture is worth much more than just a kiss...

Dedicated to Mr & Mrs Tabicca

Written by : Kojo Essuman Ackah
(C) Copyright ~ 2011 All Rights Reserved

@Poetikojo<-----------Follow me on twitter

Monday, 15 August 2011


It is pretty easy to assume that the world revolves around you, especially when you decide to reside in the comfortable confines of your bed. Rising up and almost immediately going back to your slothful self, wishing everything else in existence would freeze whilst you took a snooze. I can confidently give this coherent description because this scenario was once my daily routine.

The transition from dusk to morning would seize suddenly, school children would join the sleeping bandwagon and forget about receiving those hot strokes, or maybe the tipper trucks on the nation’s highways would be rendered immobile by the far-stretching limbs of time. But the rules of engagement to this illusion still remain a mystery to that former personality I tolerated. Maybe the underlying principles were in close proximity to those of the electrical switch, where my retiring and awakening would pause and play the unfolding events happening within and without my territorial scope.

Apart from the rays of sunshine, this very much extended version of hibernation kept me away from the many opportunities and individuals that could have impacted positively or better still, rescued me from my captors. The alarm clock became my best friend with one particular problem threatening our relationship, my unfaithfulness. I would wake to impede the movement of its jingle of a waveform bursting through my eardrums. My fingers took the time to expertly detect the position of my phone without asking for directions from my eyes. But news reaching me indicates that the keyboard of a once lonely laptop captured her heart about a month ago. How comforting!

Even the masses of mucus accumulated around my dual optical organs could be accommodated within a number of toothpaste tubes. My sleeping habits became so rampant that the above-mentioned residue would have ably represented on any internationally acclaimed stock exchange, probably knocking off coffee as one of the world’s most popular commodities: obviously everybody seems to produce quite an amount each morning.

The battery power isn’t getting any better: maybe another charger?!

Written by : Kojo Essuman Ackah
(C) Copyright ~ 2011 All Rights Reserved

@Poetikojo<-----------Follow me on twitter

Sunday, 14 August 2011

Three of Me..

Poem One
Introduction: I'd just read about the Queen of Sheba, the wife of King Solomon. The poem was centered around the story on how she was astonished at the lavishness of his estate when she visited him. Wanting to impress the king, she loaded her camels with spices, gold and jewels but ironically, the king's greatness swept her of her feet. I merged this with the Trojan horse virus, specifically for effect. With this information registered, I played around with the story.

Trojan Sheba
Infect my heart thou voracious virus,
Scarcely sighted by my many blind lovers,
Jealous and full of real incubus impetus,
Only conspicuous without its carnal covers.

Without you every flaw remains relentless,
Drenching my will in obvious oblivion,
Till the end I await thee my empress,
With diamonds and rubies lavished in perfect pavilion.

Poem Two
Introduction: On the 28th June 2010, we were greeted with the sad news of 50 miners trapped and possibly dead in a mining pit in Akyempem, somewhere in the Central Region of Ghana. On hearing this news, the sudden urge to write something on this precarious line of occupation came through. Galamsey, as they are popularly known, are local artisanal gold miners plying their trade independent of gold mining companies.

Within the deepest meadows
lies the richest fellows.
Seeking the vanity of substance
relishing its golden appearance.

What perilous endeavor!
bringing earth's platform to decay forever.
Desires of men written in gold
many unfulfilled dreams left untold.

Poem Three
Introduction: She's the lady of my past, currently residing in the Garden city. I had a huge crush on her from my junior high days, which sadly lost its prospects due to distance. In November 2010, the solitary confines of my rooms motivated a nostalgic trance of my emotional hey-days. She was such a pretty darling and still continues to be one...

Miss Anonymous
My many chronicles speak well of you
The epicenter of my perfect plan
Though you are the same: never new
You are still fairer than a Kardashian.

I found solace in the Golden fortress
whilst you enjoyed the vista from the valley
For eternity you'll remain my duchess
till the duke knows no folly.

Written by : Kojo Essuman Ackah
(C) Copyright ~ 2011 All Rights Reserved

@Poetikojo<-----------Follow me on twitter