ALEWA V

P.O. Box 1904

Sharkmellon Avenue

Creativity Street

Accra-Ghana

18th August, 2012

TO:

THE PEOPLE OF GHANA

W/A-AFRICA

Dear Sir/Madam,

SPECIAL INVITATION TO-

 THE PRESTIGIOUS ALEWA SHOW AT THE SyTRIS BOOKSHOP, OSU-ACCRA
(Powered by: PEOPLE OF EQUAL THOUGHTS AND SPIRITS)

Let me use this opportunity to invite you to the Fifth Edition of Alewa which comes off right here in Accra at the Sytris Bookshop inside the Mark Cofie Building on SATURDAY the 15TH SEPTEMBER, 2012. Renowned Poets will treat you to riveting and sizzling Poems with Music on LOVE. 

You will be inspired to love again and by love, you will rise to the top. Indeed, it is not enough to wish and hope. Be bold. Take that giant leap and make society a better place to live in.

Need I say Love is a universal language despite one's socio-political, ethnic or religious background.

I have taken these few minutes off my busy schedules to inform and invite you and I hope you take advantage of this. Remember. Do not push till morrow what you should do today for 'TOMORROW NEVER COMES'

Signed

Sharkmellon

[Poet~Author~Actor~Director~Film Producer]

'the nation that forgets it writers shall soon be forgotten'


Cc:
H.E President John Dramani Mahama, President of the Republic of Ghana
H.E Vice President Paa Kwesi Amissah Arthur
Honourable Speaker of Parliament
Honourable Members of Parliament
Honourable Members of the Judiciary
Honourable Ministers of State
Minister of Education, Ghana
Director, Ghana Education Service
Chairman, National Youth Council, Ghana
Minister of Youths and Sports, Ghana
Chairman, Ghana Association of Writers
Chairman, Pan African Writers Association
Members, People of Equal Thoughts and Spirits
Members, Poetry Foundation Ghana
Members, Ehalakasa
Members, Mode Concept
Members, mZone
Members, Mental Pictures
Members, Sharkmellon Productions
GTV
ETV
Metro TV
Yfm Ghana
Choice FM
Peace FM
OK FM
Corporate Organisations
All protocols observed

MY SONS ARE NOT

Drums don’t beat anymore

The once noisy night has gone dumb

so our hearts

The town is as quiet as a graveyard, even

Jimmy Jimmy the drunkard has gone to sleep

Where is the youth leader? Nobody knows

Has he travelled to visit his in-laws? No

Has he gone to see his concubine? No

Has he gone in search of our enemies? No

 So where is he? Where is she? Nobody knows

Fathers cannot find their sons, and mothers their daughters

There is no one to go and bring firewood

They have gone to the city, says Dzifa the village gossip

Who will go in search of our men and tell them of our dying farms?

Who will leave his plantation to go in search of our missing sons?

So mothers sit to eat

They eat the bread of sorrow in tears

Humming songs in limbo

They know all is not well

The men don’t know what to do

Fireside stories no more drips from the lips of the aged

Fireside stories today sit in history books’ corolla

The dusty market square is beseck with silence at night

No music is heard, no one is there to sing and dance

The place of the chief linguist is vacant and exalted with dust

No one will take his place; No one is there to take his place!

Elders know all is not well, they sing the same chorus

Where is my son? Where is my daughter?

Fathers cannot find their sons, and mothers their daughters

There is no one to go and bring firewood

They have gone to the city, says Dzifa the village gossip

Who will go in search of our men and tell them of our dying farms?

Who will leave his plantation to go in search of our missing sons?

So mothers sit to eat

They eat the bread of sorrow in tears

Humming songs in limbo

They know all is not well

The men don’t know what to do

Fireside stories no more drips from the lips of the aged

Fireside stories today sit in history books’ corolla

The dusty market square is beseck with silence at night

No music is heard, no one is there to sing and dance

The place of the chief linguist is vacant and exalted with dust

No one will take his place; No one is there to take his place!

Elders know all is not well, they sing the same chorus

Where is my son? Where is my daughter?

Copyright (C) 2012

All Rights Reserved

MY LOVE

Play the flute of love

Let me alone dance to its tune

  

All night, till daybreak exposes the dove

You are my love; Poetry, my dearest love.

First written on the 18th October, 2011. 
Copyright (C) 2012

DEATH THE EMIRITUS EMERITUS

Many have heard your fame

Yet none dare sing your praise

or mention your name in public or in pews

for fear you’d appear with a certain bad news.

You pay visits to homes

Without their permission, you follow jealously like A shadow

You bring families together just to cry like babies,

Uniformed mourners to hone their skill.

I would define rather than call out your dreaded name.

The stranger with ice fingers 

Are you in search of shelter?

You smile and we ponder why

So daily as you plunder; your victims so mock

For I see them all in obituaries smiling.

Copyright (C) 2012

AGYA KWASI AND HIS GALLON

Dangling to and fro across a busy street

Like the large old bell at the Vatican

Agya Kwasi toys with life, his own life

The one he borrows daily from the grand architect of the universe hangs
loosely
to the half-filled gallon

Horns blare but Agya is lost 

His hips move to the rhythm and sound of dancing feet

A driver is in dilemma...

Hit!run!? - swerve!crash!?

Both will make headlines, he sticks with the first

Copyright (C) 2012