THE WARMTH WITHIN MY HEART

Cold eyes

Bold face.

A serial killer

Being birthed within

The other personality.

A war of duality

Raging in my mind.

Meditating on the sequence

Of the sickening silence

Of a blunt blade slicing raw flesh.

With the deep red blood

Oozing like slow dancers

The euphoric sensation gotten

From the screams of the victim

Is the only natural high

That affords me undiluted ecstasy.

Murder has become my drug.

A thought that starts to overshadow

My light with darkness

Then my conscience drips the essence

Of innocence

Into my heart

Forming the warmth

That begins to thaw

My frozen thoughts

Of menace

Preserved for that deathly day.

I then smell my thoughts

The stench fills the lungs

Of my memory.

Reminding me

That,

This is not me

No...

I am not evil

I am not evil

Then...I pass out...

[How influential is your conscience?]

SUBTLE ARROGANCE

Simplicity
Doing very little of
Concealing the complexity within

Head held up
As if to say, 
"You think little of me,don't you?"

For she asks with the tenderness
And innocence
That are seconded by the smoothness
Of her face.

As her lips refuse to kiss your opinion
Of her.
They think she is a cheap whore
But her justified arrogance
Is what's left of the honour she has vowed to keep.

Every woman should have some pride 
In herself.
Drawing from the energy of her sexuality
To power her confidence.

You are arrogant,
Only because they think little of you.
So refuse not
Like the weave on your head
As you allow your mentality
To be weaved together 
With your sexuality.

A woman...
A personality of complex simplicity
Embedded beneath
Her subtle arrogance.




















[Inspired by the picture taken by Gerard Nartey--along with how he captioned it from which I got the title,and a song, "Desire" by Syn of FaintMedal.Most of the elements in the poem are also inspired by the poet in the picture,Edith Ndabi (Miss Ndabi) , who likes to write on themes concerning sexuality and women.Written circa 1841hrs--1859hrs on 
28/11/2012]

THE DAY THE DEVIL TOLD THE TRUTH

Our perception
Of truth
Is based on the reality we choose to see.
You see,
The eyeballs work with the brain
To interpret the true position
Of things we see.
So it's like the sky is the sea
And vice-versa.
Like top is down
And more is lesser.

Our reception
For truth is
Based on a thought that is weak enough
To be crippled by it.
That we are wheel-chaired on
In the new direction
Pointed by that truth.
Then we begin to get comfortable
As we cheer on no miracles
Of having to walk again.
Or,
We clutch on to the walking aids
Provided by the same truth.

You see,
Discretion is advised
For what we hear might revise our mentalities.
If it be of a virtue,fine.
But it's not nice if it be of a vice.
Be advised.
I'll repeat this twice.
If it be of a virtue,fine
But it's not nice if it be of a vice
For it might revise our mentalities
If it be of a vice
If it be of a virtue,fine
Be advised.

You see,
The day the devil told the truth
Was when I became comfortable with his lies.

It affected my perception
Because of my reception
Because of my lack of discretion
Deception became a new direction

So you see...
Our perception... of truth
Our...perception...of...truth

--Royyce Jeddi O'Zionn

THE INVISIBLE SHOE STORE

A shoe store
With all kinds of sizes.
You can find all types of shoes there:
Loafers,stilettos,Converse...
You name it...Toms?

But you just can't seem to find the right size
That fits you so well
Or the type that you really like.

A place
Where these shoes are for free
But you have to pay for the ones you walked into the store with
Walk in barefooted and you might be fined for treating your feet so badly.

You see
This shoe store is owned by life
And our feet are the only customers that it has
So you might be the Jetsons
Whiles all others be Flintstones
They might walk barefooted
Whiles you amble around in your Plimsols
But each of us only
Know where our shoes pinch the most.
We might think our situation is far worse
Compared to other people's.

I just bought some new shoes
For free.
It is not the type that I wanted
Nor does it fit too well.
But I was only window shopping
And never intended to walk in!

Sometimes our shoes are seized
And we'll have to walk barefooted for a while.

Truth is...
Truth is,
We'll never know how someone feels like
Until we get to walk in their shoes.


[This poem was first performed with Josh Blakk on the guitar and vocals on Wednesday,24th October,2012  at Smoothy's,Osu,Ghana. During the fifth Ehalakasa Festival.]

THIRTEEN WAYS OF LOOKING AT A MONDAY

I

Among my plenty cosy dreams,

The only busy thing

Was the hand of the Monday.

II

I was then of a busy mind,

Like a bee

To which there are eternal Mondays.

III

The Monday morning bustle in the quiet streets.

It was a small part of the working week.

IV

A Kojo and an Adjoa

Are one.

A Kojo and an Adjoa and Monday

Are one.

V

I do not know which to prefer,

The duty of moderations.

Or the beauty of stress,

With Monday listening

Or worse after.

VI

Noise outside the office window,

Blocked by the window pane.

The fallow of Monday

Tossed around, in and out.

The mood traced in the fallowness

An unacceptable loss

VII

O people of Ghana,

Why do you love Fridays?

Do you not see how Monday

Walks around and greets

With hard work around you?

VIII

I know principled businesses

And coherent, inescapable productiveness;

But I know, too,

That Monday is involved

In what I know.

IX

When the Monday crew is out of might,

It knocks off the wedge

Of the lazy cycles.

X

At the sight of Mondays

Crawling under the street lights,

Even the royals of indolence

Would bow down frighteningly.

XI

He drove during the weekend

In a sleek convertible.

Once, his gear tricked him,

In that he mistook

The speed of his vehicle

For Mondays.

XII

The traffic is not moving

Monday must be ending

XIII

There was work all day

There was activity

And it was about to end

Monday now sighed

Its relief in bed

‎This was written in response to 'The 13 Ways Challenge' at People Of Equal Thoughts & Spirit [P.O.E.T.S]’s Facebook group wall.

Through the inspiration of Poetra Ama Asantewa, as well Tiffany Cybrie Howard.
The challenge was based on the poem “Thirteen Ways Of Looking At A BlackBird” by Wallace Stevens. I intentionally chose to mimic the structure.

 I chose to write with 'Monday' in title because I wrote it on the  *13th* day of June,2011 which was a *Monday*,and lastly because my name is Kojo (born on a Monday).

A MADMAN'S NIGHTMARE

Silent beauty pervades his unconsciousness
Gradually taking over...

There he stands in a field of healing
Unaware of how wounded he is.

He savours the breeze
Blowing with a calmly fierceness
Filling his lungs with the cold fire
Set ablaze by the side effects
Of the drugs they gave him.

This medication
Is messing up his meditation.
His sanity is being compromised.

Because the focus of his mind is
Bent on becoming someone
Other than who he is.

As the very thoughts of himself
Are pinned down
And are seductively dragged
Into a jagged abyss
Where he will be shut away
From himself
For a long time.

He realizes that it is almost too late
To do anything...

But suddenly he awakes!
Panting painfully
As he's greeted with
A different kind of silence
Which slowly suffuse
Into his consciousness.
He sighs...
Then inhales...
Then exhales,as he whispers
"These bastards!
They are trying to make me sane again."

[Written between 1045hrs & 1122hrs 9/10/2012 ]

MEDIE-TATION BUTTERFLAE EFFECT

You
Enter
My mind
With no permission

And
Ripple
Up
The fluids
Of my brain.
You Michael Phelps into
The pool of my mind,
Propelling yourself gracefully
With the deft of an Olympic swimmer
As you intermittently immerse your thoughts
In mine
And
Diffuse them in a slow submersion.
Sinking without drowning,
Heading for my cerebral cortex

You see
The secret is found in the core of your text:
What you write
How
You write.
It is beautiful.
I don't see when you plant the seeds
But it suddenly becomes fruitful.

I like me a female
With a beautiful brain,
A beautiful heart.
These two
Before a beautiful face.

Yes you have an effect on me as a poet.
As you flap the wings of your poems
In the Rio de Janeiro of my unconciousness
And butterfly-effect my perception
Changing the weather of the actions of my Chicago.

I read your works
And I easily meditate
On the power
Of poetry.

You keep me thinking...

-Royyce Jeddi O'Zionn

[Dedicated to Butterflae Medie ( butterflae.blogspot.com ).You write wonderful poems.This poem is also dedicated all female poets.Keep writing.Written circa 1520 hrs--1555 hrs.8/10/2012]

UNBROKEN

Pebble hearts

On marbled floors.
So from whence come broken hearts? 

A perfect heart will crack the floor
Which means that heart
Was never in love.

But pebble hearts 
Cracked by the floor,
Ooze the essence of our imperfections:
Our flaws.

Pebble hearts:
Because we know lovers aren't perfect.
Pebble hearts:
Because we choose not harm our love.
Pebble hearts:
Because we are willing to forgive
And restore the imperfect smoothness
Of our love.

So have faith in love once more.
Have faith and leap
And feel the fall...

Pebble hearts 
And marbled floors.
So from whence come broken hearts?

-Royyce Jeddi O'Zionn

[Inspired by the picture above which was posted by Ganyobi Nii Saki Sackey on [P.O.E.T.S] People Of Equal Thoughts'  Facebook wall.Written circa 1416hrs on Thursday, 13th September,2012.]

Sleepless Knights

Insomnia be the battlefield.

My perception of the world

Is my reality,a shield.

Guarding me against thoughts

That seek to stab my mentality.

I  stay awake through the sleepless nights

As the moon of wisdom illuminates

My shinning armour.

I be a sleepless knight

My pen as my sword,

I fight to save the whispers

Of my damsel;

My muse

By jotting them down

I write to survive.

I win these battles,

So I can sleep soundly.

[Inspired by two friends who are also poets: Elikplim Akorli and Richard Henry Quist.It started and happened on Elikplim's Facebook status which talked about how uses his time at dawn when he can't sleep and that was to write. Inspiration actually struck when Richard commented on the post with this, "Sleepless Knights." .Written circa 0138hrs 21/8/2012]

MINGLING SHADES OF LOVE

Faster heartbeats

Presence so sweet

Eyes so bright

The head so light:

The young love

Do something better

Things getting bitter

Love that hurts

Love not met:

The fading love

Love waiting on fate

Waiting for a date

Love without hate

But love too late:

Timid love

Love too physical

Love so typical

Love without focus

Is much hocus-pocus:

Empty love

The love that rises

In the event of crises

The love that heals

This love so real:

The strong love

Love so natural

Love so actual

Love not a must

Love that trusts:

The mature love

Love that shares

Love that cares

Love so available

Love undeniable:

Lovely love

The love that we are

And the colour so far

The love that flies

Over shades of miles:

Beyond love

[As my contribution to the next edition of ALEWA : The Rebirth Of Spoken Word & Poetry in Ghana.

The next edition of ALEWA,which is the fifth, is themed on "LOVE," with the tag line: "Verbal Intercourse."

It comes with a formula for the show: Verbal Intercourse + x = LOVE; Find x.] 

Her,Beauty

Her beauty

So concentrated at the core

Diluted only by

The different perception

Of her admirers

Whose imperfect eye

Sees her perfection.

Her beauty

So concentrated at the core

That she wishes to ask them,

"What are you staring for?"

If her admirers would

See the beauty in themselves.

For beauty is ugliness that

Has a positive view of herself.

 [Inspired by Daily Dose Poetry's picture and the poem alongside it

 on Facebook. Written at 2207hrs on 15/8/2012]

DEPRESSION

It crawls...upside down
On the ceiling of my mind.
Suddenly,it drops!
In slow motion
Like a drop of water
In the little expanse
Of a bucket of water.
It drops,in slow motion
Rippling the water below
Vibrating infinitesimally
Throughout my body
Messing up my emotions.
Then like a seed
It is planted in the soil
Of my mind.
It gently germinates strongly
With roots gradually
Finding the routes
To the core of my being.
Depression!
Is setting in...
My thoughts,
Entangled in confusion
My actions crippled.
My whole being in disarray
I am shackled from inside out.
Then I start
To break down...
I am deeply pressed
From all sides.
Then I begin to crawl,
Upside down
On the ceiling of my mind...

[Inspired by losing about seven new poems and a poetry journal I documented on my laptop last month(April) and this month(May) which led to a near depressed state of mind.Written between 1229hrs and 1258hrs on Friday,18th May,2012]

A PIECE OF ALEWA

These are sweet words
No bitter thoughts;
A duo...meant to move us
To positive attitude.

Just take a bite
Enough.
Lick these emotions,
Wrapped up in words
That will digest into your bloodstream.
Let it seduce your heart
As it's pumped in and out of it.
A seduction that reduces
Your intolerance
And induces the opposite

Just take a bite
Enough
Of this piece of alewa
That I share with you.
Take not an excess that will
Infect you with diabetes of inaction.
But action is the best insulin.

I speak of peace
Which is condiment
Of this candy.
Taste it
And let it be known
That you did.
Let the colour of you tongue
Be evidence of the peace you'll speak
And do.

Here
Take this piece of alewa
And let's colour this country
With the words we speak.
Hold up your piece of alewa
Hold it up for peace.
Speak of peace
And let's do peace.


[Written 03/05/2012 circa 1429hrs-1451hrs. Inspired by the flier for "ALEWA," a poetry event in Ghana.]

A BETTER PERSON

Fears allayed
Faith relayed.
Courage, 
In the battle front
Discouragement dismayed.
Now made,
A better person.

The past remembered.
Mistakes dismembered
Perfection relentess
What I've learnt is,
We can always become
Better people.

Stand steadily
Only on one 
Infinite identity.
Fear not who you are
But that only means war.
Fight to become
A better person.

-O'Zionn
(0049hrs,27-04-2012)

IT'S RAINING AGAIN

Go and tell Noah
There's a rise
In the water level
For it's raining again

He will show you,
the path to the rainbow
And the rainbow will say:
"Yes,it has to rain."

For God has given
power to the rainbow
To it,all rains bow
So let the rains fall

The rains
can never rise
to the heights
of the rainbow

But to us
they cause destruction
Because they are subjects
To the rainbow

Indirectly,God reminds us
Not to forget
that He is Supreme
And we are His people
And our disobedience
will cause construction
of the things
that should be destroyed

But the rains
Shan't overcome the world
Because of the power bestowed on the rainbow

The rains are causing floods
And floods are one of the signs
of the end
But without a deluge

So what have I said?
"It's raining again
The end is near
Not with a deluge"

It's raining again
The floods are speaking
It's raining again
The floods are speechless

Go and tell Noah
God keeps His promises
Go and tell Noah
that it's raining again.


[Wrote it many mornings ago,around 0943hrs.I don't usually write in this form,thus without rhyme.But I decided to just let my thoughts flow...for variety sake,I guess...]

WE ARE,OR ARE WE?

We are
Spiritual:
Two elements
Enclosed
In one.

We are made one,
Created in two,
Conceived in three,
But we are one
Or are we?

We search
The universe
But are not
Close
To finding
The us within.

Do we know the end,
The continuation
Or where to begin?:
The existence
Of our being.
Do we understand
Or do we just live?

Is it life
That's spiritual
Or are we?
Or are we not really humans?

Questions asnwer questions.
Is the problem the solution?

For our existence,
Our being
Is sometimes

Too human...

[Written 6/02/2012,circa 1009hrs--1043 hrs.Inspired by Richard Henry Quist Sr.'s poem, "We were," written about 10 hours before I wrote mine at P.O.E.T.S (People Of Equal Thoughts & Spirit)>>> peopleofequalthoughts@groups.facebook.com ]

ATOMIC THINKING

Thoughts are crowding my mind

They gang up against my opinions

And beat it up till it's maimed.

Stable

And without a sense of self

No original thoughts, no perceptions, no ideas.

But when my identity was threatened.

Rip!!!! I tore up my mind's curtain

To expose the holy of holies

Of the inception of my thought process.

Unstable

I begin to think for myself.

I imbibed those written thoughts

Availably arranged on bookshelves

Now, the thoughts in my mind

Are in constant motion.

My spirit is heated up

Because of the constant friction

Of my thoughts.

Constant, motion

Constant, friction

Contact…collision

KABOOOM!!!

Give me some mushrooms

And some soup

Before I begin...

Before I speak.

This is what I think.

Thoughts are crowding my mind

This is what I stand for.

My perception will not sit down.

My identity :
One way I think.

[Written 31/01/2012. Inspired by Izzi-Autora's posts, "Desperation: ...thoughts are crowding my brain" and "Confusion:...thoughts in her head collide," on her blog: blackvspink.wordpress.com]

THE AFRICAN THOUGHT

And so with this thought:

“I’ll not give up on Africa”

Never to Africa

Will I say, “Goodbye”

With the sound

Of this need

I rebound

With speed.

Planting in my heart’s ground

A seed…

A dream is what I planted.

I’ll never say goodbye

I hear an inspirational lullaby

Exactly what I wanted.

In my dreams

I see poets, visionaries and dreamers

Who water my seed of thought

And remind me of great things taught.

They show me a replica

Of the pain and glory of Africa.

Now I’m awake

Sharing my thoughts…

Oh, there’s one thing I forgot

They said YOU too have a thought,

You are an AFRICAN

With great thoughts

[Written circa 1914hrs   30/07/2011.Inspired by comments and posts of a Facebook group “POETS, VISIONARIES AND DREAMERS"]

I PAINT MELANCHOLY

I stand before no easel

With no paintbrush or canvas.

I stand between good and evil

I'm sad at what divides us.

And then I begin to paint...

I paint...

I paint a tainted picture,

A self-portrait

With pigment of dark chocolate.

I paint...

I paint a caricature;

It's about the problems,

For that's what my mind captures.

We can't deny, we have them.

But it matters how we handle them

And so with melanin,

I paint.

I paint melancholy.

I paint a usual picture:

Problems we have in Africa.

I paint, I paint.

I paint melancholy...

[Written circa 1757hrs, 04/01/2012. Inspired by the "Coliseum Challenge," at P.O.E.T.S (People Of Equal Thoughts & Spirit) ]