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Sunday, 28 October 2012


A shoe store
With all kinds of sizes.
You can find all types of shoes there:
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.]

Friday, 12 October 2012


Among my plenty cosy dreams,
The only busy thing
Was the hand of the Monday.

I was then of a busy mind,
Like a bee
To which there are eternal Mondays.

The Monday morning bustle in the quiet streets.
It was a small part of the working week.

A Kojo and an Adjoa
Are one.
A Kojo and an Adjoa and Monday
Are one.

I do not know which to prefer,
The duty of moderations.
Or the beauty of stress,
With Monday listening
Or worse after.

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

O people of Ghana,
Why do you love Fridays?
Do you not see how Monday
Walks around and greets
With hard work around you?

I know principled businesses
And coherent, inescapable productiveness;
But I know, too,
That Monday is involved
In what I know.

When the Monday crew is out of might,
It knocks off the wedge
Of the lazy cycles.

At the sight of Mondays
Crawling under the street lights,
Even the royals of indolence
Would bow down frighteningly.

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.

The traffic is not moving
Monday must be ending

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).

Tuesday, 9 October 2012


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 ]

Monday, 8 October 2012


My mind
With no permission

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
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
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 ( ).You write wonderful poems.This poem is also dedicated all female poets.Keep writing.Written circa 1520 hrs--1555 hrs.8/10/2012]