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Four Poems


By Geosi Gyasi


Wednesday, July 2, 2014.



The Cockcrow



Day-Night! At the spur of lilliputian voices!


Whistling nexus between countrymen and


refugees, they come to party.



Their strange voices awaken


To each and every one a day to recall


this epoch-making assembly.



In the King’s palace


Feathers washed and rewashed


Cleansing of the multitudinous years of wandering.



After dawn, before the cock crows


The chief linguist sent to places far and wide


Drums and flutes sound: sounding poems of welcome.



In their camp, a poem of thanksgiving enchanted


A tintinnabulation of bells in the King’s honor


Whilst the cock crows, crows and crows.







From the beginning,


I am a funeral; ready to be


deposited into the abdomen


Of mother earth. A bunch of


luminaries encircle my lifeless


body, my bony skull already


make history. Paper and ink mixed


as blood bank, and flow swiftly as


words of poetry, rhyming from line to line.


News about me flow like flood of water,


reminiscing about the days of Noah. I am


alone, yet not lonely. Many have gone


before me, sadly, more recent the demise


of the storyteller Maya Angelou.


O, you death, you’re a sinner? I reach out


to the Alpha and Omega, the beginning and


end; and find consolation in Him. The end


of death unknown to me –


darkness forever? I leave with tears in the


eyes of many: sobbing, whimpering.


When shall you cease to exist? My arms cold,


my writing hobbled. I become unfinished,


like a seat of wood. Still. Stock-still. Pregnant


with statue-like poetry. In my uterus is the


fetus poem – Death?


Death? Who shall carry on?


Where are the brain surgeons?


Who shall test my blood samples? And


fish out my unfinished handiwork? I look at the


soil dag out for me, six feet, and the maggots


multitude. Yet gesture with a wave of hand, bliss


in the air. I see in vague, though, as a newcomer,


to this new world of darkness; thronged with fellows


but old-guard writers. Dead. Gone. One more goodbye,


explicitly to my devoted readers. Wipe your tears,


warm your kerchiefs.  Keep hope alive. I shall soon


return with a posthumous book of poetry.







By Geosi Gyasi


At the rim of the tunnel


Flowing labyrinth of waste cancer:


Polythene, plastic, rubber, clothes,


Papers, metals, wood, even water -


Hustling deep into a fissure


Only at a snail’s pace, until it locks up


At the lip of the tunnel; pleading, mercifully:


Let me flow,

                       Let me go.


Time flies, like a passing day


Waiting for tomorrow to arrive


But that day never comes


And the noxious redolence from the tunnel


Travel our villages and even beyond:


To towns and cities.



Our children suffocate by night


While our fathers and grandparents


Vomit by day.


The sky is gloomy,


            The sky is miasmic.


An emergency looms in the corner


Years build-up of mountainous growth


Like a forest of muddled grasses


Yet we’re charged inflated taxes


Which travels swiftly into --


the crevices of undeserved pockets.


I wish I could take on the doctor’s coat


And submit you and you into the solitary


Emergency room, and castigate you there and then.



Fool’s god



Dent of hope


Forty something years of


Existence; still searching!



I’ve been ferreting


Quite unduly maddening


What I have not; so still searching!



Memories never robs off


it’s jacket, off me; what’s


the world come to?



Nothing is working


Working is nothing


All these years of hanging








Bosom – the god in the forest.



All foolishness is mine:


Of several years of wastage;


Of several years in the wilderness;




Hoodwinked to execute


Hunger rites, bloodshed:


Of chubby goats, flabby


Chickens; perfervid belief.



I am still searching!


Geosi Gyasi is a Ghanaian writer and poet. Gyasi’s writing credits include several poems published in online magazines like Kalahari Review, Africanwriter NigeriansTalk. Gyasi blogs at GeosiReads









Poetry By Geosi Gyasi

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