"kente" poems
The divine walkway
To the river-side
Has began to warp in
Singing and whooping with love,
But I was in the palace
To witness the examination,
See how the evening sky
Has suffered with crimson
And delight, awaiting
The gorgeous joy of the dawn,
How can the nations
Begin this monthly journey
With a broken arm?
The old gossip proclaimed that
Mother Africa caused the
*** to burst into loud wails
Early on that faithful morning,
Whiles the companions took
No pain to grace the occasion,
Oh gosh, is that the time?
Is that an absolute
Gospel of the gory spectacle?
Indeed, we need to offer
Sacrifices of praise
To propitiate the gods,
Let the gracious protocol begin!
Mothers, please cover
That beautiful black skin
With that sunblock sheabutter cream,
And cover that gracious hips
With that piece of kente cloth,
My dear, please
Taste the sacred food
And swallow the egg also,
For sitting on a golden stool
Which stands on a precious mat,
Has become good news for the ancestors,
Now perceive this,
When the moonlight slipped
Past the curled edges
Of the shades of nature, and
The children faces gleamed,
I knew I had
Fallen victim to the sensual
Lures and snares of the
Twin towers protruding
From your glorious chest,
You have indeed kindled
The eternal flame within me,
My black eternal beauty,
You are truly
A fine African woman.
© PRINCE NANA ANIN-AGYEI
Email: [email protected]
Apr 7, 2013
Apr 7, 2013 at 12:55 PM UTC
Welcome my Princess! Oh Heavens,
For the queen of my heart
Is about to offer to nature
Her complete beauty of Africa,
Give her the Kente cloth
In its rich, natural and splendid array,
And offer her newborn feet with
The golden sandals and diamond beads,
Behold! There she descends from the
Unapproachable eternal flames of the sun,
With the divine firmament
Fizzling at her flammable tune,
See how the precious fragrant branches
Of the clouds covers her lovely feet,
For the clouds have gathered and there is
Nothing more to expect but the storm,
Oh yes, I have found a ****** woman,
The beauty among the daughters of great men,
Whose eyes are as brilliant as the star
And as delightful as a sugarcane;
Behold, her face is as bright as palm wine;
Her hair sleeps like a slender thread,
And her stature is as that of a pawpaw tree,
She is called Obaahemaa Kabutuwaa
And truly she is Rasses Kabutuwaa
Whose eyes are those of the faithful dove,
Truly, Kabutuwaa whose
Gods is like that of bees,
Slim, black and full of sweetness,
Truly, Kabutuwaa is obedient and wise,
Truly, Kabutuwaa for whom
All men felt love in their hearts!
Come! Oh my unveiled one,
And expose thy soft and loamy face,
For the nations shall seek and
Behold thy enviable eternal beauty,
Ah, the proud effeminate shadow of Africa,
Please show the angelic face of
Thy love to my perturbed soul,
For thou art an African ****** indeed.
© PRINCE NANA ANIN-AGYEI
Email: [email protected]
Apr 8, 2013
Apr 8, 2013 at 6:58 AM UTC
The fingerprint of life
Sounded very good,
And the flash of death
Appeared very dim,
Yet the sparrow led me
To the mighty stream
That has no source,
Yes, the appearance of the
Stream was very good,
Yet she came around
With her immaculate ***
Yes, she was in a flabby
Kente cloth which looked very dense,
Yet she came around
With her pleasant beacon,
Ah, look again,
This mighty tree has no roots
The shadow that can quench
The darts of the true enemy,
Has created a new wave of love,
See how I have grown to read
Between her apron white teeth,
For her bark looked black,
Because white was not yet beautiful,
This story must be told,
Oh yes, she must be known
By the ancestors and the Gods,
She is indeed the true
Likeness and image of Kabutuwaa,
Stir straight down the valley
And observe how beautiful
Her emperor Majesty of Ethiopia is,
Indeed, Montewab , She that bears
The eternal edible fruits of Africa
Is the fir of life,
Now that I have found
Empress Berhan Mogasa,
I am assuaged to rain against drought.
© PRINCE NANA ANIN-AGYEI
Email: [email protected]
Apr 8, 2013
Apr 8, 2013 at 7:03 AM UTC
God help us, Imamu—stop playing the fool
as you babble unhinged in your kente hat.
Bebopping Mao is so very uncool;
what up wit dat ?
Flirtations with Castro (Fidel to the faithful)
and free Cuba Libres imbibed with the Beats
inflamed discontent when your verses turned wrathful
in the streets.
Predictable tirades where Whitey’s the foe,
attacking your hosts like an Afro/eccentric
gets old. It’s a stagnant unmusical show:
dull dialectic.
Who knows why the liberals that bankroll you love it?
Who cares what your most recent pseudonym is?
You old and you mad cause’ you can’t rise above it,
mired in the shizz.
Your lines are pure mannitol: dumbed-down *******
(The blow on the head by that riot-cop lingers!)
The syntax is whack in your ghetto refrain.
Snap fingers . . .
Still you wait for your war—or the Black Star-Liner . . .
Your rage was your royalty, paid in white money.
Your verse sought to give the right wing a dark shiner—
it’s not funny.
Insulting, belittling others more noble;
your legacy leaves nothing hopeful or witty
Just putrid black waters, the flow uncontrollable
under the city.
Inside of your Kabaa are yet many idols.
Your New Ark of verse did not save from the flood.
You mau-mau and bludgeon with words all your rivals
but draw no blood.
Lighten up, wise Imamu. Your age is soon closing.
You wrote for the stage and said some of it well.
But your verse has gone rotten and yields, decomposing,
a nasty smell.
Sep 10, 2015
Sep 10, 2015 at 8:50 PM UTC
The season of beauty
Has finally come to stay,
But the wise sparrow
Said to me,
‘Don’t mention names’
Never has nature begotten
Such a pure sense of
An African beauty,
But the wise sparrow
Said to me,
‘Don’t mention names’,
Questioning thy true beauty
Has placed me on the known,
But the wise sparrow
Said to me,
‘Don’t mention names’,
Show me all
That thou can,
So I can perceive
And conceive thy
True seasonal countenance,
But the wise sparrow
Said to me,
‘Don’t mention names’
Oh no, the days of
My love life is
Blinking on a fast
Lane for thy taste,
But the wise sparrow
Said to me,
‘Don’t mention names’,
Is the length of my
Dying days untamable by
Thy faithful jewels?
But the wise sparrow
Said to me,
‘Don’t mention names’
Ah! The glorious sensitivity in
The moon-like eyeballs
Of thee, has imprisoned
My reasoning power,
But he wise sparrow
Said to me,
‘Don’t mention names’
I hope thou may fall
On my waiting lips,
Though I cannot have thee,
But the wise sparrow
Said to me,
‘Don’t mention names’,
My heart is bleeding in pain,
For posterity may not live to
Behold thy true beauty,
But the wise sparrow
Said to me,
‘Don’t mention names’
I do remember thy
Precious name very well,
But the wise sparrow
Said to me,
‘Don’t mention names’
Accepting the sophistry
Of thy symbolic hips
Under the Kente cloth
Has been an axiom,
But the wise sparrow
Said to me,
‘Don’t mention names’
Now I know, that
The echoes of the Gods
Do not tremble
Over thy beauty alone,
But the wise sparrow
Said to me,
‘Achimota’.
© PRINCE NANA ANIN-AGYEI
Email: [email protected]
Apr 8, 2013
Apr 8, 2013 at 6:51 AM UTC
#One World Limerick
The notion of nations united
gets the global progressives excited.
Their party of Babel
is Nimrod’s own rabble
(we’re left with the Right uninvited).
Values Clarification Limerick
Many worldlings (whose ways we bemoan)
hope their lives we’ll approve and condone.
But we couldn’t care less
for the views they profess;
we just wish they would leave us alone
Roman Limerick
Our antichrist leaders (so Fabian)
are more Nero, and less like Octavian.
So with Caesars and salad
I’ll dress up my ballad.
(The future’s plebeian or Flavian.)
Kente Pajamas Limerick
A racist obtuse Afro-whiner
Tried to give the right-wing a black shiner
While applauding Obama
He railed at my mama
His manners could be a lot finer . . .
Apocalyptic Limerick
The riddles of John’s Revelation
imply a large-scale devastation.
The end is not too clear
but looks rather nuclear:
a well-deserved A–bomb-in-nation.
Freethinking Limerick
An atheist, weary of fables
Found his intellect turning the tables.
He declared: As a nihilist
held to a higher list,
I’m for erasing the labels.
Mendacious Limerick
Fake propaganda as news
only fools those it’s meant to confuse
there is wrong, there is right
when you’re left in the light
of a nation with little to lose.
Apr 6, 2018
Apr 6, 2018 at 8:18 PM UTC
Strong love
Sensitive love
Sweet love
Sweet like grandma’s clove buds
Sacred love
It sways like the baobab
Vulnerable love
Rich, illustrious love
Love of royalty
Call upon the mandrills
When that love is near
Love of great passion
It lives falsely depicted in the white world’s sphere
Misunderstood
Bold & humble
Kente clothed in pride
Wrapped in honor
Ask me what it means to hold you
My protector
My nurturer
I’d answer it is because you heal me
Strengthen me
Sensuous love
synchronized love
valiant love
timeless love
Of sticks and steel,
Between brazen sugar cane fields and bronze sunsets
I will find you
Home-bound
Smart love
It beats through the pulse of the djembe
rhythmic, lyrical love
Ah, listen
listen
Do you hear her?
Mereba
Professed on the caves
Ancient love
It lives deep
In the valleys
It skips with stones down the beaten Congo’s path
In the wells of my soul
It is whole
My, it is so whole
They crave it
a special love
The man by the river tells stories of how rare
Comet-bound
“If you seek it, treasure it”
Story tellers say
For it is gold
Rich in comfort, valuable and eternal
Callused and sun drenched
Serengeti love
Ever more Prideful
It dances through winds
The island whispers of its arrival
The lovers
The fortuners
The black love
M. Yeboah
Jun 30, 2020
Jun 30, 2020 at 5:40 AM UTC