"twi" poems
i will be
M o ving in the Street of her
bodyfee 1 inga ro undMe the traffic of
lovely;muscles-sinke x p i r i n g S
uddeni
Y totouch
the curvedship of
Her-
….kiss her:hands
will play on,mE as
dea d tunes OR s-crap p-y lea Ves flut te rin g
from Hideous trees or
Maybe Mandolins
1 oo k-
pigeons fly ingand
whee(:are,SpRiN,k,LiNg an in-stant with sunLight
then)!-
ing all go BlacK wh-eel-ing
oh
ver
mYveRylitTle
street
where
you will come,
at twi li ght
s(oon & there’s
a m oo
)n.
80.3k
First, let me start by Greeting you in Twi, "memawo akye" in Kumasi
And back to my home land, I say to you, "Yene"! in Ebira
"Habri za asubuhi"! from Swahill
Ina kwana in Hausa
Emesiere! in Ibibibo
ụtụtụ ọma! in Igbo
Africa, the home of one third of the world's languages
Here I am telling you Djam walli! in Fulfulde
Nigeria is a power house of over 500 languages
I say Kube lazhin! Nupe
U nder vee! in Tiv
Manao ahoana! in Malagasy language
Ojobe in Boki
Africa! My home continent, where some languages are foreign to most.
West Africa, my land region the Zone of the Giant of Africa.
Nigeria, my Father land! I say to you Good morning in different dialect.
May 26, 2023
May 26, 2023 at 11:43 AM UTC
Rhythm of life
Nails tapping on table tops
Beating of our hearts
spin the world right off its axis.
Momma shot a man in Reno
Just to watch him die.
Atlas shrugged
And we all tripped as we walked
The pace of our mile,
off by 3.6 seconds.
Trust in our stated axioms
Disillusioned Americans in Paris
Judged by the color of our skins
and the shoes on our feet
No one stops to see how blue it is up there today.
Hurrying through the rain
Our cities never sleep.
Going down South
It’s slower down here.
Sunday’s best and
“God Loves You” stickers when you get your oil changed.
Night train whistle blows
Factory steam pipes squeal
Mississippi riverboats tug and chug
Dictionary.com definitions let us down.
Greatest disasters in history
are when thing we take perfectly for granted
stop working.
Mad cow, mad hatter, mad world
Bad boys, bad wine, bad date
Ellipses, dot dot dots, dramatic pause, passing of time passing of time passing of….
……..
………….
…………………….
Time.
Tw—
Twi—
Twitch. (tick tick tick)
I believe in the abnormal
And the impossible
And I refuse to believe that fictional characters aren’t real
Animals completely understand me
When I talk to them.
Baby missiles fire
From all parts of the globe
End of the world party
Let’s go down in glorious drunkenness
As the beating of our hearts
Spins the world right off its axis.
Jun 13, 2012
Jun 13, 2012 at 11:34 AM UTC
.
When a
twister a-twist
ing will twist him a
twist, • For the twist
ing his twist, he
three times doth
intwist; • But if o
ne of the the twi
nes of the twist d
o untwist, • The t
wine that untwist
eth untwisteth th
e twist. • Untwirli
ng the twine that
untwisteth betwe
en,• He twists wit
h the twister the t
wo in a twine; • Then twice
having twisted the twines of the twine,
• He twisteth the twine he had twined
in twain.• The tw ain that in twining
before in the tw ine • As twined we
re intwisted he now doth intwine
Aug 12, 2015
Aug 12, 2015 at 3:40 PM UTC
I want glamour.
I want edge.
I need f(r)iction.
Periodic glances.
Poison. Setting.
A dark/darker/darkest of romances.
Intoxicating. Sinking. Sinking. Slow now.
Plucking stars.
In the shadows. Cruel hesitation.
Collections.
Twi(sting).
Plug me in. Bring me down.
Saccharine.
Sep 19, 2013
Sep 19, 2013 at 5:47 PM UTC
~
dark early pre-dawn
body suspended between the-dark ochre earth tones of night,
and the teal pealing notes of warning of an impending morning,
signs aborning, me rising with urgency of the leaden half deaden,
torn from the bed casket to venture into a different kind of twi-lights,
nature demanding both intake and outtake, a restoration of balance
but first a bumbling wobbling, the body as carnival bumper car,
installing soon-to-be-bruising for later examination-exhumation,
lurching from handhold crevices in the walls like crazy cliff climbers,
my balance disturbed, eyes try tearing apart the sticky glue of night,
my sense of direction keeping me from free falling into green glass
edges of glass tables, barely, and not always, red cuts evidentiary
“my balance disturbed” words fresh formed, and a poem expulsion
required to balance the unjust scales of spirit soul and the body cage,
patch an negotiated agreement between warring cousins, just a
twenty four hour ceasefire to retrieve the wounded and the
corpses unfounded in the small copses of false shelter,
like my ancestors expelled from Spain, making escape to be
strangers in strange lands, or remain hidden in place neath disguises
of clothes of new poems, prayers for old and new gods
this new poem comes quick like a young man making first love,
for the poem has been written by thousands nights of practicing,
so ready for quick retrieving in a smattering of a few minutes,
expulsion expulsion
what a perfect verbiage to capture the night terrors, the differentials,
the procession path between what was and what will be,
when my balance restored and this poem’s completion installation
in the body of my work, as a nail disguised in the works of my body,
entering by command of the pitch black gods
May 21, 2019
May 21, 2019 at 8:42 AM UTC
The bayed back feeling that once was you
Boiling down the ethereal , in differences
I cross the twi's lights knowing I will be
here . . . for a thousand years
This is astound , no reason is clear
Where the smell of grass comes to pass
You remember a kiss that won't disappear
. . . . . . beyond a thousand years
Tuesday . . . dragging the clouds away
Hearing the voices that were never there
Telling me to hang my ethereals out to dry
It may take a thousand years
Cold hearted orb dressed in white satin
embrace the shadows you cast across
Tell all the Knights lacking they cannot win
Not in a thousand years
Jul 7, 2015
Jul 7, 2015 at 8:24 PM UTC
I am a Ghanaian girl born on Basotho land. I ask you why my relatives know how to speak Twi and I don't, it was then when I was aware of the decision you had made to keep me away. My family has been filled with Ghanaians who can speak their native tongue but you made me the only different. When it's all set and done I do not know my native tongue. The truth is my I'm filled with Basotho air rather than the identity of Ghanaian princess. I was born to you as a citizen. I am trying to join them but I am stuck. Also, I wonder, who am I?I haven't come to a conclusion. I am forever shopping for a new identity. So I am an actor, I did Drama in high school and usually I have my props on stage but in this poem all my props are gone. I'm just revealed with nothing to hide asking myself who am I?I could say I am diverse but then again I think not. It's sad how I can't even pronounce my own name.
Aug 19, 2015
Aug 19, 2015 at 12:05 PM UTC
Canadian or Ghanaian, which one do I choose
This conflict I experience always leaves me confused.
Who am I and where am I from.
Do I say where I was born or what's in my blood.
First generation Canadian, should I be proud?
Is it okay that I can't speak any Twi?
If I don't know my parents language, is the culture still with me?
How do I identify, what is authentic, what is the truth, and what is right?
Some thoughts I think about when I lie awake at night.
I feel like my parents culture is just going to get washed away
That I'll have no trace of Ghanaian culture in me.
And I don't give learning the culture the time of day,
To help me become who I want to be.
Because I love saying I'm Canadian, I love what it entails.
It is the country that I call home.
But I love what my parents show me about Ghanaian culture.
I enjoy thinking about the unknown.
So you see my dilemma and why I'm so lost, why I don't know who to be.
Why I don't know how I should explain my culture, I'm still working on my identity.
And I guess there's no rush, I can use either or.
It'll depend on the context of the question that is asked.
But it's who I am, it means so much more,
It is how I define to who I am.
I take pride in both cultures, I want them both, my definition has no restrictions.
So next time I'm asked where I'm from, I'll explain that I'm a Ghanaian Canadian.
I guessed I'm not as confused as I originally thought, I know who I am inside.
A Ghanaian Canadian, that's my identity, and I'll identify with it till I die.
Jul 20, 2015
Jul 20, 2015 at 10:36 AM UTC
opening up an eclectic ruddy random selection of books to the sound of classical concerto dimmed to 'whelming' (neither under nor overwhelming), is like entering point after point to perspective to new brain after old brain after subject to object to alluvit, the few, the many-- 'on July 21st, 1936, Lockheed test pilot Elmer C. McLeod, with Amelia as copilot, took the new Electra up for its first official flight..' 'This is the picture of the Djinn making the beginnings of the Magic that brought the Humph to the Camel..' 'A block away from the museum doors, the guards still follow us, until a new group of guards from the next building has us under surveillance..' 'More and more, I suspect that Buddhists and shamans are correct..' 'I liked Bloodworth and in the spring we were going to play outfield together on that Lowell team, he whose name for years had mystified me when I saw it in Lowell High and Lowell Twi League boxscores-' 'if the world at large found it impossible to believe the truth of the Holocaust, even when provided with incontrovertible proof, Berliners presented with piecemeal evidence, rumour and hearsay were bound to dismiss such talk as enemy propaganda, or perverted fantasy. As Ursula Von Kardoff recalled after the war: 'we were realistic and pessimistic. But Auschwitz?'- '"Twenty-five centavos."
"Twenty-five centavos," repeated the Syrian in a firm voice with almost no accent.'--
Mar 4, 2014
Mar 4, 2014 at 7:28 PM UTC
In the hour of Twilight, let us burn,
Let us burn with passion
As our blood boils and our hearts turn,
As we melt in one-another, morbidly…
…in a romantic fashion.
Flesh pressed against flesh, I do remember;
The secret lips of a demon so tender,
And our bodies on top of a mound,
Twi lively corpses besottingly…
…carving a new wound.
And let them be irradiated by our macabre ardour.
Jan 21, 2017
Jan 21, 2017 at 4:59 PM UTC
For all the years we spent together,
I'm surprised how much we each,
Dance around the phrase,
I love you.
It's as though we play a game,
Where the first to fall back,
In love loses,
But I lost a long time ago.
I've let you lead the way,
And make your moves,
Before I plan out mine,
This time around.
I've let you do all the talking,
And tell me all the things you've done,
Before I tell you,
Stories of my own.
You keep apologizing profusely,
And I keep dreaming of you.
As I wait for the next time,
We dance around I love yous.
Dec 8, 2016
Dec 8, 2016 at 11:24 PM UTC
I kissed the moon
In purple glow
Her fingers, white beams
Licked my face
Not even Garuda
Could shroud Twi in
I was a tide
She pulled to her chest
We encompass
Then we wane
As the church bells
Ring out
She sings her songs
To slip herself down below the horizon
Behind the Gothics and willows
That point to her window
Where I find her
Tomorrow
May 31, 2014
May 31, 2014 at 2:27 AM UTC
broken beer bottles are all I know
these cuts on my hands not just for show
this brown turned red,
turned brown now again,
are the bends flowing in
all withdraws made in blood
the battle now done for the day
but for tomorrow i must continue to stand
these suds of my sins
won't be rubbed off of my skin
because
by yourself
your self
you can't ever save
that phlegm's still stuck in my throat
and no matter the coughs
it won't go away
so
my muscles go lax
my mind grows soft
my up comes down
say
what's holding me aloft?
Sep 22, 2017
Sep 22, 2017 at 9:09 PM UTC
On a bitter cold but clear, and dark December night
I rose my eyes into the stars, they offered soothing light
Not even was I hopeful, to witness mornings bright
But I saw you in the clouds of dawn, and it took away my sight
What was there, was it just a dream across my mind
Was I in a twi-light sleep, within the realm of time
Perhaps some sort of vision sent from God, with grace divine
Though none of these describe your face there, witnessed, so sublime
I sat transfixed, and watched you, as you slowly smiled at me
I felt that you could feel the pain, alone has come to be
Without you here I find my essence changed to some degree
The love within your eyes is something I did not foresee
Within the early morning mist, I dreamed that you were there
No others eyes could look through me, no other could compare
Then as the changing clouds appeared I saw us standing where,
In gentle warm embrace I ran my fingers through your hair
You must please understand that I have not the hope of years
Required to repair my heart, to dry a million tears
But here within the clouds of dawn, my sadness disappears
As you and I stand heart to heart, and nothing interferes
Except perhaps the rising sun that brightens sky, and day
Or winds of sorrow that may blow the morning fog away
Not to see the clouds again, and witness their display
To leave me here alone once more, much to my dismay
And live within the bitter cold of lost, and past regret
Just another Winter night of wine, and cigarette
Nothing in the starlight, save the haunting silhouette
Of one who’s love is lost to me, though I cannot forget
To dream of you once and again, in skies of pink chiffon
The only thing I wish these weary eyes to look upon
If only lonesome heart agrees to patiently hold on
I’ll see you smile at me again,
within the clouds of dawn...
Dean Evans
4-26-14
Jan 2, 2015
Jan 2, 2015 at 8:48 PM UTC
Only name the day, and I shall be there
This morning the notification woke me up
With still sleep in my eyes I reached for my phone
And the tone
lingers from that Twi in my ear
Annei I love you though, despites his tears
To forget the world, and they negativities
Of a love such as ours, it clean, it’s pure
Love does not speak volumes(quote)
It speaks the honesty of another one confession,
Loving another person is hard work,
Only true love to me is a newborn baby love
for its mother, he trusts her immediately
As we gaze into each other eyes,
We smile, we reminisce we both lied:
We try to outdo each other:
Was I king liar or was he king Lear?
Revealing too much, or revealing a little
Listen carefully, and responding with affection
Or simply use the body language
This fool will get back to you.
And old gal interpretation of fear not want not
We really don’t get each other:
My darkest fear is why did he walk
The dark street of Accura at 3.am?
That’s when my psychoanalysis study step in:
Where the boy seeks, love in an old familiar place
the street love of his childhood dream;
I asked of him not cut his hair
It makes him look like a youth,
Older men take advantage of desperate
Looking youth, because of the boyish look,
and that all it took:
Meat for the belly, and the belly for the meat(quote)
So, happily this morning I decline,
You learn a lot about a man by his behavior when hungry. ~ Zambian Proverb
Mar 1, 2023
Mar 1, 2023 at 10:53 AM UTC