There Goes My Teacher

I

There goes my teacher,

The one who brought us up by hand,

His steps are as sure as Afadjato

And his movements as graceful as an eagle’s.

There he goes with his wonderful books

Smiling brightly and ready to serve.

II

There goes my teacher,

The mastermind,

His body beams radiant energy

And his mind floods with amazing knowledge.

There he goes, his chalk ever ready,

To the classroom

Where eager students await his impacting lessons.

III

There goes my teacher,

His ways much like the resolute farmer

Who patiently tends fertile and non-fertile soil alike.

He strives to enrich them with his wit and craft,

And plants the seeds that’ll surely bloom.

IV

There goes my teacher,

The skillful builder and master smith

Whose hardwork restores the nation’s hopes.

There he goes laying bricks of discipline

Bonded together with the mortar of correction.

His sweat truly forges us

Into men and women of integrity.

V

There goes my teacher,

The humble one, the suffering one

Whose back is as solid as a mountain

Never aching for a minute.

There he goes lowering himself like steps

In great sacrifice, while others climb to glory.

VI

There goes my teacher

The most disdained of all workers.

Yea, foolish youth call him “common chalk holder”

Yet his chalk builds their future,

Each stroke lays one more brick.

VII

There goes my teacher

Though great yet a beggar

He begs not for favour or for waiver

only for some of life’s little comforts:

a roof over the family’s head

good food to keep body and soul in one piece

good education for the children’s tomorrow

four wheels to get around with ease

smashing bright kente for Sunday service

a trip or two to cheer the family

and enough to put away against retirement.

My teacher demands not paradise, not even heaven

Just enough comfort to live here on earth

VIII

There goes my teacher,

My good old teacher

His graceful steps now eroded

by years of overwork and depressing pittance

Injustice now stares him blankly in the face

As the grave speedily beckons

There he goes full of the misery

That scares the young from ever holding chalk

Empty classrooms will soon foretell

The first signs of national gloom and doom

The shooter and the killer

A photographer

is a shooter but not a killer.

The real killer lurks subtly under his gaze, his very view,
not hiding in obscure hidden places,
but readily perceptible through his lens.
Her power kill is latently dulled in the moment.

Then she rallies to action!
Unleashing graceful body movements and radiating smiles
and the spark in the eyes is a crucial weapon.

Yet there is no death
only furious rising of emotions, and passions if you like.

The shooter in self defence assumes a posture of alertness
quickly drawing his weapon, and pressing the trigger

which results in the capture, albeit virtual, of the killer.
The image remains to tell the story...

I Stand Redeemed

By Godiva Lucille Amenu (Cookie Lu)

sometimes i breathe in just to see how deep my insecurities sink

emotions cannot be suppressed for so long so i speak and it drips

like fresh honey leaving a faint remainder of what should have been

like an empty vase i feel liberated; just for a little while see it doesn't last long

dancing in a limbo of a tear jerking heart and too many unspoken words and

stifled mourning, i smile but it never quite reaches the brim of my eyes


i seek an inner peace which man cannot render unto me because

that which is not assured cannot keep me safe and secured

i seek life, one which is everlasting and awakens the dead bones

lying dormant in the pit of my soul, i want to be made whole so i will

no longer have to lose hope when i'm tied in a rope and with dashed goals



so i'm walking with my Father, my King, i'm trusting and loving Him

because in the quiet whisper of dawn when i'm down on my knees

and drowing in my pain and grim with clouded vision and haunting dreams

He pulls me up and cleanses my being, now when i laugh, u can tell from my beam

ive been redeemed, what shall i say unto my Lord? all i have to say is thank you, akpe akpe.

Reminisce

By Michael Kwame Dakwa

You passed through my night

...and long after sleep was gone
you lingered as an unshakable mist,
reminding me of the
heartache that is the hole
your words once held their place...

In Pencil

I write in Pencil,
So I can erase and maybe change some things...

Sometime past, I wanted to etch some memories with pencil
So I could erase and maybe change some things.

But an indelible ink it is...our memories.
Events lined up in ink...where only darkness makes it clean as erased.
The bright light of remembrance reveals the flaw of that darkness

Oh how I wish I could write them in Pencil.
So I could erase them and maybe...change some things.