UNLIKE PATHS

We made different paths to tread on

and merged the two different paths

but our paths never met life’s criteria

.but who keeps mazing these paths for our treading?.

we were still two beautiful parallel lines

that would never have met, not even in space.

i loved you with all the energies of my soul

and you too, such a cute empress

free and pretty as an untamed parrot

we were an oasis;

a scare combination

i told you,

that we were parallel, no matter how we bent

we could never meet the criteria of love

yet you thought we could still meet someday

i hope we meet, in space whenever the trumpet sounds.

---Fampah Coyish---

ALL LIFE THROWS AT YOU

Sometimes, life leaves us lonely

with our loved ones far

most often far beyond our reach

but let the distance yield us

till we are fully ripen

to take up this mantle

                                                                                                

for love never grows old

its pain never slumbers

.fifty years to come.

you’ll know, you weren’t ready to

take up that mantle

for you were never ready for it

all life threw at you, was fair enough

for your own good.

---Fampah Coyish---

WITHIN

I want to be a feeling

that tickles you within

give you no reason to be happier

i want to be that feeling that makes you moan

crave me the more

that spreads me like a mat on your face

tingling, butterflies within

let me be that, all that

silly little feelings you feel within.

---Fampah Coyish---

MUTE SPEECHES

When I look into your eyes, I love it!

for sound becomes much clearer

cause you speak out to me in a manner

in which mouth cannot express,

using words on repeat you seldom use.

you say things just as they are

even when your lips are still shut

oh, how I love to see you

and your mouth mute

leaving your eyes do the speeches alone.

---Fampah Coyish---

Poetry News

Happy new Year to you!
this year we will be changing the font of the texts

our new texts will be in Times New Roman, font 12
i guess it will not be that small for your individual eyes

I hope you all had a wonderful holidays
welcome to 20018!
thank you for reading my works

DEAD HARMONIES

Death knocked on their door

Countless times this year

but nobody answered.

In his luring voice

 He began to sing.

Soprano, alto, tenor, bass,

 In key.

 But none of their voices matched his,

 So they kept mute

To avoid disrupt in harmony.

 They waited for some units of time,

Hoping that

 Death will the same way to the end.

 But fear anchored

Their voiced down that

 They could not stomach it anymore.

 So one after the other,

 Starting from a youngest folk,

They started giving birth to sounds

Through vocal chords

 But they were just dead harmonies. 

---Evans Owusu Kissi & Fampah Coyish---

PROFIT AND LOSS

From outside comes sounds

Of cutlass cutting into a tree's skin..

Chaa... Chaa... Chaa...

For God knows how long.

Little timbers falling With mighty unheard sounds.

Creeping little things Run for dear lives.

Cha... Cha... Chaa.

 God knows where to.

 Is the tree's name a stranger to this man?

 Does it matter?

 Does he know the harm caused to other living beings?

 Does he care?

 No, no matter.

 Once he feels not their pain,

 No allowance of care

Could sneak into his untamed heart.

Oh life....

 Look how unfair you could be.

 While one gains here

Another loses there.

 Oh dear!

Why are you this cruel?

 Until when shall your bosom blossom with mercy?

 When?

 ---Fampah Coyish & Abotreh---

Evans Owusu Kissi is a Ghanaian poet with pen name Abotreh which means patience in Twi-one of the Ghanaian dialects.

We have done some collaborations together , and this is our second work done together.

I COULDN’T WRITE YOU A SONG

The days of toil

on this soil

Gradually passing as clouds

and age is only become,

Something of great interest to men-

something to be celebrated.

I wish I could write or even sing you a song

to complete this celebration

So I write you a lullaby

in your youthful days

As my alibi

for I couldn’t write you a song;

May your troubles and problems, fall to sleep

as this lullaby is heard

And your love grow,

like the old Adansonia digitata in the Savannah

May your joyous songs be full

and in days where there aren’t any left,

In your heart,

May your mind be full of songs

and your heart turgid of prayer

I would write you a

if I could,

But I couldn’t

I would paint you with words,

if I have the brush of numerous vocabularies;

But I couldn’t know how best to

but, a lullaby I leave you with,

To alibi you in your sleepless times.

---Fampah Coyish---

THE MOUNTAIN

1

Oh beautiful sculpture
Standing proud above the hamlet,
Above the hills and valleys,
Above whole rivers and rivulets

Oh Gods creative masterpiece
Drawing up grasslands and forests
Painting greens and greys together
Viewing fine pasture and hot deserts

Oh great traditional edifice
The guardian of our little hamlet,
Protector of our flora and fauna
And providing us with food and meat

2

Many are  that wish to

Climb you up from afar

Bend themselves over to take off

their shoes or even put them on

For they have not met a kind like you

Afadja; thick, tall, beautiful!

Let your beauty be heard in far lands

That they may wish to come applaud your elegance

O mountain Afadja!

---Oke Iroegbu, Fampah Coyish---

This is my  second collaboration with Oke Iroegbu, a poet from Nigeria. This time, we wrote a piece on Nature, and about a Beautiful Mountain called "Afadja" found in the Volta Region in Ghana.

SILVER SPOON

Many are, that were born with gold spoons in mouth

And some in old nest

And when they cried gold fell

That their voices were clouded,

and not even heard

we, we were not that favoured

so we, when we cried

 they shoved big rusty spoons in our hands

we were warned to hold them glued

for with time, they will grow into gold

or the nearest to it-silver

to feel we rocked shoulders

for blood will drain both, when cut;

this was to give credibility for their doing

but when cut, we knew one thing they knew we knew

blood will surely drain one to the graves

we were stretched to believe

we all have rights, and a reason to be happy,

amidst all odds

schooled to think, and feel, we are all equal

but whom should we rain blame on?

For we all never chose this life

We were just placed here

We grew, but when we grew,

our rusty spoons never changed to silver or gold

so we polished it with gold dust

to keep our pride without blemish

but they were only telling us

we shall take pride in the trade

in which we have been born.

---Fampah Coyish---