Details |
Emmanuel Kabenah Cudjoe Poem
Master, I am A sTranger to you
but will you to hear my confession?
I am a faceless man who lives
in the backyard of
your house
I share your table
So heavily heaped with bread,
fruit and meat
it huffs like a horse drawing a coal cart
As the richmans to Lazarus
the crumbs are swept to my lap by my Lizzy
Sweetie, eat and be satsified now
Tomorrow we shall be gone
I wrestle with your dog
for the bone pregnant with meat
and wash it down with your cat's milk
I am the nocturnal animal
that steals through the fenced lair
to meet my mate
and flees at the break of down
before the hunter
runs me to the ground.
Hear my humble plea
Please master of the house
Before you throw me out
I need your aid
From Emmanuel Kabenah Cudjoe
eecudjoe@yahoo.com
Copyright © Emmanuel Kabenah Cudjoe | Year Posted 2011
|
Details |
Emmanuel Kabenah Cudjoe Poem
When we first met, it was just by night
in the flowing music in the dancehall
It was my acrobatic feet which I lightly swung
that planted a magnet
which caught your eyes at the facade
and the way my tight trousers
caressed the tense air above the floor
I became at once the IDEAL
that all years before I had dwelt in your dreams
I watched you in that multicolored dress
and the way your curled hair relaxes
Love itself dwelt there
and only the steel comb woke her up
your feet never did count in my case
only the ivory bangle around your wrist clicked something
and we swore before the band that
we would love forever
Only a few days later
you met that soccer-runner-boxer
who excels at running after nothing
You feel for his beef and muscular arms
and swore you would love him till doomsday
and that in your new game you would both keep running
Yet, before the hen swallowed a grain of maize
you fell vertically on the concrete floor
The athletic lad became history
and the old unsexy beefy minister became Mr Right
because he was a responsible man
whose future was promising
that the future was full of assets
Yet, Pretty Lady, you discarded the whims of elections
For in a twilight , he lost the fat account
and out was swept the that brilliant future
he stood in the cold with naught save
the JSS Certificate
that has no use to prodpective employers was
your excuse in going in for the young energetic under graduate
whom you sentence to death in life.
You doomed him for failure.
Who is Next?
Beware of the Pretty Lady-No Character
Copyright © Emmanuel Kabenah Cudjoe | Year Posted 2011
|
Details |
Emmanuel Kabenah Cudjoe Poem
Master, I am A stranger to you
but will you to hear my confession?
I am a faceless man who lives
in the backyard of
your house
I share your table
So heavily heaped with bread,
fruit and meat
it huffs like a horse drawing a coal cart
As the richmans to Lazarus
the crumbs are swept to my lap by my Lizzy
Sweetie, eat and be satsified now
Tomorrow we shall be gone
I wrestle with your dog
for the bone pregnant with meat
and wash it down with your ****** milk
I am the nocturnal animal
that steals through the fenced lair
to meet my mate
and flees at the break of down
before the hunter
runs me to the ground.
Hear my humble plea
Please master of the house
Before you throw me out
I need your aid
Copyright © Emmanuel Kabenah Cudjoe | Year Posted 2011
|
Details |
Emmanuel Kabenah Cudjoe Poem
When we first met, it was just by night
in the flowing music in the dancehall
It was my acrobatic feet which I lightly swung
that planted a magnet
which caught your eyes at the facade
and the way my tight trousers
caressed the tense air above the floor
I became at once the IDEAL
that all years before I had dwelt in your dreams
I watched you in that multicolored dress
and the way your curled hair relaxes
Love itself dwelt there
and only the steel comb woke her up
your feet never did count in my case
only the ivory bangle around your wrist clicked something
and we swore before the band that
we would love forever
Only a few days later
you met that soccer-runner-boxer
who excels at running after nothing
You feel for his beef and muscular arms
and swore you would love him till doomsday
and that in your new game you would both keep running
Yet, before the hen swallowed a grain of maize
you fell vertically on the concrete floor
The athletic lad became history
and the old unsexy beefy minister became Mr Right
because he was a responsible man
whose future was promising
that the future was full of assets
Yet, Pretty Lady, you discarded the whims of elections
For in a twilight , he lost the fat account
and out was swept the that brilliant future
he stood in the cold with naught save
the JSS Certificate
that has no use to prodpective employers was
your excuse in going in for the young energetic under graduate
whom you sentence to death in life.
You doomed him for failure.
Who is Next?
Beware of the Pretty Lady-No Character
Copyright © Emmanuel Kabenah Cudjoe | Year Posted 2011
|
Details |
Emmanuel Kabenah Cudjoe Poem
When we first met, it was just by night
in the flowing music in the dancehall
It was my acrobatic feet which I lightly swung
that planted a magnet
which caught your eyes at the facade
and the way my tight trousers
caressed the tense air above the floor
I became at once the IDEAL
that all years before I had dwelt in your dreams
I watched you in that multicolored dress
and the way your curled hair relaxes
Love itself dwelt there
and only the steel comb woke her up
your feet never did count in my case
only the ivory bangle around your wrist clicked something
and we swore before the band that
we would love forever
Only a few days later
you met that soccer-runner-boxer
who excels at running after nothing
You feel for his beef and muscular arms
and swore you would love him till doomsday
and that in your new game you would both keep running
Yet, before the hen swallowed a grain of maize
you fell vertically on the concrete floor
The athletic lad became history
and the old unsexy beefy minister became Mr Right
because he was a responsible man
whose future was promising
that the future was full of assets
Yet, Pretty Lady, you discarded the whims of elections
For in a twilight , he lost the fat account
and out was swept the that brilliant future
he stood in the cold with naught save
the JSS Certificate
that has no use to prodpective employers was
your excuse in going in for the young energetic under graduate
whom you sentence to death in life.
You doomed him for failure.
Who is Next?
Beware of the Pretty Lady-No Character
Copyright © Emmanuel Kabenah Cudjoe | Year Posted 2011
|