Tag Archive | writing

I need a typewriter

I need a typewriter
To click away my fears and emotions
When my emotions are busting out
Like gushing water from a broken pipeline
I need to talk with the sound of my fingers
I need a typewriter
to watch the very letters
I click out make fun of me


I am my blog

When I decided to start a blog, it was a battle between sticking to poetry which is my niche or mix different genre of writing. I realized there is so much to write about and I might not always want to express myself in poetry so I decided to mix things up. I didn’t want to concern myself too much on what basically to stick to because I was excited I am finally going to be able to share my poetry and different perspective with others.
Some people would like us to believe or are able to separate their “SELF” from their writing but I am a firm believer that you can’t be a good writer without giving at least a little of yourself away. Most of the time and by that I mean all the time, my writing (especially my poetry) is provoked my very own emotions and experiences and therefore it is hard for me to write without giving a piece of myself away to my readers. My poetry is full of little “hidden” life stories of myself.
All I am trying to say is that I am what I write basically and I am happy to be able to share part of me with others near me and across the globe.
When I say I am my blog these are the reasons why:

1. Not very consistent: those who have visited or who follow my blog would realize it has undergone series of changes from its name to the general appearance and that is me right there, I find it difficult to stick to a particular pattern and therefore I am constantly trying to put a new feel or appearance to either my house, appearance, writing etc. I always belief things can be improved upon. This has its short falls because it makes me appear as someone who can’t make up her mind or decide on what she wants.

2. My emotions are on a roller costa: my poetry is especially an indicator of how constantly my emotions change. One moment I am writing a very sad poem at other times I am trying to capture the magic of life or my experiences. Click on any of my writings and you will know immediately how I was feeling at the time.

3. Some post have no likes: we all have posts we have invested so much time to write and yet no body “likes” them and so there are days when I am not a very likeable person. It could be because I come across as cheeky or too brutal with my utterances. Whatever the reasons maybe my blog and I have those days when we are just not likeable period!

4. Love for pictures: I believe that where words have failed pictures have triumphed because a picture can speak louder much more than words. I love to take pictures and thanks to selfies it is now cool to self-indulge in pictures. On my blog I try to add pictures to most of my writings so that the visuals can help communicate what I am trying to say as well as give people the freedom to interpret my work the way they understand it.

5. Love for culture: I am from Ghana and as much as my country has a lot of challenges I still love my country and the diverse culture. My blog brings part of my culture to people who know little or have no idea about it at all. I share my culture through my writing. My blog has a feel of the Ghanaian culture to it.
So there you have it, anytime you visit my blog feel at home and know that I am sharing a piece of me with you.

I see you found your pen again

You sit and bleed words on a paper
Your pen painted beautiful pictures
We got used to the man behind the ink

Then she came and whisked you away
You were totally lost in her allure
You could not ignore the sun around her
The joy she brought killed your words
Happiness could not make your ink bleed

We found you dusting your desk the other day
You look at the empty space with nostalgia
As pen and paper sat waiting for their master
The pain she left in your heart needs a shrine
Were your hands will pay homage to LOVE

This poem was inspired by a friend (@phoenixgarincha) of mine who loves to write and after he did not write for several months he suddenly wrote a poem about the pain of loving. My friend if you see this give me a reply.

Happiness opens the door and Creativity runs

I would not say I am sad at that point but it is more of not being excited

I feel down and that is when the wheels to my creativity start to move

My mind pushes everything out and takes me out on this amazing tour

There I am in touch with my inner thoughts and that is when I write

My emotions run wild and refuse to respect boundaries that are drawn

I churn out amazing writings that most people can relate to and like

It’s as if the doors are closed and creativity is in charge of my being

While happiness is out the door on vacation on her own without me


The door to my being is opened and in comes happiness twirling in

She cleans out the house and sends creativity packing its bags

I try so hard to make them live together under the same roof

But happiness will not have it and there is no compromise between them

Finally we have all decided that there is only room for one tenant at a time

So when happiness opens the door to my soul creativity runs out

I Am a Poet After All

As a child growing up who could not express herself very much; I was an emotional time bomb walking around with a lot of unsaid things and the frequent tears and rolling on the floor in front of my grandmother just seeking attention did very little to cleanse my soul of all these emotional “demons”

Soon I would find myself hidden in places scribbling away on the bare floor. This took the form of writing meaningless things and sometimes drawing images I had no idea about, but I realized I was home. A calmness which was unexplainable would engulf me and all my “demons” will dissolve right before my eyes. My love of languages, reading, poetry and writing began here.

In school I had such confusion grasping any subject which involved numbers; my brain will simply shut down and refuse to function. This slowly turned into a sort of hatred for mathematics and its related siblings. This seem to have followed me into adulthood and I cannot memorize phone and car numbers   of even family and friends and counting of huge sums of money is a painful process for me till date.  

I have therefore developed so much passion for poetry over the years and having an awesome literature teacher during my senior high school days only helped in cementing my love for it.  During my freshman year in the university I went through a stressful phase with my literature courses because I had such a myopic outlook on literature but this soon gave way to curiosity and soon I was basking in the glory of Victorian, Shakespearean, Renaissance, Romanticism and Modern literature. I was fascinated and overwhelmed at the same time. The personal and emotional journey of some of these writers was identical to mind and I had found peace at last or so I thought.

Over the years I have written a lot of poetry and other forms of writings which I put away and totally forgot about because of the stress that came with having a job. A friend who always knew I loved to write advised me to start a blog which I did and soon I was inspired to write again. I write about a lot of issues on my blog but my poetry always stood out and fascinated people who visited my blog.  

For some strange reasons I was always uncomfortable about calling myself or having people call me a poet. I always thought to myself that I was not worthy of the title. I had this strong conviction that I had to impact the world of poetry or write such classic and ground breaking poetry to be called a poet. I felt I would be cheating renowned poet such as Maya Angelou, Emily Dickinson, Wole Soyinka, Kofi Awoonor and the likes if I called myself a poet.  Apart from friends and other bloggers who read my poems, who knew or have head of me?  I felt I was unworthy of the title. The confusion continued until I decided to find out; who is a POET?

This is the definition that greeted me several times: “A poet is a person who writes poetry”. I paused for several minutes and sighed, so I am a poet after all. From this point on I felt a little less guilty when I call myself a poet. I also came across a definition of a poet by a French poet known as Arthur Rimbaud, he summarized it as follows:  

A poet makes himself a visionary through a long, boundless, and systematized disorganization of all the senses. All forms of love, of suffering, of madness; he searches himself; he exhausts within himself all poisons, and preserves their quintessence’s. Unspeakable torment, where he will need the greatest faith, a superhuman strength, where he becomes all men: the great invalid, the great criminal, the great accursed—and the Supreme Scientist! For he attains the unknown! Because he has cultivated his soul, already rich, more than anyone! He attains the unknown, and, if demented, he finally loses the understanding of his visions; he will at least have seen them! So what if he is destroyed in his ecstatic flight through things unheard of, unnamable: other horrible workers will come; they will begin at the horizons where the first one has fallen!”

For me this was it, this was a definition I could relate to and this is true of most poets. We are on this intense journey full of love, suffering, madness and torment. We take on so many personas so we can speak on their behalf.  And on this journey we crush and burn but unlike the phoenix we are not reborn for it ends right there and other poets will come and begin at the horizon where we left off.

Yes I am not famous; yes I have not written ground breaking poems but I am a poet after all.    




In pursuit of freshly pressed (but this won’t make it)

Photo Credit:  A blogger known as A clown on fire

Photo Credit: A blogger known as A clown on fire

Back at senior high school (note that I attended an all-girls catholic school) there was a wooden board that I would now call ‘’the board of shame’’. On this board our position in class was pasted and a red line drawn horizontally through the list of names. This line of doom indicated that those who are above the red line performed well academically and those who fell below it needed to sit up. I am sure this will leave a bad taste in the mouth of people who feel this is a bad way of encouraging students to learn.

Anyway, the point is I never saw anything wrong with it and I still don’t, maybe it is because I never made it below the red line (wink). This red line made us take our academic work seriously and brought competition between the students (I don’t care if it was healthy competition or not) because, like it or not at some point in life you would have to compete or even fight for something.

This is the same competitive urge I got when I started blogging and realized that wordpress has a ‘’wall’’ known as freshly pressed (I always imagine a well ironed linen when I see the name) on which they ‘’paste’’ the write-ups of bloggers who have written ‘’noteworthy’’ pieces (I am careful because there are other noteworthy write-ups which have not been featured, I am sure it’s one at a time).

Even though I write what I am passionate about and what I want to share with my audiences, I am dying to have one of my writings if not many more feature on freshly pressed (it’s almost like an award am waiting to receive). Whether it is seen as a competition or not I am hereby seeing it as one and I am going to make it to the freshly pressed wall.

Until then I know this one is not making it to that wall or will it?