Posts Tagged ‘literature’

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He that treats his herbs with contempt,
Eyes the beautiful African woman with disgust.
Yet scraps his torn pocket for white capsules
Sits for hours to watch a white lie in the glass,
Only to spit a wad of cola at the sound of Atumpan.

“I hate African leaders”
The anthem he so proudly sings
Yet lives like the mouse in his own house.
Preaches the gospel of white supremacy ,
To the glory of the white heaven.

He that looks to the setting sun
Cursing the very day of his naming
Like he came from the womb of a western goddess.
Making me as myself,
Did he suck a white breast ?

Chastising the scent of dear apapransa
Only to salivate over an imaginary pizza
But leaves no trace of kenkey in seconds.
He that knows not the route to his native airport,
Yet prides himself with the history of JFK

Self acclaimed political analyst,
The icon of pure family mismanagement.
So proud to endorse BBC and DW
Yet fails to use the thump to validate
his critique.
The general of matured incompetence.

Wishing to be treated like a king
Though have achieved nothing.
With a belly like a decorated pumpkin
You deserve nothing but flogging
Dear Honorable Black Racist.

NOTE:
I AM NOT A RACIST,  HAVE NEVER BEEN OR WILL EVER BE.
I APPRECIATE THE WORKS OF EACH RACE AND ADMIRE THEM FOR WHAT THEY STAND FOR.

BUT I HATE AFRICANS WHO SPEND THEIR LIVES LIKE A NAGGING WIFE BUT FAIL TO MAKE AN IMPACT IN THEIR OWN SMALL WAY.

IT TAKES ALL IF US TO MAKE AFRICA THE HEAVEN WE WISH IT TO BE,
IF ONLY WE GET OFF OUR BLACK BUTS AND WORK IT OUT TILL WE SEE SUCCESS SMILING AT US BECAUSE WE DESERVED IT.

#THMpoetry © 2017

I’m only a passerby
Sent by success to say hi
That with little push you can go high.
Life is only but an exam
Just believe and be calm

#THMpoetry © 2017

Take time to enrich yourself,
Have command over yourself
To produce a favorable solution.

#THMpoetry © 2017

Goodnight to the world
As sleep sings me a lullaby
Putting it’s glue on my eyes
Goodnight to the world.

#THMpoetry © 2017

Always remember, your first backup team.
Is You
Cos u understand yourself better.

#THMpoetry © 2017

Posted: January 9, 2017 in QUOTES
Tags: , , , , ,

That moment where you look up,
Draw your motivation from the flying bird.
Cos no matter the nature of the weather,
IT STILL FLIES.

#THMpoetry ©2017

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At the dawn creation
Odomankomah’s consecration
The birds chirped and sang
The waters slept still 
As the moon failed to blink its eye.
The wind moved  soothingly
Whistling to ease the tension
For a great gift to humanity
Was in the protruded belly .

At the break of the sky
By the  rays of the rising sun
As it marches to its station
The gift of leadership was born
A true beauty of selflessness
It leaked of dedication
As it carried the smile of transparency.
Then it cried!
The cry of unity

A genuine gift from Almighty
He ushers unto us gently
A gift of strength
Home of authority
Not to oppress but to care
A means to build not demolish
Leadership is of humbleness
A gift worth grabbing
A gift worth ages and centuries.

The Haymaker © 2015

© The Haymaker 2015

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Life folds and unfolds
Like the mat of a bedwetter ,
It carries an unbearable stench
But a perfume to the bedwetter
It twists and turns
Like the braids of Sisala woman.
Leading to a dark nowhere
Like the path to the graveyard
Though it sometimes leads somewhere
Like rout to a banquet
Hmm mbr3 abrab) tse nye no.

It runs on the decisions
Like the roll coaster on its rails
Though sometimes presents you with none.
It comes at you with unlimited puzzles
Like the app for brain boosting.
But with limited answers.
Like the principle of Economics
Life they say ,
Is how you make it
Like the craft of the blacksmith
What if there nothing to make it
Like the painter without his paint
Hmm mbr3 )bra tse yen .

© The Haymaker 2015

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Life is like the vehicle on the road. You go past so many things each second. It all depends on you to decide the best place as your destination.

©The Haymaker 2015

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Lucy Peprah Tawiah

A shoulder worth crying on
Making the dreams of the unknown known.
How come you’re not a saint?
From the corridors of my village
You bade me welcome

A mother worth running to.
Giving rise to all
Sensing the pain of many;
As you calm it with thine words.
Putting to sleep the troubled.

Low you bow, for humility.
Unifying the souls of writers
Creating the home we always wished for.
Yielding the fruits we all craved.
Ye have been a temple of hope

The beacon of one ness
Providing the arms of comfort
Embracing us with our dirty feet’s
Passion for the word we provide
Ye are the living Muse.

This poem is dedicated to Lucy Peprah Tawiah. A mother to many. This is my way of saying thank you. Thank You mother.

All copyrights reserved Haymaker ©2015