Black by Nature

Several years ago, I created a dance choreography for the African Society of Guelph, University of Guelph. The chosen theme was Harvest, and as part of the performance I wrote this piece of poetry, entitled "Black by Nature." A couple of weeks ago, the Gaudeamus Choirs of Halton Hills chose to read this piece during a public performance.

Black by Nature

Black is rich as humous

Nurturing the living

With gifts from the dead

Black earth endures

Masterful, dependable,

Endearing, cajoling

Sucking good from rain and sun

More rain, more sun,

Moist earth, Sun life,

Food

Food is a song

And laughter bright and dancing

Like rays of light

Reaching the eyes

Between the bold green leaves

Of corn and banana trees

And mounds of growing yam

Shouting life, life…

Life

Has birthed pain yet again

And tears wash sorrow from sore eyes

Pain too has borne life

And from the depths of soul

Belly shaking laughter

Now rises to the sun

White teeth

Glistening in the light

Life is black by nature

Fierce, unpretentious

Warm, all absorbing

Endless

Red like your smile.

Spring sprung halfway to Summer. Thank God for the sun. On a cold dripping miserable day, I was filling up my tank at the gas station, turned around and saw this woman, dressed to the hilt and filling up her car. Her lips were the hottest, brightest red but they did not smile, neither did her eyes. And when my eyes met hers she looked away, her lips pressing tighter against each other. I know don't smile all the time, and I wondered how many times I might have painted my lips to make them attractive when the best ornament is a friendly smile. Watch that smile :-)

RED

Red

Without nick

or dint

Deep red

And pressed

Together

Lips

Moist red

Stretched thin

Bright red

Lipstick

Drawing eyes

To lips

Carefully dipped

In acrylic

Which then forgot

To wear

A winning smile

Mothers Day

In the late eighties my mother joined my father in Dakar, Senegal for his sabbatical. It was here that my mother, Felicia, decided to take French lessons after several difficulties taking taxis and making purchases. See, my mom likes to bargain, and imagine doing that in a land where one does not speak the language. She would break her English up into the oddest sequences, mix her phrases up with Ghanaian languages and variations of pidgin spoken in Ghana, gesticulate wildly with insertions of excusez moi, all to no avail. So she enrolled in class and was given a French poem to learn: La Lune. My mother who loves poetry, applied herself zealously to her homework especially as the verbs and other disciplines overwhelmed her. I have written a poem for her on this celebration of Mothers Day. I bless my mother for having me.

Mother Life

I began

By force of explosion

A flame and fusion

In a trinity of ideas

A union of wind, water and earth

And an electric pulse

That never gave up

Intent or velocity

Dividing, differentiating, organizing

Moment by moment

In secrecy and utmost care

Sending signals which then changed

My mother forever

Like a seed in the earth

Making demands on nitrogen, water and air

And also and in time,

Light…

Love received me

After midnight and a shout

To suck and gaze and hold and squeeze

My need from you

All of you

From the crib inside

To the cradle on your back

I learn the rhythms of life

Sleep and wake

Work and play

Love and snuggle

Resist and withstand

In the songs you sing by day and night

Then by your side

Your guiding hand

Your trusty words, tried and true

You feed, you teach, applaud, rebuke

You save, you cover

Until danger has passed

And if ever you failed

Offside in the game

It was because you were real

And God has covered that, too

My mother

Waiting for the Moon

I begun writing poems of my African childhood when my children were little, and I knew little about poetry. Imagine my surprise when many years later, Dianne Murray-Charatt, choir director of Gaudeamus Choirs of Halton Hills, asked if I might have some poems for their African themed concert. I searched for my hard copy manuscripts of those poems saved long ago on 5 1/4 floppies. So many of the poems missed the mark but some still appealed. I typed them afresh on my computer, editing and refinishing them before sending to Dianne for her pick. Three poems made it into the show. Here is one of them:

Waiting for the Moon

It was a dark night

And all the lights were out

We sat down on the doorstep

And waited for the moon

We heard the crickets cry

They called the bats to fly

Boka, the dog lay down to rest

And mosquitoes hummed in our ears

Nima told a story

Rama sang a song

Bella and I told riddles

And Nana fell asleep

We saw the fireflies glow

We felt a cool wind blow

We drew our covers tight

And then moon came out

A frightened bush-cat screeched

The distant owl shrieked

A dark cloud blotted out the moon

And Bella whispered, Ghost!

And then the thunder boomed

And lightning kissed the moon

Just as raindrops fell on us

We all run inside

GOLDEN

So my dear friend Janet suggested I post this poem because she liked the change of mood from restless, angry and resentful to quiet and thoughtful. What a great way to bring me back to my blog on a regular basis. All through the winter I have been writing poetry. The spirit of poetry must be growing more intense because I have had a request from Guadeamus Children's choir in George Town to perhaps use some of my poetry in their show. More on that if it happens. Then yesterday, I spoke to one of the doyens of Ghanaian poetry (quite by chance on Skype), Prof. Atukwei Okai. We discussed his poem Rhododendrons. I tell you, poetry is in the air. Enjoy.

Golden

Silence is not always golden

Sometimes it’s tight and airless

Like shrink-wrap

Stifling life

Silence is not always golden

Sometimes it’s sluggish and dull

Like sludge

Passively aggressive

Silence is not always golden

Sometimes it’s hollow and empty

Like hunger

Filled with cowardice

Silence is not always golden

Sometimes it’s murky and vengeful

Like bile

Plotting murder

But

Silence can be golden

Giving room for faith and hope

In choosing silence, go for gold:

Temperate, patient and forgiving

If your silence holds no gold

Then find the golden in your words

Express your truth, communicate

Find solutions; live life well.

The Absentee Blogger

Unbelievable how the months have flown by and I have gone AWOL with my blog writing. I'm back. I promise, I'm back. It's been rather busy since January, in fact, crazy-busy as we say around here, with Black History Month activities spilling over from February and March into April. Significantly "Between Sisters" has been selected for the CCBC's best books catalog which will be published later in the year. I shall write about some of my winter adventures in the next few days.

ADVERTISING ME!

breaking the ice with my audience, eases the stress and assures me I am among friends...

January begun very well with a slew of advertisement for my performance of The Griot's Journey at the Friends of Waterloo Region History-telling Series. It must have been fuelled by the explosion of enthusiasm at the New Year. I was on local TV, on the Daytime program on the 6th, and the following week, thrice on radio in the Kitchener-Waterloo area. Then there were two newspaper features. The first appeared in the Waterloo Chronicle and the second extensive story was written by Valerie Hill for both the Kitchener Record and the Guelph Mercury. What a blast of advertisement! I am still receiving comments and compliments, face to face and on email as I go about my life in Guelph. Now for something that will send positive vibrations via my book "Between Sisters", Candawide and to the USA and all over Africa! What did you say? Keep Hope Alive :-))