Cacophony

On hip hop landscapes
The residues of gunfire
Linger behind every word spoken

Within the towers of its origin
The shallow speak loudest
while flagbearers for the true remain silent

We create beef where there is none
The wretched scramble for crumbs
Devour each other blindly
Blinded by the minute, the shallow, the worthless

That is reality

We all attempt to carve our legacy in the sounds of time

Turning to the music for salvation

We dance across galaxies to a jazz riff

The chords turn within

Birth themselves as reverse harmony

The tears of planets rain down meteors

While MARS, the god of war,

Beatboxes his marching legions to battle

On the wings of a red rat riddim

Planetary no longer, Pluto dreams of being a rock star

He bedded the iron maiden

Slipped anthrax between her sheets

And led zeppelin to the promised land

Hip hop always seems to have beef

Rza’s violins clash with 50 cents of nothing

Souljaboy speaks wordlessly

While those with voice are not heard

Eminem reduced to battling with pop stars

His bite blunted by years of inactivity

And mtv no longer fears a black planet

Though its darkening skin is from the sun

It still lacks the necessary melanin required

To see beyond the crashing laughter

Of children’s nursery rhymes

And teenagers school yard dirty ditties

We live in a symphony of madness

We house multiple personalities

Who sing distorted truth in dis-harmony

The streets are a cacophony of delicious decadence

Yet they birthed us all, Made some of us men

We have tasted the sun

And vomited star dust

Our bodies racked with the impossibility of humanity

Music is the universal language

The weapon we wield blindly

The battleground we shall die on

Our blood shall run thick

Laced with mucus

And the product of our loosened bowels

The last sound we shall hear

Will be the vultures cackling in harmony

The last sound they shall hear

Will be our dying cries

As they delicately pluck at our insides

We once danced across galaxies to a jazz riff

But Coltrane is dead

Miles is dead

Monk is dead

Parker is dead

Hip hop is dying

And music shall herald the end of days

In death

We shall silence the noise

And finally find harmony

the witching hour

Witches and wizards conjure spells
To break us free from the blocks on blank pages
Goblins and elves sing a merry song
As they throw pity and shame into fire-filled furnaces
It is the witching hour
When the world sleeps
And the words should come
They don't
In hiberbation it seems they are
Leaving writers and poets in perpetual winter
Look to the children
And rediscover the world
Where colours are bright
And the grey glistens with gloss
For in the witching hour
The words must come
The blank page must be filled
The balance must be re-gained
Inspire souls once more with your thoughts
Make their hearts dance
Their eyes see
That there is beauty in words that speak truth
When life is lived in honesty

Dreamer

She lives in the foreplay of life, streaming together endless nights with beauty, her dreams are what she lives, embracing her spirit and giving willingly, I am in awe of this being, this creature of the night, this soul that lives wholeheartedly .... while I watch on, randomly ... in my dreams

A partnership

She speaks
And I listen
Without judgement
Without expectation
Without my preconceptions

Her life is hers to live
As is mine
Together we shall conquer the world
The destination is the same
But, sometimes
Only sometimes
The paths we take
Are not the same

The cost of living

I was in a supermarket the other day. The scanner wasn't picking up one of my purchases and I jokingly said to the lady at the till that it must be free. Her response, "nothing in this world is free.".

And I replied
Everything comes at a price
A pound of flesh, a bank guaranteed cheque, a money transfer or good old fashioned cash are what's needed to get by

Could someone tell me the price of a friendly smile, a reassuring touch on the arm?
How much does love cost, in its pure, unconditional form?
And the feeling you get dancing in the rain on a hot summer's day?
What do words cost?

Nothing is free
Is that the way life has come to be?

Just words

Burn down the walls of madness
Get high off the fumes
Rage against the machine
But be home in time for supper

Throw off the shackles
Drink from the well of freedom
Live off the land of your fathers
But don't forget to pay rent

Be free
Live with hope
Pursue dreams
But always remember to drive on the right side of the road

Retreat

She retreats delicately
I watch in silence, reluctantly
Do I speak or let her go

Pain

The voices have been silent
The muse was in hibernation
And I
I linger on the edge of words
Their sharp sides slicing the tip of my tongue
Reminding me that they shall still be heard
Whether in pain
Or at the nib of my pen
As it randomly scratches between the lines

Writer's block

Can one forget how to write
Blocked for forever
What do you call it
When the words scream never
Again

An outstretched hand

Memories are woven into our spirit
Gently laid beneath our skins
Scratch, and they shall come to you
Moments are eternal
They linger on the tips of our souls
Reminders of the once was
That became the is
Roots of what will be

The past reminds us
Of how far we've come
And how much we can be grateful for
The doomsayers shall sing their songs for eternity
They serve as silent clutter
To be ignored

Hope is the fuel that drives the soul
Belief in tomorrow is the nourishment
That wakes you up every day
There is much to be grateful
Live dreams and dream on, sweet dreamer
In your child's smile lies everything you'll ever need
To create a future we can all be proud of

Musical Chairs soundtrack

This is part of what I hope to be a poem in pieces that I have been scribbling for about six months. Part 1 and 2 lurk somewhere in the archives of my blog. I love music and am fascinated by how it seems to serve as a history in sound. Songs have special meaning within the context of what was happening in your life at the time. I am hoping to publish a lot of the pieces on this site, although I don't know about some... This one is one of my favourites, if I can get it right. Would love your thoughts. I have added the first two parts to this, part 3.

Track 1:
Soul fantasies linger on the dancefloors of memory, transport forgotten sins from then to now, nostalgia has a habit of wiping cracked slates clean, past discretions fade with time, leave only slightly soiled fragments and a bittersweet taste that only returns when you hear that chord, that note, fullblown by the chorus, it is easier to look back than exist in the illusionary present, 'could have been' a refuge from 'to be'....

Where have all the good songs gone?

A boy sits in a room in his father's house, reaches into his father's past to find comfort, the words he hears speak a language only he seems to understand, his friend's don't quite get it, or maybe they just don't want to, the boy finds a semblence of momentary peace in the moments, the sounds reaching through the headphones to caress his heart, this is real art, he whispers wordlessly, and closes his eyes to today, drowning in a yesterday that he knows nothing of....

Where have they gone?

Songs carry our memories, take us to a place once lived, most times, they bring with them the magic of moments, sometimes, only sometimes, the pain they bring chokes....

Track 2:
Mommy I hear voices singing my future, they sing off key to mock me, breed indecision with each twisted melody. My yesterdays have faded into the music archives of time, I dream of classics yet to be sung in my name, the voices still mock me, taunting with schizophrenic harmonies

Where have all the good songs gone?

The division of music into someone's random classification leaves those of us who exist in the grey area confused

Where have they gone, the good songs?

She used to sit, listening her grandmother hum, this was the soundtrack to her childhood, rooted in the earth, the womb, the soul, the calm preceded the storm of puberty, when she stumbled through the music of her youth, and finally understood why, on those sunday afternoons, listening to her small radio in the kitchen, placed next to the stove, why, in between sunday lunch and sunday chores, she would sometimes, not always, just sometimes, she would see a tear in her mother's eyes....

Why have all the good songs gone .....

Track 3:
Dance, my child
Lose yourselves in the rhythms of your father's time
Listen to the words
They speak of a timeless love
Of days long lost
Dance, my child

All of the good songs have gone

Yet they linger
Remastered and remixed
Sampled and re-released
Now they cut the good bits together
And give them life

Why have all the goods songs gone

Each generation finds its classics
Melodies that define the journey into puberty
Musical manifestation of hormonal chaos
You shall have yours one day, my son
Until then, you shall have mine
Nostalgic harmony that maps the misteps of my life
Chords and notes that only ring true
Now that you are here

Why have all the good songs gone?

Sing, sister, sing

the songbird,
sultry and strong,
playful and immensely powerful,

behind the shutters of her eyes
lies infinite melody and charm,
and when she sings,
the birds perch on the branches of trees and listen in silence
the dogs stop barking
and wolves stop howling at the moon

she reaches to the stars with song
conquers our hearts with emotion
and rhythm and hope

the songbird is a lullaby personified

for her

i had a dream once
and in this dream
i lived a life of perfection personified

in this i dream
i had a family, a wife, a child
i was a father, a husband, a son, a brother

in this dream i awoke every day knowing i was blessed
and had everything i needed

i had a dream once
a perfect dream
till i realised i wasn't asleep
and the dream was actually my reality

my life!

Mantra

Build those castles
Will them into existence
Carve your future with thought
Master your reality
With positivity
Know that everything you need to know
Lies in the depths of your spirit
Let your imagination soar above the pettiness of doubt
There is only beauty and happiness in your future
Live them now
And dream
Never forget to dream

In traffic

Bumper to bumper madness
We sit in limbo daily
Caught in our own stagnation
The trees sway in winds of pollution
Tree huggers decry the lack of shame
The earth's pain
The poor do not have the liberty of conservationist thinking
The rest of us do not see beyond our first meeting or our next pay cheque
Imagine all the people
Peacefully proclaiming their independence
Eradicating profanity

Laughing gas

He laughs hysterically
The days and endless cacophony of the mundane
Recycled experiences
Never ending repetition
The spark has been lost
And all that keeps him going
Are the strains of insanity

He sits in traffic
Bumper to bumper
Zombie to zombie
The same faces stare off into the distance
Going half crazy with the pain of it all

All he has is 'one day'
One day things will be better
One day it will all make sense
One day his dreams shall become
One day his laughter will come from the gut, the heart
One day

He laughs at the hopelessness
He laughs one day

meaningless words

these words
tug and pull
tickle and taunt
clog the pen's artery
get caught in my throat
stuck on the tip of my tongue

these words
tease and mislead
evoke hollow dreams
speak mindless truth
linger in the minds of the uncouth
but never grace me with the simplicity of my truth

these words
hide in the shadows
daring me to seek them out
to enter the unknown
to overcome the fear

these words
drag my soul kicking and screaming onto the page
cackling and laughing at my feeble resistance

these words mirror my reflection
magnify my inadequacies
and yet, somehow, give me hope

these words are all i have

Words

Do we speak for the voiceless
With our coated and cloaked, hollow words?
Do we speak for the downtrodden
Who feel the weight of humanity on their throats?
Do we speak for the children
Not yet able to form words
Trying to make themselves heard through gurgles and burps?
Do we speak for humanity itself
On a treadmill to extinction
Repeating histories lessons blindly
Unwilling to take responsibility for the actions of a few?

Who do we speak for?

Are the we the seers and seekers
The dreamers and believers
Who have the answers to the unspoken questions?

Do we somehow see into the soul of truth
And paint its mirror-image with our words?

If not, then who speaks for them?
If so, who speaks for us?

I am your father, inadequately

I had a life once
Lived in selfish abandonment

I do not miss it

I have a life now
Lived in accomplishment

I embrace it

Your deeds are my purpose
Your life a testament
To the bricks I lay
Often without thought

This is a new path we travel
I honestly do not know the way
We shall let it unravel
All we have is desire, and hope, and purpose

I embrace it wholeheartedly
Lay my soul at your feet
Breathe your dreams in
And know that
While we travel this path together
There will be a time when you take the wheel
And find your own way

Re-definition of self

I have been doing some introspection on the significance of the Net on me as a human being, an individual, a writer, etc and posted the below on what was my first ever Blog. We hear all this great stuff about blogging but, due to my inconsistency, I haven't been able to effectively sustain any of my blogs. I am trying to change that. This was posted on http://infinitepursuit.blogspot.com.

Would appreciate your thoughts, if any.

"The Internet, as it re-defines itself, has provided many of us with the opportunity to reach across immense distance to create communities with like-minded people we may never have met in our lifetimes. The advent of collaborative and interactive spaces, like blogs, facebook and MySpace, have created friendships that will last over lifetimes while also allowing many of us to re-establish friendships with those who have moved on.

Sitting in Africa, a continent that has become, once again, a cause for the world, I have always tried to keep abreast, as much as I can, of the developments available to us all. I truly believe that the 'Information Age' is the one era in which there is opportunity for us, as Africans, to start to level the playing field. This Blog was my first one, which I started as a space to discuss the one thing I am truly passionate about - poetry. Since starting this one, I have also started a poetry blog (http://imperfectpoetry.blogspot.com) in which I post all my unedited raw poetry, two Myspace pages (www.myspace.com/kojobaffoe and www.myspace.com/kojothepoet) and a space of Facebook. I also have a random e-newsletter that I send out to a growing list of people, in which I share my thoughts on a range of subjects. (Always worry about whether they are relevant or not)

Anyway, I have discovered that it is easy to caught up in all these things but, over the last few weeks, have started to question the purpose of these spaces, and the countless others I have registered with and never used (and will probably never use coz I can't remember my passwords). In my mind: MySpace is a place for marketing myself as a writer and performer - I have two because I only realised you have to register with My Space Music separately if you want to include music; Facebook is for connecting with friends and I have re-connected with friends I haven't spoken to in over a decade; and, Imperfect Poetry is a self-indulgent experiment driven by a need to share and find relevance in my writing. This space? I don't know. That's what I've been grappling with.

But, I do feel this space is important, especially as my first true step into this new world. So, in an attempt to revive this space, I would like to start including my Ramblings on it. At the same time, if there is anyone who still visits me here, I would like thoughts, ideas, guidance, comments, etc on what you would like to see and hear here from a simple, yet confused African (and European) poet and writer trying to make sense of this crazy reality we reside in.

It's been a while. But I'm still here. Are you?

Easy

Kojo"