I have lived - Francis Ocran

 

Dried hard unbeaten soil,

Scrunchy, crump! The hole’s threnody,

Plunges the palms blain.

Grains of sweat wet the soil,

Mackling destiny windy snaky,

Where life begs the crimpy gain.

But I’ve lived, I breathed the soil,

And tasted toil’s penny

Where lives grow and failures grain.

(21/07/2022)

Quietude: Francis Ocran

Perching on the tree golden
Melodically I whistle enchanting songs
For the rumbling tumbling water,
The whirling windy wind
The  wriggling and waggling leaves
And the dozing dazzling sun
To rest behind the dusk
A homophonic harmony

Garment In The Dust: francisthepoet

pauper puffy sniffy stinky
Dirty dusty browny tattered garment
Contour  of ribs drawn snaky
Visibly and countably undoubtedly
Telling tales of myth
Tales of fate or faith
Dwelling under holey rusty leaking
roof
Headlong wandering when cloudy.

Busumuru Kofi : francisthepoet.

Oh black entity why?
Your presence rains sorrow
Your smile wrinkled our souls.
Shivering our heart with terror
And down within us we grief.
Why did you visit the great iroko
At the time that he is fruitful?
You despised her water
And rejected his kola 
Your handshake smite his root
Leaving him with no breathe.
Birds has to flock away
Men has to flee away
And boom! What a giant fall.
Our shelter is been ambushed
Hmmm! Black entity
You never considered his work you black entity.

CHAIN OF SEGREGATION: Francisthepoet

Once when boys were men
On the lonely island of pen
In the center of the ocean
Poverty wasn't a word
Wealth was mutual
Fathers and sons united
Until he visited our gathering
Greased our land with contempt
There poverty became a word
And wealth became greed
His chains brought humiliation
Whips of segregation
Parting fathers and sons

BLOOD ON OUR STREETS by Francis Ocran.

Panic plungs in our heart every twilight

In the night fear grips us under our rooofs.

We partly faints from strange door knocks.

We only sleep with one ear awakened.

But evil attack us and take what belong to us with rage and furiousity.

UNKNOWN Poem By Francis Ocran

Tomorrow is unknown,hades is unknown. My heavy self lay on the sick bed , no my grave bed rather  gazing at the roof.

BURRIED WITHOUT GRAVE. POEM BY FRANCIS OCRAN

A vast sea of sand lay ahead,no offshore,no tides , no trademarks.

Only sinking sand sucking our blood, our greener pastures withered on the desert.