Old Schoolboy, Old Suite

Jacob Kobina Ayiah Mensah

No, not you, not even you

keeping a distance

between our past & future

by adding a yard to the yacht,

hands melting away.

Is it because

I’ve been bribed

& cajoled? The height of this

whirlwind is short

among the trees behind

you. Sitting in the dust for

almost 2 decades

to build your daily discourse

& that anticipates

a lose in all flights,

you whitewash

faces with masks &   marks.

Moths & butterflies

are the things we

ever wanted to know

& codify the recipe

if the noodle is

too thick that one can

taste with your tongue

still in the saltwater

to see the sauce is well

to save the wedding.

We burn the day after

rolling & cutting the dough

& begin the marriage

after many years of marriage,

the crowd breaking into

the military commander’s cellar

waiting for the next move

to open the phrase of drinking,

his best wine. Riots break out

in Salt-upon-Street,

the programme is posted.

Sophie, her second-born

has died suddenly, aged 13

months. The obliging passengers

spend the night in the terminal.

We paint on this wall

that divides the backyard

in graffiti. At the next point

a cat in us tries to interrupt the passersby.

We add enthusiastic smiles to the wood

with yellow space that falls on the brain.

Standing a little farther away

in the life of someone,

we continue with reds

until someone stops

at an appropriate distance,

is a responding to hide

behind the evening sun.

Jacob Kobina Ayiah Mensah is the author of new hybrid works, "The Sun of a Solid Torus", "Conductor 5", "Genus for L Loci", and "Handlebody". His individual poems have appeared in more than 70 journals and anthologies in US, Canada, Australia, Israel, Scotland, Ireland, Croatia, Serbia, Japan, South Africa, etc. He works as a writer, journalist, artist, teacher, and abstract algebraist. He lives in the southern part of Ghana.

"...I do not talk much about my poetry. I always want readers to the dig for themselves.

However, my art emerges from primitive(ness), more-modernism and surrealism. I hate using isms and I cannot hide from this act. The poem is almost about human conditions that spring from critical issues between a tragic and a ridiculous. Thus, I look at the nature of dream, daydream, memory, myth, fantasy, hallucination, magic realism, surrealism, insanity and religion. Here, one is maintaining himselfhood among the chaos, the death of his soul, of the art, of isolation and its experiences, of the flesh and spirit, of the change of growth, of his artistic mind, of his strange and abnormal residents, of his intellectural misfit, etc, of the chaos of materialism. I offer the primitive facts as the human existence in this world."