LEASE OF LORE

Onto the seekers, he gave his word

As to knowledge – its accoutrements

That understanding begets responsibility-

the lease of lore.....

From which ensues opportunity

For the foolish mane so to shed.

Now hail you scions of Socrates

To whom his don is bequeathed;

Bid not your laurels beguile your wit

Nor dim your hunkering souls.

Yet if need of comic mirth

And your fancies so concur,

Crash the knit-wit blooper fair

And watch dupes misspell their names

Or auction off their heirlooms

For a spin of the Ferris wheel.

And you birthed not of haughty stock

The foregoing you should abhor-

For knowledge bears not

Fruits of condescension;

Let noblesse your foundling crowns adorn.

                                                  

By

Hope Kalé Ewusi ©

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FACES

Finding identity

In crowded places…

Each countenance flush

On frontal display;

Bearing contours of similitude

Yet never the same-

The one from another.

See the look of love…

Of anxiety – mighty dread

Caught in frames of fleeting spells;

Radiant smiles mocking

Gloom’s ugly scowls and eyes

Flush with stirring, reflecting humanity.

 

Scaling the spectrum

Of generational fervor,

The once cheery cherubic

Infant glow duly savored,

Yields to ascending years

Of youth’s chiseled flair.

And soon the sun setting

Fletches of mortality

Would each primal façade imbue

 Life defining impressions-

Fleshy folds – wise scrolls…..

Unique each, as the story it tells;

Faces bearing contours of similitude

Yet never the same, the one from another.

By

Hope Kalé Ewusi ©

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HISTORY TEACHES US NOTHING

The seeds of war
Lay dormant in the
Crucible of history...
Seething, breathing-
Waiting for the
Spring of discontent
For grapes of wrath to bear

And all across
God's green hectares
People of goodwill
Caught in the throes
Of the enterprise
Of commerce and politics
Awoke to the gloom and doom
Of bombs raining over Kosovo.



Beyond the premise
Of rational discourse
And intended tidings...
The cooing ditties
Of the lady dove
The vulture she lured
To the bounty of war.

Still in the rounding hours
I know, years and years hence
That future broods...
This fate would know
Like those of holocausts past-
Grim reminder that...
History teaches us nothing

By

Hope Kalé Ewusi©


In 1999 I, like many others, from the comfort of our living rooms, watched in horror as the war in Kosovo unfolded.The bombings.....the gore.....the share ugliness of war astounded me,I saw hails of bullets and bombs shattering lives - people scampering for shelter....there was hunger...there was pain - anguish and despair as people tried to make sense of their tattered lives.....and then there was the the palpable helplessness of the children of Kosovo - innocent victims of war.

This sight was deja vu - it evoked vistas of WW II - the holocaust and other wars before and after. It is stated somewhere that if we humans do not reckon with the lessons of history, we're doomed to repeat  our mistakes.In a moment of quiet contemplation, I wrote the aforementioned poem " History Teaches Us Nothing" inspired by the war on Kosovo. Prior to Kosovo was the Rwandan genocide and since Kosovo we have witnessed  massacres in Sierra Leone, Liberia ( captured in the movie Blood Diamond) and Congo.  We are currently witnessing the unraveling of Syria and the picture posted below attests once more the massacre of innocent children in Syria -a  grim reminder that history apparently teaches us nothing; What's going on?

         

    POP CULTURE

“Shades of signification”

Paint a picture of me…

With the brush strokes

Of your imagination;

Honor Picasso-

Warhol – Monet…..

And other genies of

Your hallowed brood:

Collate….distort-

Morph my contours

To suit the affectations

Of Madison Avenue;

Take liberties….brand me

Codify…….signify,

While I hold my pose.

But don’t ask me who I am

Or where the hell I was born…

Let the shades of your motivation

Fill in the ---------- BLANKS.

Author: Hope Kalé Ewusi ©

Bantu princess of my sugarcane dreams

Cocoa beauty dipped in honey

Benign spirit of my sacred garden-

Who painted you so well?

Protagonist of sleep-scape novellas..

Behind fish net curtains I peek-

Watching you flaunt your wares…

Visual serenade – hmm sweet banter!

When you talk

You sing;

When you walk

You talk!

“Makandi” cakes in measured gait

Dance in cadence to the call

Of village sign posts….

Wotéké – Wonganga!

Bwasa – Likombé

Ah sacred pageant; sensual carnival.

 

And the men, oh how they gape!

Giggles and chuckles wrapped in adulation-

Each man, his essential self tabulates

The dimensions of your revered essence-

Sister, daughter, mother – friend;

Night-nurse, wife – soul confidant

Would smooth out the contours

Of his esteemed African manhood.

Need I wonder why

Or should I worry why-

Leeches and scoundrels seek your grace?

Worry why foreign legions crave your mystique?

Yes…yes ……hell yes!

For the lessons of history I’ve imbibed-

Elmina Castle – Goree Island

I must avenge with Shaka zeal

Cos you are mine – mine!

My cocoa beauty – dipped in honey…

Bantu princess of my sugar-cane dreams-

Earth goddess – my mojo hand

My oh my!

But the question remains:

Who painted you so well?

And if I had a clue, I wouldn’t tell

By

Hope Kalé Ewusi ©

SHADOW DREAMS

On half a dollar, or one a day

Slum darlings of the wretched earth

Feign at best a fare to eek,

Be though blessed with artisan flair,

Existential folly yet confounds their lot.

For to seek meaning in such lowliness

Where contrarian biddings beyond their lays

Conspire to thwart the spirit’s ascent,

Is to court fatal instincts, or dare to hope.

So to the alien deity cast their gaze

His graven cameo, cold and mute….

Aloof and numb to sorrow’s beck

Dim is faith but not their mirth.

Yet at passion’s chidings, spirits alight

By innate yearnings to rise and thrive

Alas per fate or fable ruse, fervor wanes

Like frail trade-winds battering short

The ballot swings – their dreams differed.

Still on the dime, the world-beat throbs

Capricious heart strings strumming greed

And the lords of the manor, they rave with glee

Deaf to the wailings beyond their ports

While tortured presses bleed the grapes

                           

Hope Kalé Ewusi ©

From The Wells Of Knowing

Some exalt the hidden hand

And thank the stars above

For who or what their lot may be;

Life they claim is divine ordained-

That nothing that is, or ever could be

Is to chance, or happenstance.

Birds seek southern climes

In accord with changing times;

And sea turtles in time do seek

Sands of birth to spurn their brood

Just like the sun’s recurrent arc.

I’m neither turtle, bird nor sun,

Schooled in routine manifestation.

Within my chest, there beats a heart

That fuels my thoughts, my agile mind.

Anchored though to earth beneath

Yet consigned to budge or stay...

 Fortune beeds , and the will impels.

While seconds anxiously each day uncoil

And cross roads loom hither and yon….

I and I my thoughts confounded thus

From the wells of knowing must imbibe;

For a lone ranger I am, my cross to bear-

With a willing soul, my constant carriage 

 I pray with stalwart zeal my load to bear

From shifting sands onto the finish line.

By

Hope Kalé Ewusi©

Embedded  images are from Mali.....featuring the Timbuktu Scrolls and an ancient learning center