Thick and Thin Accents

Thick and Thin Accent

The queue was moving quite fast
And the air couldn't be blamed
for our sweat but the Sun
Which manifested harshly the bright of day.

Next, Next, and Next
The sales girl went on happily
with her life in sweat and smiles
And soon I knew my name will be changed to;
'Next'
And it did change indeed.

It was a city of supermarkets
And drivers slept like loons in taxis
that hanged around on the street
I could possibly leave for another
If you would disrespect me
I was angry beyond measure
Even at a cinema of her shadow
Which the Sun projected on the walls

Excuse me Sir, can you say it again please?
No, I can't.
Why Sir?
Because I'm tired.
Sorry! Is there a problem here?
Boss, this man's accent is too thick...
As opposed to her thin, I guessed

Each time I speak;
My accent is full of my skin
Feel my black skin,
Is it not full of;
confidence?
brilliance?
Is it not
Thick?

So there are two things you can do now
And unfortunately two I can't do;
You can spend the rest of the day
learning English as spoken by a thick accent guy
And you can keep smiling, it's good for your career

And what I can't do;
Is to bleach my skin so look thin
And I can't buy the CHEWING GUM

The Way of life will be beautiful
if you do what you can
and I do what I can't.

Good Afternoon.

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Bon Voyage

Sailors without north,we are
Reclaimed by the sea
Cursed by those who can wait
Dancing with our sacred boots
And giving tongues to blessed hyms of;
      Bon Vovage.

The crew without a captain, we are
On deck, all hands
Make fast the bunt gasket
On the mast,a port is seen afar
We take solace in these words;
       Bon Voyage.

Sons of a widow, we are
Our light shine across
the darkest weight of the ocean
crashing us fast to the deep depths
Even in death we know we had a;
       Bon Voyage

A potpourri of dead and living, we are
Our labours in concord keep the ship afloat
This our journey of no land
though we see many a shore
When one slip his rope, we throw him into the waters
And we sing a dirge of;
        Bon voyage

Oppong Clifford Benjamin.

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Room 16.

Its on the last floor
small space, dim red light
a holy Bible and more,
Tattered curtain laid white.

Light skin ladies
Colourful men
Dogs with rabies
God bless them, Amen.

An innocent porch
A blessed couch
Sleeping days
Bring no pays,

Happy working nights;
'Cut some slights
for only fifty'
Oh Dog!, the price is nifty.

Read quotations
Change positions
Cum quick, next dog!
Damn stupid wog.

Wear your pants
Be gentle with the curtain
Exit room 16
Say a prayer for the night

The sleeping days will take care of its self

We are only trying to be happy
But we try harder not to regret
This our normal life
'It is finished'.

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A True Confession III

(The Holy Communion)

Near the Eucharist, at where the body of Christ was hid, and His blood was in a bottle kept, it happened. We had a puerile romance. Not that we were ignorant of the place, not that we were nescient of its sanctum sanctorum, but, we were as weak as humans. We couldn't hold it any longer as a man and a woman, we were caddish. We had a small but gentle sex at the sacred place.

In the early phase of my ontogenesis, when life gave me little to think about, I joined a catechism class in inexorable prolusion to receive the communion. I was a little younger than 16 years, cute in body and had a round face that matched my small head. I was everything handsome. (I can't trust my mirror these days). We learned the lessons by heart. I could recite the rosary, the Angelus, the Apostle's creed and many other catholic prayers.

The class was in session any other day apart from Sundays, from 4pm to 6pm and anybody who came 5mins past the reporting time, had the catechist to face. Punctuality was just our hallmark. I was the defending paladin in the class and I faced strict opposition in memorizing the prayers by Janet. Janet was the most rigorous oppugner I had ever faced in my life. She was smallish but a year older than I was. She wore long hair that most of time ran down her butt. Even at such a tender age, she had already developed some coquettish curves and a pair of succulent breast. And she had a cherubic voice. Whenever Janet recited the prayers to Saint Michael, you could instantaneously feel the presence of a supreme being, she had an unnamed magic in her voice which enamoured all of us. She was Mr Ephraim, the catechist's, favourite student and I was the people's choice.

One Friday afternoon, the sun was up high behind the mango trees and scintillated its rays through the leaves; it projected a cinema of shadows on the walls of the lonely cathedral and its statue of Arch Angel Michael. In the hands of Michael was a spear thrusting deep into the naked left breast of a defeated serpent. That sculpture always reminded me of Janet and her sweet voice. Rumours had it that, each time Janet recited the prayers to Angel Michael she invoked the spirit in the statue. And it was also a popular belief that she always came to catechism earlier than anybody else to perform some rituals with the statue. Regina always argued vehemently that, she had caught Janet red handed talking to the statue twice when she (Regina) sleuthed her (Janet) actions inadvertently. She would even spice it up with a more shuddering story; 'Janet eeh that girl is a witch oo! She even took the spear from Obofopom Michael and set the serpent free'. Regina always got our emotions hagriddened each time she got to this part of the story.

So, on that faithful Friday, I reported earlier, if my memory could serve me right, I should be confident in saying that I went as early as 2:45pm in my school uniform. I went straight to the cathedral after school had closed. I was the only one in the premises. I went to the statue and greeted the Arch Angel, hoping to hear the mysterious reply but I never did, He was silent and fixed his gaze on the serpent. After many ineffectual attempts to get the statue to talk, I shamefully retreated. I entered the church. Therein was a dead silence which scared me as a cemetery would. The lights were off but the sun shed its rays with meridian splendour through the designed holes in the walls, and left on the pews and on the terrazzo floor of the church large innocent shadows. The shadows were those of trees, of Father Nsiah's car and of the mission house. I was enjoying the solemnity of the atmosphere in the church. The pews were good friends of men. I moved three steps forward and I saw a Bible left in the shelf of the last but one pew and I picked it, browsed through the pages without necessarily reading anything. I completed the whole book without a word mentioned. Just at the spot, I scrooched and saw some coins scattered freely just below the first pew. I rushed there and gathered them, counted and it amounted to 400 cedis. At least that was enough for a toffee after the day's session, I thought. I rested my butt on the flat and smooth veneer surface of the first pew. I was still for a while. Abruptly, I started thinking so much about the communion. I thought about whether it was true that the communion was the body of Christ and the wine the blood. If they were pieces of bread and wine, and by just a few incantations by Father Nsiah they turned to be something so sacred? These were the usual questions playing my mind up and down.

My thoughts were disturbed by a sudden cry of a car engine. It was the usual blue car that always picked up Janet from the Chapel to the house. I quickly hid myself under the far end of the sixteenth pew, close to a hole in the neighbouring wall to where the statue stood. Where I could have a graphic view of the happenings outside. Call the act espial and you wouldn’t be any far from the truth. Janet jumped off the vehicle, and waved her right hand at the driver, who responded in same fashion.  She then went straight to the statue. I was so anxious. I knew the moment I had been waiting for had arrived.

'Good afternoon dear Arch Angel Michael', she didn't wait for His response before continuing her rather monologues;

'Dear Michael.....'

'Heerh Janet....I have caught you paaa, today di3 I will tell when the rest come', I interrupted. Silly boy, what would waiting a little longer do to me, I said to myself. It appeared I was too anxious to be noticed than a spy would.

'What did I do?'

'Were you not talking to the statue?'

'Yes, I was but what is wrong with that?

'Everything, you were going to free the serpent if I had not cut in'

'Hahahaha, what are you doing in there?' She asked while entering the church. She made a court bow at foot of the altar, something I did not do. Janet knew so much and I was envious of her. I watched her as she moved with the wind on the floor of the church, touching the pews unconsciously and dragging her feet along. Her hips were curved and her face was glittering by the assistance of the sun that owned most of the items in there.

I had long had a thing for Janet though we were young, I knew something about love.

'Janet, Eerrmhhmm did you know that the communion and red wine were hid in the Eucharist? '

'Oh yes and I have always wanted to have a feel of them' She responded quickly while taking romantic steps towards the altar and I followed her closely behind. Observing the up and down movement of her round and heavy butt.

We climbed the altar which stood up the east of the church room, went to the Eucharist and made a court bow. We paused for a minute for a coup d'oeil at the fear on our faces. We were timid to act any further from where we stood. We had from infancy venerated the place. Nobody went there, save the priest, nor him but once when he was cleansed spiritually and fit and proper person to administer the communion.

'Janet, I’m not sure I want to do this'

'Well, I will do it, but promise me you won't tell anybody'

'Okay, buy my lips with a kiss'

She looked at me as if she had seen a stranger in me. Well, my request came to her unsuspecting. Nevertheless, she gave in to my price for a silence. She brought her head closer to mine; I gathered my lips forward with the upper lip taking the lead and closed my eyes softly while anticipating my first lips to lips kiss. For a moment Janet had paused to swallow a heavy breath. I opened my eyes to observe whether all is well then again I closed my eyes. She finally gripped my lips with hers. She kissed me first on my lips, and then on my cheeks, she moved slowly but romantically towards my chest. I grabbed her with my little macho; we were fastened tightly together as if we had employed the service of a screw driver. We kissed to the rhythms of Celine Dion's ‘From a distance’ which played from a faraway distance and was carried by the air into the chapel from the mission house. We were not the only persons who had found love that lonely afternoon but also were Father Nsiah and the rest of the maid that lived in the mission house.

Everything in the building resonated with our kissing and romancing. The air, the large shadows, the pews and the Eucharist - they were all looking on helplessly and cheered us while we made love. I was hard downstairs in my shorts. It projected and Janet felt it against her hot thighs. She stopped the kissing to laugh briefly; I joined her in my shyness. She held my cock like a pen and she seemed to be writing on her tights with the head of it. It really entered me, the feelings.

'JANET....... sto....op
those things do it, it again haaaaaahhh Janet not anymore
More Janet ...okay stop right there... I can't take it a...gain'

I moaned while she performed magic with my cock on her body and finally when she tried to force it in her dry vagina. After many unsuccessful attempts to push my dick straight into her, she finally gave up a big sigh and rested her disappointed self-right beneath the Eucharist. The Eucharist was a wooden box which was appended to the wall at the right corner of the altar. It was neatly decorated and covered by a white veil and on top of it was a metallic artefact of Jesus Christ. Janet picked herself from the ground. She had recollected her mission and had paid her price enough to zip my lips forever. She boldly opened the Eucharist, and to our surprise a red light shone in it, so bright that it nearly blinded us. We couldn't stand the light. Janet forcefully shut it and we ran quickly towards the exit. We stopped just at the door and made sure we were cleared of all doubts before stepping outside.

For some peculiar reasons, perhaps, our censurable conscience, we both discontinued the catechism and so couldn't take the communion that year. However, we both took it finally in our respective senior secondary schools and coincidentally we are both no longer Catholics. I guess we can never be with this guilt in our inner selves. But they say God forgives he who confesses truly his sins. And here I am, God forgive me.

NB: Don't be too quick to judge me or Janet please.

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Freestyle Spoken Word

Has day expired already?
And the sun retired to its peaceful rest in the west?
Has the wind not lied to the atmosphere yet?
And birds on branches tweeting and gossiping
About nature's architecture best
Where you miss nothing more than the warmth of love
Love unseen
what causes you to skip a breath is love unheard
Knowing not who and how to love
Especially when you have tasted the cake before
You are left with nothing else
But with memories of long ago deeds
Moments captured in frames
Of silent hours alone in the woods
And you watch them like they too never die
You harvest more from life
And far more from the songs
Composed by a choir of birds, silence and the dead times
Times never to resurrect
And you find your head nodding to the rhythms with the trees that don't know a thing about love
The only thing they remember is lovers kissing right beneath their shades
They don't know how to say 'I love you'
Damn! dumb trees
All they are best at is dancing
Dancing
Crazy dancers, they don't have feelings like you
Lest they stop dancing and study technology too
And learn why you are here chatting with me
And not paying any mind to either the birds or the moment.
Every thing don't make sense to you at the moment
Not even my words do
I have heard
So when you are done reading this poem
You may chuckle or laugh it off
Which ever way, I will feel loved here in Ghana because I influenced your emotions.

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The Freemason and The Boy

‘The Freemason and the Boy’ is a chronology of the happenings between Mr. Otchere (The Freemason) and Nyantakyi (The Boy), which unfolds the true identity of the Freemasons in an already brainwashed community. Many furphies surround the Freemasons in an African society and the writer was much aware of the rumours, and in his quest to know the truth for himself, he finally took bold step to join the Freemasons. So now, he writes as a Mason and as one who grew with the many scuttlebutts about the oldest and largest fraternity in the world - Freemasonry.

In the stories, he carefully and artistically stretches out the doubts of the people in the community, the Freemason’s stand, how the people see the Freemason and how the Freemason limns a true self of knowledge and divinity, the boy’s belief about him and what finally led the boy to join. But let me leave it here for your own serious perusal, whether or not the boy actually regretted after joining, or whether he saw it worth all the struggles. Or whether all the rumours were actually true about the Freemasons, and that Mr. Otchere had lied to him all the while.

Suspense forms a greater part of this book. Every page is a mind-blower and you would want to read ahead, only to end up wanting to read further, even the end leaves you unsated until you go over the whole book again and read it, this time, with much patience. We are all curious to know what the Freemasons do behind closed doors, why they wear black lounge suits in their meetings,what binds as a brotherhood, in fact everything about them. And right here the writer seems to have said it all or paint it for the one who reads and reads it well. So many was hidden in this book, it takes one to get into the book to know it for himself. The philosophies of the Freemasons, their livelihood and their principles, all that is right there in the pages ahead, but till you put your eccentricity aside and pay close attention to the details, am sorry you will be thrown into complete disarray.

Another thing that intrigued me was the way Clifford chose his characters and developed them. You would come across a whole lot of persons in the book. Some just walked by, others just gossiped, but he never lost grip on the two principal characters, Nyantakyi and Mr. Otchere. They are so alive in every page of the book. Clifford created vivid pictures of them in the very first chapter and they became more and more graphic as the stories unfolded. Another character was the boy’s mother. Right from the beginning, we are told that she is dead, and then along the line, she seemed to have awaken and doing more, then you get confused as to whether she was actually dead, finally, you come to find out in the end that she was only a ……………… (That too is something I will leave you to dig it out).

Let us not talk about his settings yet, oh my God, they remind me of Ernest Hemingway’s ‘The Old man and The Sea’ , so much attention to details, well description of places. At a point you would feel yourself living with the characters in the community, as if you can actually touch a building or you may feel stupid (Sorry but that is how I felt).

I am privileged to read it first before anyone else. And I endorse it with a Big Yes. I will encourage everybody to rush in for their copies when it is been published.

Rachel Rada.
Waterford, Ireland.

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She Is My Fear

She Is My Fear

She is my friend yet my worst fear
I hear her laugh and I cry
It is only funny that she is stuck here forever
She controls my irregular heart beat
She determines what I will eat and not
What to drink and nay
She is my silent killer
I am aware that she is
And that too is stupid
I check on her all day and all night
And she keeps growing better
But her growth my deepest fear
Sometimes She dances and forces me along
My brain, legs and arms, her favourite parts
She scares me at night when she keeps me up
To pass water or up on the bed seated
I think
I think about the fact that she will finally kill me
I think about my helplessness
I find hope in drugs but for how long?
I keep asking mother time, how long can I live?
How long can I run away from my fate
I am destined to die, just like all Humans will
But unlike some Humans or Most
I have a silent killer to grow with
And what frightens me the most
Is that she is unpredictable
She can at anytime strike
And whether am aware or not
Is none of her business
Yet she lives right in my heart
She is deep down my blood vessels
And I can't help it but watch her grow
I ask that, have you ever felt so helpless
In a fight you know you have already lost?
In a fight where you keep rehearsing how to lose
How to mourn your own corpse
I weep
I sometimes weep
that Life has been cruel with me
To have brought her too early
The doctors said she normally likes men in their 40s
But these days, the trend has changed
She loves young guys the most
And we seem to love her too
What else can we do than to love our fear
Yes, I needed a woman but not her.
Yes, I needed to swing my waist
And ejaculate creamy sperms too
But not with this beast yet my angel

She has come to me at a time that I have so much to do
She has already warned me with a stroke
And she has threatened worse if I disobey her orders
She keeps killing me with each heart beat
And she keeps laughing each day when I die slowly
And I keep staring at the mirror on the wall
I see nothing but myself
And I hear nothing but her tiny voice
Screaming loud in my heart to rhythms of the pause
I cry, I cry, I cry
I say, oh please let me live tomorrow too
I have something for the world

Let me give it to them before you take me on
And She laughs even the louder at my plea
But I have grown courage to face whatever it may
Courage, Courage...did I say Courage?
Well Courage

Courage
Its sad but am happy I am courageous
But hold on, is it not- veneration?

Ha! it is called veneration

She is my fear
She keeps me alive on my fate;
That I too in a flash
will one day crash
on the ground dead
And the walls read
My obituary said
Gone too soon or
Life well Lived
That will be determined again by her
Or God may decide for we both

My hypertension my fear.

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Islam is not Violent

Violence is not in Islam but the hearts of Men and it is only unfortunate that most of these terrorists are Islamic. A christian man said so. ( Actually Oppong Clifford Benjamin said so).

It is only that Islam is just a strong group of religious persons, who by all means will sell their religious doctrines to every man in every corner across the face of earth and even if possible to aliens beyond earth, and it doesn't look like they will ever get tired along the way.

It is also unfortunate that God blessed Islam dominated countries with something the owner of the world doesn't have. Oil. And they would just not succumb to subjugation, they are strong people, trust me when I say that.

The Qur'an says, "Fight in the name of your religion with those who fight against you." On the other hand, other scholars argue that such verses of the Qur'an are interpreted out of context, and argue that when the verses are read in context it clearly appears that the Qur'an prohibits aggression, and allows fighting only in self-defense.
So you see, these guys don't fight when nothing is actually opposing them or theirs.

Most of these terrorists groups are political and they fight a political cause and they are sponsored by politicians. And not religion. They can only hide their gambits in religion and they found a hiding place in Islam and its Qur'án to carry their atrocious acts.

And one foolish graduate of KNUST in Ghana here thinks joining ISIS is a spiritually calling to fulfill the wants of the Almighty Allah. So he left his family a note telling them that he has joined the ISIS. Massa come back home if you are ignorant about this whole game. Is called Politics in the Advanced Realms. Kwasiasem kwa, the guy may even be hiding somewhere in Nima or Mamobi waiting on his supposed ISIS recruiter to take him on a plane to wherever. I have good news for him, Ex President Kuffour has charged Private sectors to employ the youth in this era of Mahama's embargo on public sector employment. So he may consider applying for G4S Security company and be employed as a guard at one of the popular local Mosques. Gyimiii ( The guy pisses me off, any time I think about it.)

These are scattered points and it is intentionally written in this way because the writer is a Christian and he is so afraid of any attacks.

Oga ISIS, Oga Boko, Oga Al-Qaeda, Oga Al- sheebab na joke I dey ooo. I no say you guys are so powerful that you can bomb me and my family at any time from anywhere. Knees on floor.

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The Big Hand of God.

I SAW THAT BIG RESCUE HAND OF GOD.

(A True testimony by Oppong Clifford Benjamin​ )

So God gave me a second chance to live. Often, I have read or heard people testifying about that big hand of God and I had doubted them. Sometimes I feel it was only a hyperbolic myth. But for some peculiar reasons, God revealed that particular hand to me yesterday at the beach.

We had finished playing the board game Monopoly and have decided to go swimming. My brother Jet Alan​ said that the weather was too humid, so he wasn't going in the sea with me lest his Sasabro (rheumatoid arthritis) would come. So I left him on the golf park that lied about a hundred metres from the shores. He was cutting too many pictures like it was his first time in the city. But this is a boy who had lived in that same city for twelve years and had visited the beach countless number of times. Okay, it beats my understanding too.

They were many persons swimming at a particular region, usually I would join the crowd and go hunting for fine ladies to swim with, but yesterday I defied the norm and decided to join a young man who was swimming at a distance away from the crowd.
I walked past a group of guys playing soccer and I paused to seek inclusion, but they gently turned my admission down. Owing to the fact that they were already full. (You will understand it if you are Ghanaian).
I stepped in the sea romantically. It was cold. I was shivering yet I went farther and more close to where the tidal waves rose to full length and curved. And I would either make circumvent gestures to dodge the waves or allow it to carry me to the shores. If I chose the later, I would sit at the shores for a short while and then retire into the deep again, anticipating another huge wave to push me to the shores.

So that was swimming as far as I was concerned. The process was getting more and more interesting. I was enjoying the cold grips of the sea and the erotic motions the waves did to my inner self. Then all of a sudden, I realized that I was going farther backwards into the deeps. I tried swimming my way forward towards the shores but my efforts could not carry me an inch forward try as much as I did. I kept going back with the recession of the tide. No tides were travelling my direction again. It appeared the sea had gone to sleep with its tides, or she wanted to have me for keeps. I was terrified. I struggled to jump so high that the young man whom I had joined would see me and come to my rescue, but I realized no matter how high I jumped I was not getting anywhere near the surface.

Finally I knew this was the moment. The end had caught up with me at last and there was little I could do to help myself. So I checked with my heart to ascertain how much breath I had left in me. Then I had some little hope and faith that I will live but only for a minute or two. I had one minute to ask for forgiveness of all my many sins and also to submit my soul gently to my creator. The sea had taken me into the deeps already and my feet was not going to walk on land again. I faced death right in the face. Death, it looked very beautiful. It comes to men scary, but to the man who had prepared his mind and soul for death, it comes softly. I had learned.

Just when I closed my eyes and was about saying my last prayer and perhaps give it all up, came a big tide which carried me forward rudely. The tide was really huge and it slapped me so hard. I couldn't move along. It was harsh. It conveyed me to a certain point where I could swim my way to the shores.
The young man who all the while, was observing the proceedings helplessly, quickly ran towards me. I could see the terror in his eyes yet the helplessness in his soul. " Bra I was watching ooo, the sea took you away, heerrhhh Bra thank God ok" he said while panting in fear. He continued that " I nearly screamed for help but I didn't know what to do". But why didn't you?, I asked him and he admitted that he was confused as to what to do.

I was humbled. I sat on the sands of the shore and allowed the receding tides to wash my fears away. I had seen death right in the face, and I wasn't terrified but mortified. In fact I was meek as I contemplated on life and death. The darkest hour of every man could come at the time when he thinks he is full of light indeed. Then mysteriously, thoughts of an inscription engraved on a billboard which we drove past on our way to the beach came in mind, and it read "The Big Hand of God". I kept nodding my head in affirmation to the writings.

Today I testify that I was rescued by the Big hand of God, because analytically, from where I was in the sea, the waves gets  steeper only in recession and very low or no inclination at all. And it was impossible for the tides to carry an object which was low below the water. It was indeed a miracle. And I leave it to the marine engineers to do their calculations.  For me, am a changed person and I believe God really exist and has a purpose for me on earth.

THANK YOU OLUWA.

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The Freemason and The Boy

From the manuscript of 'The Freemason and The boy' by Kwaku Atta Crayon.

Chapter Three.

A candle?
Yes, a candle. Burning its height to liquid white. And back to solid white wax again.
That's interesting. What else?
It's fire could not illuminate the dark. The room was dark. It emanated a beautiful and tiny smoke.
Smoke? Wait, did you say smoke? Did the smoke make romantic gestures to the darkness?
Yes, it was twisting its waist amorously in the dark like a dangerous stripper on a pole. And was dancing to the heavens. Wasting the candle off. It didn't mind. I mean the candle, the smoke didn't care about it. I watched its die. It was sad. What a romantic smoke could do to a gigantic candle, which stood perfectly erected and lighted, though its light was just not enough for the dark.
Hmmmm, go back to sleep son, when next you have such a strange dream, pray and forget about it all, for where the name of God is invoked, we trust no danger can ensue.

Though the boy retired to his side of the bed, sleep was not an option to consider. He had seen more in the dream than he had narrated to his father. He saw his dead mother and he saw the Freemason too. In what could not be clearly defined as a dialogue, he listened to the Freemason preach to his mother, salvation after death and baptism for the dead.
He abruptly recollected his encounter with the Freemason the previous day.
It was in the twilight of day. When the sun was fast nearing its rest in the west. It was strangely windy, but there were no signs of possible rainfall. It was usual of the boy, to sit under the mango tree on the other side of the road, opposite the Freemason's house.
He thought about his loving mother, about how he missed her warmth and how life could be with her. He, sometimes, thought he would have been in the university if his mother existed. The boy had planted his jaw in his palm and was unconsciously staring into the sky, thoughts. He was awakened from his stargaze by the horn of the Freemason's car. He drove the latest 4 × 4 fortuner, a 1999 model. The man had blown the horn as an alarm for entry into his house. His son, Karl, came to open the metallic gate. When Karl spotted the boy, he beckoned. His own way of greeting the boy, whom he has known all his life. The boy was three years older than Karl, but the boy was skinny and smallish. Sometimes it was jokingly said he didn't eat at home.

Mr. Otchere, the Freemason, decided to, for the first time in four years, talk to the boy, whom he saw every day in the same sitting posture under the mango tree, opposite his house. He gesticulated the boy's admission into his home.
At first the boy was nervous and thought of taking to his heels, but he gathered in himself some courage and made an involuntary and rather reluctant approach. The Freemason urged him to follow him upstairs. The boy was uneasy and it showed in his steps, on his face and was more confused in mind.
It was a rumour in the community that, Papa Lodge, (that was how the neighbours called the Freemason, though in his absence), sacrificed humans for his blood money. In one of the many scuttlebutt, it was said that he was responsible for the death of his mother in-law. Stories of this nature scared the boy as he ascended the winding staircase which led to the living room of the house.
After he had gained summit of the winding staircase, he arrived at the door of the hall, which he found opened. He was ushered in by Karl and was offered a seat on the sofa. The large sofa. It stretched from one end to the other of the room. The boy was taking a quick excursion of the pictures displayed on wall. He saw many portraits of Jesus Christ and that of the Freemason being ordained as a priest of the Anglican church. He was not sure of his eyes. He saw another. And this particular picture caught his interest. He stood from his seat and tip toed to the wall. He wanted to have a vivid view.
Yes, that was taken after my initiation into Freemasonry, Mr. Otchere said as he walks in from his bed room. He had changed into a casual wear with the writings; 'Jesus is the master of my home' printed boldly at the front, and at the back was 'On the level' with the all famous Masonic signs,the square and the compass.
The boy was tensed by the mention of the word 'initiation'. Initiation? Yes, my initiation in the lodge, I mean. Lodge?, the boy was sweating profusely. He didn't know what to think again of the moment and of the man. Of course, the Masonic lodge, the Freemason said.

Just by that picture hanged another of the Freemason. He was being baptized in a water. This was during my baptism in the Anglican church. Was that before your initiation? Yes, some 21years before my initiation. You can see it for yourself. I was a boy as at my baptism but already was a man at my initiation.
The boy was battling thoughts in his head. At the other half, he wondered if the Freemason was indeed as evil as the rumours surrounding him in the community, and the half of the stories the pictures and his shirt seemed to be telling him. "Papa Lodge is such a cool gentle man, God fearing and even an Anglican priest", the boy thought.
Come and dine with us. The Freemason invited the boy to a round table supper with his family. The Freemason instructed them to hold each other's hand while he said the Grace before meals. That was a powerful prayer, the boy thought. The boy was relieved of his fears and was no longer tensed. He felt very much at home. When every one had been refreshed, the Freemason ordered the boy to say the Grace after meals, which he did with some level of difficulties.

The Freemason, after the supper, employed the boy in a tete a tete under the summer hut in the lawns. It was a beautiful sky, adorned with little little stars and the moon was majestically governing the night. They talked about many things. About the boy's mother in particular. Her death and what actually was the cause.
She was a good woman. Though she was not a Christian, she believed in God and his son Jesus. The boy continued with how his mother's deaths had caused him his life.
Do you believe the Bible? The Freemason asked. Yes, I do but don't get the chance to read it often. Well, the Bible promises us of salvation and baptism for the dead.
Suddenly the lights went off and the place was thrown into darkness. The moon had mysteriously evanesced.
Karl brought them a candle and the Freemason lighted it up. The smoke was seen dancing sexually with the wind and towering into the heavens. It was a beautiful scene. A silly thought crossed the mind of the boy. A stripper stripping her way to God in heaven, he thought and smiled but only for a brief time.
............................
Cover Designed by Shika Nornoo
Watch out for the novel 'The Freemason and The Boy' by Kwaku Atta Crayon. (aka Oppong Clifford Benjamin)

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The Mystical Bird

Labour sweeter than refreshment
Harmonious, it chirps a song
But guess what may
The boy didn't like the sound
And the bird didn't mind either
It sings very sweet melodies
Of his forgotten memories
Of the night
Of the candle
And whoo,he threw his hand about
And the bird takes a reluctant flight

He flies to history
Written in crystals blue on the sky
And deracinate a sprig of Acacia
Again on the tree she settles
Alas,she is back,the boy cried
And the bird stead of singing and wings flapping
Was quiet with her sprig of Acacia
To the boy a gift
And as the boy picked a stone throw
The bird maintained its position undisturbed
Releases the stone to the bird kill
The boy abruptly wondered why
A bird didn't make a move at a gesture
Of a stone throw but rather was still and chose death

Regret in the boy's heart much
A bird lies ground dead
And the boy confused watched
What a mystical tragedy, he thought
He looks into the sky and the sun slapped him hard
An omen!
An omen!!
An omen!!!,he emitted a long cry
As he contemplates on what the Freemason had him taught
Omens speak the language of the world,the boy recollected
And only he who hears the winds and smell of the deserts
Knows of why the day dies at 24
And the teeth of man is fully grown at 32
And he who has understudied King Solomon
And has mastered the science of geometry
Will he appreciate the language of the world,he further remembers
And he laid the bird in a grave
Stuck the sprig of Acacia
At the head of the grave
And draws a triangle with a circle
And within the circle two tangents travelling at parallel roads
And he wept and laughed
And danced and understood why he was born a Mason
So he walks in tears, expecting tomorrow to come quick
Anticipation, Anxiety
Makes him cry the more
And awaits his initiation......

( What literary name is given to a poem in a novel?......don't know myself,whether there exist such a thing.)
Excerpt of the novel 'The Freemason and The Boy' by Oppong Clifford Benjamin' (Manuscript)

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A True Confession Series

I never really imagined myself as the kind of a
woman who'd eat crumbs of another woman's leftovers,
Or rather the type that would gladly settle for second
best

Like the rest,
While knowing exactly that there is
"Her", who was, who is and probably will always be the
  rightful beholder.
I knew she existed & that
She belonged to his arms
I never dream of the day where
  I'd have to sit and
Wonder if it is the right time to call
Or if I'll even be lucky to have him
answer my call and
say "Hello Baby".
I have been so careful that i
avoided getting with
committed men, taken yet
available and married men,
Because i wanted one of own.
I wanted to get with a man who wouldn't need me to
prove my love for him daily.
Nor did i want a man who'd make
me feel like i am in a
competition and he could get any
bra, pant and skirt
that he wanted.

I did not want to be one of those
women who would
have to make an appointment to
see her man,
To call and check if he has time to
listen to what is
bothering,
Or even beg for him to avail himself for me.
See, i have collected so many stones
To know the difference between chalk and bones.
I have broken so many bottles with my teeth,
I have grinded so many rocks with my fists,
I kicked and dislocated so many earth faults with my
feet,
And i moved mountains with my wrists.
I have been around to know when a man wants to tap
and go
Or wants to put a ring on it.

But this time it was different.
I loved him with all my heart as if
he belonged to me,
I graduated from being a mistress
I wore the best clothes...
And put on push up bra's that could push my breasts a
cup up.
I have offered my body in hot summer, rainy and frosty
winter days
In different ways.
I have done it on the kitchen counter coming from the
back,
The bedroom while lying on my back,
On the rug while riding him,
The couch while teasing him.
I've done so many things that
could have kept him,
But none of it was enough
because he already had the
one.
I always thought i would know
when to walk away,
But the situation somehow forced
me to stay.
I was decaying inside
With worms crawling in rib cage.
The honest truth was insight
Yet i had no courage to accept the
show is over and get
off the stage.
I kept hoping for better days
While my heart accumulated
stains.
Nothing went down well in me,
I turned into an envelope of pain
nobody could send me,
Even the devil couldn't stand me.
But reality was more real than the
realistic of my love
life,
And i realised i deserved better
not only because i am
beautiful woman with milky
smooth skin
Or a curved natural Nymph
wearing her braids
But because i wasn't conceived
and bred to be anyone's
excuse to be busy
Or anyone's reason to cheat.
I packed all the feelings i laid out
for him,
Took back the respect i clothed
him with, but
Because i could not and cannot
take back the time i
invested in him,
I bought him a digital clock for him
to keep track of the
time he wasted.
Because life is too short to dig holes you cannot close..
It's been months since
we have parted ways,
I do miss him but my heart
doesn't beat for him anymore.
Being a side chick is not a game.
I'm telling you girls as one of you.

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Orphic Lunar

Orphic Lunar

She pointed her finger at the moon
It was late in the night
And she stood directly under the moon
At the point where her Father died
In the cemetery
And in between two goal poles
The cemetery was no longer a home for the dead
And concrete sepulchre served as goal poles
To the little boys who played soccer in the day
She stood right there alone
But conscious of a company
The moon
It seemed to be telling the little girl a story

The rains came
But she was not troubled
By the lightening and roaring thunderstorm
The winds were blowing harder
Empty graves were already flooding
Mysteriously she kept her stand undisturbed
Looking at the moon with a finger lifted at it
She wanted more from the moon
She knew something only her father knew
She knew how to talk to the moon
And she was already warning it
Perhaps, the moon got annoyed
And employed the aid of the storm and wind
To drive her away to time
The moon knew she owned her nothing
But the little girl all night stood
Demanding and screaming Till dawn broke a new day again

The boys returned in the afternoon to play soccer
Used the little girl as one pole to another dead grave
And hanged their shirts on her raised finger
And the rest of the boys sat on her dead father
In eager expectancy for their turn to play
The men came with their axe to finish the little girl
And cleared both the girl and father away.

( Disclaimer: The little girl was a lonely trunk which stood near the rest of its tree which was chopped off in a cemetery. The Poem is strictly a product of imagination and creativity, there was no time the Poet went to an abandoned cemetery at night in a thunderstorm. Please,I beg, don't want any rumours to start forming. Thank you!)

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I Met A Facebook Friend on the Street

Yesterday, just about sunset,while retiring from labour to refreshment, I decided to pass by a Stanbic bank ATM with a childhood friend of mine, who now works with Societe Generale bank. (Am so proud of him because, when we were young the most one could think of his future was ...............something terrible) but time to every man a magic does. He had transformed into a far more better person.
Right at the premises of the bank, no sooner had I penetrated my card into the tight opening of the machine, than this beautiful damsel with a guy walked by. My friend knew the guy, so he called him and exchanged pleasantries with him and there and soon they had slipped into a heart-to-heart dialogue,leaving his female companion behind.
But she was not alone though, because I managed to say a lot to her with my gaze. I looked at her sheepishly.

Then she broke the rather awful humdrum, she asked me "where do I know this face?" and right there, I knew the minute had arrived, an opportunity had been thrown down from Heaven.(am not an expert in initiating conversations with ladies but if she dares do, then I have a whole speech to give her). She further reminded me that we were Facebook friends.
Ooopssss!,my bad. " Adow" ,I said and she responded "Yes,it's me", and we both burst into uncontrollable laughter of shock mixed with the excitement of meeting a Facebook friend whom you have never met before, and do not expect to ever see in person. Facebook really lived up to its slogan 'connecting people together'. It was just as fun as anything.

So I asked how we became friends on Facebook, and she narrated that I had written a poem about a mild stroke I had while in South Africa and it was trending on Facebook,so she got emotional about the poem and commented and sent me a friend request, which I accepted readily. (But Who is that man who doesn't accept friend request from fine ladies? Hw3 there n))))) ma accept dedaada)
Perhaps, because, she cared for me instantly, she wanted to monitor my recovery just like the many other caring friends that poem brought me. I can name hundreds of them. And I must say that I appreciate all of your caring and loving friendship.

So we ended up talking about our respective professions and she was into so many already. She was a publisher, Public speaker and she was been invited to MC many programs. So I was standing with a celebrity in the making. I requested we pose for the camera because I may next time see her on TV and wouldn't get the chance.
Though she protested that I was the celebrity in the making with my poems and writings, I insisted that she was.

We took the pictures and had fun. It was really exciting to meet a Facebook friend. Hold on!,Hold on!!, Yes, we exchanged contacts and we have already started chatting. We have already exchanged greetings this morning and guess what? I called her sweety and she responded 'bae'. Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahagagahahah I know susupon brothers gonna do skin pain and later do self put put (ahoshesh3) for the lady e side,at least I can name Jet Alan

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THE SECRET OF MY LIFE

 

THE SECRET OF MY LIFE
(The gospel truth)

Whether its the hundredth time meeting this or first, it still worked magic for me and so can't help but share. What if I told you, by this same trick or lesson, I got practically every favour from people who had already disappointed me for same requests, would you then pocket your doubt and sit for it? Okay, what about I showed you, the dictum I had over the day to day happenings in my life, just because I applied this simple act of.... (hold on, its a multi million old lesson and I can't let go that easy). Did you know that, like my Brother Dr. Wiredu Kyei Bright said, we were not born to work like donkeys just because we want to be rich? Once I read an article online, which said to become successfully rich, first, ignore the advice of your mother. Don't accept the old fate, which said, money is not everything on earth, happiness is blah blah blah, well, that is some pretty piece of advice always coming to us in tatterdemalion pair of trousers and dirty cap to match. Like Marianne Williamson said in her A Return To Love poem, "Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate, our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure, it is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, who am I to be brilliant,gorgeous, talented and fabulous. Actually who are you not to be?". So tell me, who are you not to be rich, we are almost always scared of applying basic lessons of life and nature, in our journey to self reliance and financial freedom. We are most frightened by our successes than our failures.

So today, like an angel sent from a corner in Heaven, I have come to tell you the same old sermon, but this time with much emphasis, in the continuation of A Return To Love, Marianne said "we are all born to shine, like children do, To make manifest the glory of God that is within us, is not just in some of us, its in everyone. And as we let our light shine, we unconsciously give others the permission to do same. As we are liberated from our fear, our presence automatically liberates others". You will agree with me when I sit here and tell you, that was a whole lot of wisdom there in the poem. So, before I come with my sermon, I would request that, you become born again. Born a new pattern of thought, change the mythos of old that said 'No pain, no gain. No sweat, no shirt. No work, no food. No school,no job. No cash, no wife.'

Once you have forgiven and redeemed yourself from the shackles of your mental slavery, open wide your palm, take a deep breath in and out, then wipe your face using your opened palm. Now, that is the first regular step to riches. It is in this position, the secrets of this BIG TURN THAT YIELDED ONLY SMILES are communicated, they consist of a severely disappointed heart, a tired life and a willingness to overcome at all cost. I will herein, use my story, the better to enable you appreciate in full, the secrets am about divulging, which I trust you will equally apply with hope. You may want to keep it with same strict caution that, you will only communicate when it works for you with same precautions as taken by me, never to speak it straightforwardly or naked, but always in suspense or periphrasis.

Now, by this length, only those who mean business are still reading, therefore its safe to undress this woman who only births favour, riches, authority and above all peace.
I am not coming from a well to do home, right from class 3, I have struggled to get my wants, my parents were doing their best with our educational needs and the rest joined the wants. I was also told to politely reject money offers, (Thank you Sire, am okay. Oh pls sire, am okay.....then we reject the 50p dash), that was my Mum's theories working magics in our lives. So, as a little boy, who was brilliant in school and everyone's toast, I had mates from rich homes befriending me. I visited their homes after Saturday classes and we played games on their large LCD TV screens. Don't blame me, right from infancy, I have never contented my status. I keep struggling to catch up, I have always been the rich boy in a poor home. While my sisters settled for a pair of shoes for the whole academic year, I managed to buy myself two or three additional ones. When they were okay with two course meal, I was enjoying three with elevensees and desserts. In high school, I was leading a group of rich boys and no one ever doubted my stand, until the very dying days, when I took one trusted friend home, he asked me too many questions about how then , I had lived that good, time didn't permit me to answer him proper but the little was "my environment is poor, my mentality is rich, therefore my being is rich". Still keep calm, the trick is unfolding.

Now, to the question you probably asking yourself, how did you make money then?....... I asked, for lack of better word, I begged. Oh yes, I was a beggar. Fortunately in my case, I wasn't stationed by the roadside with a disability. I walked on two feet, swang two hands, to their offices, in their homes and sometimes on phone. I would say, "Mr. Agyemang, I am in need of this amount and my parents can't afford it, would you mind helping please?", as simple as that, and the response "the system is hard oo, my children school fees and my wife is pregnant and my work is .... and me too ...Ghana and the world .... and Russia.." hahahahaha, I learned a lot of world history and finance issues by this act. I got so many disappointments that, it got to a point I made fun out of them, if I wanted to laugh, I would call and ask for money, then the person starts singing his troubles and I danced in laughter. The letdowns harmed my relationship with all those who couldn't help. Its either they felt too guilty to fraternize again or I felt too hurt to approach them once more.
Then THE BIG TURN, I read in a book somewhere in Junior secondary school, that, we must blame nobody but ourselves, take responsibility of everything that happened to us. That was the whole gospel, the whole secret. I visited all those who failed me and repeated these words, " Am sorry Sire, I have disappointed you and myself, I should have realized the economic hardships of today before approaching you for assistance, please forgive me and continue to smile with me", in some cases, I knelt down to show my remorse and in others, I did it with much humility,so I knew that,not only Job was humble. And the response this time after a day or two "Cliff, how are you?, meet me today, I have something for you", they came in multiples of the amount I initially requested.

Time rocketed and I grew up and didn't need money that way again, I needed to be a man, I needed favour for employment and favour for almost everything. And it worked again. After I was rejected in a job interview, I wrote a note to the head of the panel and I said "I am sorry, I gave you a bad time doing what you didn't want to do,rejecting me. I should have acquired all the necessary qualifications before applying, that way, we both would have been happy thereafter. However please consider me a friend and share with me the smile of your company when next you see me on the street, obviously searching for another job. I am sorry and thank you". Then, after a week, he called and asked if I was employed and I said nay, he replied, "we needed a spirit like yours, please see me first thing tomorrow morning" and I started working.
So the secret is, always blame yourself and accept responsibility, make the other party feel safe but never fail to ask, because you need more of the disappointments to earn a tired life and then the secret to willingly overcome at all cost. Like I said in the beginning, its an old lesson, but you never had it this way. Try it, and if it works, share but in the manner so described herein.

"GO OUT THERE, ASK FOR EVERYTHING, IF YOU ARE REFUSED, THANK GOD, YOU NEED MORE OF THAT, ACCEPT RESPONSIBILITY AND APOLOGIZE AND GET RICH, FAVOURS, AUTHORITY AND PEACE." ~~~Oppong Clifford Benjamin~~~

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My first OBE (Out of Body Experience)

My first OBE (Out of Body Experience)

It was 6th March, 2010. It was the independence day of my country, Ghana and I had spent the whole holiday indoors watching the ceremony on TV. I stepped out briefly to have a tête-à-tête with a next door neighbour. Our houses were separated by a wall and we chatted over the wall. She was Dede. Dede was my partner in metaphysical sciences and we both tried a lot of things.

She was almost always quiet and self reserved. She was extremely knowledgeable. I jealous Dede's head. She was the first lady I tried telepathy with and she was my first tutor in meditation until I mastered the science.
It was forty five minutes past five that faithful Saturday, when the sun was about resting from a busy day. Dede positioned her head closer, and I knew she had something for me.
"Cliff you can try it one more time tonight", Dede said with much conviction in her eyes. "But I have done it so many unsuccessful times, how different is today from the last time", I asked with so much worry in my voice. It appeared astral projection was not meant for me. Or maybe I was too anxious?. Dede encouraged me to try it once more for the last time, and handed me a folded piece of white paper. "Good luck and all the best!", she wished me as she walked away.

Later that night around 11pm, I opened the paper Dede had given to me and I wasn't surprised at its content. That was what she did when we both were going to try telepathy. They were short notes she had prepared about soul travelling.
I laid very still in bed and everything in my room was calm except my thoughts. I battled so many sounds and thoughts in my mind. For once I thought of death, I wondered if my soul never returned to my body or if it delayed and my body was carried to the mortuary in the morning. Many funny thoughts were teasing my little brain. Suddenly I heard my phone rang and it was my mum, she had called to tell me to pray before I sleep, I was more frightened by the call. My mother never called me that late in the night, had she had some revelations about me. I didn't ask her why and said a very fallible good night to her. She might have sensed the fear in my voice.
I was terrified but I badly needed to experience some thing mystical. It was fun listening to Dede tell me her stories about the many times she travelled out of her sexy body. I needed this and felt this was my last chance. Dede had assured me of success earlier that day and I believed Dede so much.
Just when I could close my eyes, my phone rang again, and the sound awakened a certain panic in me. This time it was Dede on the other end of the line. She had called to wish me well and had advised that I tranquil my mind. That too was a science I learned from her.

It was 12:10am and the atmosphere was gentle. The wind blew in through the half opened window. And the curtains that covered the windows could be seen dancing salsa with the shadow of a trouser I had hanged on a nail in the wall close to the windows. I walked steadily to my mirror and I wasn't sure I saw my reflection, well whatever I saw was a mental picture. Finally I dumped myself in my bed and buried myself in a piece of blanket. I started to lull my thoughts. When I had gained control of that, I was able to calm myself. I laid down there motionless and I breathed through my anus.

I entered into my conscious 'sleep' stage, when I could see everything through my random access eye, though my eyes were closed. I focused on my breathe so much and made sure I didn't let go off my only chance of living.
Abruptly I felt very cold and something like electric jolts within my body, though it wasn't painful. I could sense the changes in my body, and my mind couldn't reason with the happenings at the moment. I just didn't understand what was going on in my being but I had promised myself that I was going to do this come whatever.
On the spur of the moment, I could hear voices, but I wasn't sure of who they were. I adjusted my sub conscience such that I could appreciate what was discussed. I heard a voice like that of Dede, she seemed to be giving me instructions and another on my right side was making comments.
I suddenly woke up from my sleep shouting Dede's name aloud. My cousin quickly dashed into my room and requested what Dede was doing in my dream, but I said nothing and she returned to her room.

Then again I forced myself to sleep and I could hear same voices. I ccouldn't feel them but I just knew they were present. I paid attention to that tiny voice and it was Dede, this time she sounded clearer than previously and instructed me to breath through my nose. When I did, my soul was fast leaving my body. I could feel some emptiness occupying me. Then fear gripped me at last, I stopped breathing through my nose and the soul fell back into my body. The other accompanying entity took the piece of paper Dede gave me and drew my attention to the number 8 item which read 'let your doubts evaporate with your fears, then breath faster through your nostrils'. I did and saw my soul leaving my body, but a tiny ray of light like a cord still connected me to my body at the umbilicus. Dede held my right hand and slowly pulled me towards her. Just when I was about getting off the bed, I turned to look at my lifeless body. I was smiling at it. I was so glad I finally experienced body and soul separation. But the greater part of the mystery was ahead, the travel of the soul.
I could feel Dede moving farther, she held on to me but I felt a sharp pain in my tummy like I have been stabbed right there. I forcefully gained my freedom after seconds of struggling with her. I then saw my soul entering back into my body and eventually gaining consciousness. I woke up from sleep and I was frightened to go back to even close my eyes. I went to the living room and watched DW tv till morning.

In the morning, I saw Dede and she was so amused. She teased me because I couldn't endure the pains of separating the soul from the body. And I have since then tried all sort of crazy stuffs with Dede, until we finally relocated and I left behind my Dede in body, but we occasionally met in spirit.
This morning, news reaching me from Dede's cousin says my friend, Dede, when she went to sleep didn't wake up and so she is dead. I am so scared, I have a feeling Dede is not dead, I feel she has travelled to some where very far and encountered evil lunar spirits. I don't know how to cease her body for a while. I am afraid they might bury my friend alive. Am so confused now, because I just don't know how to explain this complex story to her parents. I weep for Dede's soul. She is too young to die, she is not dead, I know and believe so.
What should I do?

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