Cockcrow Literature poems: “The Colour of God” to “A Minor Bird”. Cockcrow Literature poems: “The Colour of God” to “A Minor Bird”
These contents have put together all the cockcrow literature poems, take some chill water and enjoy a well curated poetice pieces from different poets and poetesses.
Poem one
The Colour of God
By VB Aakye
Who ever painted God white
He must be black, says the balck man
Of course not! He’s got to be green
quipped the green man
But that cannot be. He must be red,
assured the red one
How wrong you all are
He sure is blue, vows the blue one
How silly man is, laughs the rose
Why should He be black or white
Or green or yellow or even red?
Of course He is all these and more
Can’t you see? He is
Even rose ad emerald, yeah,
And damask and aquamarine
If you doubt me ask the rainbow!
Peom 2
Desert Rivers
By Lade Wosornu
Deserts too have their rivers.
Entombed from birth in earth
Waters mightier than Voltas
Lie hid from glare of sun
And winds that dry.
Roofed not by sky
But rocks that do not always hold
These run their unwitnessed course
To their unwitnessed end. Without a sound
They gush into bowels of seas
Far, far away from unaided human eyes.
If you cannot see our tears
It does not mean we do not cry.
Third poem
Scribbler’s Dream
By Lawrence Darmani
Scribbler,
The dream in your mind
fills the shelft
When upon the shelf you gaze
vacuum stare at you.
There is your quill and parchment,
but heavy are your hands
Why?
Because disuse numbs the wrist
Between dreams and fuition
yawning gaps close,
not by pacing carpets
but by matting quill and parchment.
Tell you the truth:
the gold adorning the neck
once was lost in the rocky soils.
They dig deep who find it!
Here is your quill.
Here are the sheets
When will this dream in your mind
fill the shelf,
Scribbler?
Fourth poem
A Wreath of Tears
By Kobena Eyi Acquah
Your funeral
was so quiet, and small –
almost too small, it is said
for a man your stature
You must
have preferred it that way –
having buried so many yourself
and knowing as you did
how private grief must be
how loss remains, at the end
personal
We would have sent flowers
but seeing how they had fallen
callously into disrepute
and not wanting to offend
we did not
Instead
from the garden of memory
suddenly blooming as with first rains
we plucked, with care
a rose here, an ivy there, ferns, lilies
chrysanthemums
and drop by tearful drop we wove
a wreath from our personal loss
We wear it
around our heart, privately
It will outlast any tombstone
And you would
Have preferred it that way.
Fifth Poem: Cockcrow literature poems
Sleep Without Wake by A. A. Amoako
Mother’s milk gave me such
Mother’s fingers soothed my skin
The night kept mother awake
When baby was sour
And that was me!
You vanished into the morning mist of
April’s last days, 1998
Precisely how and when is
Locked up in your wooden box
Thus severing the Korlebu Cord between
You and me, Premier son of a Premier daughter
Abenaa’s Pioneer child Kwabena
You put me through my infant paces
On Gold Coast’s Ga Shikpon
Taa taa, tuu tuu, in your maternal steps,
Maame Tutuaa, condolences!
You were brought into view again after
A long chilling month, your face frozen
Into a grim Visage
Till you thawed somewhat
Into your familiar self but
Still, inert, immobile like a
Sculptured bride
To the Mourners’ wailful gaze.
Your last Odumase words to me
Only a week before were,
“Go in peace, it looks like rain”
Words as auspicious, puzzling, portentous,
Looking back.
Poem 6: The Cockcrow
Makola
By Theresa Ennin
Head bent, rags all around the upside down pan
Picking her nose, shuffling her feet, oblivious to the bustle
and the calls of the drivers’ mates.
The morning she quarrelled with the husband
Why wouldn’t he understand that her work is very tedious and involving?
Why must it all be on hi terms, at his convenience?
“Move out of the way, move out, I say” shouts the cart pusher
None cares about his agitation
The sweat runs down his face, tiny rivulets of disappointment and fear
They snake down and glide effortlessly into his dirty t – shirt
His tongue peeps out and licks the beads of sweat on his lip.
That your girl with the thin arms balances a bowl of sachet water on her head
The runny – nose baby at her back is supported with a faded ATL cloth.
He holds in his hands a battered teddy with an eye missing.
The baby whimpers, she tries to soothe him by patting his legs
He refuses to be soothed and gives out a loud yell.
“Put his to the breast,” one woman counsels.
“I can’t,” she says, “I have no breast milk.”
Seventh Poem
Mama Is a Sunrise
By Evlyn Tooley Hunt
When she comes slip – footing through the door,
she kindles us
like lump coal lighted,
and we wake up glowing.
She puts a spark even in Papa’s eyes
and turns out all our darkness.
When she comes sweet – talking in the room,
She warms us
Like grits and gravy.
and we rise up shining.
Even at night – time Mama is a sunrise
that promises tomorrow and tomorrow.
Eighth Peom
A Minor Bird by Robert Frost
I have wished a bird would fly away,
And not sing by my house all day;
Have clapped my hands at him from the door
When it seemed as if I could bear no more.
The fault must partly have been in me.
The bird was not to blame for his key.
And of course there must be something wrong
In wanting to silence any song
Analysis of Poems
Well take a look at detailed analysis of some of the poem, click to open the links below
Read also,
Makola Poem Analysis: By Theresa Ennin
Tell My Son To Hold On To His Gun Analysis
Desert Rivers Analysis: By Lade Wosornu
Makola Poem Analysis: By Theresa Ennin
Summary of Ripples – Peter Paul Adolinama
Cockcrow Questions and Answers on The Ripples
Cockcrow Questions And Answers
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