Category: Poetry

WeEDs

“shout-out to all the weeds
growing through the cracks,”
keep on pushing 
keep fighting back!

today a weed
tomorrow a tree,
strong and firm
as conceived to be.

thrusting
to majestic height,
around obstacle 
reaching for light.

unsightly appearance,
a nuisance they say,
cuttin and sprayin
won’t keep you  away.

Indigenous to land
tethered to earth,
provisions for man
organic birth.

no paved road
or cement walk,
repel the pressure
of nature’s fault

Random surface fractures may be the most insignificant, yet compelling indications of a force greater than our daily conceptions of life. They are unconsciously passed over. Asserting themselves upon frailty and age, whether a crack in the road or a wrinkle in a mirrored reflection. It signifies something far beyond observation. An unyielding determination of something invisible, constant and consistent, spontaneous, unpredictable, incomprehensible law. Nature will be what it is determined to be — and so it is with man. It is an endless riddle and we are all conspirators in the plan — willfully or not. An eternal reminder of inevitable existence, sovereignty and subjugation harmoniously intwined. It is putative of everything and nothing. The weed and the crack are beautiful collaborators in the lesson of life. Within the cracks lay the mystery of contraction and expansion, creator and creation. The balance of power between the two – yet there is only one.

by K. Osei

Cerebral insurRectiOn

it was a party of peace, serene and divine,
not a sound or thought my soul could find.

thought came, with his thinking friends, 
in worry they huddled and trouble begin.

doubt was conductor, of confusion and fear, 
as they all competed for an attentive ear. 

sadness arrived and cased the room,
looking for partners in the dance of gloom.

faith stepped in, banishing thoughts of alarm
followed by stillness and all grew calm.

they scurried about searching for shade,
back to the silence where they were made.

by K. Osei

Contradiction’s Riddle

the collective contends not with me, 
all that is i allow to be
is echo’s image i trust to see.

i wane the world around,
to situations, likely relations,
twisted interpretations
of conceptions and sound.

what is real —
or merely postures of the grave, 
am i the ocean or the wave?
insatiable thirst i think be true,
seeks delight in the black of blue.

to the noble abyss i strain to surrender
to fathom am i the sent or the sender?
what was rend will soon be won
when the parody ends all is one

source separation returns to drought 
unquenched, dry and disbelief
memoirs of misery, colic and grief 
drained and barren is the body of doubt 

nothing hailed i see as whole  
sagacity grip my solemn soul 
solidified logic be overwhelmed
by protean habits in a quantum realm 

– K. Osei