INSIDE A POEMATICIAN’S RATIOCINATIONS


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The following poems are unedited collection of poems from an up coming Anthology known as,
…”INSIDE A POEMATICIAN’S RATIOCINATIONS”……
All poems written by Nana Arhin Tsiwah Theophilus, also known in poetry circles as ‘The Village Thinker’.

Poem Title: Paranoid

I see a brighter me in mind
come let’s play whilst there is darkness
an overview of me a narrow
for am not the you

When darkness transfigures me
and a thousand saint sing in me
details of me testifying
I know the me not

Strange things are my choicest
as the orchestra of borrowings
sing hymns of praises in my room
that is me in mind only

They all look at me
beginning from the left
nurses in cutest white robes
but I don’t need a doctor
and my eyes all dimmed to tears
I am the message of me

The Village Thinker © 2014

Poem title: Issues from the pillow

I am a sage
bounded to tales
the rod of the day
laid to the beams of ponder

The pillow is silent for today
the two member committee discussion
is almost dissolving this night
I can reason well

My grandfather used to say
“the depth of reason lies in the pillow”
but the pillow is mute
could it be a tower day-mare?

The Village Thinker © 2014

Poem Title: The Miracle

Even with magic
I breath deep into lungs
a sorcerer’s delight I stood
there were several ironies of them
none could cure me
of the turmoil enslaved me in.

I know not the way
herbs forming a narrow identify of me
a priesthood initiation I missed
no home was cool there
there was not even a sign
of my healing in line.

Three alphabets pressed on my index
the first wouldn’t say much
only the two had much to offer
their bond later was  nevertheless my power
it was a miracle…
and my ink did that.

The Village Thinker © 2014

Poem title : Infectious

We were the best—
the three of us
and the they were the worst
we stood out in the first year
as our charms of behaviour
enslaved them all
—even our teachers admitted to that.

Pledges of our traits
the school’s second billboard
as seniors advised to take sip
from the good calabash we held
but as female butterflies as we were
we knew when was our weather.

As calm as the wind could be
it won’t woo much to ir desire
Akwasi Dabi had told us
and as they angles praise
the winds of the devil blows
little did we know our end was nigh.

Three years on
and the pressure has caught us
no need to seek return home
for we were at it deep swimming
our good palm wine for sip
has poured down from the calabash.

Before the entire academic  year could break neck 
Kwame Menpemehoasem had alredy
escaped through the mental window
and the remaining two of us
the cart was our best mate in the streets.

We had been infected
by the poisonous school canker
a canker so infectious to the bones
and have been robbed of our goodness
as the good calabash we held
laid emptied and cracked to half.

The Village Thinker © 2014

Poem title: Pledge of an African

The world has so soon changed
new things evolving
shifting systems to the graves
and there is also a new diction
“Outmoded”

I heard the world is new light
with new culture already taking shape
yes and the African must bear it all
so they say to make life comfortable
really?

As an African
as a soul formed out the soil of Africa
my dreamest pride
lies not in my skin only
but the worth of it culture.

When I walk through the corridors of the streets
and seeing my own kind drenched in it matters
one thing crops in my thoughts
Africans are indeed not the yesterdays
where values and principles of culture cherished.

I pledge not to fall victim to these trends
of culture and values trampled upon in impunity
as chaos floods the walls of our dear nations
just like a lake
I wish not to be dried away
by this harmattan of modernity.

The Village Thinker © 2014

Poem title: Melted

Well endowed in pride
her worth beyond pricing
and only the deep of her soil
are hidden treasures
of harmonious living souls.

Beyond her skin
lies her true identity
where only creation is aware
as many sought her
and found her not.

Today,
from the very top of her hill
I see all melted
and grey endowments
to be proud of.

She is bare
her shame revealed beyond control
the plot on her crusade has yielded
nothing is worth admirable about her.

The Village Thinker © 2014

Poem title: From bed to psychopomp

Seeing their lone life travelling
their luggage not with them
their wealth was beyond measure
as no mathematician could calculate

That one in particular was ‘special’
even his dogs were like humans
but beyond this point of life
is an increasingly pressure of no pleasure

Before bed
it was all raining in joy
as the romance of the bed kept me nesh
to the reality beyond morrow

The leaves here all looks dried
and no landscaper to put the flowers in shape
night and day are of no difference
and could it the land of the lifeless,
or just a freaking dream?
but the reality was,
“I was dead”!

The Village Thinker © 2014

Poem title: Wrestle of ages

His beard is mulching now
and the tantrums of the old walking on
he looks into into mirror
and all is but an assumption

The best read into old age
and that if the light on you is young
you keep your thoughts to yourself
as tradition laid plainly to the claims

You look at the words keenly
lay an axe of scrutiny to what greyed decides for you
and all looks not to better your lot

But who dares to bet on a tortoise
when all animals are in the race?
and it is only the eyes of their wish
you seem not to construe their truth

Ages at conflict
as the old seem wise
and the children seeming wiser
but who is the wisest?
that is a question for the eleventh child to answer

The Village Thinker © 2014

Poem title: Painted in mud

It was all white
pure and purely
like a fresh snow
from the dairies of the sky—
so the people made it their castle
built houses around it for protection
and to seek comfort therein 
entrusting their all to it
for they hoped for a better tomorrow—

Years have flung their feathers
lighted their candles to the deep of bleak
and they are now mud smeared
their houses have been robbed
the white colour now darkened
the snow milked to titles of individualism—
mud paintings all over the robes
hearts and lips
all painted deeply
in dexterous prevarications—

The Village Thinker © 2014

Poem title: Gestures of a sinner

In the dark room
are no firm walls
to coagulate motions
of a shining emotion.

Rhetoric play of her lips
blending to undress
of twining eyes to sedulous sentences of massage.

meditation outreach of a saint
the lord grant nature patience
that lies won’t lie
and reds won’t red…

The Village Thinker © 2014

Poem title: I dreamed you

I dreamed you all night
even in the day
I still dream of you
you are the captures of my soul
the beats of my heart
not of ending love
but of boundless love
beyond boundaries of the continents.

I dreamed you
all to my lungs breath
to see you have your glory on again
your glory has been under the spell of jilt
with so many wounds
all over your body.

In this dream
you took on a new fate
grew conscious of their intents
smarted their pending lures
you were so beautiful again
flagged in the powers of nature beyond their comprehension.

The Village Thinker © 2014

Poem title: Bleakest arrest

Bleakest arrest;
    the shadow lies on the wall,
      it cast is on my fore—
           so bleak in confinement.

The Village Thinker © 2014

Poem title: Nightmares of summer

I want to free myself
from this zone. So I can wake to new horizons,
of a dream come true.

Maame never came with the “bone shaker”. She said she do leave to the market,
but here is the wooden lorry,
which she owed her life to this morning. 

“is she dead”?,
for we heard of the accident. No tears please,
tell us how terrible the situation was, but I don’t want to hear
the pronouncement of death.

Walking to the shade under the cocoa, drenched in sweat bath
please where is maame? Papa tell her not to go to the market,
she might not come again with the “bone shaker”

The Village Thinker © 2014

Poem title: A journey made, endless

I made a journey into myself
I dug deep into my details
I walked into the depth of my archives
All I could find was still more miles to journey

I wanted to know my real ‘who’
I made enquiries from my blood
Made comparison with my kind
I saw some similarities
Yet that wasn’t enough journey
To let me know my real ‘who’

I took my roams to the mirror
I asked if she could help me
I asked the sky if she knew short route
But all ended in the chambers
of endless exaggerated appeals

The journey stills continues
To finding my real ‘who’
And knowing the real ‘me’
But until life lingers
This journey of my knowing
Still limbs on in the tunnel of endless.

The Village Thinker © 2014

Poem title: A dipsomaniac’s chorus

Trenches of a dipsomania
the applause of the wind
as I breathlessly sing my chorus
in the deep hauls of bottles
where the wheels of my tongue
sweep me to it endless desires.

I thought astonomers make dubious claims
it felt like unmeritable
but I drench in my deep self
of the reality in the liquor
duly their claim is very meritorious
the earth indeed does rotate
for I feel it in my element

My world is the wildest dream
that can ever be experienced
where no worries is the continental anthem
sing me a melody from the wine
let the taste be of the gin
that I would pledge solemnly
to the tales that comes with you
for to dwarfed in intoxication
rings a feeling beyond nature’s melodies

The Village Thinker © 2014

Poem title: Diplomatic

concerns of my people
stored deep in my heart
Their wails—  
baled under tongue
Their cross—
a burden feast of me
I seek in sleepless nights 
of countries to find solutions
or a cure to their woes
These are my people
and with their plea in hands
I wear you my face
to the world of relationship
that I may find root cause to these problems

The Village Thinker © 2014

Poem title: Extremities

There are portions I do not want reach
distances I fear to go
if it were to be our misunderstandings
and our little problems at home
if it were left with the squabbles
that always boils tempers
then please don’t go extremes

I know how had things could be
and how regrettable they are sometimes
look at the faces of these innocent  kids
and the reckon the malediction
that broken homes evokes
so you don’t go extremes

Going extremes aren’t solutions
throwing tantrums at each other
are the road to ceasing fires
on the point of extremities
lies the ring of knock-out
either ways are sways of normalities
please don’t go extremes

The Village Thinker © 2014

Poem title: Thwarted

That is your only dream
dear malices of progress
you hide behind deep smiles
plotting to maim me of hope

You mastermind through the dust
stab me with obstacles
laying my back to bare
so thou foes might lipstick me 
in all these euphoria of no intentions of yours
there is still one burrow to editorial
and that is your heart!

The Village Thinker © 2014

Poem title: Nihilism

This is our land
the land of our birth
of people so peace to the zone
with one night appeal to help

They have taken our negligence
to be our prime weakness
yet they claim in the dailies
that we shouldn’t be doom-sayers

Inside our marrows
are many hidden sorrows
of why you! haven’t cure our ailments
or find measures to lessen their pains

As philosophical as I might be
expressing my profoundest love
for nation and continent
of sentiments locked up in emotions

I rest my case of judgement
in the ink pool of nihilism
that these people at the helmage
won’t take us anywhere
even near the land of our dreams  

The Village Thinker © 2014

Poem title: Familiarity

I lied beside you
jumping hurdles of your features
I counted them well
numbering them orderly
with bulletins of ink all over
I saw the part we share in common

It’s like a magma
flowing extrusive
but of hidden beauty
intruded between the bedding planes
of your heart beats
the pulses same as mine

No wonder we hugged so deep
with imprints of our chest
all written on our shirts
of us sharing a unique familiarity
indeed the heart is such a soothsayer
it sees the all mere eyes see not

The Village Thinker © 2014

Poem title: Behind closed doors

Behind closed doors
are eligibly written pages
of troubles unraveled to the public eyes

Behind closed doors
are heaped burdens
of teeth gnashing 
and plain worries unveiled

Behind closed doors
lies the real home
of a man and woman
drinking tears of sobriety

Behind closed doors
lies unknown mysteries
of life’s related issues
never told to itchy ears

The Village Thinker © 2014

Poem title: The chopping board mistake

It took leave of me in the shadows
swallowed by the nights aroma
in a trianglular prism’s quotation

I took hold of her hands
and the mistake shook me to foot
she laid bleeding

I shivered to the foams of regrets
looking at her in the hospital bed
so cold was her face
and my inner bumped

The Village Thinker © 2014

Poem title: Mashed reasons

Mashed reasons;
   smoother than knowledge,
      finest pearls mixed
         it’s full of wisdom.

The Village Thinker © 2014

Poem title: Fainting

when trees bow
as roots lodging here
and auras of you
all over me in bed
the feeling remains
undoubtedly capturing–

    faintly initials of me
a dramatic loyalty
        the radiant of your curves
the finest dewdrops
so tenderly stitched
            to the moons of my deeps.

The Village Thinker © 2014

Poem title: Unrelated

I looked upon the earth
and seeing all
I smiled my half
and said, “humanity”. We are all humans,
carved in one anatomical figure.

But why are some so handsome and beautiful,
with others too, deeply figured in pulchritudinous? And we say we are all humans, under the wings of  humanity!

I know we are not perfect,
and that in our imperfection, we can be transfigured to a perfectionist’s paintings. And why are some so richly endowed with wealth,
with others so broken into pieces by pauperdom? Could it be a wishful impercation,
or a blissful blessing?

We are all humans,
with different shades of integumentum. Some white, others black,
yellow and even acquamarine.
and one creation forged hands, yet the whites rules the others.
And who could be behind all these? Such a world of anticlimax tensions! And to which one is related,
that I can’t tell…

The Village Thinker © 2014

Poem title: Lures

The pink in your eyes
the streams of gold around your lips
the triple folded curves
around the well linked groovy
of sheen toned skin
these the descriptions
which kept me in your paintings

I have been stolen
without my knowing
breached to the flair of a damsel
caged to red inks
of a charm so aromatic
than the redolence of an angel
and am not finding my feet
just the gleams of your lures
of crystals ribboned to the half me
I see lured me to webs

The Village Thinker © 2014

Poem title: Gossip from the candle’s eye

Let’s preach truth, even,
when darkness wields. The candle is melting, down pours of effervescence—, the brightest time,
has graduated it drills. A night of seven eye witnesses—, none was able to speak.
It was just under the candle’s eye I read the message.

The Village Thinker © 2014

Poem title: Windowing

I stared through without a blink of eye. I look keen on at the roads, the third was greying—
and all I could was your trails.

The frames are the new faces I see. No winds to shield—, for all I see is a missed you.
So not of denial, the wedges are slowly frailer. It is your shadow I keep seeing.

The Village Thinker © 2014

Poem title:  Poetic lies

I,
like a —
pen,
weighing millions —
on the scale.

I,
like a —
linguistic,
speechless —
before my chief.

Destituted!
an overly
exaggerations
of me imagined;
of the wrongs
I rewrite!

with auras of
imageries deepened,
like a —
priest on hibernation,
timeout ironies!

I,
like a —
drummer,
muddled beyond;
reconnaissance of
inks metaphor!

Climax!
seven hundred
mischievous pun —
all allured,
classified paradoxes.

I,
like a —
virgin ‘kontomire’,
unpublished to
the realms of simile;
thoughtful cliche
of a pencil’s euphemism.

bile of roars,
cradle limb of
a parrot’s fiction;
hallelujah beams
of a broken isles
in dope romance
of radiant oxymoron.

I,
like a —
shrine’s eye,
ransomed sacrifices
services of me,
brown kola mystic
reverenced onomatopoeia.

lies,
they are all lies—
poesy dilemmas:
poetic sorcery
of leasings
Antithesis!

The Village Thinker © 2014

Poem title: Trials beyond truth

Beating by an angry mob
to the core of my bones 
of a crime I committed not.
The more I pleaded not culpable,
the harder the slap bangs
my sass humbly received.

The police I thought were my friends,
were the worst victims I had become
of no felony I committed.
I have been throw behind bars
for weeks without trial at the court
where is the constitution to guarantee my rights?

At last the people rose for the judge
my inner self shivered
when a witness I know not
ascended the witness box.
“I am sackless” as I heard my conviction yelling
but who was willing to sympathise with me
The judge has risen again
and am to be banged up for thirty years.

Where are you, truth,
that you would reconcile with my soul? 
the fury in the policeman’s eyes
tells of how hell my fate would be…
I looked beyond the faces of all present,
and I felt nothing less of equitable in chains of mute. 

The Village Thinker © 2014

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6 thoughts on “INSIDE A POEMATICIAN’S RATIOCINATIONS

    1. I don’t have any one to help me through the publication yet, but hopefully am planning on getting some funds to start this project…..
      #MrSadick its gonna be 120 poems in a single book, dubbed, “Inside a poematician’s ratiocinations”….

  1. I am drawn to the entire creativity of some poets around, but since I came across the village thinker. I have come to see and realise tha great poets yet exist. being a poet my self in a small coner if Nigeria in kaduna. believe me when I say you are doing a great job in the poetic movement.
    I support the force you lead, I encourage you to keep the fire, that you may burn all bridges of discouragement in the nearest future. for I see great light, a light generated by the poets and that light will take its true place to lead the poeple of Africa and the world.

    o brother I am blessed to have met with you,
    o brother the day I first saw your works
    that day I pour wine
    that day I feed kola
    and a white cock.
    a sacrifice for the future grace.

    nice job brother. I love this site and its beauty.

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