Volume Three, Issue 4

Jacob Kobina Ayiah Mensah

Marketeer Elocutions

I’m cycling across memories
mixed with mud, sweat, blood
& hurricane lamp rays.
I’ve come closer to the old person
I’m in modern suits,
those fragments, hanging from planks,
cut across me from my north,
where mountains trend
with weekly degrees in demand,
there you see odds-and-ends,
these reservations, I pray,
mustn’t become a mere chinwag
between us & those late birds.
Sudden emphasis, that stir of heckler
towards my earnestness, played
with serious remonstrance
to recall my pretty Marches,
not to mention the heave-ho
when the mind becomes a helipad,
I paint its Hellenic hellhole.
I aren’t pretending I’m taking
the light from the window,
the light trimmed to its movement,
busily playing the frame
of the fire, these memories are,
I’m gleefully holding out
its tongue, touching the distance
I’m from here in your roar,
this unfeeling construction
remains a better riddance,
I spend with a pitiable whimper
for the next speed to France,
I shake my head I’ve borrowed
from the arts rubbing away.

Apt Artist

                                the whole body
                                                is replaced
by another

                   the anonymous headlights

                                                       the final
                                                       your life


# 1

# 2

# 3

# 4

# 5

# 6

# 7

# 8

T   h     i     n             k
                                         3 pounds
 of next body
 the door out
of yourself                                     is straight                      ahead                      showing
a black plate                                                 you are the moment
build                 ing                                                            origami about halftone places
                                           w   i          t          h
no rules &                                        well cut out
or in open recognition
this gra                       dation
 from light
to shade re                               mains
 a distance
be                                tween
m o o n s

# 9

This is
t h is is
your moment
t h i s
 due for sale
this is
something ahead
this is
to be
lessened again

# 10

I      t is even

to be

 a second-hand                                              s h i     r           t      from a distant pole

# 11

a pole
for a prize
or retirement

# 12

hawkers hurrying
along the pavement
dropping things

                                         someone turns your lamp out & come inside

I am halfway down the stairs

# 13

the last question burns as swirling darkness                           & I recross the street
                                                          I step into the next shop                                  the bell tinkles on
the door & you look at my establishment
                            every Saturday at this time you serve me tea & swapped smiles with commuters

# 14

appetite languished in that exhibition

# 15

suddenly silences rise from the vibration of the night

The Expiration





Jacob Kobina Ayiah Mensah: "I am an algebraist and artist working in mixed media. My poems have appeared in numerous journals. I live in the southern part of Ghana, in Spain, and the Turtle Mountains, North Dakota."

Top of Page

Table of Contents

Visit our Facebook page          Visit us on Twitter

editors AT rigorous DASH mag DOT com
webmaster AT rigorous DASH mag DOT com