would you stay still
& breathe as peaceful as a skull…
for these are the days
...
Gabriel Awuah Mainoo is a multiple award winning Ghanaian poet, raised as a sportsman by his father in football, racket sports and photography. He pursues tertiary education at the university of Cape Coast. Mainoo is a special prize winner of Soka Matsubara international Haiku contest, winner of 2021 Africa Haiku Prize, Forty Under 40 Awards for Authorship and Creative writing, LFP/ RML/ Library of Africa and the African Diaspora chapbook winner. Prize winner in the 2022 Stephen A. Dibiase Poetry Contest & semifinalist of the Jack Grape International Poetry Prize. He's the Author of Travellers Gather Dust and Lust, (Mwanaka Media and Publishing, Zimbabwe) , We are Moulting Birds; (Light Factory Publication, Canada) , Chicken Wings at the Altar,60 Aces of Haiku and Lyrical Textiles; (Illuminated Press, USA) .Recipient of the West Africa Writers Residency. He edits poetry for Goat Shed Press & WGM Magazine. Mainoo's writing has appeared in The Cicada's cry (US) , An attempt at exhausting a place Leicestershire (UK) , Writers Space Africa, Fireflies' Light (Missouri Baptist University) , aAH! Magazine (Manchester Metropolitan University) , Wales Haiku Journal, EVENT (Douglas College) , Prairie Fire (Canada) , The Haiku Foundation, Best New African Poets Anthologies (2018,2019,2020) , Bodies & Scars, Black Bamboo, among others. Mainoo is a tennis professional in the morning, a student in the afternoon, and a writer in the evening.)
Learning The Art Of Hurricanes
would you stay still
& breathe as peaceful as a skull…
for these are the days
you'll only find yourself
through the thin thread of sunlight
gently darting into the idle boughs
there is you
storm, water, gossamer lights,
striving to make their rainbows, for the winter months
of blackouts, the spinning of icicles in your spleen
you are learning to survive/remember
the meaning of each hue/cramp
inside your glass cubbyhole
you carry a stone, swing from the past
& let yourself out of hands
crashing into the lobe of a sister
returning from the crumbles of Troy
turning a blunt blade on her sunken shoulder
she pierces you with a big laugh
GRACE! that is all you get. ‘‘have the machete
now take the leech down from the cross''.
Man is but an empty river drifting through the marrow of time.