Kojo Owusu

Rookie - 0 Points (1984 / Ghana)

Kojo Owusu Poems

1. The Shrine 12/13/2005
2. The Windmill 12/13/2005
3. A Plea To A Lover 12/13/2005
4. Evil Forest 12/13/2005
5. The Seers Final Cry 12/13/2005
6. To A Dead Man 12/13/2005
7. When Will My Lover Come At Night 12/14/2005
8. The Myth Of Plato's Cave 12/14/2005
9. The Journey 12/12/2005
10. Pot Of Charm 3/9/2006
11. Waiting For Naana 3/9/2006
12. The Old Soldier Cobbler 12/12/2005
13. Song Of A Genie 12/10/2005
14. The Assemblage Of The Sages 12/11/2005
15. The Sacrifice 12/11/2005
16. The Castle 12/11/2005
17. The Pyramids 12/11/2005
18. Open Seseme 12/11/2005
19. Sphinx 12/11/2005
20. Lover Of The Night 12/11/2005
21. The Cave Of Love 12/11/2005
22. The Haunted Hunter 12/11/2005
23. The Lament Of Okonkwo 12/11/2005
24. For Christopher Okigbo 12/11/2005
25. Deceptive Charm 12/11/2005
26. Ethiopia Unbound 12/11/2005
27. Gilgamesh 1/14/2008
28. The Blind Note Singer 12/11/2005
29. The Prophet Of Wigan Pier 12/11/2005
30. By The Fireside 12/11/2005
31. Genie 12/11/2005
32. The Road 12/11/2005
33. The Conqueror 12/11/2005
34. Oasis Afar 12/11/2005
35. The Will To Fight 12/11/2005
36. The Wraith Island 12/12/2005
37. Venus Of Willendolf 1/14/2008
38. Madrigal For Mirabel 1/14/2008
39. Hermes Trismegistus 11/10/2008
40. The Charioteer 11/10/2008

Comments about Kojo Owusu

  • p.a. noushad p.a. noushad (4/24/2009 3:55:00 AM)

    your poems are the reflections of the contemporary scenes.

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Best Poem of Kojo Owusu

The Godfather

The caryatid - Procession etched on the vague spires
Of fear - the silent strides on the prescience of night
Black shadows with dire aspirations pursued
The lone mournful procession embarked
On the uncertainties of convictions and power engendered
In the quietude of noble ambitions
The spires echo the clangor of the thuds of feet
Timorous and brave.

The procession - the call of the sirens to the holy figures
The mosaic saints in the anteroom of eternity
The deluge of torrents to lave the cry of the damned
In the boulders of echoing despair
The emergence ...

Read the full of The Godfather

The Windmill

The stench
Of prematurely tired skins
And rotten sighs
Of rotten souls
Assailed us as
We squeezed through
The dense crowd –
We could here moans and groans
Emerging silently

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