In the 1980's there was an explosion of African music in the United Kingdom, largely made popular through the Ghanaian music genre called ‘Highlife’.

For many West African immigrants this was the happening music of choice, proudly listened to on the very aspirational “must have” sound system; ‘The Radiogram’ – an old fashioned, multi-functional furniture centre piece made of highly polished wood. One Highlife tune that hauntingly remains in memory is the Akan language song ‘Abrokyire Abrabo’ (loosely translated as “Life in a White-man’s country”). I document why the Radiogram was so coveted and unearth the self-searching story behind the song - Abrokyire Abrabo, aloft waves of West-African rhythms.

High Life

If the rain makes music... should we dance?

Sometimes the rain falls
as if its penning poetry
to the rhythm of its own music; 
a sonic tune of liquid tapestry.

Cleft from a sky immersed
in the scene of a tragedy.
It's tears,
the pitter-patter;
a solemn dance
for all humanity.

An ancient jig this fluid frolic
never tiring of its endless cycle
vesting and revisiting this terra firma
like a lover emasculating the earth
of its desert state, 
or adding to its oceans 
in a bid to be free.

But you’re here again, I’ve noticed
for even through windows
your music plays a clamorous
and rather brazen beat.

Take my hand, why don’t you?

Come.

Dance with me.



© Qwey.ku 2016

Rain Music

This verse soundscape is labelled dejected and angry.

Procrastinated pockets of hope deferred
make the heart choke in a vice-like pressure cooker 
tension filled with the cardiac solution called LIFE

Think about it

Tasting your own medicine is such a bitter pill to swallow
They say“Be the change that you want to see” but NO CHANGE 
I see on paths traveled now and before me

Does this mean the change I want to see is ‘no change’
– a Spirit personified slowly dying yet living within you and me?

Think about it.


Tired of a dead lifes' heart attack? Then SEE THROUGH the change 
you want to be. On your journey bitter pills do digest 
USING the MEMORY of that ill taste to heal and outlive 
the sickness prevalent in this human RACE  ?

Think about it.

WHAT REALLY IS YOUR HURRY?
S L O W  D O W N - Can't you can see ?
The GRAVES'  great joy is to blind & thieve "your grace"
leaving you with just enough energy to kick the bucket,
while robbing you of understanding
that these sweet words origin from YOU to ME
reflecting what 20-20 would let you really see...

You are Kings & Queens

Think about it.

We are all connected unilaterally. Put plainly; we agree to disagree,
in the midst of the fact that there can be no lasting freedom
until there is a weathered wisdom of UNITY.

So(w.) If you see her hold fast, relinquish not, D O N 'T   L E T  GO!
For that's the point when we truly become LOST SOULS.

                                                                                     © Qwey.ku

Music: Beijing Butterfly - Yopo buyout production music 
Poem: https://hellopoetry.com/poem/806540/lost-souls/

Lost Souls

I have been deeply kissed by the Sun.

My skin unmistakably glistening,
reflecting the sensual moistness 
of her tongue.

Scorched by passion
from the very beginning. 
A frenzied possession,
so deep,
now genetically smitten.

A torrid affair by certain perceptions.
Unshakable, defiantly unbreakable.
To wit questionable, sometimes unbearable.

But... 

I must confess her kiss riles me, 
and with it, guilt forgivingly hails me.

so too, the jealously of men contorted, 
merely by the sheer beauty in her embrace.

I am at a loss, I despair, I don't understand it.
Driven mad simply, by the affection  of her face.

This is insane.

© Qwey.ku 2014

https://hellopoetry.com/poem/727371/this-is-insane/

This is Insane

When clouds of self doubt drown your vision in discouragement, pity and unworth, wisdom says higher up, reach for the mountain top. 


Beneath, I amused fear, 
drowning immersed in faith.

Near my final breath I mused Latin, 
the etymology of 'entertain'. 

Tormented; by mistake.
Entertaining fear, over entertaining faith. 

In the quiet silence of revelation, I took stock,
and looked up, 180° degrees, poised and compassed my flesh,
to unbolt the chains of misdirection bound to the recess of my soul.

Unleashed! 
Now to hike the proverbial mountain, cobbled in the boots of Wisdom.

Contemplative.
Afloat, aloft its height, coiffured safe by the proverb
Transfigured, by wisdom of consciousness.

© Qwey.ku

https://hellopoetry.com/poem/696082/pitiful-pinnacle/

Pitiful Pinnacle

We often think our time is "too precious"... we'd be right but often for the wrong reasons. 
In the moment of a heart beat our time is gone, a reason to spend it wisely.


Take heed, falter not, your time is currency,
tied ineffaceably to the heart rate 
of your Fiscal Policy.

Spent but once... Priceless

A (heart) beat irretrievable.

“Spend your time wisely" advised are we
but time invested with family,
often face-value perceived,
too steep a price paid
when quantified monetarily.

such an idea of a lie, so psyche ingrained.
dire submission of modern humanity ever so 
intrinsically sealed we even concede;

“These moments are stolen" 
and our time considered 
too precious

© Qwey.ku

Precious

I heard the dawn whisper "Hope is on the horizon" 
just as her Sun rose clothed in copper orange; 
eclipsing the shimmer of earths waters 
with soul piercing rays. 

Illuminating the day forwards like flames winged with healing 
engulfing paths with the brightness found in the joy of wisdom 

Imparting strength in the sure vision of understanding... 

Hope IS on the horizon

© Qwey.ku

https://hellopoetry.com/Qweyku/

Whisper

BELIEVE not That familiar wicked whisper of dreams destruction.
Especially when it screams..."you'll never achieve!"

For faith is quantified as the intangible and weighed as a tiny mustard
seed.

Ending with.. just believe.

© Qwey.ku

https://hellopoetry.com/Qweyku/

My Book Ends

My lips parted humbled by your resplendence
enchanted by the mystery of your beauty

So I spoke the words of promise
forged on an anvil of insanity
fashioned by a trembling tongue
the fire of fearful fidelity

A passion extinguished by acceptance
reborn from the sated ashes of embrace
reignited with the kindle of emotion
the inferno in the flame of your breath

© Qwey.ku

hellopoetry.com/poem/1812571/hebron/

Hebron

Snippet from a 40 Sec Radio commercial for http://www.ezetop.com

Recorded and mixed by Sound Engineer; B. Howard: http://linkd.in/UlHkHP

Southern African Accent - Ezetop Ad

Voice Actor, Narrator, TV Continuity Announcer, Public Speaker, Broadcast Journalist & Writer providing long and short form multimedia speech audio production.

Specializing in commercial, corporate, documentary,  e-learning and children's interactive educational multimedia voiceover audio production at josefisrael.com.

Whisper

Josef-Israel

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