By The Fireside Poem by Kojo Owusu

Let us send more firewood to prolong
The flares too rare, too brief, too short
Besprinkled with oily kernel – logs
Of the poison tree smoldering - burning
Setting the clammy hearth aglow,
Warming the rugged cold knees
Of the curious folks and brightening the face
Of the ancient griot.

The ancient griot by the fireside
Would teach the children the mystic origin
Of the tribes. He would narrate strange stories
And fables that teach instruct and entertain.
The children would throng
The huge central arena
With ardent naked feet
They would sing and clap and dance
And would murmur softly about
The wily crafty ways
Of the spider.

The maidens would charm the
Primal arena with their bewitching soothing songs
They would heave their breasts
And would shake their luring
Waists and boys would swallow spittle.

The drums would howl and growl
They would echo in the forest and the bright horizon.
Laughter, mirth and unbridled joy would burst
From the throats of the folks
The thatched huts would be in delirium tonight
They would shelter delighted itching loins
They would conceal screams of wild ecstasy.
Tales of bloody past would not be remembered

Such is the ways of the gentle genial folks
The countryside heroes unspoiled by civilization
Untainted by the tumults and the futility of the clangorous city.
Such is the wonderful gathering of people devoted to nature
Such is the mood and atmosphere and nature
When the folks gather by the fireside.