Jacob Kobina Ayiah Mensah
who is an algebraist, artist, poet, playwright, critic, composer and multilingual author of severally uncategorized books, works in mixed media. His most recent poetry work is a chapbook, Kind Haven (The Operating System, 2020). His poetry, songs, prose, art and hybrid have appeared in numerous journals, including JMWW, Constellations, Trampoline, 1-70 Review, Abstract Magazine TV, Newfound, Bealtaine, Beautiful Cadaver Project Pittsburgh, The Meadow, Beyond Words Literary Magazine, Rigorous, The Decadent Review, Folk Magazine, Wards Lit Magazine, Cadinal Sins, zines + things, Juked, Juke Joint Magazine, The William and Mary Review, Helen Literary Magazine, In Parentheses, Genre: Urban Arts, Roanoke Review, filling Station, Hawk & Whippoorwill, The Indianapolis Review, The Sandy River Review, Blackbox Manifold, Cordite Poetry Review, Amethys Review, Rogue Agent, Whimperbang, Emerys Journal, Night Music Journal, Cantos: A Literary and Arts Journal, Thirty West Publishing House, Aaduna, Terror House Magazine, Ygdrasil: A Journal of the Poetic Arts, Castabout Art & Literature, Horseshoes & Hand Grenades, Hooligan Magazine, Unlikely Stories Mark V, Otoliths, Oddball Magazine, UTSANGA, Pithead Chapel, Wingless Dreamer, Meat for Tea, Fireflies’ Light: A Magazine of Short Poems and many others. In 2021, his poem was nominated for Best of Net. He lives in the southern part of Ghana, in Spain, and the Turtle Mountains, North Dakota.
OCULAR
The best shape of a figure is perhaps, his wheelbarrow.
I touch yours & the shade of the sun at noontide spreads across the field
perhaps, the clinking will change
when its close distance,
it’s a jungle between the words.
The injured crocuses cost a warm labyrinth
I post a mirage
& I breathe in your smouldering soul.
Here we steal our sweat & voices
here we unfold wet newspapers showing crayon drawings having communities not filled
with initiates or illuminati,
I carry a miscreant’s guilty secret away.
CONTROLLED BURN
You remember
how it was
a day
in Tuesday
how we were
elated throes
& took a walk
in the valley
our path
was shaped
by locusts
which had drawn
a thin locus above
the misty hill
on their soft buzzing of periphery
we begun stitching every contact
from the broken water
to the tree leaves
this is how
a voice between us
has been created & I am still asked in a court of law to describe this
is it necessary & sought after during listening to my mouth word & later fine me,
including compensation to the victims of your crime?
Have I enjoyed their transportation from there to here?
Is this the language that we have now?