February 2, 2014 Poetry , POETRY / FICTION













Mariska Araba Taylor-Darko



The rain fell hard on the old tin roof

And sounded like beads dropping on a glass table.

The sound was muffled and deep,

The air was heavy and damp, warming the room,

Through the window the sun’s rays came in at an angle

Leaving warm spots upon our feet.


As I lay on the bed, my eyes scanned the room,

How can that precious moment end so soon?

You lay by my side watching me,

A smile formed across your face as our eyes met,

No words were spoken but we both knew

What happened to me,

Most certainly happened to you,

Like the explosion of an erupting volcano.


You weren’t tender or slow, but….

The passion brought on an unexpected glow,

Your thighs entwined with mine,

Covered in sweat,

It was as though we had just met.


The rhythms of your moves made me feel the groove

The grip of your arms made me feel so safe,

The kiss of your lips on my neck made me feel high,

The caresses of your fingers on my thighs- oh my,

Nothing, not even the rain on the old tin roof,

Could stop that moment when time stood still,

The time that revealed that moment of truth.

When the rain beat down heavily

On the old tin roof.








Mariska Araba Taylor-Darko



The night before the deer hunt

There was excitement in the house.

We stood upstairs looking down onto the courtyard

While men and women went in and out,

Sweat pouring off their brows.


This was my family house,

The meeting place where all the hunters came to prepare,

Fixing their hunting gear and choosing what to wear,

Where women came to cook and where the elders assembled

To perform their ancient rituals

Not written down in any book.


Sleep would elude us that night.

We sat up eating plantain and groundnuts,

White corn dough, hot pepper and shrimps

Slices of sugar cane pulled between our teeth,

Drinking cold minerals while the men had their beers

And something that made them spit.


Dawn was creeping in when the hunters assembled.

They gathered around in their hunting clothes

With sticks, guns, cutlasses, bows and arrows

Looking fierce and frightening

To a young child like me.


The noise and drums and shouts

And scraping of metal on the cement floor

Sent shivers up my spine.

Then suddenly they left,

Marching and shouting out of the yard,

The women standing behind.

Then silence!


A different kind of noise arose,

Women laughing, cooking, sweeping,

Children running around playing, shouting

Trying to get pieces of food when mothers were not looking.

Throughout their work they waited to hear

Did our men catch the elusive deer!


For us the children it was now one big party,

The smells going out into the yard made us

Lick our lips and act like scattered chicks,

Our mothers lashed out when we went near the food

With their sticks shaped like little whips,

But we had no fear the men were not here,

What could our mothers do when their hands were full

With pots and pans and other things too


Time was getting on and all were anxious,

The silence became like the calm before the storm.


A distant shout, the trampling of feet,

The drumming and shouting swept us off the ground.


The men came jogging with branches so green

The deer held high looked frightened with big eyes so brown.


Our colours raised high,

Our men danced full of life.

The women gave shouts in the yard:

We were first! We caught it first!

Good luck will be with us the next year!

We all rushed out and followed the crowd

To the chief’s palace to claim our reward


Now the festival gun was fired,

The hunt was over, the men looked tired.

But this was the beginning for us,

Our Company had won!

There were now so many festivities to be done

Throughout the day we were full of cheer

Going in and out of each others houses

While the men sat around and drank beer


We the children started to doze

As the night brought things to a close.


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