Kwame M.A. McPherson

Kwame M.A. McPherson, 41, is an author, poet, motivational speaker, entrepreneur and mentor, who William Frederick Cooper (author, 6 Days in January, There’s Always A Reason) describes “With an eclectic array of stimulating stories, a talented new scribe introduces himself to the world of literature in fine form. You will enjoy his work.”

Marie Quetant (Further Education College, England) further asserts, “Kwame is an amazing writer, bringing his and other peoples' experiences to the forefront in the way he recites his stories. He does this by providing affective images in simple yet powerful ways. Without a doubt, he is a writer for ALL generations and definitely is an inspiration for our young people.”

Writing as a hobby from a young age, Kwame only began to recognise his love of writing when he first witnessed and appreciated how others enjoyed his way with words. Years later entering a Heinneman Book Publishers Short Story Competition (1991), he secured a Runners-up spot, for a short story synopsis called, Ah Nuh Soh Parson Get Him Gown. Still unconvinced, he entered yet another poetry competition, again securing a Runners-up spot (ACER, 1994), for the poem, Black Angel.

Growing from his life experiences in those intervening years, it was only in 2007, upon securing yet another Runners-up position (PoeticSoul, 2007), for Her African Beauty, did he begin to focus and take his writing seriously. At which stage he won first and third place for short story contributions, The Disillusioned Teen and Elmer Fudd Goes Hunting, respectively (PoeticSoul, 2007). A blessing he couldn’t run away from, it kept beckoning him to be all he was ordained to be. Kwame completed his early works in, Our Eternal Legacy (2007), a poetry compilation printed in November 2007. His second book, Deep Roots, Strong Tree (2007), will be launched in late April 2008. A sure hit, it’s a mixture of short stores based on life lessons and experiences spanning the Caribbean, North America and Europe. As a contributing creative writer Kwame has written for Candace Magazine (London, UK). Been featured on radio (CHRY - Toronto, Canada; HCity Radio.com and SLR Radio – London, England), conducted book readings and participated in open mic sessions. He is currently working with Renowned Life Coach, Marcia Jackson in finishing other projects specifically for Africans in the Diaspora and completing further books including, a Jamaican-based short story book, to be launched in 2008.

As a traveller throughout the Diaspora and to the Motherland, he is well placed to share his experiences with readers, to uplift, empower and enlighten them.

The Disillusioned Teenager
by Kwame M.A. McPherson

Man, another shooting, a musing Barry said to himself, it's a shame, it's a good thing I don't live in the States. How many does that make now? Nineteen in ten years, WOW! Truly a land of the free. It's free alright. Free to buy a gun. Free to take a life. Free to be a mass murderer. Some country…

Watching the troubled kid taking aim at another terrified passer-by, Barry gasped at the gun jumping in his hand, the target falling like a pigeon at a clay shoot, dumb fool, why didn't they just run away? Immaculately dressed in camouflage fatigues, from head-to-toe, the teen grinning wildly left Barry staring in awe, damn that guy's got balls!

An exciting shiver rushed through his body, his sweaty hands clenching and unclenching as the mad kid strolled onto the descending escalator, the permanent sneer on his freckled, thin face - leaving a grotesque mask of death. Slapping another clip into his weapon, sizing up the scenery, his dead eyes alighted upon a trembling elderly woman. Another shot. A painful scream, another shriek of imminent death, the old lady fell, a potato sack of lifelessness.  The teens blond locks waved violently as a cruel sound escaped his wide mouth - he was laughing his head off!

Walking past transparent store windows, his chunky Army surplus boots stomping heavily on the tiled floor, the teen stared around. The surreal scene unfolding as frightened, cowering staff and customers watched him. Hiding behind glass windows or wooden cash counters or still mannequins their perspiration washed their tense, trembling bodies, shaking at the probable advancing teenager of murder.

Another shot, another scream.  Bloodied boots, strolling slowly, he deliberately selected his targets. More shots, more sounds of bullets ripping tender flesh, smashing against walls, shattering windows.  The dealer in death stopped, he pulled another weapon from his heavy backpack, another bereavement perpetrator.  Now with two, both tools of destruction looked massive in his puny hands. Again, another maniacal laugh emanated from him, resounding off the walls in the quiet mall.  Bucking in unison, the guns sparked striking golden, orangey spurts of fire which glinted in his lifeless eyes, their reflection, the only spark of life; a flicker, created by the beautiful, dark metals of human ingenuity. Fizzing hot projectiles flew through the tense air. How long will this slaughter last? When will it all end?

Suddenly, a shout, there's a shout, "BARRY! BARRY! TURN THAT DAMN VIDEO GAME OFF! DON'T YOU HAVE ANY HOMEWORK TO DO?"

Sighing, reaching over Barry switches off his XBox.