I heard the sound gongs
That echoes vehemently through
The dept of my solemn soul
The call, of which I must answer
O crier! Bearer of the voice of the ancient ones
Calling unto me, to come have a seat amongst the ancestors.
.
I fear that I might be gone
Too soon to give thee my " adieu "
I fear that you might be the hands to wash me in my death
I fear I might be gone!
Far gone to share in your "kola" and "palm wine"
Oh! I fear that My lands,barns,wives and Concubines would fall in your hands after my Exit from this naked world.
.
But I would smile
When my soul gazes down
Seeing myself in the round circles
Of your unending presence
I would dance to sweet dirges from you lips
I would smile when your heads shake for me
My cheeks enchanted with laughter in the tale
Of your ignorance.
.
For now, I decide your fate
Of your dreams I now have a tale
Your voices,I a carrier
The ancestors seat now my dwelling.


Balogun David Tolulope
(Drunk poet)

Let me have a bite
Beside the shaped ancient teeth
From the mythic kola
Where only wisdom dwells.
.
Let me have a smoke
From the ancient pipe
Pulled out from aged toothless mouth
That smells our untainted heritage.
.
Let me have a sip
From the curved horns and cultured Calabash
Filled up with ale and undiluted palm wine
To intoxicate me with our heritage.
.
Let me have  a seat
Amongst the white beard heads
To play the "local game" with stones
So that I may be taught the bounds in my thoughts from
From aged bloods that flows like euphrates into the garden of our motherland.
.
Let us have some music
Sang with dry lips that echoes from soundless cave
Infuriated with flutes, gongs and talking drums
That we may dance-off our ignorance
To see the chain left by our ancestors to be drawn.

Balogun David Tolulope
Drunk  Poet
© 2017

They said my grandfather had seven wives,
So came the story of their predated lives,
Their troubles and pains led to his ornamental hunch back,
Resulting to his death from an heart attack,
... Blah blah blah.
.
They called my father an oaf,
Poor him! He couldn't afford a loaf,
His destiny was surrounded by black birds our village,
He only hoped and hoped till his black bears became grey across his age.
He barely paid half of my mother's dowry,
And hardly had himself to father me,
... Blah blah blah
.
But this time I chose my path,
I drew my line,
I followed my mind,
To a radiant, like Venus raising from a foam-flecked sea.
With you I want to see years go by,
To you I will sing sweet lullaby,
Only you I would love or go blind
... Blah blah blah.
.
Balogun David
(drunk poet)
© 2017

I lost myself in the tale of adventure,
In the voyage of time that was passed from our forefathers,
Driven and tossed by the wind of civilization.
.
I felt the rain dripping from the eyes of our ancestors,
Drenching our farms, roofs and even children playhouses,
To open our myopic eyes to the luxury of time we seem to lack.
.
I heard it! Loud but unclear,
Great words like whispers, whispers like murmurs,
Coming right from the assembly of trees,
The warning of our ancestors,
Echoing from the forest of the unseen,
Setting back our feet from the animalization we call civilization.

Balogun David   (Drunk poet)
© 2017

My soul aches,
Like a brain suffering from tumor.
My soul breaks,
Like that of a new day,
Telegraphing my tears  along with dolor,
Sormoning the beams of the sun each day.
.
So I sought this healer amongst waters,
Where birds sings and monkeys dance
Along the boulevards of blindness,
In a great hall of fame and great matters.
And herds converged, minds convened
Only with the Polaroids of sightlessness.
.
Like a drunkard she prays,
Welcome! Welcome! she says,
To an abode of hypocrisy, jealousy, blasphemy and misery.
The therapeutic healer, healing in agony,
Dealing in the paradise of nightmares.
With me  your fears shall fall like that of a lost boy's tears
And your pain meet the sweetening balm of my embrace.
She would make a good gift in heaven,
But even a better bribe in hell.

Balogun David {drunk poet}
Drunk Poets Society
© 2017

Books I have come across,
Pages of old scribbles and thoughts
Old ones, both Legends and myths
I have seen heroes on the cross
Even events that are far gross!
But they seems to have lost their wits
.
Books of treasure I have found,
Where heroes and great ones won
Stories of time I have kept
Deeply rooted in my inquisitive chest
.
Books of fantasies I have explored,
The magical exuberance my bewildered
Mind unable to fathom
The fairy puzzles that old ones would not speak of!
.
Books, as they unfolds
From the stream of unseen
The scribbler and originator of mindset
Painter of destiny!
The author that lives by the Coast.

Balogun David (drunk poet)
© 2017