"balogun" poems
Your beauty is a mystery,
The ęwa that the sun can not
Withstand,
Your smiles that scholars
Can not fathom.
Ajoke, the aręwa of our village,
I had known you since you came Of Age.
Adesina the only heir to the Oba,
The Queen said he hasn't be sleeping since
He saw at the yam festival.
Balogun, the warrior of our village,
Promised the King 300 victories to have you,
Ayankola the prominent drummer,
That performs at the village square,
His 'konga' gives vulnerability to hips,
He wonders what have become of yours,
Odewale, the best village Hunter,
He has sent his wives packing to have you.
Alamu, the village woodcarver,
That carved even Oduduwa,
He has no clue how to carve your beauty.
Bashiru, the son of omowumi,
The palmwine tapper,
His is ready so supply 300 kegs to have you.
Olaniyi, the biggest village farmer,
With plenty of barns, is ready to
Give all this for your beauty.
Ajoke Ashake you are the goddess
Of beauty!
The beauty bird sing for,
That attraction men speak of,
The smiles poets write of,
Your beauty is a mystery!
To her who never noticed me
But her name protest to leave my lips.
Jul 3, 2016
Jul 3, 2016 at 8:13 AM UTC
Under the trees we danced
Around blue made fires
With love and unity
Entertained with flutes and moonlight stories
Dropping from the toothless mouth of our elders
Accompanied with Wise words and warnings
That we may not be blown by the wind
Or drenched by the rain
.
Soon,we became orphans
Left with no breast to ****
Fathers and mothers lost in battle
Against unceasing slumber
We are alone like an island surrounded
By waters of civilization
.
Now we are lost ,lost in ignorance
Our hands,not strong enough
To hold firm the calabash
Given to us by our dead
Filled up with warnings and wise words
So we lost it!
.
Our hen is pregnant
But claims the goat is responsible
We lack fountain
But beg for water
Our barns are full with yams
But we gnash our teeth in hunger
We have golds
But cry for stones
Our eyes are open
Yet,blind to behold
As the beauty of our rainbow unfolds.
Balogun Tolulopez Ayodeji David
(Drunk poet)
ANA AAUA chapter
2017
Jun 17, 2017
Jun 17, 2017 at 12:34 PM UTC
I've always wanted to design dreams
Not to chase them like kids after butterflies in the fields
But to decorate and further furnish them.
.
I've always wanted to mend dreams
Not to be the one with the broken pieces of dreams
But to repair them with the kisses of hope.
.
But just like a chameleon nature changed her wardrobe
And like the space in-between an anvil and an hammer,
I lost my needle and tools to time.
.
Now, when we the sun comes up
I host troubles
Even when the sun goes down
I host double of the prior troubles
Only I hope, it won't be forever!
.
Balogun David Tolulope
©️drunkpoet
Jan 25, 2018
Jan 25, 2018 at 10:55 AM UTC
it wasn't like we didn't know what was right or wrong
but sitting under abandoned structures at two in the morning,
talking about work, money and betrayal felt like neither.
i held the big bottle of beer for the first time
while stretching it out to her.
"Add ciga join oga", was her next response.
so i pulled it out from inside the pack. her pack.
"who you be? you be pastor?
why you come? you dey n.g.o?
abi you dey dea dey form good boy
siddon dea!"
so she blew out some smoke from her mouth,
blew what was left out of her nostrils
took another sip from the green bottle
some spilling off the side of her mouth
she scratched her back and waited for the next line
we managed to talk about what we did in the day.
i, a popular janitor, for better job to hang on to.
she, trader in Brazilian hair, owed by all her friends.
but i admitted being jobless at night
while she pleased other men for cash.
so she blew out some smoke from her mouth,
blew what was left out of her nostrils
took another sip from the green bottle
some spilling off the side of her mouth
she scratched her back and waited for the next line
"teach me facebook", she said
putting the sudden silence to shame.
so i grabbed her phone with in disgust,
but with plenty of curiosity,
while wondering what i was doing here.
"na ikenna send me dis fone"
so she shows me ikennas picture.
a young man with another woman beside her.
i quickly flipped through other pictures and messages.
some were about fights, some about clubs,
the others about robberies.
she blew out some smoke from her mouth,
i stand to go. so she asks, 'you go come shrine,
fela shrine tomorrow?'
with a smile only familiar friends can read, i accepted.
afterwards, she told the security men to let me go.
'na my friend'. a wicked smile scratched on the faces
of these men who stood for balogun street's security.
and we were friends. familiar friends.
many months have passed,
i blow the heat from my lungs with a sigh
i scratched my back and wait for this memory to erase.
what was i doing there?
May 18, 2014
May 18, 2014 at 5:27 AM UTC
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
Apr 13, 2017
Apr 13, 2017 at 7:59 AM UTC
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
Apr 6, 2017
Apr 6, 2017 at 12:12 PM UTC
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
Mar 8, 2017
Mar 8, 2017 at 9:47 PM UTC
Time triangle
.
Time
The pyramidial form bewilders me
It's main focus set in my blury eyes
The triton of fate on which
The destiny of my feeble soul lies
Of what answers to my poor
Soul seems to seek
.
When will my soul disappear?
Like the smoke from an old man's pipe
Vanishing into the clouds like it never existed
When will I pass from this physical life?
To embark on the journey to the pillars of the the world
My soul trembles because he know not bout his departure!
.
How will my soul evanescence?
Like stars fading away to avoid the day
Leaving no traces on the skylines
My soul troubles because he know not about his departure!
.
Where will I die?
Bidding farewell to this world!
Like young bride saying goodbye to
His fathers house
My soul grief for he know not about
His exit!
Balogun David
Drunk
Dec 30, 2016
Dec 30, 2016 at 1:16 PM UTC
Sister Bisi,
A serial fashion killer
From what I remember, her beauty was men's dealer.
Her ostrich legs would move her,
Like a car without adequate fuel
See, I doubt it if sister Bisi could really ****
.
Sister Bisi,
Her smiles could make you render
Her your head,
Of course, before placing her head-drink,
You would be dead!
Calling her "Beautiful" was an understament
.
Sister Bisi,
I once believed she was a witch
Her eye lashes elongated like palm fronds
She could barely swallow "amala"
But she could linger on "noodles" and
"suya"
Her lips would dance like flowers in the air
When she says "like seriously"
.
Sister Bisi,
I admire you, till yesterday,
When a circle of unending presence beheld you
Besides the "gutter" you could barely cross
Your twins on the chest shaved away!
Like demolition of our public library.
"she's been used" I heard from murmurs, I was keen
Only to know that you were a "slay queen"
.
Balogun Tolulopez Ayodeji David(drunk poet)
©️2017
ANA Aaua chapter
Jul 15, 2017
Jul 15, 2017 at 10:43 AM UTC
I know of a mysterious being,
Dressed in suits, but bestowed with ancient voices.
I know of a magician,
A supernatural astounder, who performs in hearts of men.
.
I know of a trickster,
Whose tricks surpass that of tortoise in folklores
And whose dark long hat is made with anguish.
I know of a sorcerer, who performs in hearts of men.
.
He, who gives without notifying hesitation,
Comes to take with without invitation .
I know of a wizard, giver of caps but taker of heads
And he lives in hearts of men .
.
Of a riddler I know,
Whose riddles creates chaos in minds of scholars.
I know of a man, who visited me not long ago,
A merchant of Venice looking for a land to sow.
On his hand lies arrow and bow
Ready to shoot into the dearest of hearts
Saying "am coming to you, to create my mark "
And he lives only in the shadows
.
Balogun David Tolulope
(Drunk poet)
©️2017
Nov 29, 2017
Nov 29, 2017 at 10:44 AM UTC
Screams, Sighings, groanings
I heard in whispers as it echoes in my soul
Fallen! We are, on the battlefield
Like an egg, smashed on a rocky surface
Our fate now decided by our foes
.
Cries I heard,
As the ****** of spears move through our hearts
Clattering of swords echoes, and vibrated off our arms
Waters I drank,
That flows from my eyes alongside with blood from my veins
Defeated we are! Captives we became.
.
Our women married off like harlots without bride prices
Our sons led off to be slaughtered like cows in the abattoir
Our gods disregarded like a king, naked in the market
.
We are defeated, but not defeated
For mothers will name their sons after us!
Men will bow and worship us like gods in temples!
Girls will scream our names when their lovers excite them
Wives will sing our names when they gaze at their *** of Bush meats
For we are only defeated, not defeated.
.
Balogun David Tolulope
(drunk poet)
©️
Oct 14, 2017
Oct 14, 2017 at 7:20 AM UTC
My past hunts me
Like an Hunter looking for his first catch
So I sailed to the road that leads to yesterday
To find the pieces that makes who I am
.
The present hunts me
Like the bite from a fretful scorpion
So I sought healing from
The therapeutic herbalist
Whose shrine stands at the end of the
world
.
The future scares me!
Like the smile of a village witch
It gazed back at me and called me
So I sought the gate leads to it
.
Be strong! Father would say,
These are the puzzles I foretold!
No honor lies in giving up!
None dweal in dying!
Fight son, fight!
Balogun David {drunk poet}
© 2017
Nov 11, 2016
Nov 11, 2016 at 5:23 AM UTC
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
Apr 22, 2017
Apr 22, 2017 at 3:19 AM UTC
Fate has choked on us
Our life driven by wind on monstrous sea
Conquered by our friendly foes
Invoking death and tears accompanied with plague
On our fatherland
.
Tonight, we bury our deads
For the they have joined our ancestors
Let us dress up our wounds for our visit
To the ancestors has been postponed
Let us sharpen our blades and smoothen our spears
For this is just our prologue
.
May fear not be the guest
But the gods in their very best
As we sit round the fireside,
May the gods ignite the fire inside
Sing! For this is the last dirge our lips would sing
Lay the young ones to sleep and sing them sweet lullabies
That they may take shield in their tender dream
.
We fight back
Like Herculean with strength on
We write fate with ink on the clouds
Commanding death on our foes like rain on pastures
No one tell our story like us!
.
Balogun David Tolulope {drunk poet}
IG-@ace_da_drunk_poet
©️2017
Jul 25, 2017
Jul 25, 2017 at 4:24 PM UTC
Sometimes I beat myself up in your glory,
And sometimes my tears flow like river Nile in your honor.
Your wonders on me are misery and dolor,
And starting over is your judgment.
I know failure is a tool in your hands,
And pain is your mercy.
You are a warlock, who conquers hearts and lands
A general you are, that breaks one in pieces.
You are a pause in success,
And disappointment is your surname.
A predator that preys on even lions,
And auguish is your mercy.
But I know you a soldier that matches me on
Keeps me alive to push harder and harder,
Makes me go further and further,
To struggle, until success is my slave.
.
Balogun David Tolulope
{drunk poet}
Dec 10, 2017
Dec 10, 2017 at 7:03 AM UTC
My feet move me
Like a sailor determining the
Fate of a ship
Kilometers I move, away from my hut's threshold
Where I battle in thoughtless thoghts
.
Solid thoughts,
Roaming on my mind like hawkers
On the streets of Lagos
I felt the tears of the cloud
Drenching me with knowledge on
My only piece of "ankara"
.
Where would fate lead me?
For I fear it's forces may blow me into
The forest of unfulfilled dreams
Will I end up like my fathers?
Who had many wives with shorten lives
Ha! I need the compass of life
.
Let me excrete myself on the platform
Of golds not of the gods
Not reality in an invidious thoughts
Yes, I decide my fate!
Not the gods, reality or some stupid thoughts!
.
Balogun David Tolulope
Drunk poet*©️2017
IG=ace_da_drunk_poet
Jul 21, 2017
Jul 21, 2017 at 3:13 AM UTC
I've met maggots in my jar of salt
Boomerang they say
But quite interesting I found them
.
Like cattles, evil had roamed in my thoughts
Devil they called me
But really adventurous I found them
.
I had copulation with entangled women
With barriers on them, like mango trees embargoed by landlords
But more pleasurable they seemed
.
I tasted the venom of snakes
They touched my soul like an airplane
Because above all these,
one kind of death will surely **** a man.
.
Balogun David Tolulope
©️drunkpoet
Jan 25, 2018
Jan 25, 2018 at 10:54 AM UTC
It seems like yesterday
When I crawled down from my mother's
Womb
Drenched in blood and covered with nakedness
Compelled to cry,to give smiles and laughter
That I may not run to my fathers' tomb
Love and warmness were the embodiment of my first breathe
.
Soon, am employed, to chase away goats
And fowls in the neighborhood
I recited poems and my lips sing songs
To the moon and the beautiful stars
I danced in rain and played in the hay
With flowers not rollercoaster
.
The thought of life being all about
Rainbows and unicorns cling to my mind
Failure must be the treasure that is hard
To find
But the sun laughed at my ignorance
Now,I heard a call!
Echoing in waves through my childhood
The call of the future itself
.
I climbed hills and Cross oceans
Wilderness and valleys hosted me
Lion and tigers I battled
In the forest of rare determination
Looking for the bed of roses
But still lingering in my dream
And for I fear I might be woken
Soon enough
.
Balogun Tolulopez Ayodeji David
( Drunk poet)
Of course..... All right reserved!!
Jun 8, 2017
Jun 8, 2017 at 3:07 AM UTC
Listen,
I wish to spill my thoughts on the papyrus of your heart
And to Crest my love on the skin of your emotions
I want you to be the dream I will never wake up from
And the only rain that will ever kiss my soil
Listen,
I wish to dive into the pool of your love
That I may be drown in your deepest emotions
I want you to crush me with the rock of your sympathy
And from your fountain of desires I wish to have a drink
Listen
I wish to have my heart beating in your hands
That my fingertips and ink will poetically publish our love story
And have men praise me for my heroic love stupidity
Listen,
Just like Romeo, I wish to be breathtakingly foolish enough
To die for you
Because I know love is a little slice of insanity.
.
Balogun David Tolulope
{drunkpoet}
Feb 1, 2018
Feb 1, 2018 at 12:40 PM UTC
The memories of the shooting
Stars
Clinged to the wall of our souls
Putting out the old wounds and scars.
As we watched the sun set, embracing the soft air at twilight
Enjoying the tales of when we first met.
Pointing at the beautiful stars at night.
As we hoped for dreams to come chase us
After we've shuffled off this mortar veneer
.
Dearie, I see the dawn of pellucide in your eyes
The shining of pearls on your skin I remember.
Be well! My adeiu isn't forever
Maybe if am lucky I will end up
In your arms
©2017
drunk poet (David balogun)
Mar 5, 2017
Mar 5, 2017 at 11:34 AM UTC
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
May 8, 2017
May 8, 2017 at 5:59 PM UTC
I know you wield the beauty of flowers
And sweet scent of roses you emit.
Yes, you dwell in a city called love,
In a region we call emotion
... But please tell me, who are you?
Your eulogy has no end,
And your praises know no limits.
For your "ode" is someone else's "elegy".
Sometimes you bring tears, sometimes smiles
... But please tell me, who are you?
When will you visit me?
At my dusk or my dawn?
Today or tomorrow?
No need be, I beg of you
For my eyes are unworthy to behold your beauty
... But please tell me, who are you?
She replied me and said
I wield the Beauty of black roses
The madness in hearts of men I am
I wear prettiness, but a monster I am!
And tears is my signature!
For I am pain!
.
Balogun Tolulope David
(Drunk poet) 2017
Dec 10, 2017
Dec 10, 2017 at 7:07 AM UTC
My people,
Deprive not your eyes of it's sight
That we see the flames, dancing on our huts
Like a stripper in a club night
For here we are, bleeding without a cut
.
Listen people!
That we may ear the roaring laugter
Of the big boys at our own handed damnation
For the shame is sweet and our tongue compromised
We are pathetic, yet, we call ourselves a nation
.
My people,
The seed we planted, has grown branches
The calamity we dreamt of has stopped by, to say "hello"
Corruption and his brothers seem to have come to stay
The big ones laugter grows more as we fight this flame with fire
.
Sons of a shoemaker,
Walking barefooted in the woods
May Heavens come to our rescue,
For our shadows has come to hunt us
And our herbalist has no clue how to make the concoction to heal our insanity.
.
Balogun David Tolulope
{drunk poet}
©️2017
Aug 1, 2017
Aug 1, 2017 at 3:25 PM UTC
ANOTHER SAD LOVE STORY
.
Let me tell you a tragic romantic tale
I won't bore you with Shakespeares
Not with Othello's tragic flaw
Nor with Romeo and Juliet's melodramatic flairs
And definitely not with the stupid love adventure of Prince of Tyre.
.
Let me tell you another sad story
Not Jack's hypothermic death in Titanic
Nor about my beloved Lucy whom I lost to the shadows of time
I won't make you snore with these
.
Love has lost her value with us
As she sits on the couch of poetry
I watch her sob, soaked in her own very tears
Because we have forgotten what she means.
Yes, we no longer know the meaning of love
... And this is the sad love story
.
Balogun-tolulope-david
Drunk poet
Dec 20, 2017
Dec 20, 2017 at 6:59 AM UTC
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)
May 24, 2017
May 24, 2017 at 5:10 PM UTC