David Olusanya
David Olusanya Poems
When the moon walks on your heart,
And the world is all an art;
It is a priceless portion poetry-
A poet's song of liberty.
...
Don't judge me by my breed;
I'm just a thriving seed.
I need to grow,
I need to glow,
...
When shall I dance to my own heart beat,
And cease to become what you believe?
Set me free and let me live,
Ere my time fade bit by bit.
...
Come and eat. My bread is ready,
I have baked it with my time.
It is brown and bromate free,
You don't have to pay a dime.
...
Ewa bami ko orin ayo yi
Eyin odo ati ololufe asikoyi.
Moti je ounje ayo ife,
Inu mi si ti kun fun ife.
...
Don't read this poem; it is a lie.
A poet is merely a truth-born liar,
His tongue is naked and never shy-
It spits the torrent of flood and fire.
...
I often hear my mother's voice,
saying; 'your destiny is your choice.
great men are not made by their breeds,
great men are made by their deeds.
...
Death did not kill those people;
Be wise, and let not your minds be little!
Death is not guilty,
He only discharged an easement duty.
...
Life is the beauty of man's craftiness
and the evil of his lust.
Life is a pushy and witty waitress;
it serves all men by a must.
...
She seems uglier than a troll,
with a skin, brutally stripped like a poet's scroll.
She's adorned with the raiment of withered roses,
...
When you see my wife, Rebecca,
tell her I'm now a baker;
To feed and nourish my hungry kindred,
with buttered brown bromate-free bread.
...
In my country
it is a pity
that corruption is hawked like water,
and so contagious like catarrh.
...
This is not a song of woe
it's just the way I'd love to go,
when my days are fully spent
and my years, without a dent.
...
My soul was stolen by silence-
the deafening silence of lamentations.
My heart was full of emptiness-
emptiness of gruesome vibrations.
...
How shall we tell the heralding tale,
that you and I had our mother for sale?
Who shall tend to the bruises on our backs,
if the detest the truth that we are Browns?
...
When mourning voices wander,
and haunt the nights with wonder;
Panic not in fear,
For their dwelling is sorely near;
...
Mothers of my land,
would you idle your hands?
And watch your grace
to be tossed away like the days.
...
"They are all deaf and dumb,
with hateful hearts; so cold and numb".
Her somber song stills the street.
...
Her beauty is so black and bold,
like your mother's cooking pot of old.
All her stories have been told,
except this one, I'm yet to unfold:
...
Fine bread again from your favorite baker,
Out from my oven- a gift from Rebecca.
Relish all of it, to be a nourished partaker;
...
David Olusanya Biography
Contact this Poet on: Olusmart46@yahoo.com (234) 07063226087 (234) 08093273541 PROLOGUE The streets are littered with sick crumbs and feeble flakes, the children are starved with well-fed hunger the adults are crumbling like castles without stakes. It all seems to be traced to a lineal blunder. The babies are kidnapped by malnutrition, suffering has grown so fat on their tiny skins. No physician seems to proffer a proper prescription, for the city and penury are glued like Siamese twins. Thus a black baker was sent from the skies with a wonder pen to bake delicious lines to feed the hungry, to put a dream in their eyes, and rejoice their sore souls with pleasant rhymes. His bread is rich and culturally black. Wisdom, tact and fact, it does not lack. Its riddles are plain, you need not frown, some lines are funny; you might think him a clown. This is black bread from the oven of a baker. Enjoy the honey-tact to be a nourished partaker. His oven is a gift from his ex-wife- Rebecca, whom was stolen by an envious caretaker. David O. Olusanya)
The Best Poem Of David Olusanya
Mine Poetic Perspective Of Poetry
When the moon walks on your heart,
And the world is all an art;
It is a priceless portion poetry-
A poet's song of liberty.
Liberty of words;
A saving grace from swords.
Liberty to write
The world in a whole new light.
Poetry is a kingdom
Of expression coined in wisdom.
It is a pride of life,
Even for those without a wife.
Have you seen a tortoise on a tree?
Poetry is an imagination that is free.
It is a fact without a fault,
A world wide wheel without a halt.
Poetry is a gorgeous garment,
That dresses a mournful moment.
It is all an heart-borne gift
That gives the soul a sincere lift.
Poetry is a beautiful murder
Of my pen- my bosom brother-
My first and foremost friend
Who knows all beginnings and every end.
When you hear the talking drum,
And the wiggle of a black bum bum;
It is the rhythm of a poetic riddle,
An ideation from being idle.
Of all genres of literature,
Poetry paints a peculiar picture.
She is a fountain of words to woo,
Like the torrential fall of Owu.
Have you heard of smiling stones
And the beautiful songs of dead bones?
It is the wonderful magic of poetry,
To make a city of a cementry.
So when the moon walks on your heart,
And the world is all an art;
It is the verdant voice of poetry,
A poet's sweet song of liberty.
David Olusanya Comments
David Olusanya Quotes
Colour is a tool for beautification; not a platform for discrimination
A man without knowledge isn't living. Rather, he is merely an existing body occupying a valuable space
I may not know the trending fashion, the trending haircut, or the trending slang. But I know the trending books; because they make me the trending personality.
The value of a fact is determined by the quantity and quality of the human factor subscribing to it, and the capacity of their understanding.
'Any written or spoken word(s) without a RHEMA (a spark of 'life') in its veins, will always wither as some sick sentences and feeble grammatical skeletons'_ David O. Olusanya. That's why I once wrote that: .............. THESE WORDS THAT I WRITE These words that I write, they are life and they are light. These things that I do, they are of the world I woo. I'm a dreamer with gifted eyes, a hallowed messenger from the skies. I'm the request of lasses and lads, whom have been deprived of moms and dads. I'm the answer to the grief-born prayers of mortified men, whom are hidden below earthen layers. My mother's sons call me a precious pen my father's foes call me a dangerous den. I'm a winged lion in the jungle of justice, the staff of Solomon, the rod of Moses. I'm a flesh-born fire of Elijah, another prophecy from the bones of Isaiah. My beginning is retribution, my end is peace my message is justice, my feedback is bliss. I'm an enivid regnessem, a celigna-nos-fo-nevah. This words that I write, they are life and they are light. I'm a dreamer with gifted eyes, a hallowed messenger from the skies. David O. Olusanya
'Conquerors are carved in the crucible of conflict. And tyranny is a nanny for heroes. Every victory was first conceived in the womb of victimization. Just like there can never be miracles without ridicules'_ David O. Olusanya
'Conquerors are carved in the crucible of conflict. And tyranny is a nanny for heroes. Every victory was first conceived in the womb of victimization. Just like there can never be miracles without ridicules'_ David O. Olusanya
David Olusanya Popularity
David Olusanya Popularity
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4/26/2024 1:56:14 PM # 1.0.0.1119
