Message to the Septagenarian Poet President:

 From A Poet Without Border

“Latest news, The Jungle Poet!
Muse has raised a president
In a land of Commonwealth;
He appeared as ninth elect,”
Said on phone a sophist friend.

As I heard the sweetest news,
I was moved to call for dews
On the soil of Ireland
And alert the poesy band
To prepare to aid Higgins
In his steer of Irish beings.

Minds of poets are borderless –
They assist the powerless
And deny the tyrant beasts
To display their victory feasts.
That is why Higgins arose;
With the Muse and Ixchel’s rose
To reshape the squeezed parole –
And assure the Irish souls
That his term will strongly stand
For the beat of oneness band;
That his term will bomb the base
Of the minds of racist face;
That his term will stand for all
And the base will never fall;
That his term will cure the minds
And the brains of rotten kinds;
That his term will stand for peace
And the ease with common kiss;
That the land will not regret
To have made a poet the head…

I am proud to be a poet;
I can say I’m President;
I can say I’m born to rule;
I can say I’ve won the race;
I can say I lift the base
For the rest of human race –
Thanks a lot the Irish Poet.
May your term be blessed with ‘wealth’!

Mutiu Olawuyi
http://versesofthejunglepoet.blogspot.com/

Occupy the World Street – Not Only the Wall Street

Adbusters busted out a fateful day
With equity call in New York;
‘coz the purse of some emptied
For the purse of few to full.
We are all casualties –
Not only the York City
World should stand against the beasts
And alert the west and east -
For the purse of all to smile;
For lobbyists to close their files;
For the wrong to change to right;
For the right to rule the left;
For the cloud and land to kiss
And enjoy the normal breeze.

 

9/11

A NEWLY INTRODUCED FORM OF POETRY
CALLED
9/11
It is a poem of 9 lines with 11 syllables and 11 words. Two words in lines 1 and 9, and the rest with one words
See the below example titled 9/11:
...

9/11

A bird
missed
her
way -
streak
strike
broke
the
New World.

NOT YET TO ANSWER YOUR CALL

Dipo:           Our lives are shinning so bright
                    With hope and promises.
                    We hoped to find greener pastures
                     In our beloved country.
                     The flag of destiny is blowing for the winds.
                     Let’s taste the wine of cheers
                     And forget our fears and tears.

Jungle Poet:   The winds of Lokoja and Boko-Haram?

                     or the floods of Ibadan?
                     Bright with ties and empty purse?
                     Wine and dine with scattered home?
                      Using God to cover hope?
                      Though I stay afar from home;
                     ... here I smile at least a bit...
                     Time will come for me to come
                     Wait - I get the sword and kit...

ULYSSES WHISPERED

To sail beyond the sunset,
and, alert the stars of Muse
like you, to share the blood
of Poetry in us, until we die.
''It may be that the gulfs will wash us down;
It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles''

PERFORMACE POETRY: LOHIAN VERSUS JUNGLE POET

ARE POETS PHILOSOPHICAL? A Dialogue Between Lohian and Jungle Poet (Revised)
.................................................................................................. 


Jungle Poet:     Good Morrow
                          A new day has come.
                          Good morrow, Lohian!

Lohian:            Good morrow
                         DEAR, you got up with light in your eyes,
                         faith in your breath and might in your pen!.

Jungle Poet:     Thanks
                          So I think you did too!
Lohian:             (laughs)
Jungle Poet:     How is India today?.

Lohian:            India today is hopeless                        
                         and tomorrow too.

Jungle Poet:    Hopelessness is not for Poets!
                         By the power of words.

Lohian:            sufferings and hopelessness
                         give birth to fine poems.

Jungle Poet:    So do the happiness and enjoyment!
                         As a poet: The deeper your heart ;
                         the better you write.

Lohian:            Poet creates hope from hopelessness,
                         sure, happiness from sadness.
                         when more deep like an ocean ,
                         there won't be shallow waves!.

Jungle Poet:    What calls for SHALLOW waves?

Lohian:            Waves only appears in shallow waters, not in deep waters

Jungle Poet:    And what beautifies ocean? Only waves?
                         So do the creatures deeply in -
                         Minerals and Animals!

Lohian:            by sun, cloud and sky!
                         horizon!

Jungle Poet:   How does the sun survive?

Lohian:          islands and corals

Jungle Poet:   Cloud and sky and horizon?

Lohian:          even small wooden fishing boats with fishermen
                       and the kissing mouth of sea towards the shores!
                       all make up beauty of ocean!

Jungle Poet:  Which one of these is better of?
                       Ask yourself a million times!

Lohian:          the sun dips himself helplessly
                       in the horizon with his red hot face!

Jungle Poet:  Stealing from others' props
                      Just to live?
                       ...With frowning face?
                       Exploiting them?

Jungle Poet:  Is that your best?

Lohian:          No! there's nothing best!
the best is an illusion!

Jungle Poet:  And imagination?

Lohian:          (laughs)

Jungle Poet:  (laughs)

Lohian:          Imagination is a wish to see
                       what you like! An unconscious wish!

Jungle Poet:  And illussion is...

Lohian:          wish=perception,thoughts,
                       feelings,critical mind etc.

Jungle Poet:  Check your two definitions:
                       'wish' is just the meeting point!

Lohian:          agree. you can beyond too as a poet!

Jungle Poet:  False idea or impression
                       is termed as none but illusion!

Lohian:          all the poets are more or less illusive

Jungle Poet:  And for 'imagination':
                       mental picture creation
                       - and ability.

Lohian:          yes, there will be abilities.
                       poets differ from each other
                       in their seeing abilities.
                       Your ability may be my weakness!

Jungle Poet:  Perhaps you mean:
                      All the poets are less illusive,
                       but more imaginative!
                       ...correct?

Lohian:          for example you are nature poet
                      You see wonder beauty of nature.
                       on the other hand another poet
                       won't see it after all!
                       I mean won't see the beauty of nature.

Lohian:          children are more imaginative than elders;
                       can we call them poet in a normal sense? NO

Jungle Poet:  hmm…So you mean... in sum,...

Lohian:          I mean, nothing. To find meaning,
                       theme, moral, etc. is absurd
                       as far as a poet concerned!
                       He writes, eats ,sleeps, loves,
                       imagines , that's all.

Jungle Poet:  Are poets not philosophical?
                      Just psychological?
                       ... you mean?

Lohian:          yes, they are, just like any body else.
                      But they have a little bit of itch on their emotions.
                      Their ass being kicked by themselves!

Lohian:          (smiles)

Jungle Poet: (Smiles)

Jungle Poet:   So you mean:
                        Poets are not open-minded?

Lohian:          It depends on the way he sees
                      the world within himself.
                      One may be or may not be.
                                              (Exaunt Lohian)

Jungle Poet: (Laughs) Wait. Lohian. More questions. Wait!
                                              (Exaunt Jungle Poet)


                              (BLACKOUT)

Literacy Day

Learn to code and share
And decode to change the sphere -
If at all you care.

What I Heard From Indian Friends:

Brahma moulds and creates a being –

That is why He’s Mighty King…

When you fail to worship Him,

Shiva comes with painful cream…

When you show a sign of praise,

Vishnu lifts his smiling base…

Rama too and Lord Surya

often help like soothsayers…

Bhairav Lord and Hanuman

also flog ungrateful man…

That is why you see today –

Conscious men would never fail

to appease the Great Brahma

and request from Lord Rama…

A SPEECH FROM A DEAD BODY:

I Heard, I saw and I lived…

I heard: the death you stare away

will meet your sight along your way…

I heard: a man is fixed with time
and blessed with strength to coin his prime…

I heard: a man is blessed with mind

to watch the screen of earth or blind…

I heard: you frame your future bright

with hands and legs of left and right…

I heard: a man can beat the rest

with tiny tongue like teenage breast…

I saw: the grace of Mighty Being;

that He endows on human being…

I saw: and felt with free breathing -

the smiling eyes and those crying…

I saw: and felt the cupid face

with dangling breasts and queenish rays…

I saw: the rows of iron men

with combat strikes in reddish den…

I saw: a lots of man’s colour

painting a house without parlour…

  

I lived: a life with dignity

and faced the term – calamity…

I lived: with hope to shape my life

in such a way that smiles can dive…

I lived: with men of fading hopes -
with hatred hearts and scattered ropes…

I lived: to share with young and old,

but they opined to frown and fold…

I lived: to share my smiling face,

but sons of earth would want disgrace…

And here alone I face challenge

on how I lived my earthly age…

...............................................................................................

LULL THE CRYING SOULS

(Dedicated to Somalians)

The hungry land is swallowing
the helpless souls and wallowing
with frowning face and deafening drum -
beating bellies with deadly rum...

The heartless cloud and land connive
to sieze water - for man to strive
and claim the souls of young and old
with extreme hot and careless cold...

The smiling moon has gone afar;
the caring stars are now debarred;
the catering breeze is chased away
and aches has filled the night and day...

The legs cannot withstand the drought;
they only stick to what is brought
and call with tears the Mighty King
to bring relief and sudden spring...

I hear the cries of dying souls -
With pains they call for feeding bowls:
''We need your aids to live longer;
we quest for help to live better!''...

You need to lull the crying souls
and send your aids in million folds...

..............................​..............................

UNDER THE IROKO TREE (Classic)

Under the tree -
Iroko;
There we display
Our game…
We are happy;
We are healthy –
Under the tree -
Iroko…

 -تحت الشجرة
إيروكو؛
هناك نعرض
... لعبتنا
نحن سعداء؛
 -- نحن صحية
 -- تحت الشجرة

...إيروكو

IN DEPENDENCE – NOT INDEPENDENCE…

To join Indians in their Celebration of the 64th years of Independence -
(15/08/1947), I have a 64-lines poem written thus:

IN  DEPENDENCE – NOT INDEPENDENCE…
By The Jungle Poet

Heroes have tried to face the gun
to save our land and now they're gone
with hope to hear the dancing drum
of smiling eyes and new reform
but vice versa is brought in turn
by gold-diggers that share the corns
with selfish minds and heartless beings -
oppressing souls for worldly things...

Heroes had fought for freedom sake;
aliens were sent away with aches
and brought relieve to every mind
to share the smiles with living kinds;
but politics of modern days
has spoilt the fruits of freedom base -
Ranking the poor to super-poor
looting their purse to fill their store...

The gentle men of peaceful night
are none but youths with future bright
who faced the toils to go to schools
to shape their minds with earning tools.
With all their strength they tried to heave
the heroes' dream with strong belief
that once a day their road will smooth
but now today they live with sooth...

Elections call for shedding bloods -
And activists are flogged with rods;
The silent minds with beating hearts;
The ploughers’ tools are foes to earth;
Even inkers are not at ease,
And lovers too can never kiss.
Constitutions are turned over
To suit their needs and hold power
Without a fear of Human Right –
Without a care for crying sights…

They use the shrines to boost their ways
And never think to count their days
For they have bought the souls of priests
And think they’re now unconquered beasts…
They rape and kill and jail with ease;
Decrees are formed for mouth to wheeze;
They steer the land with hunger dents;
And fill prisons with innocents…

And those we called the government guards
Are just the tools to make it hard
And kill the dream of heroes past
And silent souls with deadly blast –
They lie and file against the souls
And work with courts to fill the holes
Quoting sections and subsections
In books they planned for oppressions…

Shakespearean time was filled with masks
Obama’s time has called for axes;
The public purse is blessed with tears
And masses hearts are filled with fears…
No one to speak the bitter truth
Atrocity has spread its booth
And stand at ease (like soldier’s boot -
Ready to clear the men on foot)
With Generals of soul clearing
And sharp shooters of no bearing…

And every year they gather us
For matching pass of men of force
To stab the end of alien’s rule
And mark the birth of selfish rule…
...............................................................

DOES GOD EXIST?

By The Jungle Poet

''Does God exist?''
I asked myself.
Where every palm
is filled of bloods?
And every tongue
enforces tears?
Darkness and light
Are all covered
with mourning here
and everywhere...

Does God exist?
I doubt he does -
The hereafter
is just a tale...
He gives a doubt
for punishment:
He never cease
to freeze a bit
on those that cane
without reason;
The rotten hearts
are kings on earth;
the cobra tongues
rejoice around -
They never feel
a bit of cry
and never taste
a bitter soup
and yet we say
that God exists...

<***>***<***>***<***>

TO PERUGU

                                                           Rama Khrisna PERUGU


Time of man will never go
to display the grace he has
and at times a man might grow
from his grace to even grass...

When a man is brave enough
to attack challenge in life,
all his way might first be rough,
but his end with honey hive...

Move ahead with rough and toil;
All your ways will flow like oil...

Africa:

Resourceful soil

with tedious toil…




(c) The Jungle Poet  08/08/2011

LETTER TO ANNEBETH'S DAUGHTER

A child in need -
A child indeed.
I cherish thee
for being her key
to happiness
and peacefulness...
I know her dreams
are made by thee
by giving her
the hopeful star...
I wish I have
A child like thee
to be with me
in all my ways
and share my joy
and vice versa...
May all your days
be filled with grace
and happiness
from Father-Lord...

A child in need -
A child indeed.

RE: LETTER TO OLADIPO KEHINDE PAUL

Feeding back your framed letter -
When the God of all decreed;
having formed the earth and man,
that the world should feel the light
darkness said its bye to earth.
Ask your mind a simple quest:
Why does eye request for light
When itself is called the light?
Devil runs its runs in dark -
Often paint the minds with black...

Aliens brought the light to us,
but they hold the light and share
to their dogs that dance the tune
that they beat - to shape their land…
They repaint their dangling bus
and extract the blessed soil
and amass the wealth and brain
of Nija without a pay…
BBC and CNN
and the rest they call media
are their glues to blind the world
and deafen the ears of orb…

Crisis rules the South and North
just because of kolanut!
Selfishness in West and East -
rulling by the care-less beasts!
Hope the guards that opened ground
for the men of gentle night
to retrieve by force the cash
have rethought and stopped the task…
The beloved country you said
will deny to stop crying
until those we called the heads
lull their mum with folded hands…
Hunger holds the mouths of young
and it mutes the voice of old
to request for smiling stay
on their land and dancing days...

If at all YOU worship God
and you know that once a day
you’ll account for what you say,
Say the truth my lovely friend!
Stay in CAGE with hungerhood?
Eat the smoke of firewood?
If your home is not in PEACE,
Go afar to bring the EASE!
Dieing there will bring the hell
and your tears will fill the well!
POVERTY can blind the mind!
Let the truth prevail my friend!

LETTER TO OLADIPO KEHINDE PAUL

Dear a friend I call in need,
How Nija and all her kids?
Hope you've packed the burnt bodies;
What of those unlucky souls
that her lanes have put in holes?
What about the young graduates
that giraffe to see their mates
who were born with crown on head
by the stars of stony hearts
that exploit the soils on earth?
Hope you're used to darkness night
and enjoy the blinking light.
How are those that lead shrines;
Pseudo Mallams and fake pastors?
Now I heard they live like kings
With thier lies and Satan rings...
What about the strong farmers
who are now like hungry rats...
Send regards to all the rest
that depart like east and west;
though I know the God of hope
shall be there for you to cope...

Thanks a lot for usual clues
on the hope in jungle zoos...

Jungle voice release again!

..............................​..........................
http://versesofthejunglepoet.b​logspot.com/

COMMERCIAL BIKE

Two bulky wives
with many kids
and relatives
with planting fields
call for motorbike
to be filled loads.
Don't blame the man!

EVEN IN THE JUNGLE

If you have not been told
that the young and old
living in the jungle
surf the net with google,
check the pic to know
call your friends and show!
Aha aha ah!!!

POETRY CLASS:

Critic:
tailor of souls and minds;
cobbler of human kinds...
Ink:
enslaved by hands and eyes;
displays in different styles...

Man:
user of inks and pens;
that lives with foes and friends...
Mind:
The store of 'past' and 'now'
that calls for smiles and frowns...

Muse:
digger of human minds -
minning to just refine...

Pen:
dullest of every being
that lives on only ink...
Poem:
The end of thinking mind -
displayed in many styles...

Poet:
a fool that troubles mind
only to search and find...

Poetry:
The way we structure poem
and how the mind is penned....

LET'S TEACH THE ENGLISH ENGLISH:

Phonological Blunders in English

Abnormalities in Spoken English...

I wonder how we English speak
without a care for error peak.
And when you ask a phonics hat,
You only hear that - that is that...

I'm not a fool - I can't agree
like those that dived in Pharaoh sea -
that - one can change the 'say' to /sez/,
but never turn the 'pay' to /pez/.
They say the past of 'say' is /sed/,
but never say that 'pay' is /ped/...

I can't afford to call the 'isle'
the way I call my poetry 'file'...
But how can 'ewe' be called like 'you',
And 'p' in 'soup' is not in 'coup'?

And why is it that 'awe' is 'or'
And say that 'corps' is called like 'core'?
And how can 'rapped' be called like 'rapt';
but 'depot' kills the 't' in '...pot'?

Can you pronounce the 'whew' as 'few'
or even think of 'queue' as 'Q'?
Do you believe that 'fete' is 'fate'?
Whereas the 'mete' is never 'mate'!

We only say that 'sew' is 'sow',
but never heard that 'chew' is 'chow'!
You need look at 'show' and 'chow' -
compare to 'sow' and also 'cow'...
And how timbre becomes /tamba/,
but timber sticks to that /timba/...

The phonics hats should seat again
and put a stop to phonics pain...!

MY THUMB UP.

I surf the net with Nokia phone
only because of Poetry Zone...
I built my blog for lyric sights
and share my brain on poetry sites...
I live to die in poetry room
and sweep the floor with lyric broom...
I see the stars of lyric team
in Poetry Zone in all my dream...
I wish you all the lyrics best
and flow of mind with peaceful rest...

TELL ME WHY !

Why does poetry flow in mind
and convey with ink alone
and provide the space for song
to display with mouth and gong?





..................................................................................
POETRY ZONE on Facebook
http://www.facebook.com/iuoala#!/groups/215321075170286?ap=1

POETIC CYCLE

Poetry began with the Muse
from the day the mind was raised.
Asia and Rome on the race
with their eyes like Buttler Yeats
Pariarch, Wordsworth; Allan Poe
Williams, Marlowe and Li Bo
and the rest from jungle zones;
but the death denied their inks
and debarred their lyric blinks
to release and flow for life
with the minds that rescue lives.

As the age of jet arrived,
narrow minds were changed to wide
to replace the taken souls
and refill the lyric holes -
That is now the time we live...
though a day we'll also leave.
Now we are tagged the Butler Yeats;
to rebounce like rocky beats...

Time will come and inks shall dry
and the pen will also die;
Death will soon request for us
and replace the poesy bus...

BEAUTY PAGEANT

A Saturday opened my mouth:
Some pretty girls in jungle zone
displayed their brains to shape their land
for better life in decent styles...
From A to Z they kept their breasts
and all the parts that move a mind
except their tongues and smiling seeings...

Oh dancers and dramatists;
Orators and activists;
Men of Muse and lyric stars!
How I wish a second chance
Fly afar to jungle sight -
Tap at least the jungle tips
displayed by these talented hips...
The beauty here is all-in-one!

THE DRUM COMPLAINS

                                                            



African Drum (Saworo...Gangan)

 I speak to those that hear my voice:

With falling beat and rising tone.
I cherish those that hang me on
and share my says with countless joys...

I speak to those that hear my voice:
In rumbling room I play my part;
With grumbling voice I shape a path,
But so I look like baby toys...

I speak to those that hear my voice:
My sufferness displays your joy;
with curvy cane my heads destroy;
You laugh at me like beggared boys...

I also need a smiling seeing -
I have my right like human being!

Fucking Foreigners

By The Jungle Poet

Not only those that trek beyond
Their mother's house and father's land;
Not even those that join a class
with ignorance and colour clash;
but any being with living soul
that once a day will enter hole
and leave the world the way he came -
like passengers with target frame
and waving night with million stars -
are tagged as none but ''foreigners''!

A MINDFUL MADNESS

Yesterday,
I sweat hard - and indeed
I was relieved...

Today,
I care for - a bit smile
For the work I've done...

Tomorrow,
I know not - but for sure,
Well it shall be...

Everyday,
My mind moves - and requests
For my ''bests''...

SONGS OF BUTERFLIES

So my folks display apart
when they see the little Stars...
when the men of drinking bar
sit with tones of bottle stars.
So I fly a little far...

When I see the shiny moon,
So my wings display the fun.
When I feel the scent of rose
so I move from fields to folds...
Then I fly a little far...

When I sleep on scentful leaf
So you think I never live...
Just attempt to move closer;
Then I fly a little far...

THE LAYMAN'S POEM

Minding words is not my taste;
All I need is just the key
to the room of greyish Muse -
to derive a deeper dream
that can speak at ease my mind...
That is just my dream for now!

ALL-IN-NEED

Day and Night;
Blaze and Rain,
Land and Cloud;
Up and Down;
Left and Right;
Hand and Ink;
Reed and Sheet;
'You' and 'I';
'He' and 'She';
'They' and 'We';
Black and White;
Young and Old;
Rich and Poor;
Red and Blue... -
All in need!

POETIC LICENSE

Liberty to write with ease;
Writing without gallop;
Stepping on Chomsky's rules;
Striking the Halliday;
Freedom without comma;
Clearing the road for mind;
Painting the way you wish -
Licence to every poet!
...................................

HELP THE POET TO WRITE:

Setting: The Poetry Zone (Facebook)
..................................................................................................

                                                                                                           (Enter Lohian and Ojo)
Lohian:                     Dear poets, what are you waiting for?
                                Post your poems.

Ojo:                         I am waiting for the voice of nature to
                                to awake sleeping pen.

Lohian:                     Sleeping pen with it's dreamy ink!

Ojo:                         The cloud is heavy and nature seems to
                                be silent to the plight of my pen

Lohian:                     But, I mean pen is poet and ink is nature!
                                or vice versa

Ojo:                         Yes, but the pen cannot hear the voice of the nature.
                                And the nature quiet to the state of my pen.
                                Oh, when we, the dream, come to an end and
                                I’ll be await to reality...

Lohian:                     Let clouds hang on… the sky hold it for a purpose... perhaps …
                                It knows ... when poetry in you rains!

Ojo:                        Ah, time is on the race. A journey no man can stop.
                               What purpose? What purpose?
                               Can some one speak to my hear?

Lohian:                    Read the new post of Mutiu… the clouds started splashing
                               down!
                                                                                                        (Enters The Jungle Poet)

JunglePoet:              Having done with teaching work,
                               So I entered Poetry Zone -
                               Just to feel the lyric hands
                               And at least relieve my mind -
                               Lohian calls for poets to ink
                               and alerts their minds to flow
                               but it seems Ojo denies
                               to at worst release a line...

                                Lohian calls the Muse to rain
                                for Ojo to drive his mind
                                to regain his lyric inks
                                and display the lyric signs -
                                but it seems Ojo denies...
                                to recall the lyric signs...

                                Help Ojo to ink a line;
                                Call Ojo to check my signs;
                                Feed Ojo with lyric bread;
                                Ask Ojo to shake his head -
                                Then I think his mind will grow
                                and display a lyric show...
                                :D :D :D :D :D!
                                                                                                           (exits Ojo)
Lohian:                     :) It seems Adediji Oluwadamilare Ojo disappeared
                                in cloud in search of rain of poetry.
                                Thanks, Thejunglepoet.

 JunglePoet:              Warmly welcome!