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A fountain sits at the center of town,
with crystal waters falling like tears;
Folks wandering before an impending storm,
searching for answers to their wayward years.

Slate-gray skies appear ominous above,
with streaks of claret edging each cloud;
Lightning flashes strike the earth with force,
in a whirlwind of furious sights and sounds.

Is there nowhere to run and hide away ?
While fears cut deeply like sharpened knives;
Immense sorrow suspends the hope for relief,
as desperation rules each person's life.

Then a child climbs up the tallest tree,
gently singing among the wild torment;
Branches snap off tumbling to the ground,
as the child continues his sad lament.

From the heavens a sudden jolt is felt,
which sends this child a magic wand;
Each leaf of the tree turns to solid gold,
and harmony returns to this anguished land.
Never underestimate a child's faith !
Ivan Brooks Sr Jul 2018
Nobody tells a prophet to shut up,neither a rooster to stop crowing.
It's like stopping a happy person from
Laughing.

Nobody says to the sun" stop shinning!"
Neither the wind "stop blowing!"
It's like stopping a bird from flying.

Nobody says to time "stop moving!"
All you can do is stop yours on the wristwatch.
And you know what that means;
You will only stall and fall behind, left behind by time and the rest of human civilization.

Similarity, nobody can say to a poet "shut up and stop writing poetry and exuding spoken word!".

Who's going to write about truth and introspection?
Who's going to write stories that'll captivate our imaginations?

Who's going to spin odes in a way that the world will question a poet's source of inspiration?

Who's going to make love letters speak another language?
Who's going to write tragic stories and make it look unique?

Who's going to give wings to dead letters?
Who's going to write for speech-impaired lovers?

Who's going to give light to blind words and afix them with wings?
Who's going to guide them thru things?

#IvanBrooksPoetry©
01/8/2018
Unhinged is another one of those strange pieces written from thin air...
Ivan Brooks Sr Jul 2018
Poetry is like a tattoo
Stamped on me from birth.
Like a mysterious voodoo,
It's my charm on this earth.

Poetry is like a tattoo
Engraved on my DNA.
Like the diamonds of Mabutu,
It shines from p.m. to the a.m.

Poetry is like a tattoo
It will never be removed.
Like my love for fufu
Not until I'm disemboweled.

Poetry is like a tattoo
Like the Nile and Egypt,
It encompasses what we do
It's life's soundtrack and script.

Poetry is like a tattoo
It can now be lasered.
But in music, like a crescendo,
It can never be chiseled.

#IvanBrooksPoetry©
31/7/2018
Poetry is like a tattoo, I call it my voodoo.
Ivan Brooks Sr Jul 2018
Today is a messenger from God
Sent to us in fulfillment of his word.
Treat it like a precious gem.
It's a special day to them
Who values the blessings it brings
Not only the useless material things.
Today is also another day
Just like yesterday.
It began this morning
And will end this evening.
Accidents will happen,
Taking the lives of many men.
Many people will cry,
And many more will try
To be brave and strong
Even when all goes wrong.

Today is another day
To me,it's like any other day.
Happy children will play,
And some people will pray.
For many,it will be their last,
And for young babies, their very first.
Few people will take a bath,
And many happy folks will laugh.
Many good books will be read,
And hungry Stomachs will be fed.
The dead among us will be buried
And many couples will get married.
Others will pray to God above
To send them someone to love.
Yes or no, it's up to God
To honor his divine word.
You see,at the end of the day,
It's He who has the final say.
So remember to give him praise,
For today was sent by his grace.

#IvanBrooksPoetry©
30/7/2018
Today is a messenger from God.
Ivan Brooks Sr Jul 2018
When a published poet dies,
A shooting star falls.
The universe cries
And rainbows hugs waterfalls.

When an old poet dies,
A new poet is born.
Nature lights up a million fireflies,
And a ship gives a tot on its horn.

When a young poet dies,
A Crack appears in a crystal ball.
A Fountain pen dries,
And a sad poem appears on a wall.

When an old poetess dies,
For a while the wind will cease.
Petals will fall from Lillies,
And disappear without a trace.

When a great poetess dies,
Fallen poets observe silence.
The men adorn black bow ties,
And the ladies dress in elegance.

When any poet dies,
The world loses a bright mind.
Shakespeare appears across the skies,
Waving to those of us left behind.

When a poor poet dies,
Nothing at all happens.
The world goes about its duties
He goes on to rest with other legends.


#IvanBrooksPoetry
29/7/2018
A poet dies but he's not done..his words lives on.
Ivan Brooks Sr Jul 2018
Love has its own frequency
Which sadly has no accuracy.
So you can cry me a river,
Fry for me some tender liver,
Promise to love me forever,
Or try to do whatever...
But if the timing isn't right,
And my romantic game isn't tight...
Even though you're very awesome,
The flower of love just won't blossom.

Love-frequency is a sad reality
Love or hate the contrasting duality.
So you can treat me like a king,
Dance for me and try to even sing.
You can have quality time with me,
Try your best to ignite the flame.
You can grill for me chicken wings,
Roll your lovely eyes until it swings...
If my heart isn't in the right place,
Your efforts will be a fruitless chase.

#IvanBrooksPoetry©
  7/27/2018
Love has its own frequency.
Ivan Brooks Sr Jul 2018
Be careful who you ride with,
For Life is full of *******.
A very beautiful chick
Can become a bad *****.
A beacon and egg sandwich
Could be the head of a witch.
Open your eyes very wide,
And know in whom to confide.
Embrace nearly everyone
But trust not a single one .
Fight for your very self
but it's your choice to help.
My advice could be wrong,
But take heed and be strong.
For this life is full of *******,
And not everyone can see it.

#IvanBrooksPoetry©
27/7/2018
Excuse my French!
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