Every experience is like gold,
It can never diminish in value.
the best ones can never get old,
they cling to your memory like glue.

Every experience is like a good lover,
One you hang to and never want to let go.
Sometimes you wish you had them forever,
but you left because of something or ego.

#Ivanbrookspoetry (c)
6.13.2019

I will continue to compose every day,
and let the inner man say whatever.
I will let the darkroom of my mind
shine and showcase my products.
I will continue to inspire and captivate
the young, old and eager minds alike.
Deep down within me is a voice crying,
and craving for a space in the minds
of those with faded dreams and broken hearts.
I will continue to give wings to words
and fly them beyond their hopes and dreams.
See how I flip words and juggle thoughts,
I am the gladiator, see how I swing my pen,
I was commissioned to resurrect dead words
and I'll continue on this creative journey
until the lord of words takes away my last breath.

I will share whenever I can, however I can,
and whatever I want and share my thoughts.
I will continue to let my poetic ink leak
on different colors of papers or in digital form.
Call me the dark Vader of ghetto poetry,
Some think I'm the last link between
the overcomers of poverty and victims of politics.
I will let the poet in me let out decibels of screams,
I will mold minds and rekindle faded dreams
via the richness and depths of my poetry.
I wish to write poetry that is enchantingly lovely
and spit spoken words sharper than a Samurai's sword.

I will continue to head the renaissance of poetry.
I have the compulsion to write and share
all that I've received from the universe in my verses,
just look at my lines, see the iambic meters.
Too Many great minds once walked this earth,
too many dead legends died without a chance
to showcase their God-given talents and gifts
All because they had no access to FB
or other platforms on which to share their thoughts.
The graveyard is the richest place on earth.
They say it has too many unrefined talents,
too many unrealized dreams, unspoken words,
too many unexplored visions and unwritten lines,
too many unheard voices and unexpressed thoughts.

.....I will

#IvanBrookspoetry©️
#Bassapoet✍️
6.11.2019

In troubled times and hard times,
I get strong and my faith shines.
Even if I'm down without dimes,
That's the best time God shines.

At the end of my very last try
when curled up and ready to cry,
faith nudges and urges me to cope
That's when I reach for dear hope.

In the middle of my roughest storms,
I fight to hang on to the bull's horns
Even if the wait is long and perilous
I stay determined and remain courageous.

Even though I waddle in some trials
I toughen up and walk the extra miles.
Even if the walk lead to unfamiliar places,
I'll always reroute and finish my races.

IvanBrookspoetry©️
Bassapoet✍️
6.6.2019

Every poet is my ink brother
and every poetess is my ink sister.
I'm interconnected with their stories,
and therefore rejoice in their glories.

Every poet is my own kinsman,
Every poetess is my kinswoman.
We share the dark ink blood
and our lines flow like a mighty flood.

Every poet is the pretty boy of the ink family
and every poetess is a slay queen against ugly.
She embodies the essence of beauty
and her lines are the nectar of her sexuality.

Every poet is the ghost of Shakespeare
and every poetess is a lioness without fear.
Every poet and poetess is a foot soldier of poetry
assigned the tasks of securing God's creative pantry.

#IvanBrookspoetry©️
6.5.20

Poetry is a punch
If you don't get it.
Poetry is a big hug
If you welcome it.

Poetry is a mountain
If you're not prepared .
Poetry can be a hill
If you're fit and healthy.

Poetry is rocket science
If it's not your calling.
And a walk in the park
If it's engraved in your soul.

Poetry is the river Nile,
It has many tributaries.
Poetry,like this borrowed life,
Has many similarities.

#IvanBrookspoetry ©️
#Basssapoet ✍️

The lies that lie within me
Has tortured my soul
And renched my body
Drenching in my own sludge
Where coming back
Seems too hard
The smile that stretches
Across my face
Is another lie
Inside, its another me crying
To breakthrough from
The unworthy bonds
That promise alot
And laugh away
Like nothing ever mattered
As tho, my existence
Is meaningless
How much will I cry?
How much will I subdue?
How much will I endure?
Before, I let go off this life
Merging with the fear
And losing self control
Over the past years
Living like a hog
Rooted to the reclined
Unmotion state of speaking
How am I going to emerge?
How will I continue this life?
How will I matter to anyone?
In this selfish world
My existence, will not matter
For even, if I disappear
My existence, will not matter...


©sim

Poetry is the direct cause of death of boredom.
Spoken words exist to excite the human soul
and to crown artistry with the nectar of wisdom 
Poetry has more decibels than the Superbowl.

Poetry is the Ganga of the human soul.
It induces a beautiful feeling that stupefies
and leaves the mind dazed like a drunken fowl,
yet it delivers results that really satisfies.

Poetry flows from the fountain of Wakanda
and permeates the arid soil of Timbuktu.
Poetry is the vault to the treasures of Zamunda,
where Mammy Wata guards the Kane of Mobutu.

Poetry is the language used at the creation.
When earth was young and everything was dark,
The great arbiter called out light and put things in motion.
He used spoken words to tell Noah to build the ark.

Poetry is life and life is in coexistance with poetry.
Before ancient Africa and the pyramid of Egypt,
Poetry was cooked and stored in God's pantry.
Ready for use in the Garden of Eden's script.

  

  
#IvanBrookspoetry ©️
#Bassapoet✍️
5.24.2019