Do you know God is going to set fire
on those who failed to read poems?
Do you know there's going to be
No bad weather besides soft quiet storms?

Do you know we gonna meet hordes
Of legendary artists and poets there?
Do you know were going to see Maya,
Tupac, Prince, Kobe, Gianna, Miles,
Micheal Jackson and Shakespeare?

Do you know regular folks, the Saints and all good people are going to be in new Jerusalem?
Do you know a special place has been built for us poets, a place God called poetry-selem?

Do you know poets are going be on the team with kings David and Solomon, writing psalms and hymns?
Do you know we are going to speak a special language and be called by new names?

Do you know our words are going to line the Billboards of Heaven for all to see?
Do you know that the tree of life is heaven's only tree?

#IBpoetry©
Twitter @ivanclappers
6-2-2020

I
A peasant sat and prayed
to the God of his ancestors.
The cool evening crept slowly
and the dust devil rose hastily,
Spraying mist of powdery brown
dust into his sunken eyes.
The cloud, as if It discerned
his dismal and dejected mood,
instantly formed a variation
Of comforting images
He was in a period of grief,
Visibly beset with gloom.
He ignored all of these
impromptu shows nature
improvised to curb his pains.
The tears came and came,
he shivered and sobbed until
he felt his loss had subsided.

II
With legs crossed and chin
In hands, he felt sorrow
and anger overwhelming him.
Perplexed by grief and
the thought of her.
"If only I knew how to fly.",
he thought, almost in tears.
His moistened eyes were motionless
Transfixed on the windowpane
Unaware of the gusts of wind
softly rattling the palm thatch roof
Of the disheveled gbafah he
he goes to whenever he needed
To be introverted.
He padded the soft silt with his
barefoot unaware of the colony of
fire ants as they mounted his limbs.
He was instantly jolted to reality
by the excruciating pains caused
By the fire ant's morsels deeply
embedded in his skinny patched
legs beneath his frail body frame

III
He missed the one and only love
He knew, his fondness for her could only be characterized as a malady of affection.
Ever since she left, every evening came and went without him taking his eyes off the main road leading down the overgrown trails beneath the canopy of trees. The day went by, but he failed to notice that dusk had engulfed the village and all around him were the burning flames of many diminutive fireflies.
He cared less about the pains still burning his now swollen feet. The eerie sounds of the night crickets echoed but he had one thought; to see his true love.
He couldn't get her off his mind and
It repulsed him to think of the possibility
Of her not coming back.

IV
"Where are you my queen, what has happened to your promise you made to me about coming back to me?"
Come let's roam in the undergrowth once again. The hills call your name and the birds chuckle.
I am losing my mind, I'm forfeiting my staying power. come lets play, come.
"come, my love, come walk barefooted in these ponds, come let's dance and play in the rain. come and undulate your gorgeous
hips and spin like a flamingo in flight."
In tears, I remember how you made me smile, how you turn my life around and blessed me with your heart and beautiful smile. Come to me, come to me, my love.
.

#IvanBrookspoetry ©
               8-28-2019
                 #Bassapoet
                               twitter@ivanclappers

I shed tears of ink
For the voiceless.
I am the only link
To the hopeless.

For the poor I scribble
In love and solidarity,
to highlight the struggle
and do an anthem of poverty.

For the poor and marginalized,
I speak power to the validity,
I bring awareness for those victimized
to quench the thirst of brutality.

I can flow like a mighty fountain
In the face of mistreatments.
I crawl valleys and climb a mountain
In times of impediments.

I can leak useful information
In the cause of injustice.
I can write a memo for a demonstration
On behalf of disgruntled masses.

I am the defibrillator of broken hearts
and the hope of the downtrodden.
I can write love poems and draw arts
Just to motivate and embolden.

I have signed many peace treaties,
and declarations of independence.
I have been used to get properties
And I have been used for vengeance.

I am the weapon of choice for intellectuals
and the shield of protection against violence.
I am the stamp of instant rebuttals
and the glitch of terrestrial intelligence.


#IvanBrookspoetry ©  #Bassapoet
8-22-2019

How long shall they
**** our prophets,
While we stand aside
In hopelessness and  look?
Silah., oh sihah  oh Silah?
Oh Allah, said the Muslim.
Why lord, asked the Christian,
Shallom said the Jew!
A few of whom knows
What's wrong with the truth.
Wisdom is better than silver
And gold but the jew chooses gold.
This is not antisemitism,
This is the brainchild of capitalism
and the Occidental colonization
Of our minds lands and cultures.

Bob said prophetic things and he
sang revolutionary songs that
resonates to this very day.
We see the zion train every day
but it delivers nothing to us.
It comes empty but leaves
With tons of our resources.
But we ain't got much to say.
We see the smogs from the
Burning coals from its exhaust,
We hear the tots of the soul train
as it comes our way. we see
nothing but gushes of blood as
It seeps into the soil the Dutchmen
Stood on to decapitate the sons
and daughters of Congo.
Courtesy of King Leopold of Belgium.
Bob was right, A thousand years
Of history will not be wiped away!

#IvanBrookspoetry © #Bassapoet

Life is a perpetual party.
Dance alone if you
find no dance partner.
Dance with the fat girl
everyone calls ugly Betty.
Try not to lift her up
If you don't want to hear
your ribs or shoulders pop.
Try to swing around her
and come face to face.
Wink and say thanks for
the beautiful moves baby.
She will melt and blush,
for you've made her happy.

Life is a perpetual party.
Come dressed as a clown
or suit up in a fancy suit.
Party wild and get drunk.
Dance all night if you wish,
retire early if you want.
Make sure you steal the show
Or be crown the best.
Make sure you out dance
yourself and the rest,
Sing along with the songs
you like and do it well.
Regardless of the pitch
Or the tune of your voice,
Own that song even
If you don't know the
Wordings and the timing.

Life is a perpetual party,
Everyone got invited by
He who planned the gig.
So rise to your own feet,
Jump to your far right,
Jump to your nearest left.
Rock to sound and beat
and do the split or boogie.
Breakdance if you have
the time and chance.
Moonwalk if space exists
and Flashdance at the end.
Make sure by the break
Of dawn, when the morning
comes and the light is out,
your last dance was a great one.

#IvanBrookspoetry© #Bassapoet
8-20-3019

My words can't crash the market,
but it can sell ideas.
My words can not mislead
but it can vividly direct.
My words can't start a war
put it can sensitize warlords.
My words can't condemn
but it can seriously demand.
My words can not tear down
but it can surely uplift.
My words can not hurt
but it can not definitely heal.
My words can dig the earth
but it can circumnavigate the globe.
My words can not pierce stones
but it can reach deep into the soul.
My word can not wipe a woman's tears
but it can calm her down, reassure
and put smiles on her beautiful face.
My words can not bring forth lives
but it can transform many lives.
My words can not crush a diamond,
but it can soften a hardened heart.
My words can not feed a multitude of folks
but it can wake up the consciousness of
An entire generation with faded dreams.
Most importantly, it can motivate and inspire
them to engage and rethink and Move.

#IvanBrookspoetry© #Bassapoet
21-8-2019

Women, bearers of warriors' marks,
You're the tough layers of the baobab's barks,
Best of the portraits that nature paints,
and Catwalk models of baggy pants.

You have been misled and misused
Your bodies and souls have been abused,
Yet, like a rose planted in a concrete
You majestically rose on your feet.

Women, flawless skins, lipsticks queens.
Fresh like shades of master's greens.
Big bones babes, skinny jeans chicks,
Gorgeous women, with kitchen tricks.
                            
You are every woman, universal mama,
Rest in peace to the mother of Obama.
God bless every woman from Uganda
to the outskirts of the land of Wakanda.

African woman, Mother of humanity,
Thou are endowed with enviable beauty.
Eternal goddesses, brides of great kings
Multitasks babes, doers of great things.

Oh, Woman, givers of selfless love,
Sent to us from the great man above.
Oh, Woman thou are blessed,
You shall slay, was long prophesied.

This is a tribute to Maya Angelo's mammy.
Bless your lyrically poetic womb.
 a solemn tribute to Mother of LeBron,
The NBA GOAT, King James of Akron.

Curvy Women work your gorgeous hips,
Smile with your Luscious rogue lips,
Thou are the pollen grains of biology,
and the specimen of perfect anatomy.

Eve of Eden, the apple of God's own eyes,
You gave every woman bedroom eyes
that pierces to the core of diamonds,
Like hardened bejeweled armors.

Woman, thou are truly nature's bounty.
Showcase your freaks and sexuality,
For which your petals toast monthly...
Slay dear queen, slay perpetually.

You came from Adams's ribs to give life
Woe unto any man who mistreats a wife,
Thou are indeed a blessed assurance,
Behold your grace, strides, and elegance.

For Sarah Brooks, my deceased mother,
and Sarah Ivana Brooks, my daughter,
For white, yellow and Brown women,
and all beautiful black African women.

 This poetry, I penned for women is a tribute to everything.
For those nights you stayed up to sing,
Those prayerful songs only God heard,
Lying on tears soaked pillows in bed.


#IvanBrookdpoetry© Bassapoet©
August 16-2019

Money didn't save Steve Jobs from death.
The physicians couldn't restore his health.
Sadly, he passed without taking his wealth.
So, in God Almighty alone invest your faith.

Steve Jobs built a very great empire
In which he had planned to retire.
Though he died, his name will never expire
Forever to his legend, will generations aspire?

Steve Jobs was a very good man
philanthropic with a helping hand.
Even that too didn't save him at all
In the end, death came with the call.

He gave us the iMac and the iPod
He gave us the iPhone and iPad
So he will forever be in our lives
In our homes and in our kid's lives.

#IvanBrookspoetry© #@Bassapoet©
      Aug. 2.2019

This poetry you are reading,
Came to me one evening.
This is just more than a poem,
It's a revolutionary anthem.

This poetry was sent from the deep
Via spoken words in my sleep.
This poetry was baked in the furnace
It's elusive, nobody will ever trace.

This poetry is so hot, it'll burn you
And probably shock you.
Yet it has the propensity to uplift,
So it's not something to play with.

This poetry will slowly creep
From the sole of your feet,
To the crown of your head.
This poetry is a didactic bread.

This poetry is a glitch
Yet it was sent to teach.
It will grasp your attention,
and stretch your imagination.

This poetry is a proclamation
Of our collective emancipation
From total mental slavery.
This poem bears the scars of bravery.

This work is the embodiment of artistry
And the blurry lines and meters of poetry.
It's a poem, it's music and it's a painting.
This poetry is a testament of my calling.

#IBpoetry© #Bassapoet
         <<5.7.2019>>

I see a new tomorrow
Through today's lens
And I see Yesterday
In ancient days.
I see you, I see me
In my brother's eyes.
I see a new world
Beyond the constellation.
I smell the aroma
Of affluence in
the rich one percent
I taste the acidity
Of abject poverty
In the poor majority.
In God I trust
For what's beyond
My powers and means.
Yet in medical science
And technology I do it all.
I'm the fossil of Adam
Custodian of Eden
and Partner of Earth's
First beauty queen.

I'm the pyramid and Sphinx
I'm the sun God Akana
I'm the kingdom of Wakanda
And the veil of Black Panther.
I come from God's pantry
And roam free and Wild.
I am made Of old spices
Gathered from afar.
I can't be mixed in colors
I'm Earth, Wind, and Fire,
I worship no deity
Yet I stir emotions
And I birth inspiration.
Call me the defibrillator
Of broken hearts and dreams.
I'm a fountain of wisdom
Deeply embedded in the
Soul of every storyteller.
I'm time, I'll never sleep,
I'm the muse of poetry.


#IBpoetry © #Bassapoet
        <<<3.7.2019>>>

The world is dark,
Be a bright mark.
Shine like a star
And glow from afar.

In your quiet hours
Paint bright flowers,
And draw beautiful hearts.
Leave a footprint of arts.

Shine yourself and glow
You may never know,
The souls you inspire.
Don't let your zest expire.

Your life, your glory,
The lessons from your story,
can bring focus to others
So shine for your bothers.

The world is a sad place,
Marinade your soul in grace.
Be a source of pure joy,
To a sad little girl or boy.

On your face wear a smile,
For a friend, go an extra mile.
Be the soul of your community,
And always exude positivity.

Hug a man, hug a woman,
Always give a helping hand.
Be one of Gods shepherds,
And love your neighbors.

#IvanBrookspoetry
6.26.2019

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 ✍️

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

Yesterday brought me the challenges
of today before fading away
beneath the canopy of the dark.
So tomorrow remains a dormant embryo.

I therefore rise each day before dusk,
to plow the fields and cloud of dust,
In the hope of turning faith into hope
And mere dream into a unique reality.

So before I lay down my soul to sleep,
I pray my labor will germinate seeds
And put bread on my table so I can
Feed my household and my neighbors.

This is my prayers to the universe,
Make all the tolls of today bring
Me very good tidings so I can live
beneath the morango sky tomorrow.

#IvanBrookspoetry (c)
#Bassapoet
5.2.2019

Why couldn't I fall asleep last night?
Maybe I just didn't wanna really
miss out on all of the juicy spoils
that yesterday offered as benefits.
Or maybe it is just the sheer
anticipation and uncertainties
of tomorrow that scared sleep away.
Darkness is no more, summer is soon here.
So I lay there sleepless and wide awake,
listening to the sounds of the wind
lazily flipping the blinds against the window.
Outside, the occasional sounds of the
the first barrage of the night crickets echos.
I begin to wonder what it is to be a cricket.
How sweet to live on grace provided by God,
and how free to fly without any limitations.
I was jolted back to reality by a sound,
maybe it was insomnia quietly creeping out.
Or the challenges of tomorrow moving in.
Tired red eyes squinting to see from whence
cometh the unknown but welcomed sound,
I saw nothing but I knew I heard something.
So I waited for clarity of the sound source,
thereafter heard nothing further in the room.
I was quite as though a ghost had passed.
Slowly, I began to drift, the elusive sleep was here.


IvanBrookspoetry
30.04.2019

Lights out for one of God's shining stars.
A humbled soul and good man is gone.
Not to the terrestrial worship house of God,
Where he was the director of beautiful music,
but to the Heavens, his celestial home.
A gifted man and tireless character,
A kindred soul who answered his calling,
and performed to his creator's delight.
May your sojourn be smooth and peaceful,
until we meet at Heaven's golden shore.

You lived a life very well lived
Maybe not in the years of men,
for it was short in their mortal eyes.
Like a bright star, you lighted the world
and touched everyone with an infectious smile.
Your life was like a brief candle in the wind,
but long according to the great arbiter's plans.
How sad and painful your sudden loss to us,
In solemn and fond memories you'll forever live.
The loved ones, family, and friends left behind,
we'll pray for the Lord to gladly receive you,
In Abraham's bossom for a perpetual rest.

#IvanBrookspoetry
4.28.2019

Sadly, I was born free to poverty
yet enslaved to many things.
I was raised right in the wrong place
So I planned my escape from poverty.

Gladly I liberated myself and my future,
empowered by the sheer will to survive.
I refused to accept the story of my birth,
So I sojourned into the unknown.

I reached beyond the very limits
that poverty placed before me.
I spoke power to self and jumped,
Not knowing if the parachute would work.

Oh, how sweet the fruits of freedom,
How free the paths I scouted for me.
Though jaggy but I know every pothole,
every stump in case I have to crawl back.

IvanBrookspoetry©️
4.25.2019

I pay great homage to my Africa
The continent of several million cultures
Roots of the Dreadlocks of Jamaica
Jambo Africa, land of the vultures
Akwaba to the Eden of Black people
Ancient Africa mother of humanity,
The world still feed at your diseased table
Oh, Africa, custodian of nature's bounty.

Mama Ebony, you've forever represented since the creation
Thy cornerstones are planted on top of Pharaoh's tomb
Oh Timbuktu, the cradle of ancient education,
Blessed is thy beautiful dark womb.
Lined with fertile dark mineral soil
Eternal volt of the Ashanti gold
Adorned with gems, smeared with oil
Yet not half of your story has been told
Volcanos fuels silently off your gas
Land of Akana, the guidance of the sun
Your Pyramid stands where it once was
Watching time and age having some fun.

IvanBrookspoetry

Everything has time.
So try to make time dine.
Use it to make a dime,
Or to make juice using lime.

When you have time, smile.
Or use it to have a dance,
Or use it to run an exta mile,
Time promises no second chance.

IvanBrooksPoetry
4.17. 2019

What makes very beautiful poetry?
Somebody asked me the other day.
It doesn't have to Rhyme or be pretty
No two poetry looks the same, I can say.

So, is poetry about styles and expressions?
Somebody else asked me the very day
Or is it about the truth or is it about emotions?
Maybe all of the above, plus more, is all I can say.

Or is poetry about a poet's own introspection?
Another person asked me to my very face.
I said something in answer to the question.
I realized this was going to end in a disgrace.

So I decided to ask my fellow poets on here.
What really makes very beautiful poetry?

IvanBrooksPoetry (c)
4.17.2019

Tonight I traded my sleep.
Not for a meal or precious gem,
but to spend the night bleeding ink.
Unlike insomnia, I shunned sleep
when she needed to nest in my head.
sleep came early, I just wasn't ready.
A quick view in the hand mirror,
confirmed I looked a retired drunk.
But yet my weary eyes paid no heed.
I sat with transfixed watery eyes,
seriously glued to my laptop's screen.
With Several drunken-like nods,
and series of clumsy near falls,
sleep crept back from whence it came.
So the products of a sleepless night,
are these lines bled from my ink.

IvanBrooksPoetry

God smiles every time I Write beautiful poetry,
and He throws a party for dead poets in Heaven.
My poetic vocation is confirmation of his generosity.
Whenever my pen bleeds, He knows I am working.

God smiles each time my poetry starts trending,
He gives Maya Angelo and Shakespeare a hug.
It's an indication of my dedication towards my Craft.
Whenever my work is reposted or liked, He says bravo, son!

IvanBrookspoetry
14.4.2019

Man mortal, sin,Lucifer ,
the good book and Jesus.
The absolute truth is unknown.
Yet we believe,some chose to.
Others rebell and have no faith.
Some over believe by choice.
They become blinded by hate
and consumed by rage.
So they act in the name of God.
But God sits back and watch the act.
He's good all the time and He's just.
He leave choice and battle to us.
I can't question,I can pray and belive.
Slaves were not not resist ,it was sin.
The masters read it to them every day.
God sat back and watched,every day.
He wasn't pleased,slave masters were.
Nothing else is to be said, not now.

#IvanBrooksPoetry ©️
4.16.2019

He who reads poetry will bless
He who writes the poetry to be read.
For he writes nothing less
than what his inner muse is fed.

A poet paints poetic words in a picture,
that only a blessed reader can see.
For with the magic of ink he can capture,
That which was never meant to be.

He who writes poetry is the fiber that links
mankind's soul to the awesome powers of the ink.
For whatever messages from the deep he brings,
Makes him a poetic vessel that will never ever sink.

He who writes poetry is like a light in the darkness,
He will always stand out and be seen.
For his work represents an unforgotten kindness,
He will always be known as a good human being.

#IvanBrookspoetry©️

Poetry is a form of life after death.
For spoken words lives on forever.
Even long after we're gone from earth,
Our words will be read everywhere .

One Poet Called it the immortality of arts
Which I wholeheartedly agreed with. beyond this and all reasonable doubts,
Through ink,poetry is guaranteed a rebirth.

                          #IB-poetry( c)
                           31/01/2019
                          #Bassapoet