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In times like these,
When troubles surround us.
and death hangs in the breeze,
ready to plunge with sudden chaos....
In lull, I say this psalm of trouble.
"Oh Jah, to you alone I look,
Help me to swim this sea of struggle,
Save me from this tidal hook".

Troubles may come on the double,
and pop me like a bubble.
They may Knock Me down,
Push me out of town,
Nudge me to the brim,
or prompt my glow to go dim...
still in Yahweh, I believe,
like a fig tree, I will survive.

In troubled times
My faith in Jah will double.
Though I lack dimes
and my limbs begin to wobble,
to Jah, I look and trust,
In him lies my power.
This, from dawn to dusk I'll boast,
Every day, every minute and hour.

In times like these, this Psalm I scribble for thee.
Mar 2020 · 255
The Oldlady From Isolation
Ivan Brooks Sr Mar 2020
Her friends died years ago
she and her cats were home.
Oh how she wished to play bingo
She felt so sad, she was home alone.

There's nowhere to go,
The streets are bare.
Nobody else to go to,
COVID19 is in the air.

There is nobody to see,
Everyone is at home.
Locked down to a certain degree
but am I really alone?

Nature is finally free
to do as she pleases.
I see three little birds on a tree
They are the new masses.

Knock-knock, is anyone home?
Yes, where else could I be?
Come ride out the COVID19 storm
Come take a cup of tea with me.

The lonely old lady was bored.She came out of isolation and ventured out into the streets...she thought she was alone...she remembered one house and he was still thereūüėú
Mar 2020 · 174
Can We Just talk?
Ivan Brooks Sr Mar 2020
Can we just talk
For old times sake.
Can we take a walk,
In spite of the heartbreak?

This journey we are on,
Started out just alright.
We glued and started to bond,
Holding hands under the moonlight.

Can we just talk
I'll apologize if I'm wrong
So Can you just halt,
And jam to this love song?

I have been dreaming
It's you I know I want.
You have been refusing,
Telling me you just can't?

Can we just talk,
About what's happening?
I crossed the line of chalk,
Therefore I've come begging.

Remember the time
When we were young?
I was broke without a dime,
I gave you a rose and a love song.

Can we just talk
And reflect on good times?
Can we please talk,
In spite of my love crimes?

Give me another chance,
To do a poem on your heart.
Let me take you out to dance,
To make up for my bad act.

Can we please just talk,
Like we did before?
Can we just take a walk,
Near the ocean shore?


       <<< 26-3-2020 >>>
Can we just have a moment, of understanding, can we at talk?
Mar 2020 · 149
The Truth
Ivan Brooks Sr Mar 2020
I don't vocalize
I'm not a musician.
I don't embalm
I'm not a mortician.
I don't make objects
disappear in thin air,
I'm not a magician.
I don't flip numbers,
I'm not a mathematician.
I don't heal patients,
I'm not a physician.
I don't tell funny jokes
I'm not a comedian.
I don't do hair or makeup,
I'm not a beautician.
I can't run for public office
I am not a politician.

I was born to flip
Letters into words.
I can write a lovely script
Shiny like samurai swords
I can bring smiles to faces,
Via a beautiful love story.
I can take your mind to places,
Using the magic of poetry.
I can make the sun to shine,
In a dimly lit corridor.
My words will outlive time,
Like the soul of a gladiator.
I can morph into a genius,
By the stroke of my humble pen.
The nectar of my ink is gracious
Always doing the best it can.

The truth is all that I know...this is the truth!
Feb 2020 · 383
Ivan Brooks Sr Feb 2020
I had a thrilling dream
but it was more like a vision
Of myself by a beautiful stream.
Like I was in another dimension,
I saw the great Lord of poetry,
logic and spoken words.
He was leading an army
They were armed only with swords.
The army was building a city
With books and plastered with letters.
I heard it was the hub of artistry
That was set aside for writers.
Bewildered, I asked about what I've seen,
He said most poets won't make Heaven,
But this poetic paradise is guaranteed.
So go and notify the brethren.
He said take heed and keep writing,
write spoken words, spit and share knowledge
for soon the Lord of poetry is coming
to reward and take away poets on his carriage.

Keep writing brethren....
Feb 2020 · 212
Poetic Paradise
Ivan Brooks Sr Feb 2020
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?

Twitter @ivanclappers
Even though most of us won't make Heaven,Poetic Paradise is guaranteed.
Feb 2020 · 172
Ivan Brooks Sr Feb 2020
Yesterday, When the world was young
and the earth was still beautiful.
When happy day was nature's song
and the devil was still merciful.

Yesterday, way before the computer
and the inception of the internet.
That was before Jedi and skywalker,
eons before Elizabeth and Phillip met.

Before the information highway
and way before social media.
Before the first play on Broadway,
and the Biafra war in Nigeria.

Yesterday, before we lost focus
and mankind got infected with the very addictive FB virus.
Yesterday, before Twitter was created.

Yesterday was only time and space.
It was the time that God realized
that the earth was a very sad place.
God's plan was not yet finalized.

Yesterday will never return but it was the beginning of today and the end of the day before yesterday.
Aug 2019 · 295
A Peasant's Tears
Ivan Brooks Sr Aug 2019
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.

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

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.

"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 ©
This piece came from afar....deep from a sad place ,
Aug 2019 · 865
The Pen
Ivan Brooks Sr Aug 2019
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
The pen is everything..
Aug 2019 · 926
Bob Said...
Ivan Brooks Sr Aug 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
Bob said a lot. ..some remember only  the *** he smoked.
Aug 2019 · 254
Life Is A party
Ivan Brooks Sr Aug 2019
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
Life is a perpetual party...come dressed as a clown, up to you.
Aug 2019 · 225
My Words
Ivan Brooks Sr Aug 2019
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 words does a lot.
Aug 2019 · 785
Ivan Brooks Sr Aug 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
*This a solemn tribute to all women,
Thanks for everything!
Aug 2019 · 407
The Protege's Quest
Ivan Brooks Sr Aug 2019
In the land of the wise men,
where the wind blows ceaselessly
and the moon glows perpetually,
a great poet and his young protege
sat in the courtyard under the shadows
of the sycamore tree to meditate.
The protege said to his master.
" Sir, please make me a great poet"
The old master lifted his head
and gazed at the protege in awe.

" My son, you are a poet he retorted.
You have it in you. you live it,
you are engaged with it each day,
you hang with poets and read the
amazing works they penned.
You understand spoken words,
the unique linga Franca of poetry.
To find and get it out of you,  
you have to tear yourself apart.
go to where words reside.
Get into the minds of others.
Ask and read other people"s works.
Though it's kinda motivational,
inspiration is everywhere.

" You see, the master told him,
every day the sun comes up,
it rises with a packaged gift
Unwrap it with your mind
appreciate anything therein.
A disappointment and a bad day
can be a caveat for a writer
because it spikes emotions and inspires one to dig deep...
My son, you have to write every day.
write about anything at any time.
rewrite what you aren't pleased with.
The more you write, the better you become.
The uglier the poems that come out the better the poems that follow.

Write about the sun and the moon,
write in the morning and afternoon.
Write captivating and uplifting stories
about mermaids with beautiful bodies.
Or write about a wandering stranger,
who traveled in search of an adventure
with your hands, write about nature.
Using your mind, paint a beautiful picture.
Do this as often as many times as possible,
Someday you will achieve the impossible.

#IvanBrookspoetry (c)
August 11.2019
The protege's quest trended before it was written. I actually thought I was saving a draft, made of the title and just two lines. I just finished it
Aug 2019 · 221
Ivan Brooks Sr Aug 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
Gone but not forgotten.
Jul 2019 · 280
Ivan Brooks Sr Jul 2019
A Cherry toast to a Goddess,
Who rides a beautiful mess.
When Virgo lets go of her flow,
She winces from the pain below.
The agony beneath her belly,
that unwelcomed monthly bully.
A little token for her elegance
for her soft steps when she dances.
For those available chances,
Like a tigress, she pounces.
For her beautiful behind,
For her inquisitive mind.
For her soft flawless skin,
Which covers every woman's sin.
For those slender arms
and curvy legs, I've no qualms.

For her awesomeness,
and her sumptuousness.
for her enviable beauty
described in this poetry.
For those bedroom eyes,
that cries at goodbyes.
For her luscious lips
and those gorgeous hips.
For the sweet nectar
Of her velvety petal.
For her rose flowers,
the caveat for her powers.
the only price she has to pay,
Like a queen to slay.

#IvanBookspoetry© #Bassapoet©
*For all my beautiful queens, for all women.
This poem is a solemn tribute to your womanhood.
Jul 2019 · 189
Rebel Poet
Ivan Brooks Sr Jul 2019
Most often, I wake up at odd hours,
To meditate and harness my powers.
To my doom, the universe upload
To my notebook pro, I download.

I write often from inspiration
and I owe nobody an explanation.
So I write what I really feel like,
I write for yellow, gold, Black and white.

I'm a rebel poet, I follow no rules,
I write for all the rough dudes,
And I write for all the cute chicks
with skinny jeans and rogue lipsticks.

Sometimes my poems will rhyme
At times they come out as a hymn.
Sometimes you see the iambic meter,
and you wonder if I am a poet or writer.

I'm a rebel poet, I write what comes to mind.
My works appeal to the ******* and blind.
It also inspires the good, bad, young and old.
If you tell my story, make sure the truth is told.

Nothing to say but thanks to poetry for accepting my right and wrong.
Jul 2019 · 177
This Poetry
Ivan Brooks Sr Jul 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
This poetry was inspired by a great poet.
Jul 2019 · 172
The Muse Of Poetry
Ivan Brooks Sr Jul 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
This is it!
Jun 2019 · 167
Shine Like A Star
Ivan Brooks Sr Jun 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.

A light in the dark is never hidden
.. people see you from afar
Jun 2019 · 190
Ivan Brooks Sr Jun 2019
Sometimes all you have is the forces within you.
Sometimes all you have to listen to is the sound
of those forces crashing like the ocean waves.
Sometimes all you sense is the internal motion
and vibration of the opposing forces within you.
The forces of love and hate that's found in everything.
The forces of good and evil that govern human emotions,
the forces of growth and stagnation that drive productivity
and the force of artistry that fuels and enhances creativity.

Forces....was inspired by the work of anothe poet.#credits
Jun 2019 · 293
Ivan Brooks Sr Jun 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)
experience is also a teacher...the only teacher whose credentials are never questioned.
Jun 2019 · 177
I Will
Ivan Brooks Sr Jun 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

I will...
Jun 2019 · 294
In Times Of Trials
Ivan Brooks Sr Jun 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.

When does the faith of a man shines best?
Jun 2019 · 137
Poetic knitted Vanation
Ivan Brooks Sr Jun 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.

Poetry interconnects all poets.
Jun 2019 · 350
Ivan Brooks Sr Jun 2019
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 ¬©ÔłŹ
#Basssapoet ‚úćÔłŹ
Poetry poetry
May 2019 · 1.5k
Poetry Is Everthing
Ivan Brooks Sr May 2019
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 ¬©ÔłŹ
Poetry is life. ..
May 2019 · 151
Beneath The Morango sky
Ivan Brooks Sr May 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)
The Morango sky sees everything.
Apr 2019 · 273
Sleepless Night
Ivan Brooks Sr Apr 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.

Sleepless nights can become productive nights.
Apr 2019 · 148
A Poetry Of Reeducation
Ivan Brooks Sr Apr 2019
Reeducate yourself
by using what you've learned
to question what you've learned.
Take the answers to those questions and
question them again and again,
until you find what you need.
Sooner or later you will realize
half of the things you've learned
are a waste and most of what
you really needed to learn
was outside the classroom-

Like events yet to unfold,
geographical locations and places
yet to be seen and explored,
experiences yet to be had,
books yet to be read,
researches yet to be made,
fences yet to be jumped,
trenches yet to be dug and crawled through,
seeds yet to be sown,
rivers yet to swim and bridges yet to be built.

Things like adventures yet to be taken,
cliffs yet to be hanged from,
oceans yet to be navigated,
mountains yet to be climbed,
shattered dreams yet to be chased,
harvests yet to be gathered,
tears yet to be shed, music yet to be listened to,
sleepless nights yet to be spent,
roads yet to be traveled,
milages yet to be covered,
mysteries yet to be figured out
puzzles yet to be solved,
risks yet to be taken,
lies yet to be told and hearts yet to be broken.
many disappointments yet to be experienced,
chains yet to be unshackled and races yet to be run,
pains yet to be felt, battles yet to be fought,
and loses yet to be endured.

Education is not an event...
Apr 2019 · 120
A Good Man Is Gone
Ivan Brooks Sr Apr 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.

For my deceased cousin ...A great humanitarian and musician.RIP
Apr 2019 · 172
Escape From Poverty
Ivan Brooks Sr Apr 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.

It is not where you were born or how...
Apr 2019 · 184
Homage To Africa
Ivan Brooks Sr Apr 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.

I pay homage to Africa,mother of humanity
My roots,my people.My culture
and My history ,,
Spirit of my ancestors.
Apr 2019 · 164
The Essence Of Time
Ivan Brooks Sr Apr 2019
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.

4.17. 2019
Time waits for no man.
Apr 2019 · 141
What makes a good poetry?
Ivan Brooks Sr Apr 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)
A beautiful poetry is measured using many variables.
Apr 2019 · 989
If Yesterday Was An Old Man
Ivan Brooks Sr Apr 2019
If yesterday was an old man,
He would be old by now.
His hair and lashes would
Be full of shining grey hair
And walking with a Kane.
He would probably be frail
And proudly speaking of the
Good old days marred with
Conquests and exploits from
From his youthful adventures.
The intricate details of his flamboyant
Years and youthful antics and shenanigans would bring sparkles
To his old wrinkled face.
There would be tears in his eyes
When lamenting on love and sorrows...
Squinting his eyes and fumbling to
Find faded photographs hidden away
In ancient boxes from dusty shelves.

If yesterday was an old man,
He would speak between bad dentures
With shaky voice of an aging legend.
He would go on and on with tales
Of all the places he has been and
Calling the old names of cities and
People long gone but alive in his
Now on and off and fading memories.
He would talk about voyages taken aboard old vessels packed with ancient
Cargoes and Slaves and whale oil barrels.
He would recount stories of monsters
At sea and great beasts that once roamed the earth when it was young
And green and void of pollution.
About places and people and various
Cultures ,would be captivating stories
That young people would only imagine and listen in absolute awe, almost to a point of envy for his rich stories of a good life once lived in the past.

If yesterday was an old man, he would have a repetoire of ancient skills and knowledge that no one has today.He would talk about locomotives and steamships captained by bearded old sailors with horse drawn couches driven by hardened cowboys and couch men.
 If yesterday was an old man, he would talk about world war one and two like it was just yesterday.

If yesterday was an old man, he would know more of yesterday than today.

#IvanBrooksPoetry ¬©ÔłŹ
Yesterday as an old man means everything new would be looked at through the old way.
Ivan Brooks Sr Apr 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.

Anybody else ?
Apr 2019 · 527
The Cross At Notre Dame
Ivan Brooks Sr Apr 2019
For many centuries,
She stood majestically.
She saw many tragedies,
but have stood defiantly.

When disaster struck,
She emerged unscaled.
It's not just by sheer luck,
On her, our Lord was nailed.

Amidst the charred ruins,
and the hot burning flames...
As if reborn with spread wings,
she radiated like ten light beams.

The cross at Notre Dame,
like Jesus on the cross of Calvary,
took it all until the firemen came.
The cross at Notre Dame will never go away.


This was inspired by another poet's work...credits
Ivan Brooks Sr Apr 2019
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!

I hope He likes this too ...
Apr 2019 · 108
Ivan Brooks Sr Apr 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 ¬©ÔłŹ
Nothing else is to be said...
Ivan Brooks Sr Apr 2019
I woke up this morning
thinking of my last poetry.
It was done just before bed,
before I tuned in to the creative frequency,
and activated the poetic code.
That was way long before the
Sun silently crept into the deep,
Taking with it its illuminous web.
The sun which brightly hugs everything,
Is the inspiration for my poetic vocation.

I woke up early this morning
Thinking of my first poetry.
I want it done just before noon,
which is an ideal time of the day.
That ball of fire, millions of miles away,
Doesn't only shine, it inspires.
If the sun rays engulf everything,
The potent glow of the sun might ruin
and overexpose nature's beautiful hues,
one of the inspirations of my poetic vocation.

The sun doesn't only shine, it inspires.
Apr 2019 · 217
About me
Ivan Brooks Sr Apr 2019
I have no enemies
but just a few haters.
I, therefore, dread rivalries,
and trouble makers.

I don't like to *******.
Therefore I walk alone.
I have an inner voice,
That plays chill as a ringtone.

I want to be here and there,
but not in a particular place.
I dust after me everywhere,
To erase any kind of trace.

I trust no man or woman,
Only when he or she is dead.
Yet I see good in every man,
So I pray for them when I go to bed.

This came from nowhere special...
Ivan Brooks Sr Apr 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.

A good poet will always be remembered
Apr 2019 · 132
Homeless In This World.
Ivan Brooks Sr Apr 2019
Homelessness is not for the poor,
without a locked window or door.
Neither is it for the less privileged,
or all those that are marginalized.

We are all somehow very homeless.
This world is not our home, regardless...
Heaven is our home beyond this world,
A beautiful place prepared by the Lord.

Rich or poor, black or white, tall or short,
Our final destiny is what this is all about.
Every day brings us closer to the end,
End of the mission on which we were sent.

One day at a time, one by one, we'll all go,
To this place built for us a very long time ago.
We are all strangers in this world of ours,
Each man must live and love down to his final hours.

This world is not our home.
Apr 2019 · 87
Ivan Brooks Sr Apr 2019
Soon the narrative will change
Because the game is about change.
And those who don't change,
Will be left behind by the change.

So try your best to change.
because the narrative will soon change.
The game too is about to change
So you either change or be left behind.

Change has victims
Mar 2019 · 145
Ivan Brooks Sr Mar 2019
I speak, read and write
four international languages.
Not to mention a few dialects.
I have seen a thousand movies
and read hundreds of books.

I have been to four continents
and visited dozens of cities.
I have traveled by land, air, and sea,
and have climbed a few mountains.
I have seen three oceans, some seas,
and have seen dozens of lakes and rivers.

I have seen a Jew, an Arab and a Kurd.
I have heard their views and perspectives
On politics, religion and secular things.
I saw a priest, an Imam, a Rabbi, and a monk,
Performing their respective religious rites.

I have worked with Russians, Gypsies,
Swedes, Denish, Norwegians a Greek,
Some Lithuanians, Baltic and Polish peoples.
I have consulted with British, French, Germans,
Americans, Dutch, and other Scandinavians.

I have seen some very great monuments
Like the statue of Liberty and the Eiffel Tower.
I have been to many beautiful landmarks
Like the old Twin Tower and Have seen  
the new Freedom Tower and Central Park.

Yet I remain humble....

Be you,no matter what!
Feb 2019 · 238
The Immortality Of Poetry
Ivan Brooks Sr Feb 2019
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)
Life is poetry ,Afterlife too is poetry .
Jan 2019 · 209
Ivan Brooks Sr Jan 2019
There are many closeted R.Kellys
And many unknown Donald Trumps.
This is the truth and this is the reality.
But how many people care about this?
Many people are blinded by hypocrisy
And many are victims of systemic lies . We live in an era where institutional evil and deceptions reigns .
Where the crimes of the privileged are covered and painted over with white.
It's unfortunate and highly regrettable
That only a few evil doers are held accountable and subsiquently prosecuted.

Jan 2019 · 183
Ivan Brooks Sr Jan 2019
My greatest inspiration is Poverty.
It awakened something in me,
And inspired me to write poetry,
Yet motivated me to chase my dream.

Poverty is the caveat for my hustle.
It rekindled something deep in me,
And Prepared me to embrace the struggle,
And put me ahead of the survivor's game.

Poverty is the iivisible blackhole
That pushes me away from the ghetto
Oh raised me like a flagpole
You are my Lagos and you are Soweto.

Poverty is the reason I push my children.
For I wish not for any of them to taste,
The regressive nectar from her left hand.
For it will brew in them pain and hate.

Poverty is a disease.
Jan 2019 · 189
Born To Write
Ivan Brooks Sr Jan 2019
My poetry will circumnavigate the world,
And ride the waves beyond the continents.
Maybe someday I'll become translated into many languages.
Somewhere my words will grace many moments.
Even though I was born to disadvantages,
My poetry has resonated beyond the Ghetto.
Sonewen, the womb of abject poverty,
Who once prayed for the children of Soweto
Look at where you placed my poetic identity
See what your genes engraved in my DNA?
Just listen to the poet in me roar like a lion.
Old verses I wrote from the belltower of the College of West Africa,
Rhymes I perfected in the Chapel of AME Zion,
Has become spoken words I penned in Europe,
Disseminated daily on platforms on the internet.
Great words of motivation engineered for hope.
I was born to write, for this journey I am set.

Sonewen is the name of the ghetto in which I was born.CWA...College of West Africa and AME Zion , the institutions I attended.
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