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3d · 55
Homage To Africa
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 ****.
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.
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.
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.
If yesterday was an man,
He would be old by now.
His hair and lashes would
Be full of shinning 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 shaninigans would bring sparkles
To his oid 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 ©️
Yesterday as an old man means everything new would be looked at through the old way.
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 ?
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
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 ...
7d · 44
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,***** masters were.
Nothing else is to be said, not now.

#IvanBrooksPoetry ©️
Nothing else is to be said...
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 14 · 122
About me
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...
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
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 8 · 31
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 27 · 72
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!
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 20 · 124
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 18 · 98
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 2 · 112
Born To Write
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 **** 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.
Jan 2 · 120
How I Got To This Year
I didn't parachute into 2019,
My journey started in 2018.
I walked through obstacles
And jumped many hurdles.
I swam across mighty rivers,
And was attacked by alligators.
I lost nearly everything,
And had absolutely nothing.
of course I ran out of money,
And babes stopped calling me honey.
I was falsely accused
And often times abused.
When I became penniless,
I also became homeless.
There were times when I sobbed,
when I got yanked and flogged.
Many times I vowed to give up,
But I had to continue to the top.
Some days there were storms
But I had to hang with both arms.
At times I had no calories to burn,
And obviously didn't know where to turn.
So now you know how I got here,
I didn't parachute into this year.

Now you know the story of my journey.
Dec 2018 · 264
Ivan Brooks Sr Dec 2018
2019 will be the year of the dragon.
Or the battlefield of Saigon.
Choose the former or latter,
Whatever you do,do it better.

In 2019, claim your heart desires.
Work and do whatever it requires.
And Move with complete boldness.
In almost everything,look for goodness.

In 2019, just expect your bounty.
To everyone,live without animosity.
Set your table under the full moon,
Your meal will be ready very soon.

In 2019 , live below the Morongo sky,
Don't sit with a box of napkins and cry.
You can take the path to exuberance,
Choose to dwell in absolute abundance.

In 2019,do away with negativity,
And shun those with toxicity.
To everyone,try to be a friend
Remember,Only help if you can.

In 2019, wish for the best of everything.
Whatever you do ,do stop at nothing.
There'll be some setbacks and frustration,
Just believe that all will come to fruition.  

In 2019, be positive and cheer,
Celebrate with a glass of beer.
In 2019, love yourself the best,
And forget about the rest.

Are you ready?
Dec 2018 · 194
Have You Seen Aurora?
Ivan Brooks Sr Dec 2018
Yesterday I lost a poem.
It took me hours to write.
So,has anyone seen a poem?
I titled it Aurora Borealis.
It was brief and beautiful,
Well written and insightful.

The poem was immaculate
Done in tribute to nature.
This is very weird I know,
Because it's never been done?
So pardon my action,
Result of my frustration.

So,if you see a green light,
Cocooned in ghostly neon,
Bordered in a frosty white dress,
Flash dancing across the sky,
Do have me informed at once.
Or sit back,watch and be amazed.

For those who need to know,
Aurora is like nature's showgirl.
Some call her the Northern light.
She appears when it's chilly cold,
When the night is quiet and starry,
She comes out like a luminous ghost.

True story..I wrote a very beautiful piece...can't find it anywhere!
Dec 2018 · 119
Delayed package
Ivan Brooks Sr Dec 2018
It's 3 am and no sign of her flight
I have waited for countless hours.
If my love doesn't come tonight,
I'll be stuck here with these flowers.

I sat and waited in anticipation
Of caressing my beautiful package.
I could feel the mounting frustration.
Tonight,no lips,satin and cleavage.

Every minute,every second I waited,
My heartbeat played a very new note.
Like when music and poetry debated,
I felt love and symphony to my core.

Hours went by,no sign of the flight.
I squinted,tilted and let out some air
There wasn't a lone female in sight.
At home ,I found a lady with long hair.

Nothing to say,.....up to y'all.
Dec 2018 · 96
Ivan Brooks Sr Dec 2018
There's ***** in every lady
and gangster in every gentleman.
walk with caution
and watch your action.

There's a killer in every
White police man in America.
And a race victim from California to Minnesota.Watch the new!

Some things are more than the mere truth.
Dec 2018 · 172
Why I Write
Ivan Brooks Sr Dec 2018
I write not for glory.
I just tell my story.
Sometimes I motivate
Other times I educate
Most times I inspire
Oftentimes I rewire.

I write not to entertain
I do it often to train.
Sometimes to impact
Other times to inject.
Most times I straighten
Other times I enlighten.

I write not for pleasure
Neither do I for leisure.
Sometimes to showcase.
Other times to erase,
The misconception
About my poetic vocation.

I write not at all to boost
But just to do my utmost.
Sometimes it's for a cause,
And most likely not because
I have nothing else to do.
This is my life,so I have to!

Why do others write,I have no idea.But I do know why I Write.
Dec 2018 · 638
Ivan Brooks Sr Dec 2018
Nothing scares me anymore.
I have been hurt to the core,
Hated by so many people,
For the spoils of my hustle.

I have lived in darkness,
And experienced sadness,
Waddled in disappointments
Victimized by false statements.

I have seen evil humans
Been attacked by demons.
One thing that's certain,
I will never ever give in.

Like the wet monsoon rains
And old locomotive trains,
My lines are uniquely powerful.
And for this, I remain grateful.

In spite of my misfortunes,
My name's not on these gravestones.
Like the mighty balboa tree
I stand strong and free.

IB-Poetry ©
Dec 2018 · 100
Ivan Brooks Sr Dec 2018
To Some people,every new year is like death.
For you don't know what's beyond the sky.
To many people,it represents a total rebirth.
So they they celebrate it without being shy.

To a few of us,a new day is a second chance
A chance to say sorry,correct or make amends.
To those who utilize it,celebrate with a dance.
Dance to the beats of many marching bands.

Dec 2018 · 311
Ivan Brooks Sr Dec 2018
E is for everything,
Except for one thing:
An empty bag can't stand
Go ahead, try if you can!

E is for everlasting,
Except for one thing:
Nothing lasts forever,
Which is true, however.

E is for Planet Earth,
She is in bad health.
Courtesy of global warming,
Slowly, its core is burning!

E is for the E-cigarettes,
Produced by hypocrites,
Who thinks everyone is a fool,
By making smoking look cool.

IB-Poetry ©
E is for Everything....
Nov 2018 · 98
Ivan Brooks Sr Nov 2018
Give me food stamps or twenty bucks
I will feed a few hungry mouths.
Give me a laptop or pen and paper
I'll enlighten a million bright minds.

Give me one thousand swords
I'll train and build a rebel army.
I'll rather take twenty textbooks
And transform a generation of minds.

Give me a golf club membership,
I'll trade it for a couple of laptops.
I'll rather you give out scholarships
So underprivileged kids can learn.

Give me a day with Donald Trump,
I'll rather an hour with Dr.William Barber
Being part of the Moral Monday movement
Marching for voters rights and equality.

Poetry is about introspection...
Nov 2018 · 2.1k
Letter To The Future
Ivan Brooks Sr Nov 2018
Dear future,
Before the rapture,
I was born here,
There was greenery everywhere.
Before the great wars,
It was the advent of smart cars,
And information technology,
Many people embraced diversity,
In some places in the old world.
Of corse I lived to be old
It was the era of smartphones
And the invention Of drones.
This was before the end,
When beaches still had sand
And the great oceans still had fishes
That we cooked them in nice dishes.

Dear future
I was here,
Before the great flood
We grew our food.
We ate meat
and grew wheat.
The earth had trees
And honey bees.
Flowers blossomed in summer
In case you may wonder
What happened to us,
Earthlings lost focus
And abused nature.
That was the era of pop culture,
When everything was good
And few were in a good mood,
And ninty nine percent were poor,
Few lived in huts without a door
Yet they managed a smile,
And many walked the extra mile.
Even though situations were dire
Few managed to love and share.

Just invade we wiped out someday,this is my letter to the future.
Nov 2018 · 283
The Secret Of Life
Ivan Brooks Sr Nov 2018
To live, Embrace Peace
Walk with Ease.
To everyone,
Speak in a soft tone.
To people, show love,
One day you'll need love.

Go wherever with this
Nov 2018 · 138
Ivan Brooks Sr Nov 2018
Are you sick
Are you rich,
Are you happy,
Are you healthy?

Are you sad,
Is your day bad,
Are you stuck in love,
That you can't move?

Do you need a man in your life?
Or a very good wife?
Do you want children
To complete your plan?

Why are you crying,
Instead of just laughing?
Are you only wishing
Or working or praying?

Is your life a constant struggle,
Are you on the hustle?
Have you lost hope,
And can no longer cope?

Yes or no, it's gonna be okay
Today is a brand new day.
Whether you believe it or not,
Have faith,it's all you got!

Faith...the substance of things hoped for..says the Bible.
Nov 2018 · 702
Ivan Brooks Sr Nov 2018
Every man has a calling
And my nitch is writing.
Mama gave me life and my name,
But poetry completes me.

Bless your soul Queen,
For my path is green
And my deeds are pure,
I couldn't ask for more.

I'm not a president.
But my words are important.
I don't need bodyguards
Only some pens and pads.

I'm not an astronaut
But a poetic juggernaut.
No ,I'm not a pianist,
But I play the note of a realist.

I'm a wordsmith and sageist,
That's better than a freak or ******.
Call me a vessel of wisdom
Or frown and rot in boredom.

I may not be a musician
I spin words like a magician.
I'm a deep thinker and poet,
A writer and future laureate.

Jah gave me a unique gift
I'll therefore use it to uplift.
With it I can write, motivate.
Inspire, impact and create.

No comment...I was in my element and wrote this in that special moment.
Nov 2018 · 101
Finessed By Black Friday
Ivan Brooks Sr Nov 2018
All year, you waited on Black Friday
Just to Feed your Indulgence.
After, comes broke Saturday,
Which is partly spent in silence.
Next is Prayerful Sunday
Off to church for solace.
Next comes Monday, a workday.
Wearing things you don't need.
Home stuck with material things
You've been finessed by greed
Yet your task is what today brings.
At home, you hear the bell as it rings,
And look at the watch on your hand.
A man strikes on the guitar strings
Then a song raised by another friend.
At least all your friends are here
Time to party and enjoy yourself
Bring me some wine over here
Time to celebrate my materialistic life!

Not hating, just writing!
Nov 2018 · 220
I Hate Winter
Ivan Brooks Sr Nov 2018
Chilly Cold Winds,
As nature unwinds
Stormy days
Traffic delays,
Frosty windows
Noisy Snowplows.
I hate this season,
For one particular reason,
I'm an African.
I'll do what I can
Just to pay my bills
I'll do what it entails
Until thou kingdom comes,
Until earth consumes my bones,
I'll forever hate winter.
That cold soft powder,
That ghostly white creature,
The nuance of mother nature.

© IB-Poetry
I hate winter.
Nov 2018 · 75
The Unlikely Vessel
Ivan Brooks Sr Nov 2018
God gave me a gift
And I'll use it to uplift,
To inspire and motivate
To impact and create.
Maybe I'm a vessel
Maybe I'm an axil
Through whose works
Quotations, Poetry or books,
Generations will be awakened
And subsequently emboldened.
To rise up and make changes
And produce juices like oranges
And shine like lights on a dark street.
Oh how sweet it tis, oh how sweet
To know that I have a part to play,
To know I can tell a kid to not sway
That no matter what really happens,
Hope is a parachute that opens
For those who take a leap of faith.
No matter what you have to deal with,
There's a God somewhere who cares,
So never give in to your fears.

© IB-Poetry
Out of thin sir,, out of nowhere, comes a strange and unusual kinda work.
Nov 2018 · 362
How I Got Over
Ivan Brooks Sr Nov 2018
At school
I wasn't too kool
And I wasn't tall
And Didn't know all.
In statue, I  was short,
But yet I fought.

On the playground,
I joked around
But I wasn't a fool
Always kept my cool.
When I got beat on
I made peace and moved on.

I came from a community
Known for poverty,
Yet mama tried.
At night she cried
Asking God to bless us
And help us to focus.

Mama was the bone of my family
So she woke up very early,
Papa had a side chick
So his moves were quick.
Back then I didn't know,
Everything was kinda slow.

On the field, I was a defender
Who didn't spare my own brother.
On my team, I played number two
No matter where, when or who,
I always defended my position
To me, it was part of my mission.

As a kid, I loved to go to church
Even though we didn't have much,
Yet Mama pressed my Sunday's best
Just so I could fit in with the rest.
At church, I prayed to my savior
For our hardship to be over.

On the streets, we had big bothers
Who protected us as our mothers
So we never went astray.
For this we had to somehow pay.
For good street education
And a guaranteed protection.

As a kid I had peace of mind
To my peers, I was nice and kind
So it was until the advent of war
I left home and went very far.
Crossing foreign land and sea,
Going as far as the eyes could see.

So this here is part of my story
Told in the form of poetry.
This is what transpired back there
I hope I'll be read everywhere.
This is my exile letter,
The story of how I got over.

I got over is part I my life story ...penned through poetry
Nov 2018 · 198
Ivan Brooks Sr Nov 2018
I don't know how to swim.
Yet God in his infinite wisdom,
placed before me all sorts of challenges,mountains,valleys,
fences, muddy ponds, deceitful human beings and ungrateful friends. .All because He knows I'll scale them, like a wall and still stand tall.
He knows my strengths and abilities
my weak sides and my strong sides.
He knows what I'm able to withstand.
So He gave me a beautiful mind And made sure I wasn't born blind.
And as an added bonus, two hands.
With this, I can take a pen and pad
And effectively pen away like a scribe
And describe the **** sides of life,
turn pains into a true love story,
And write a vow for my sweet wife.
I can turn tragedy into a nice poetry
Whilst remaining sound and stoic.
That's why I'm not a world swimmer
but a humble man and a poet.

I  didn't mean to write this but I wrote it.
Oct 2018 · 469
Poetry Is My Drug
Ivan Brooks Sr Oct 2018
Poetry is my choice of drug.
It gets me feeling very high,
Until I leap like a toad frog,
And make me feel alright.

Poetry is my feel good drug.
I Sniff for ideas like a dog,
It warms me up like a coffee mug
And make me float like a log.

Poetry is my ultimate drug.
I hit it hard, line after line.
Afterward, I just hit the rug,
Feeling very good and smile.

Poetry is my version of ecstasy
I party wild with many words.
And like a poet going crazy,
I just imagine and flaunt words.

© IB-Poetry
I don't do drugs...
Oct 2018 · 132
It's About To Snow.
Ivan Brooks Sr Oct 2018
I know when it's about to snow.
The sunny sky changes its colors,
The farmers suddenly cease to plow
As birds go flying over the borders.

I know because of sudden ice storms,
Wind and plummeting temperature.
Atop the mountain,crystal snow forms
Turning it into a Christmas picture.

I know when it's about to snow.
I see the anticipation of human,
As they await winter and its show.
I feel the wind blowing like giant fan.

I know because I start to miss the sun
And crave the warm African beaches.
I miss the sand, salty air, and real fun,
And all the smiles on people's faces.

© IB-Poetry
I hate winter by the way.
Oct 2018 · 123
It's about To Snow
Ivan Brooks Sr Oct 2018
I know when it's about to snow.
The sunny sky changes its colors,
The farmers suddenly cease to plow
As birds go flying over the borders.

I know because of sudden ice storms,
Wind and plummeting temperature.
Atop the mountain,crystal snow forms
Turning it into a Christmas picture.

I know when it's about to snow.
I see the anticipation of human,
As they await winter and its show.
I feel the wind blowing like a big fan.

I know because I start to miss the sun
And crave the warm African beaches.
I miss the sand, salty air, and real fun,
And all the smiles on people's faces.

© IB-Poetry
I hate winter
Oct 2018 · 397
Prayers for the people.
Ivan Brooks Sr Oct 2018
I cry very hard every night
For the land of my forefathers.
Once called Africa's golden child
Woe unto them that hurt you.
Like a child gunned down,
Somebody shot you in your prime
Your soul cries out for help
Purging the nectar of hate
Joggling the sack of opportunity
Looted out by pseudo politicians
And devoured by corrupt wolves
Who talks as revolutionaries
Paid with very huge salaries.
Hungry kids with sad eyes
Eyes stained with tears line
tears lines that know no tears.
Dried lips and Weak bodies
That can't stand neither walk.
Even if the did, where will they walk?
For the roads are now no more,
Washed away by corrupt erosion.
Ills of yesterday, void of compassion.
Look beyond everything, see the poor
Stuck in the black muddy ponds.
Those real victims of poverty, poverty
Tattooed on the souls of the poor.
Poor people who went en-mass
To the ballot boxes and voted,
For a change that's yet to come.
Waiting From the mangrove swamps
Squinting from the shines of the elite,
Dwarfed by brand new mansions
Gift from the country giant to himself. I'll pray every day for the masses,
Wishing the real Massiah would come.

For those still in the struggle.
Oct 2018 · 162
Goldrush Victims
Ivan Brooks Sr Oct 2018
To chase unrefined gold
You'll have to Work and dig up
Maybe one day before you grow old
You"ll find some stones or old cup
Maybe some old dinosaurs bones
Or antiques buried beneath the earth
Oh the Dead, named in solemn tones
Oh how sad if this is our faith
How worthless then are our riches?
How useful then is the man of God
And the sad eulogy he preaches
Words about you, dead, not real word
From you, heard by many people
The dearly beloved you left behind
Those left here to die in the struggle.
Of whom no one else cares to mind.
Call them the real goldrush victims
Who will never see an ounce of gold
Only the shinny and valuable items
Secured in big vaults yet to behold.

Who are the real victims?
Oct 2018 · 294
Every Poet Is A Plagiarist
Ivan Brooks Sr Oct 2018
How many poems have we written,
How many more will we write?
How many matches have we stricken,
How many more will we strike?

How many candles have we burned
In search of knowledge and wisdom?
How much in total have we learned
Do accused poets deserve freedom?

How many words have we really used
How many letters have we composed
How many plagiarists have been sued
How many of us have been accused

From other poets and other writers,
How many lines have we ever stolen?
Why are poets such horrible liars,
When last was this secret rule broken?

No poet is innocent of this crime!
Oct 2018 · 138
Man vs Frog
Ivan Brooks Sr Oct 2018
When the land is arid
and the ponds are dried up,
Dying frogs find moisture.
They hop from place to place.
Cocooned in comfort,
We wine and dine.
Indifferent to the pains
And the suffering of the poor frogs.
Fun times for human!
One day mother nature strikes,
The opposite happens
and humans are drowning...
Humans begin to struggle and clamore
Dying by the thousands.
Frogs watch us floating bye
Fun times for frogs!

The frog and human anology in my poetry may not corroborate it'll some day make sense.
Oct 2018 · 351
Ivan Brooks Sr Oct 2018
Fear no man or his words
only what he's capable of
doing behind your back.
Bow down to no man ,
not only if you attend his funeral
and see him turn and rise.
Consider all men equal
because no matter what he has,
or what position he occupies,
like you, he was born *****
and will surely die some day.

Just another one, without a title but with a purpose.
Oct 2018 · 1.4k
The Great Truth
Ivan Brooks Sr Oct 2018
You can't silence the church's bell,
So, a poet can't be silenced, never!
He was born with deep stories to tell.
Even after life, his words are forever!

You can stop the flow of the Nile
Therefore you can't alter its direction.
Like tempering with Monalisa's smile,
call it an affront and abomination!

You can't tell the tales of the pyramid
Therefore you can't decipher Egypt.
Like the ocean and the mermaid,
It's a wildcard and mysterious script!

You can't see the end of the universe
Therefore you can't fully fathom it.
It's infinite, deep and immense,
That's why there's always a star to spit.

The great truth doesn't encapsulate everything, it says a few. .
Sep 2018 · 228
The Reality Of Love
Ivan Brooks Sr Sep 2018
Some people show love
and some people fake love.
Some people complicate love
And others demonstrate love.  

Love is just like a flower
That'll always need water
And not a tiny bit of lie
Which will cause it to die?

Love cost Romeo his Life
Although Juliette wasn't his wife
Is it just to say he died for free
Oh, Romeo, your life was a tree.

What Love has to do with it?
Sep 2018 · 142
Staying Power
Ivan Brooks Sr Sep 2018
Learn to say yes to no situations,
Do whatever you dare.
Look beyond the constellations
And learn never, ever to compare

Success is not about Intelligence
For some people are very wise
So they combine hustle with patience
Yet, others will do anything, otherwise.

Some people have extreme gifts
That'll help them to the very top.
Some will kiss butts and accept fists,
Others will pray and work with the mop.

Some people have super crazy skills
Just be quiet and listen to the call.
A hunter is not how often he kills,
So learn to fight and give it your all.

Someday you'll hear your name
Horn in and identify your area.
Talents and gifts are never the same,
Give lights and wings to your idea.

Work each day, of yourself, be proud
Let every decibel of your voice be heard.
Amplify the power of your words, let it be loud,
Your lens is the everyday tears you shed.

See the world with a new meaning
And strive to be the very best.
One day you'll hear the birds singing,
Signs that you've arrived ahead of the rest.

Just another one....
Ivan Brooks Sr Sep 2018
I'm not a writer trying to share a story,
I'm a survivor telling you a true story.
I'm not just a poet having fun and living,
I saw bad things when I was younger.
That was when things were harder.
when women and old people were helpless and young people were hopeless.
It was that time when good parents were powerless to protect their underage girls from **** and molestation at the hands of drugged-up child soldiers with bloodshot eyes.
I did something other boys were too scared to do,
I turned into a man
and took survival into my hands.
It was that time when men and women used the same place to bathe and go to the loo.

I saw many many hungry people
eating palm cabbage and wild grasses
malnourished children and dying people.
I saw hands chopped off with cutlasses.
I saw thousands of families separated
and fathers killed or incarcerated.
I saw silly young men pick up arms
and chopped off people's limbs
like hideous things were their aims.

I saw really bad things
and cried to God for wings
like an angel to fly away
because I saw no other way.
I saw people running to God
and getting murdered in his church.
I don't know, but he didn't say a word
It's like He just sat down and watch?

I saw bad things
I planned my escape from poverty,
from a war-torn country.
It was that time when your parents, who come from the same generation as I, were looking up to their mom's for breast milk.
It was that time when no one wore silk,
it was a time of fear,it was wartime.
It was that time when bullets determined eating time and bedtime.
It was that time when pretty boys had nothing in their wallets.
It was that time when PYJ ate dinner
and played gospel on his guitar like he was our savior and not a sinner.

© IvanBrooksPoetry
This is about my bad wartime memories from my war-torn native Liberia. This encompasses mere poetry,it's a true story of the hideous crimes committed by young drugged up child soldiers commandeered by the notorious warlord, Prince Y Johnson(PYJ)..this is in essence, not a poem,it's an extension of the untold stories of the Murdered peoples of Liberia and women and girls ***** and abused by this heartless murdered, still running free and enjoying's for the most part, a poetic version of their cries ...This is a true story of the two hundred and fifty thousand innocent souls lost in my country...this a cry for Justice!
Sep 2018 · 139
Ivan Brooks Sr Sep 2018
You can try to shame me
And call me all sorts of names.
You can try to persecute me
And accuse me of false crimes.

You can publically undress me
Parade me around like a clown.
You can mercilessly flog me
And chase me out of town.

You can scam me in transactions
And take away my only home.
You can take away my possessions
And put in the streets to die alone.

You can behave to me like the devil
And speak in an unknown voice.
You can show me you're very evil
And even treat me like a sacrifice.

I'll someday again rise and shine
I am unbreakable, I'll survive!
I'll live to tell my children the story,
And testify and speak of God's glory.

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