I was born with a gifted cooking hand
and the fact that I'm also a Bassa man,
made my job easier when I worked the grill
as a student chef at Salvatore's on Snapper Hill.
This proves that I'm my father's son,
The late Rev.Peter Brooks's grandson.

I now know the source of my looks
I'm genetically one of the Brooks.
No wonder why people say I'm cute,
Well, this I can deny neither refute,
Meaning I'm truly my father's son,
The late Rev.Peter Brooks's grandson.

From the way I dribbled the soccer ball
and the fact that I never grew very tall,
proven by the old measurement on the wall,
and cumulated by the fact that I'm going bald,
all prove that I'm truly my father's son,
The late Rev Peter Brooks's grandson.

IB-Poetry©️
3/3/2018

If the beautiful ones aren't yet born,
Who are these beautiful ones,
What are they doing here?
Are they going to be able to share,
where will they come from,
will any of them go to the prom?

When these beautiful ones come,
will they live in a normal home,
What will they look like,
will they ever go to church,
or be able to work,
or get in the kitchen and cook,
Will they eat with a fork,
love music,
and act classic?

Will they admit to being wrong
and afterward, sing a song?
Will they be happier,
Will their butts be bigger,
will their eyes be prettier,
will their strides be better,
will their skins be smoother?

Will they be able to forgive?
or look at others and wave,
where will they live,
will they learn to drive,
Are they going to behave,
will they ever get married,
or ever be happy,
or say the word sorry?
will they act like ladies
and be proud or their beauties,
or will they have babies
and tell them stories?

When will it happen,
will they love men,
or mess with women,
How long will it take?
Will they be able to bake,
will they love mommy,
or smile for daddy,
who will those lucky parents be,
will they Meet them to drink tea?

If the beautiful ones aren't yet born?
what's taking them so long,
what will they look like,
what will their voices sound like,
will they ever go to church,
or be able to work,
or read the Holy Bible,
will they embrace the hustle,
or live amongst the people?

IB-Poetry©️
3/2/2018

She was probably the most beautiful,
of any woman he had ever seen.
She turned every head
and stopped time from moving
and movement everywhere she went-
His mind went woozy as he thought of her.
From what he already knew
she was not only beautiful,
she was smart and
an accomplished professional.
Was this a sweet dream?
If yes, he wasn't prepared to wake up from it,
no not yet!
Maybe she was just a product of his imagination,
which was impossible considering that she was standing before him.
She was a woman of exceptional beauty,
probably the most beautiful woman
he had ever seen!
Helping her to her seat, he was overpowered by something.
Wait,it was the scent of her perfume;
It was the mixture of something
he wanted to think he recognized,
which he didn't and something
he had never before smelled.It was nice!
She seemed so flawless,
He thought her bath was prepared
in the constellations by beautiful goddesses,
and her bathroom was the milky way galaxy.
Yes her skin was undeniably radiant,
accentuated by the presence of large almond eyes.
"Wake up!" came the weak old voice.
Bewildered by the old barn keeper's presence,
and momentarily unaware of his location,
he panicked and squinted his eyes.
Oh ****, he was asleep, this was a dream!


IB-Poetry©️
3/2/2018

For some natural and unknown reasons,
I find it very hard to write about a woman.
Especially her thoughts, emotions, and intuitions,
An impossible feat considering that I'm just a man.

What does a woman mean when she says whatever,
How do I know that is what she's really trying to say?
Not her words, for they can't be deciphered by a soothsayer
The best thing is to let her have or do things her way.

I really don't understand the woman I call my wife
Her moods are erratic at times, and at times unpredictable
During these times I get looks that makes me run for my life
At which times I hit the gym and keep away until she's stable.

A woman, her  moods, her thoughts especially her mind
Will never ever be fully understood by any living man.
In spite of this, they can love so marry one if you find.
Remember what the good book says about finding a woman?

A man will leave his father and mother find a woman
and they shall be one.
But it never made mention of a man understanding
her thoughts and mind.

IB-Poetry©️
2/28/2018

Now that I'm old I just can't keep on moving
I can now relax because I have nowhere to go.
The rest of my life I'll sit because all my life I've been hustling
This is the reality, this is what my life has come to.

Society now gives credence to the wrong things.
Modern culture is now full of triviality,
And ethics and decency got affixed with wings
Then right after, flew off and left us with mediocrity.

I see my age as a factor in just about everything
Especially because I came from the old school
Where courtesy and respect was the thing,
An era in which it was a sin to become a fool.

I see my age also as a blessing in so many ways,
For I have lived beyond my youth to this day.
And no matter what my age and gray hair says
I'll always be that boy who grew up with Kid N' Play.

The adage says age is nothing but a number
Yet in the era beyond my prime, it matters.
It matters because there's a lot to do when you're older.
To hell with the world because I'll have nursing home workers.

Besides, Everything funny I say or do my age will explain
Be it good or bad, vile or wise, and even right or wrong.
My age will be a yardstick and until death requires no discipline.
All I have to do is sit in my rocking chair and sing the old age song.

To become gray old and wrinkled is to enter the wisdom stage
A time when every word I utter will have a positive impact
And every word of motivation from me will open a page
For the people around me and generations after I depart.


IB-Poetry©️
2/28/2018

One day, two men began arguing about how the bat
was capable of hanging upside like a net on a basketball rim.
His friend, the poet tried to convince this grown man that
some fishes do jump and fly and birds do dive and swim.
He meticulously started by romanticizing the whole scenario.
After a while, he went on to add a couple of emotional elements.
Like a true poet, he became so creative and used his poetic virtuoso
to bind and piece together words and some essential components.
After about what seemed like forever, he agreed and became quiet.
Word went out that the world would be safer if everyone agreed
To argue with an unpolished writer, a failed lawyer or a poet.
So I dedicate this poem to serve as an agreement and a seed.


IB-Poetry©️
2/27/2018

Chose to love who you are
or respect who you with
You can give total care
get pregnant and give birth.
It's up to you
Love however you want
it's up to you
If it's what you want.

It's also up to you to love
yourself partially
And give perfect love
to someone else totally.
Maybe it's up to others
To love or hate you bitterly
or treat you like one of the brothers.

It's up to you to smile
or take the abuse and hold tight
if you think you can go the extra mile.
So stand up if wish to put up a fight.


IB-Poetry©️
2/26/2018

Every moment of your life is a testimony.
So no matter how good or bad,
Try to live in peace and harmony
with those who are poor, happy or sad.

Every moment in your life has a reason.
Some will make you feel very very happy.
There'll be moments in which you'll lose direction
making you feel downtrodden and ******.

Some moments will make you lose your voice
All because of the prevailing situation.
In some moments you'll have no choice
but to get confused and run in the wrong direction.

Some moments are like a good time
They'll thrill you and mesmerize you.
In the end, just like flowers in summertime
They'll eventually cease to thrill you.


IB-Poetry©️
2/26/2018

A true storyteller
always finds a way.
Like an entertainer
who delivers every day.

A true storyteller
Thinks freshly
like a Baptist preacher
who yells loudly.

A true storyteller
can turn a bad day
and make it sweeter
via a script into a play.

He can present tragedy
as a comic.
And deliver comedy
and remain stoic.

A true storyteller
is meticulous
as a new car dealer
is loquacious.

A true storyteller
never cares about his glory
or one particular character.
only the success of his story.

©️IB-Poetry
2/27/2018

Deat Lord,
I know we say too much of the little some people are trying to do when we should be trying to do so much about the little we have done...help us!

Dear Lord
Though I too haven't done much about the some of the little things
I have to do, I know if I put in some work and go according to your
plan and your will, I too will begin to do little instead of talking much...help me!

May the intangibles becomes tangibles and may success become my new address accordingly. May manna pour down upon me and everyone else in times of little and may it pour exceedingly...help us!

Dear Lord
May my vile utterances to not have devasting consequences.
May my misguided friends and relatives become people of purpose and direction.May my entourages be well-meaning people...
help me!

Dear Lord
Help me to give those in need.Help me to forgive those who betrayed in my hustle and put my bread on their personal tables instead of mines.Help those who believe others to stop doing that right now...help us!

Dear Lord
My kids I present to you to be in thy care.May Ivan jr not only drive a new van but bless him abundantly that he'll be able to buy anything in this world.Bless Peter to be more like Ivan and bless Sarah too to be more like both of them.Help her dear Lord to be that lawyer she wishes to become..protect and bless them always and forever...help me!

Dear Lord,
As I lay my head to sleep, may the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be acceptable in thy sight... moreover, may I set foot on the right path and continue until I find gold before I become too old...help me!

Dear Lord
As I wake up from my bed tomorrow, may the challenges of tomorrow that lay ahead become my testimony for your glorification.May the impossible become possible and may whatsoever man deem undoable become doable...help me!

©️IB-Poetry
2/27/2018

A productive life is like a hot cup of tea.
According to the temperature of your cup,
you have to know when to sip,
You can't hurridly drink, gulp or swallow.
Otherwise, it's gonna burn your lip.


©️IB-Poetry
2/23/2018

Be it a **** or *****, everything counts
The heart wants what it wants
and there's no natural remedy
anything less spells tragedy.


©️IB-Poetry
2/24/2018

There's one true blessing
in this world
which comes from the Lord.
So verily I say to you brethren
It's not your children
but the gift of life.
Without it, you can't take a wife
who will call you honey
neither can you earn any money.

Remember a dead man
is a lifeless man.
He can't spend
neither can he lend
to buy a piece of land
or give a friend a hand.

Without the precious gift of life
A man can't use a butter knife
or go running
in the morning
to enjoy the sun
and have some fun.

Without the precious gift of life
a rich man can't enjoy himself
or go on an exotic vacation
and take a swim in the ocean
with his easter bunny
and have dinner in the evening.

A dead man can't talk
neither can he take a walk
for a couple of miles
or flash his teeth when he smiles.
He can't take a shower
at any given hour.
He can't admire nature's beauty,
walk around his property
with an air of authority.


©️IB-Poetry
2/24/2018

I have a secret which feels so wrong.
There's this very beautiful lady
Who sends me photos in her thong
Morning and night, every day.
Her salutations comes via text
I haven't yet the courage to reply,
To ignore her makes me really vex.
This is reversion, a deadly play
With unknown consequences,
What do I do, how long can I resist?
I see not far through these righteous lenses
Yet without these secret messages, I cant Exist!
I caught myself secretly praying for her to stop
Another part of me doesn't want to let her go,
Maybe I can intentionally let the phone drop,
Or find a bourbon and drown my ***** ego.
Even that will not help change a **** thing
For I will still wake up to the daunting reality
Of the dilemma that has changed everything
Which is my deep little secret with this thong lady.

©️IB-Poetry
2/23/2018

If you imagine it,
Do it now,
go after it
Do it anyhow.

Own it today
No need to wait
Do It Anyway
But just own it.

Start today
be all about it
go all the way
and don't quit.

Everything you just read
Were meant to inspire
So if you liked what I said
You have to go the extra mile.

©️IB-Poetry
2/23/2018

Some of the things I write
will be foolish or great...

Some will be controversial
yet actual.

Some will be bad
Or sad.

Some will be good
Some won't.

Some will be cool
Or make me look a fool.

Some will be liked
Or disliked.

Some will be commented on
Or shunned.

Some will be highly political
or comical.

Some will become an instant hit
or not deemed fit.

Some will divide
Or unite.

Some will make sense
or considered a nonsense.

Some will be tremendous
or ridiculous.

Some will be a waste
or without taste.

Some will be logical
or illogical.

Some will hurt people's feelings
and leave them foaming.

Some will be inspirational
or motivational.

Some writings will be right
and considered bright.

Some will be laughable
Or applaudable.

Some will be ingenious
or ridiculous.

Some will be enlightening
and some entertaining.

Some will be cooperative  
or divisive.

Some will be beautiful
or just wonderful.

Some will be plain
and clean.

Some will be positive
or negative.

Some will be kinetic
or acidic.

Some will be ******
and some factual.

Some will be constructive
or destructive.

Some will be educative
Or argumentative.

The things we write
few are somehow bitter
but they'll get better
....see you all later!


©️IB-Poetry
2/23/2018

If Beckham could bend football
And If Moses could lead Isreal,
I can do extremely well with poetry
And One day write my name in history.

If Robert Dinero could make it
I vow to keep trying and never quit
If President Weah could win an election
I will continue to write with passion.


©️IB-Poetry
2/22/2018

I saw Black Panther
It was awesome!
As a brother,
I Feel wholesome.

Black Panther
Gives us a lot to say
Take it as a reminder
We are here to stay.

Black Panther
Is incredible
Its realism makes me wonder
about my people.

Black Panther
It's kinetic
says my father
and that's fantastic!

Black Panther
Is purposeful
Well done Mr director,
That's wonderful!

Black Panther
A Marvel movie
The hero, a brother
Brilliant in my view!

Black Panther
shows why representation
and identity was a factor
In the Wakanda nation.

Black Panther
I think Loving it
will be far better
Than hating it.

Black Panther
Is not about the Black race
But a serious matter
about our own place.


©️IB-Poetry
2/22/2018

A MacBook
A yellow notebook
Few old notepads
A winter jacket with shoulder pads
Many unfinished manuscripts
Few badly written comic scripts
Couple of pencils
A pack of pain pills
A Rocking chair
My fishing gear
Few hooks
Many books
A headphone
One smartphone.

©️IB-Poetry
2/21/2018

Verse 1:
I want to take you to a paradise
where everything is just cool and nice
Come take the journey in my spaceship
That I built using the components of friendship.

refrain:
Come with me, come with me
Come with me to a brand new world
Come with me, come with me
Come and become my all in all.

Come with me, come with me
Come slice like a Samurai's sword
Come with me, come with me
Come with me, come help me stand tall.

Verse 2:
Come let me take you on a long romantic holiday
Come with me and help me write the melody
To the love song that we'll sing on our honeymoon
Come let's soar beyond the stars and the moon.

©️IB-Poetry
2/21/2018

Upside down she hangs
from the stainless steel pole
She moves as her legs swings
Holding firm as she plays her role
Cat calls from ***** men echoes
From the lighted dance floor
She danced in high heel shoes
Often looking through the door.

She was half naked and she knew
That was her fate as a pole dancer
She felt ashamed, for she was new
She had no rights as a *** worker
A job assigned her by the smugglers
Tired, She often thought of the end
How could she escape her handlers
They had to do this every weekend.

Somebody threw her an old dollar bill
Undulating her hips, she tried to go low
One man touched her against her will
She flinched and gave him a big blow
This brought more jeers from the men
The music stopped, in came her handler
He seemed angry and slapped a woman.

The echoes, her high heel shoe squeaks
Then the music suddenly pauses for the show
It starts with the pimpish boss and the geeks
Suddenly I began to wonder to myself, how?
How did I unwillingly become a *** slave
Can somebody tell me where I live?
Why have not a soul to tell me to be brave
Tell me, do everything you can to keep alive.

Roll calls from the pimpish boss of bosses
I was born free but now I was a *** slave,
Who is to be held accountable for the abuses?
I need freedom, I need to say bye and wave.
Upside down, for many hours I would  hang
From the steen of the stainless steel pole
Making sinful moves, making my legs swing
Holding firm to dear life as I played my role.

How did I become an object of pleasure
Can somebody kindly answer my questions?
Why have I not a soul to help me find closer
To tell me, sister, there are better options!
How soon did society forget to fight for me too
Can somebody please hola at the government,
Tell them I am a woman, not an animal in the zoo
Make a plea against *** slavery, just a statement!

Now is the time to question *** slavery
Can somebody tell my mama to keep fighting
Have not a father to free me from my misery?
Beyond my will somebody sold me, I'm missing.


©️IB-Poetry
2/21/2018







'

Every day I walked past the graveyard
on my way to the supermarket.
I had a premonition that those laying there
were watching me or wondering,
who is he, what is he doing in our place?
Meanwhile, I too had multiple questions
of my own ''who are they, what happened
to them during their times?
Do they know
that the world has become a global village
and we going LIVE nowadays,
courtesy of the internet?
As I continued my journey to or from home
each day thinking of those people,
who once walked this earth before us, wondering
what their lives were back then.
Back when there was no FB
or social network to supplement
their times and enhance the social propinquity those days.

IB-Poetry
2/20/2018



.

Intense pain that precedes death
Too much suffering on this earth
Why do we have to go through this,
Is this what the end of everything is?

I rather die than go through all this
but yet again I rather live than die
If I die today I'll be gone and be missed
That's when my deeds will be praised.


©️IB-Poetry
2/20/2018

Love and knowledge  
are disseminated using the same principles;
The latter is obtained by reading, research or college
The former can be measured using many variables.

Impact people with the former,
and it will surely be passed on.
Show or treat people with the latter,
they too will spread it like roll on.

©️IB-Poetry
2/20/2018

I woke up and the sun is shining,
majestically emitting its golden glow.
In spite of this, it's a cold Scandinavian morning
and boy, the sun is putting up a real show.

So what's really going on here I asked,
why am I not yet sweating profusely?
Why am I not yet drenched in sweat and sunbaked,
Or is the arid heat being turned on slowly?

By birth, I was born a Liberian, a true African,
my umbilical cord was buried near the Equator.
My nationality is Norwegian, a Scandinavian
By virtue of the winter, I always feel like a visitor.

The African sun would shine until we hide or run
just to avoid the scorching heat and humidity.
The Scandinavian sun I feel shines and people have fun,
A factor to make me question the sun's true nationality.

So is it the same sun that rises at about 5 am in Ghana,
The one that shines brightly on the vaults of the Ashanti gold?
If it's the sun worshiped by Ancient Egypt, of the sun god Akana,
So why doesn't it burn away the snow and the extreme cold?

©️IB-Poetry
2/20/2018

I don't know how this came to be
But it just occurred to me
This dude messed a lot up.
Who made that day the Worldcup
Set aside for all lovers?
The rose flower bearers
Who uses Valentine day
To manipulate and play
Games and do shenanigans
As soon as the day begins.
How did Valentine do this?
For many, it's a day of crisis
Every day is a day for love
As mandated from above.

I, therefore, declare him dead
I wish last week was his last deed
I hope he has a heart attack and dies.
His day, essentially all a bunch of lies
Meant to discredit everyday lovers.
Those dedicated and working like bulldozers
Day in and day out to keep loving
Until this fool, Valentine returns smiling
With a few roses acting like a Casanova
Who has the benediction of love from Jehova?


©️ IB-Poetry
2/20/2018

I know where I want to be in five years,
but I really don't know how to get there.
Though I have uncertainties and fears,
as to how to start, when to start and where,
but I'm pretty sure If I do it like I did
five years ago and five years before that.
When I trusted God to guide me through it.
Encompassed by faith, I just hung on like a bat,
For One year, one month, one week, one day,
One hour, one minute, one second, at a time.
I held on through the storms, I held on all the way,
Emboldened by faith, I took a leap that got me home.

©️IB-Poetry
2/19/2018

You asked for me once
I wasn't around.
You asked twice
He's out, said Mr. Brown.

What do you want?
He asked you,
What do I want?
In fact, who are you?

I'm the landlord, he said.
Are you from out of town?
What, are you afraid?
No, you're dressed like a clown!

Haha you giggled
Are you sound?
Again you laughed as if tickled
Proof that you were a clown.

IB-Poetry
2/19/2018

Mid-February is not like January
There's always so much going on
Yet she seems to be in no hurry
Oh, I wish she'll soon be gone.

Mid-February is such a slow journey.
I can't wait to see the face of March,
At which time it will be a bit sunny,
I can casually dress and go to church.

February is like that crazy *** friend
Who's always a part of your daily plans?
Though he's always giving a helping hand,
He'll litter your place with empty beer cans.

February has always been a unique story
That I've never wished to narrate all alone.
So be it, if I may, but I'll not sit and worry,
But wait on March in the comfort of my home.

IB-Poetry©️
2/19/2018

High up above our war-torn city,
On Snapper hills sit the old lighthouse.
For years in storms, she did her duty
Rain or shine without any kind of excuse.

High above our beautiful sandy shores,
Just like a good mother, she watches
not only over vessels but those
Who lost hopes and suffered all kinds of damages.

The light she flashes has for years,
Served as a perpetual beacon of hope
For those with bad memories and fears,
those traumatized by wars who still can't live and cope.

High above Monrovia, she stands
Watching the resilient people below
Survivors of the deadly Ebola strands
Who once refused to bow their heads low.

High above she sits, beyond the Montserrado basin.
At night her light remains the star of the city,
That has endured moaning and crying,
A city that has seen the good, the bad and the ugly.

The old lighthouse still stands there today,
directing maritime traffic at night
and flashing light over our beloved city
That for years witnessed a ****** and senseless fight.

IB-Poetry©️
2/19/2018

Why is it a challenge now to stay alive
Than it's easier going on FB Live?
Why do millions go to bed very hungry
and millions wake up every day angry?

What kinda world have we invented?
I'm sure this isn't the one God created,
Weren't we to inherit it, multiply and prosper?
Yet the poor cry themselves to bed in a whisper!

Where is the love, where is humanity,
Why can't we live in peace and harmony?
I'm pretty sure it isn't what Dr. King died for,
Why is there still a gap between the rich and poor?

So who is the noble amongst thee, is it the poor farmer,
Or is it the politician and filthy rich banker?
When will we admit that it's all about profits and gains,
That the poor will live, dwindle and die in misery and pains?

So why is the pastor alone benefiting from prosperity Gospel,
Why can't the congregation cease taking their money to the pulpit?
Why are these people living like kings and fly private jets
and the congregation crawling behind them like pets?

Why are there so many evil things happening in this world,
When will you finally come to save us, Lord?
When will thy kingdom finally come,
Like a king in the clouds to finally take us home?

IB-Poetry
2/15/2018

Any man desirous of finding gold
Should have to search in faraway places.
On the journey, he must try to hold
A gun ready before the gold surfaces.

For ants, he'll need a branch of any poisonous plant  
He has to be aware of the slim chances of dying,
Either at the hands of another man than the bite from a fire ant,
Which causes excruciating pains that'll leave him crying.

IB-Poetry
2/15/2018

I see not much through my mind eyes
What I see are dull and blurry images
Some are formless  and impossible to analyze
However  beyond what my ESP manages,
I mostly see alphabets and words on crutches
Badly in need of formation and rearrangement
Literary adoption and eventual placement.

I see not much through my mind eyes
I see tired vocabularies in need of exercise.
Some are so downtrodden and hopeless
I had to squint to gain my optical sharpness.
The nature of what I see is more metaphysical
So I avow to spit poetry that is real and actual.

IB-Poetry
2/17/2018

Legend has it that Delilah was very beautiful
Yet her continence and deeds were all evil.
And even though Sampson wasn't very careful,
I think the power of love made him an anvil.

Delilah's pseudo-love was certainly deceitful
Maybe love chooses its own victims or preys.
Especially if the woman involved is beautiful
A factor that enhances the power of love always.

Did the power of love overwhelmed Sampson?
No, he was the victim of a contagious disease
That has no cure but when given a reason,
It will just invade your thoughts and increase.

Love is blind and it made Sampson very blind
Courtesy of the overwhelming power of love
It failed him and never treated him kind
Which leaves us an amorous mystery to solve.

Delilah, Sampson's love, was a vindictive *****
Yet his love for this woman was real and deep.
In her, he saw a very pretty woman, not a witch
Oh Man up strong man, giants don't ever weep!

Delilah the woman you Love was truly wicked
Do you clearly See what she did to you, Simpson?
Know ye that to trust a woman is to be stupid
It is my hope that you have learned your lesson.

IB-Poetry©️
2/15/2018

I can sit and write a love story
or a very nice piece of poetry
about a girl who was so beautiful  
and make it sound wonderful.
I can write about her attractiveness
maybe say something about the softness
of her satin-like skin and kissable lips.
I can describe how she undulates her hips
When she sways to the beat of the music
and make moves looks seamless and classic.
I can describe her strides as she rocks the beat,
Leaping like a ballerina in uncontrollable heat.
I have the option to call her a sinful seductress
Or take my time to paint her as a temptress.
.......all because I'm a poet.

IB-Poetry
2/15/2018

What's a house without few of its doors
and a community without neighbors?
How can  faith work without belief,
and how will we discover comfort without grief?
How can one Succeed without setbacks,
And what's a perfect body without six packs?
What is a heart without a beat,
How could it accomplish such feat?
What's the sky without stars
or the drunker without the bars?
What's the moon without the night,
or the sun without the light?
What's a woman's dressing room without a mirror,
Wouldn't that be a big design error?
What's a top model without a catwalk,
Where will she go to exhibit clothes and walk?
How can a child be born without a mother
and how can it be called a sister without a brother?
How can cars go without their engines,
how could they even be built without machines?
How can there be so many pastors
If there weren't as many sinners?
How can a politician help his people
He can never if he's not from the struggle.
How can he be popular in the hood,
if the people can not even afford their food?
How can there be a studio without a technician,
And how can you even record without a musician?
How can you be a poet if you don't write poetry
or be responsible for writing a single story?
What kinda poem have I written today,
What kinda questions are these by the way?


IB-Poetry©️
2/15/2018

Smile even if you have no reason
for sadness is a dark little prison
That covers us with complete darkness
Which prevents us from experiencing happiness.

Smile if your day is marred by challenges
And your trials are divided into stages
A smile is the sign of the abundance of gladness.
So do it as a token of your gratefulness

Smile even if you're without dimes
For it's the best time that faith shines.
Do it knowing that all will be alright
For against sadness smile is a big fight.

Smile even though you've hit the pavement
For it's another form of acknowledgment
Of the value of your unique staying power.
Which will sustain you beyond the final hour.

Smile for love, smile for life and smile for today
Smile for the blessing to see this wonderful day.
Do it even though you're broken and hurt inside,
Smile for Jehova Jarra is right there by your side.

IB-Poetry©️
2/14/2018

Early one morning
He who was down said
I shall do something
About life and my bread.

Early one morning
He who has a vision
Stood up and started working
On plans to accomplish his mission.

Early one Moning
The oppressed decided to resist
For them, freedom was everything
And so they set out to protest.

Everything begins in the morning
Everything depends on your decision
You either do something or nothing
So wake up this morning and take action.

IB-Poetry
2/13/2018

Dear lover,
I think it's over!
I want you to know
That as of now,
Our relationship
Is now a mere friendship.

With tears in my eyes,
I have returned the keys.
I'm tired of your lies
And the midnight cries.
The way you played me
Like a kinda game
Everyday cheating,
This isn't working!
The constant shame
You keep bringing me.
All the extra side chicks
And the karate kicks.

Because you treat me bad
I feel Sad
Next, I sit and worry
Next, you say sorry
Comes the cruises,
Next the bruises
Right after that,
It's a repeat.

Dear Lover
The minute you started acting like a boxer,
Bringing me constant pains
And giving me migraines,
I decided to leave you right away
And without hesitation, leave you today.
I hate you so much right now
So I want you to know
This is it,
The perfect time to quit
So I write this letter
To let you know it's over!

IB-Poetry
2/13/2018

New day
Wake up  
feel the sunshine
go out
make today thine.

New day
Wake your soul up
burst out
Slay beyond time.

New day
Rise up
Wake up from your slumbers
Say today is mine

New day
Speak up
Say get lost uncertainty
Say hello to tomorrow.

New day
own it
kick out yesterday
go beyond your dream.

IB-Poetry©️
2/11/2018

The acquisition of the prayer blunt
Is the pathway to some solution
A puffed takes you up the mount
Another brings out the benediction.
After a while, you begin to wonder
If things fell below your expectation
Not until you laughed at some blunder,
And start to fall short of the rotation.
Then it'll dawn on you that the blunt
Was truly the source of your happiness,
And that all your worries were now fun
Unbeknownst to you, your royal highness
Is now officially looking down from space.
Where you've been for a little while now
Occupying a throne in that special place.
Where your mood put out a cool green show
Where your revamped taste buds discovered
How good everything suddenly tastes.
A place where your hidden senses gets uncovered
And stump out the clip of your **** beneath the shades.

IB-Poetry
2/11/2018

They say one man's inspiration
Is another man's distraction
Therefore call my perception
Another man's imagination.
Poetry for me is a water fountain
Yet another man's mountain
I talk to Maya Angelou in my dream
And lick words like ice cream
Many days, when I sleep at night
I know this doesn't sound right
I do it twice a day, every Sunday
Than again twice a day on Monday
This is an unusual association
That some will call an abomination.

Let me be, let the demon do as it pleases
This is not fetal, not like other diseases
This my life, my calling, and my power
Let the poetic demons come at any hour
Let them plant the seeds of poetry in me.
Maybe they'll bare stardom and fame.
Maybe this will finally take me on that Safari
Riding side by side with President Buhari.
Maybe I will be one lucky writer
Fortunate to do business with the banker,
All this is just my imagination
So don't take it into consideration.

IB-Poetry©️
2/10/2018