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44.0k · Jan 2018
Darkroom Of My Mind
Ivan Brooks Sr Jan 2018
The world's gone mad but my mind is made up.
Time to let ya'll into the darkroom of my mind,
A place where I'm the referee of a poetic world cup.
This is where I am creative even though I'm blind
Don't get me wrong I am not leaving from town.
No more radio or TV saturated with all the sad news,
I have got enough breaking news of my very own...
Breaking to me each and every moment as it brews.
Come and meet the hard drive of my creative doom,
That contains my beautiful and liberated mind.
Welcome to my one bright side I call my darkroom,
It's a place that's so special, I reckon it's one of a kind.

You have to know that I always act blind but I see.
In my mind, I can walk stack naked and levitate.
My mind is where I remain totally black and free.
Come join me set my poetic dial and help me activate,
The code that will outshine any power on this earth.
My mind is where I live and where nobody has access,
Here I can run a poetic marathon without taking a breath,
Call it my playground and intellectual fortress.

My mind is deep, a place of absolute calm and refuge,
Somewhere I will always see as the final frontier.
It is dangerous and toxic like a nuclear centrifuge.
In there, I am all alert and vigilant like a soldier.
My mind is a darkroom where I give birth to new ideas.
It is a vessel and place in which I do magic with letters.
It is my holy land of thoughts, my own creative Judea,
Where each idea is sacred and light as bird feathers.

Welcome to the epicenter of my creative mind.
This is where I turn letters into spoken words
A front line of creativity where no one leaves behind.
Come and see where all words become useful swords.
My mind produces powerful words like some light beams...
Courageous and powerful words for extra motivation.
Spoken Words that will light up people's faded dreams.
Now you know that up in my mind are no limitation,
There exists an enormous capacity of time and space.
Welcome one, welcome all to the darkroom of my mind
Take a seat and be calm, be quiet this is my place
For this here is my personal creative post of command.



www.poemhunter.com/IvanBrookssr
#Vanguard-poetry23
#IvanBrookspoetry
twitter @ivanclappers
@Bassapoet
My mind is the final frontier..the bright side I call my darkroom where I process loose letters into spoken words.
31.3k · Aug 2018
African Woman
Ivan Brooks Sr Aug 2018
African woman
Mother of civilization.
Oh beautiful woman,
Thou are beyond description.

African woman
Queen of the people of Mamba.
Jambo to all those in heaven
Bless you too my dear mama.

African woman
Royal Nubian Queen.
The backbone of her man
You'll do anything to help him win.

Single Black woman
Made of broken pieces
You're the breadwinner,Superwoman.
You're the symbol of strength in all places.

African woman
Daughter of Eve's.
Thou are God's true specimen,
And the apple of his eyes.

Black woman
Daughter of Africa.
Blueprint of a **** woman,
Dark hue of coffee arabica.

African woman
Mother of humanity
Chieftess of ancient Nyngoman,
Mama Africa's bounty.

African woman
My Mandingo bride.
First woman of Africa's Eden
Center of God's black tribe.

Nigerian woman
My Yoruba Queen.
Envied by the women of Oman,
Cafe ou lair, cream of Africa's cream!

Warrior woman,
Queen of Wakanda.
Come and flip your wand,
Find the soul of Sarafina.

Curvy woman
In your womb lies Africa's future.
My Lormah woman
Oyobuays marvels at your structure.

Beautiful woman,
Perpetual envy of the silicon woman.
Pride of the Black man,
The essence of a real woman.

Indigo Woman
Lillies of the African plains.
Thou are Eve of the African Eden,
Best of the portraits that nature paints.

Voluptous woman,
Full, thick natural lips.
Real assert of the Black woman,
Nature gets aroused by your hips.

Ellen Sirleaf, today's woman,
Africa's first female president.
A Liberian woman,
Loved and revered wherever she went.

Smile ,Gambian woman,
You're daughter of Sarakunda.
Roots of the Black American woman,
Captives of the kanda Bolinga.

South African woman
Mariam Makeba
Sang for freedom and fought like a man
You were truly Soweto's finest Deva.

Dark ebony woman,
You are red, yellow and green.
Hanmatan wind stops at your command,
Born to slay and be seen.

African woman
Thou are the only reason
God put Adam in a coma.
Your perpetual beauty transcends time and Season.

African woman,
Under your cleavage, the Nile flows
And between your fingers, golden threads are woven,
You are the reason Beyonce glows.

Harriet Tubman, brave woman
Smuggled slaves underground.
She was a freed Black slave woman,
Who avowed to leave no soul behind.

Creative woman
Maya Angelou, gifted poetess.
Famous writer and a Black woman
Will be remembered for her poetic prowess.

Native African woman,
Africa's limestone and cement.
A mother, a wife, virtuous woman,
Lioness and the spine of the continent.

Liberian woman
Roots of my poetry, you gave me life
You are every woman.
Your edges are sharper than the Sumarais knife.



#IvanBrookspoetry©
13/8/2018
For mama and all the black Queens.
16.9k · Aug 2018
Yesterday
Ivan Brooks Sr Aug 2018
We are all here today
Courtesy of yesterday.
So fear not tomorrow,
It's a gift from God to borrow.

Take a look at everything,
Do you miss anything?
Everything, everyone here today,
Began their journies yesterday.
  
Fear not what tomorrow brings,
It could be some good or bad things.
Things allowed by yesterday
Just to manifest themselves today.

Yesterday is the same as today,
It's just a day that has passed away.
Though it takes a part of us with it,
Tomorrow is what we all await.

©IvanBrooksPoetry
21/8/2018
Fear not yesterday, its a broken arrow.
9.5k · Jul 2018
The Mystery Of Love
Ivan Brooks Sr Jul 2018
Love is a blind *****
And a wicked witch.
She's like a bill collector
And a heartbreaker.

Love is a light
Sometimes she's bright,
Sometimes she's dangerous
And very mysterious.

Love is contentious
Like a strange virus,
She kills at times
At times, she saves.

What's this phenomenon
That moves like the moon?
Love eludes some people
And for her, some will struggle.

To some, she's a white dove
Sent for them from above.
To those not lucky like us,
Love is just like a bad curse.

Love is the bedrock of life
Yet she hurts like a knife.
To few, she works like a lawn mower
And too few she's a lawn blower.

Love to some is like a quick shower
In no time it's all over.
The mystery of love
Is the tale of the black dove.

Love's seed was planted in Heaven
And blossomed in the garden of Eden
A long time ago on this earth,
It was the caveat for Romeo's death.

#IvanBrooksPoetry©
7/22/2018
Love is a long story.
9.1k · Jan 2018
I Made It
Ivan Brooks Sr Jan 2018
I made it...
Though I haven't much of what it takes.
I certainly saw some pretty dark days
Though I have had my fair share of heartbreaks,
The Lord has blessed me in many ways.

I  made it...
Even though I've waddled in emptiness
And had my share of disappointments
And my equal share of Loneliness
I have also had so many blessed moments.

I Made It...
Though  I had my share of sorrow
Despite all this and through it all,
God kept me here to see tomorrow
I know by grace I will not fall.

I Made it...
Even though I made it without any money
And have had my share of Troubles,
I know my joy will come in the morning
For my meals will be served on many tables.

I made it!
I made it..against all odds, in spite of all, I'm grateful to God for life and providence.
9.1k · Jan 2018
The Fence Dweller
Ivan Brooks Sr Jan 2018
Before all of this, even after all of this, I will forever be a patriot.
Before the poet in me matured and I started talking like a parrot,
The dogs of war barked and I climbed exile's fence on my own
And there I have dwelled, with nothing tangible to bring me down.

I have been on this fence so long and I will remain there forever!
Especially since the premature child is still in the incubator.
From this vantage point, I have learned never to trust any politician
I've always looked at them with mistrust, disdain, and suspicion,

Before all of this  and before I ran and climbed the exile fence,
I was once mercilessly flogged, dragged and made to dance
By drugged up and coerced child soldiers with a rubber cable
They tied and spread me like a dog on the market table
I watched as innocent people were killed with a rusty knife
There, I vowed to become a fence dweller for the rest of my life!

I've been a patriot all my life but I have done it from here..safer.
From here I have seen blood spilled, hearts broken, hopes dashed,
progresses stalled, mullions embezzled, promises broken, lies told
people changed, games played, party surfed, interests prioritized.
And from this vantage point, I have learned never ever to trust any politician
I have always been right...though I have looked on with disdain, suspicion,
and operated with caution but through it all, I have remained a true patriot and a fence dweller.

.✍️©️✍️IvanBrooksPoetry.✍️©️✍️
''Fence dweller'' was a phrase I coined in justification of my neutrality and abstinence from politics in my homeland, Liberia.This piece encapsulates a fringe of the story of the ****** civil war, carnage and horrible things that we saw and had to endure as a people and nation.
Ivan Brooks Sr Feb 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
For 17 years brothers fought and killed each other...she just stood and watch, unable to do a thing.
8.0k · Aug 2018
Poetry Of Languages I Speak
Ivan Brooks Sr Aug 2018
I speak the language of God
I speak Alleluyah and Amen!
I speak a perfect spoken word,
The language of poets and gifted men.

I speak fluent Norwegian
The language of the Norsk.
I was born a Liberian.
That took time and hard work.

I speak sound French
The language of French Guinea.
I speak it whenever I pray in church,
God blessed me there as a refugee.

I speak the English Language,
The universal language of business.
Wall Street used it to do damage,
Damages that caused the financial crisis.

I speak the hustle language,
The one adopted by hustlers.
This language I have used to engage,
All my challenges and troubles.

I speak a special creative language
The one spoken by writers and poets.
This language is so unique,
That it has produced many laureates.


#IvanBrooksPoetry©
1/8/2018
This is a special day ,because I used two languages to write it..I used the creative language and English.
Ivan Brooks Sr Mar 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
A dream can give a poor peasant a chance to be with a beautiful woman, in a pristine environment, living a life of privilege.
6.9k · Aug 2018
The Imperfection Of Poetry
Ivan Brooks Sr Aug 2018
Poetry is a blank canvas
From the start, you'll be nervous.
Remember, it's about creativity,
And styles and individuality.

Let your inner voice paint
Try your best even if you can't.
Some will be like a blurry picture
And some will even lack structure.

Some will turn up so beautiful
And some will be very wonderful.
Just choose the right color line
And let your muse shine.

Talk to it like a pretty lady
Even if it appears ugly.
Make each and every line thine,
Make it slay beyond the borderline.

Appreciate it in the morning,
Worship it in the evening.
Do it daily or do it hourly,
Do it weekly or do it monthly.

Water it like a flower
Give your words power.
Roll it like Snoop does his joints,
And smoke it like weekend's blunts.


©IvanBrooksPoetry
23/8/2018
Whatever you write as poetry, be it likable or acceptable..it's yours.
6.6k · Jul 2018
How Poetry Found Me.
Ivan Brooks Sr Jul 2018
I think Poetry found me very early,
From somewhere in mama's womb.
Hooked to her umbilical cord firmly.
I heard something like a tiny bomb.
It was the sound of the talking drum,
Heralding the arrival of another grio.
So with gratitude, I said thanks mom,
And to the world, I said a very big hello.
Of course, I used the language of babies,
I cried and breathed in my very first air.
This was my first sight of the ladies
They smiled as they washed my hair.

My very first poem was a sad prayer.
It was written when I was very hungry
I was hopeless, I had only one dollar,
And no real prospect of ever making it.
So I took out my old used notepad,
UnfortunateIy, I had no pen to write with.
I wrote with a charcoal found in the yard,
And I wrote many long lines on my wall.
I wrote everything I had to tell God
Sadly, I couldn't write them all.
I cried in anguish to the Lord,
Asking If He had forgotten me.
Of Course, I got no immediate answer,
But years later my answer came.
It came in the form of a letter.
Addressed to me, ten years later
It came later but it felt better,
Instantly my struggle was all over!

The first love letter I wrote was poetry,
It was childish, unstructured and ugly.
It was written to a girl, she was pretty,
She read it and smiled, I wasn't so lucky.
Crushed, yet I pretended to be strong
I walked away but ran all the way home.
I cried in anguish and wrote a love song.
The lines were very sad, I felt all alone.
But I knew it was my first real rejection.
So I tried writing again, this time to me.
I was very focused, I was on a mission.
Finally, it finished and I wrote my name.
Unfortunately, the answer was the same,
There and then I knew I had no game,
So I reconciled and just took the blame.
Fast forward,and many years later,
I found the subject of my love letter.
I wrote a note to her on messenger.
I was optimistic because I wrote better.
I was emboldened by my poetic power.
Once again,the reply came to me later,
This time it was a resounding yes!
It felt so wonderful, thanks to poetry
And the universe I didn't make a mess.

  #IvanBrooksPoetry©
7/22/2018
Some people will discovery poetry
And poetry will find a few.
6.4k · Feb 2018
The Deconstruction Of Love
Ivan Brooks Sr Feb 2018
What's this phenomenon called love,
That remains a puzzle no one can solve?
Love is the caveat for many broken hearts,
And the byword for many gracious acts.
Love has the characteristics of a witch
And the coldness of a vindictive *****!

Love, the greatest of human emotions
Has many different variations.
The good book talks about agape love,
And Beyonce sings about drunken love.
Its nature nobody really understands
Yet men have worked with their hands and paid bride prices with cows.
Some have proposed to women at the super bowls.
And on talk shows, jumped on couches
leaving a few to walk on crutches.

Nobody knows love's true colors.
Yet many men have spent top dollars
To buy their women cars as gifts.
And later on, end up begging for lifts.
For love, Romeo committed suicide
And Juliet died right by his side.

Love is very irresistible
And unpredictable.
Love has many dimensions
and many complications.
For love, many people have died
And much more has lied.
For love, knots have been tied
many bank accounts emptied,
For love, wars have been fought
And many Diamond rings bought.

Love is a wrecking ball
I call it an emotional hall.
For love, tears have been shed
by many in their lonely beds.
Love is a mystery
But the reality in my poetry.
It's a kinda game in most men lives,
A game played behind their wives.

So what do we know about love?
Is it peaceful as caged doves
Or dangerous as wild wolves?
Is it contagious as a disease,
Or rumpled as a crease?
Is it blind like brother Steve,
Or silent as a grave?
Is it deep like the ocean,
and beautiful like Heaven?
Love can at times be as cold as ice
And at times, twice as nice!

IvanBrooksPoetry©️
21/8/2018
Love has many definitions....what's yours?
6.0k · Nov 2018
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.

IB-Poetry©
26/11/2018
Just invade we wiped out someday,this is my letter to the future.
5.7k · Aug 2018
Reasons I woke Up
Ivan Brooks Sr Aug 2018
I woke up very happy
This joy isn't for me alone,
But for nearly everybody
Who calls this world home.

I woke up energized
To continue my journey
For me and those marginalized
For the poor who has no money.

I woke up determined
To continue with the hustle
My exuberance remains untamed
In spite of my personal struggle.

I woke up feeling blessed
For dear life and its woes.
I, yesterday was depressed
Today I care less about what life does.

I woke up very pumped
Determined to do better.
Yesterday I erred and stumbled,
Excellence today is what I'm after.

I woke up feeling rejuvenated
To change the poetic narratives
So I remain resolute and obligated
Hoping my poetry will impact lives.

©IvanBrooksPoetry
22/8/2018
This came from nowhere...maybe I woke up for this.
5.6k · Feb 2018
I'm Blessed
Ivan Brooks Sr Feb 2018
I'm blessed to be alive.
One of the chosen few
That'll see the sunrise
And feel the early dew.

I'm blessed to be alive
Living on his promise
With my joy in overdrive,
He cancels my demise.

I'm blessed to be alive
Covered by divine grace
Favor into which I dive
With smiles on my face.

I'm blessed to be alive
All healthy, happy and fit
Comes trials, I'll survive
By his grace, I'll make it.


©️IB-Poetry
2/27/2018
I'm blessed, nothing else matters.
5.5k · Aug 2018
Blessed Assurance
Ivan Brooks Sr Aug 2018
If I can't stand and say something
About injustice, hunger and poverty,
I can at least do one special thing,
I can write a very beautiful poetry.

If I can't fight modern-day slavery,
I can write and bring awareness.
My pen is like a mighty artillery
That can help stop this wickedness.

If my frame is short for me to be seen,
My mind is loud enough to be heard.
It can take me places I've never been
And give me a shelter and my bread.

If I don't have fine clothes and jewelry,
I have deep wisdom and intelligence.
That enables me to write good poetry
Capable of taking me out of decadence.

If I don't have fine cars and houses,
I have from Jah a blessed assurance.
And peace inaccessible by noises,
So I say thanks for life and Providence.

©IvanBrooksPoetry
22/8/2018
This is one of those special pieces I can't really say much about..All i say is a big thanks to the universe for the inspiration.
5.3k · Jan 2018
Distorted Peace
Ivan Brooks Sr Jan 2018
The world's on fire, peace is extinct
Look how fragile peaceful minds can get
All hostile minds are having a ball right now.
It's like peace got embellished in chaos.
Where's peace at, what happened to her?
Regional, global local, peace is in short supply.
This is the renaissance of a new world order
Where partial peace coexists with total chaos
People only search Google for mostly facts
Not for solutions to some distorted peace

What is peace then, how can it be?
Just a routine rhetorical question
Coming from the disturbed mind in me
Listen, One-minute partial peace
Bang, another minute total chaos!
Nowadays, Instability everywhere is commonplace
As unscripted hate rhetoric freely echos,
From jihadic podiums to confused minds.
The conspicuous birthplace of premeditated evil.
The mind, soft spots of those totally confused
Call it the hotspots and playground for the devil.
I, the skeptic, to say the very least,
See this quiet storm as a distorted peace!

twitter @ivaclappers
Peace is going extinct ..
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
12/9/2018
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 impunity...it'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!
Ivan Brooks Sr Mar 2018
My complex brain keeps me thinking deeply
For hours it keeps spitting **** perpetually.
I think outside the box and write always,
look at things in 3D and cross the streets sideways.

This is the universe at work in another way.
Maybe I'm being rewarded, if I may,
For the countless hours put into thinking
About a fraction of mankind's problems.
And the thoughts about seeking answers to questions,
That will someday bring a resolution to our problems,
For the universal betterment and the good of mankind.
Maybe I'm a product of some social and scientific
Or intellectual experiments or the combination of all three.

All that was yesterday, when I was something else
If I was ever made a saint then for my past good deeds,
I have no recollection of what transpired down those dark Corridors of the part of the multiverse I came from.
So, if I ever did some positive things in my past life,
Kudos to that mass or ball of energy I once was.

Today, maybe I'm just one idiot with a laptop
Who has time to write things some people may deem
obnoxious, senseless and otherwise incomprehensible?
Maybe I'm an outlet for deep thoughts
And a vessel of wisdom for some people.
Through perseverance and the little time, I have on hand,
I have helped save lotta folks some precious time
In coming to acknowledge the reality of our time.
Thus, making it easier for them to see,
That things are messed up and that despite this,
hope looms!
If this is not a poem, it ends with a line that says hope looms.
3.8k · Feb 2018
LeBron's Iconic Fade away
Ivan Brooks Sr Feb 2018
A shout out to LeBron
For a big night in Akron
A welcome win for the Cavaliers
Tonight against the TimberWolves.

Cavs finally ended the drought
Via the energy they brought.
Coach Tyronn Lue drew up a game plan
That finally brought a win to the land.

Both teams put up a spectacular show
Leaving the erratic Cavs fans like wow!
The combined 3s of forty was historic,
Shot by both teams was really fantastic!

Tonight LeBron played like a real GOAT!
Playing great basketball from all over the court!
The big block on Butler is not what this is about,
But the clutched game winner fadeaway he shot!

IBPoetry
2/8/2018
The King was on top of his game tonight.The one hand block over Butler and the buzzer-beating fade away over him again to win the game was everything!
3.6k · Aug 2018
The Power Of Dreams
Ivan Brooks Sr Aug 2018
A dream can give a poor peasant a chance to be with a beautiful woman, in a pristine environment,
living a life of privilege.
A dream can make him have a bowl of royal ice cream on a hot summer day.
A dream can make her wealthy dad bless their marriage.
A dream can change a peasant's life.

Dreams can come true
Only if you believe.
A dream can transform the life of a homeless child.There can be love, care a warm bed and full bellie
and protection.

A dream can make a Baptist Preacher
See a bright future of his country.
A country polarized by racial segregation and social divides, injustice inequality.
A dream in which his children won't be judged
by their skin colors, rather by the contents of their characters.

©IvanBrooksPoetry
21/8/2018
Anything can be done in a dream...everything is possible in ones dream
3.4k · Jul 2018
When A Poet Or Poetess Dies
Ivan Brooks Sr Jul 2018
When a published poet dies,
A shooting star falls.
The universe cries
And rainbows hugs waterfalls.

When an old poet dies,
A new poet is born.
Nature lights up a million fireflies,
And a ship gives a tot on its horn.

When a young poet dies,
A Crack appears in a crystal ball.
A Fountain pen dries,
And a sad poem appears on a wall.

When an old poetess dies,
For a while the wind will cease.
Petals will fall from Lillies,
And disappear without a trace.

When a great poetess dies,
Fallen poets observe silence.
The men adorn black bow ties,
And the ladies dress in elegance.

When any poet dies,
The world loses a bright mind.
Shakespeare appears across the skies,
Waving to those of us left behind.

When a poor poet dies,
Nothing at all happens.
The world goes about its duties
He goes on to rest with other legends.


#IvanBrooksPoetry
29/7/2018
A poet dies but he's not done..his words lives on.
3.2k · Jan 2018
Blood Diamond Pit
Ivan Brooks Sr Jan 2018
Why is little Musa working in these diamond dirt pits,
Digging from sunset to sundown
Where are the laws that protect children 's rights,
Why is he left unsupervised working on his own?
Musa
Struggled from early childhood with all his strengths
Now he can hardly stand because of damaged vertebrates
To know the number of free hours he worked, do the maths
Yet some lucky girl somewhere celebrates.
So
How can he labor as a slave when he's just a boy?
How can Musa smile when he has no joy?
How can he run when he has no legs,
Who will speak for him knowing he has no voice?
so
How can the opportunity box be opened without the keys
How can the world do nothing about his demise,
Especially when to stay alive he has to work for food?
How can he locate hope if he can't see,
How can celebrities adorn diamonds with bad blood,
How can this possibly be?
So
If I can lend my pen to help every child slave working,
Then my life on earth is worth living.




✍️#IvanBrookspoetry©️✍️
We all have a moral obligation to stop child slavery.
3.1k · Aug 2018
Adversal
Ivan Brooks Sr Aug 2018
There are bloggers and selfie-takers,
Know the difference.
There are noisemakers and peacemakers,
I can show you the evidence.
There are admirers and haters.
Be especially mindful.
There are well-wishers and supporters.
Be very careful
The are naysayers and yeasayers
Always be aware. 
There are brothers and brother's keeper,
Always ready to take care.
There are destroyers and fixers,
Separate them.
There are mixers and blenders,
We need them.
There are writers and publishers,
They need each other.

There are readers and proofreader.
Both read for different reasons.
There are bystanders and onlookers.
Both will be watching.
There are movers and shakers,
One of them has the edge.
There are dreams snatches and vision busters,
Be on the lookout.
There are ghost whisperers and Ghostbusters,
Both have connection to a ghost.
There are buyers and sellers,
Each one benefits.
There are singers and there are dancers.
Everyone provides some entertainment.

©IvanBrooksPoetry
21/8/2018
This is proof my brain is badly wired.
3.0k · Aug 2018
Rise ,smile and shine
Ivan Brooks Sr Aug 2018
This is a good morning
Time to rise and shine.
Look, the sun is shining
So go make today thine.

Why aren't you smiling?
Time to rise and shine.
flowers love the morning.
They blossom at this time.

This is time to keep living
Make life and fun intertwine.
Rise and shine, time is going
Shine beyond the borderline.

This is a beautiful morning
Rise like the sun and shine
Go out and hear birds singing
Today could be your last time.


#IvanBrooksPoetry©
12/8/2013
Nobody knows tomorrow..
2.9k · Jul 2018
Poetry Is Like A Tattoo
Ivan Brooks Sr Jul 2018
Poetry is like a tattoo
Stamped on me from birth.
Like a mysterious voodoo,
It's my charm on this earth.

Poetry is like a tattoo
Engraved on my DNA.
Like the diamonds of Mabutu,
It shines from p.m. to the a.m.

Poetry is like a tattoo
It will never be removed.
Like my love for fufu
Not until I'm disemboweled.

Poetry is like a tattoo
Like the Nile and Egypt,
It encompasses what we do
It's life's soundtrack and script.

Poetry is like a tattoo
It can now be lasered.
But in music, like a crescendo,
It can never be chiseled.

#IvanBrooksPoetry©
31/7/2018
Poetry is like a tattoo, I call it my voodoo.
2.8k · Jul 2018
The blind little kitten.
Ivan Brooks Sr Jul 2018
The kitten moved very slowly
She was a motherless lost kitten.
Again and again,she fumbled blindly,
Like everything was hidden.
She searched everywhere
And cried From dawn to dusk
But her mother was nowhere!
She dug into the earth's crust,
And tried to climb the olive tree,
She scaled the neighbor's wall
And wondered where could mom be.
So she began the desperate call;
"Mother,mother,where at thou?
Are you somewhere looking for me,
Are you trying but don't know how?
Mother,you I search but I can't see,
From me the world is hidden!
Why don't I see anything at all?
Mama,mama help for I haven't eaten!"

#IvanBrooksPoetry
7/22/2018
Trying out my imagination.
2.8k · Oct 2018
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.

IB-poetry©
10/10/2018
The great truth doesn't encapsulate everything, it says a few. .
2.6k · Feb 2018
The Nationality Of The Sun
Ivan Brooks Sr Feb 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
The nationality of the sun.. funny what comes out of a poet's imagination!
2.0k · Feb 2018
The Last Grio
Ivan Brooks Sr Feb 2018
I know not from whence my inspirations cometh
I believe I was chosen from the time of my birth.
Alone and undisturbed, I have strange visitation
Embellished with beautiful stories delivered via imagination
Even the mental drought known as writer's block
Goes away the very moment the spirits knock.
Thanks to my late Queen mother who told me stories
And tales of our ancestor's conquest of adversities.
I am the last of the great Grios from my tribe.
The spirits will always be my source of inspiration and guide.
I come alive at night when the entire world sleep,
That's when the best ideas and loose words creep.
These words I process as part of my solemn obligation.
As custodian of Ancient history and its dissemination.
Call me a poet because of spoken word and great poetry
In actuality, I'm the last Grio sent to write our ancient oral history.

IvanBrooksPoetry©️
Grios are traditional historians and custodians of the ancient history of the African peoples spanning the great Sonhay and Malian Empires.These histories were merely and mostly passed down ****** by these Grios.who used songs and drums to teach as they performed....called that spoken word!
Note: All Grios comes only from a tribe of grios.
1.8k · Jan 2018
Mama Africa
Ivan Brooks Sr Jan 2018
I am mama Africa, mother of humanity
My soul flows in all people in all places
I am Queen of Shebah the essence of beauty
You see me in people, people of all races.

I am mama Africa yes, I'm the Ashanti Gold
look at my jet black soul, I am forever young
I am ancient, dark, golden glorious to behold
Akwaba my children, sing me the Ebone song.

I am mama Africa, I gave birth to Mozambique
See all my plains spread from ducor to Cairo
Green my fertile soil, dark my soul so unique
I am mama Africa, roots of mount Kilimanjaro.

I am mama Africa, adorned with wealth infinite
Watch my strides, I represent perpetual grace
Hear me my children, cease to fight and unite
Come all ye spirits of Uhuru ,all I want is peace .
The Continent,the people and the richness and bounty of it cultures and peoples...all encapsulated in this beautiful poem which evokes the spirits of Uhuru ,the Masai warriors .the MAU MAU and so much more..this my Africa !
1.7k · Jul 2018
The Frequency Of Love
Ivan Brooks Sr Jul 2018
Love has its own frequency
Which sadly has no accuracy.
So you can cry me a river,
Fry for me some tender liver,
Promise to love me forever,
Or try to do whatever...
But if the timing isn't right,
And my romantic game isn't tight...
Even though you're very awesome,
The flower of love just won't blossom.

Love-frequency is a sad reality
Love or hate the contrasting duality.
So you can treat me like a king,
Dance for me and try to even sing.
You can have quality time with me,
Try your best to ignite the flame.
You can grill for me chicken wings,
Roll your lovely eyes until it swings...
If my heart isn't in the right place,
Your efforts will be a fruitless chase.

#IvanBrooksPoetry©
  7/27/2018
Love has its own frequency.
1.7k · Jan 2018
Love ,Money And Time
Ivan Brooks Sr Jan 2018
Some people have time and some have money.
Other people have money and no time left.
Many people have the time but have no money .
Some people haven't money neither time left .

Some people have money and no time for love .
Many people have no love and neither any money.
Few people have money so they get pseudo love.
Some people have love that costs maintenance money .
Love used to be free but the maintenance costs a lot..
1.6k · Aug 2018
Untitled
Ivan Brooks Sr Aug 2018
Music is my greatest inspiration.
My mind comes alive when I listen to jazz.
I can easily pen the product of my imagination
When I hear sound from the rhythm or bass.

Hope is the bedrock of my motivation.
My everything is in the hands of Almighty God who sits beyond the stars and constellation.
For in him I hope according to his holy word.

Love is the center of my emotion.
It has cost me happy and sad tears.
Brotherhood is the reason I abhor altercation,
It has created hatred amongst peers.

Peace is the reason I believe in unification.
In unity, strong success is always shown.
War is the main artery of death and destruction,
It leaves damages and orphans on their own.

©IvanBrooksPoetry
21/8/2018
Please title this..I
1.6k · May 2019
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 ©️
#Bassapoet✍️
5.24.2019
Poetry is life. ..
1.6k · Aug 2018
Venomous
Ivan Brooks Sr Aug 2018
Two-tongued and long,
Slander and smooth,
Naked and wicked.
Moves hissing,
Delivers kisses of death,
With tongue flicking.
A revered reptile.
Lives in dead piles of woods
In trees, and deserts,
The cold earth's hugger
Crawls like nature's gymnast.
Never has he ever laughed
Never made any friends
Never trusted by anybody.
Sadly he has a king,
Black like me
But has no soul
he lives in Africa
And in parts of Asia
He bites and hisses
But I don't bite
only on my food
He doesn't chew.
I do, and I swallow.
Him, his preys whole
I despise him.
I have many reasons
He social-engineered his ways
Around Adam"s woman
One day, he ****** eve up
With smooth lies
What this even implies,
Empirically, logically,
I really don't know,
All I know, I was told!
Hold on, I know not
From whence it came,
  Maybe from the good book,
That's a Long and twisted story.
It says he used his tongue
Not on her as a woman,
But to break her home.
Adam was a **** fool,
To leave that girl home alone.
Unannounced, he came in kool
Using his double tongues.
Was she kinda blind?
He isn't even cute.
This story I can't refute
Yet millions have concurred  
I'm not a friend.
Not of the story.
Of him, the notorious,
The venomous
The infamous heel biter
Once again, I hate him
Never was a friend
Never will be,
Because of that poor woman.
He's the First home breaker,
Frickin' liar
Cursed by God
His head to be severed
Using a sword,
A stone or stick,
Day or night,
Right or wrong,
Because of poor little eve
Adam's kids will strike
At his tiny little head.
Death to the serpent!
Eternal condemnation
Even if he repents,
Strike his elongated body
With a double-edged cutlass.
Don't you ever feel sorry
For this sorry ***.
Chinese add him cooked
segments by segments to curry.
He has no class
He Kills at will.
I hate him very much
And I do have my reasons.
He's the infamous snake
The symbol of evil
Father of confusion
With evil intention
Perpetual guide
To eternal hell
From the garden of Eden
Who gave Eve a heartbreak.
He's toxic and venomous.

©IvanBrooksPoetry
29/8/2018
Trying my hands at creative ways to freestyle usins fiction and humor
1.6k · Jan 2018
The Book Of Poetry
Ivan Brooks Sr Jan 2018
The book of poetry
has a page in every book,
It's not found in any registry
and it has no special look.

The book of poetry
Is inferior to the Bible.
But its mainly about artistry
Any has no verses of trouble.

The book of poetry
Is similar to the Book of Eli
It keeps secrets of our ancestry
Buried deep in the kingdom of Mali.

The book of poetry
Recognizes the Koran
Yet has no creed or authority
And places no restriction on any man.

The book of poetry
Transcends every bestseller
Yet no one has right over its intellectual property
And it belongs to every poet, every reader, and writer.
The book of poetry has a page or a line in everything written...it has no known copy or print.
1.5k · Nov 2018
Juggernaut
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 sadist.
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.

©IB-Poetry
25/11/2018
No comment...I was in my element and wrote this in that special moment.
1.5k · Feb 2018
A True Storyteller
Ivan Brooks Sr Feb 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
A storyteller cares only about his story.
1.5k · Dec 2018
Strong
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 ©
15/12/2018
#strong
1.4k · Feb 2018
Black Panther
Ivan Brooks Sr Feb 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
The time came finally to be proud of something entirely about us, our Dashikis, our identity, our superhero from Marvel couldn't have come at a better time.
Ivan Brooks Sr Sep 2018
Everyone of us will die someday
Death cares less about personality.
For the appointed ones,it's on the way
Death cares less if you rule a country .

Or possess fine clothes and blings
For those destined for today,he'll come
Be ready if the club of death swings,
Prepared or not,you're going home!

So weep not for me when I'm gone
It's not a bad thing to sleep forever.
It means my brief time here is done
So mourn me not my dear daughter.

For yourself cry hard and be prepared
For a visitation from death's hands.
Be brave,be strong and don't be afraid,
To depart from your ancestral lands.

Fear not death, death's fear just passed
Those who live very well will die
So does the poor, hungry and stressed
Soon we all will be on the other side.


© IvanBrooksPoetry
31/8/2918
I can freely talk about death,especially since the death of the fear of death.
1.4k · Sep 2018
The Church Of Poetry
Ivan Brooks Sr Sep 2018
Hail Mary full of grace
Hear the noise in this place
Several hundred million decibels
Of spoken words ringing like bells.

This place is alive with words
powerful like samurai swords,
Yet Preached by enlightened poets
And unknown future laureates.

©IvanBrooksPoetry
6/9/2018
Church of poetry....inspiration does a lot to a Poet and his work..this title,:)
1.3k · Jan 2018
Constancy
Ivan Brooks Sr Jan 2018
Those meant for you
Will love you truly
Pray for you seriously    
Bare with you patiently
And believe you continuously.

Those meant for you
Will love you madly
Listen to you keenly
Advice you repeatedly
And love you unconditionally.

Those meant for you
Will love you faithfully
Fight for you furiously
Defend you fearlessly
And display you publicly.

Those Meant For You
Will love you blindly
Come to you hurriedly
Support you strongly
And work with you tirelessly.
What's yours is yours.
1.3k · Jan 2018
Change
Ivan Brooks Sr Jan 2018
Change is the blink of an eye
or the shift of a gear.
Change is saying goodbye
or a new outfit to wear.

Change could be a decision
or the reverse.
Change could be a promotion
given to someone else.

Change could be a relationship
whether old or new.
Change could be a friendship
adding or taking away a few.

Change is biology
the study of life.
Change is psychology
talking to a man to drop the knife.

Change is adaptation
When we have to adjust.
Change is transition
be it to or from a new post.

Change is acceptance
be it about you or a situation.
Change is reluctance
to move beyond your current position.

Change is Barack Obama
when he killed Osama.
Change is Donald Trump
Acting like a complete dumb.

Change is regime change
President Ellen Johnson leaving her position
Change is working with something strange
President Weah winning the election.

Change is new wealth
When you enjoy new money.
Change is a better health
Replacing sugar with honey.

Change is giving birth
when you bring forth a child.
Change is death
Or being buried in the field.

Change is taking a wife
and gladly jumping the broom
And staying together for life
till death do your part.

Change is tomorrow
for nobody knows what it'll bring.
Whether it'll be some kind of sorrow
Or a song of joy for us to sing.

     IvanBrookspoetry©️
Change imitates life and life imitate change...change is life, good or bad!
1.1k · Jul 2018
Today
Ivan Brooks Sr Jul 2018
Today is a messenger from God
Sent to us in fulfillment of his word.
Treat it like a precious gem.
It's a special day to them
Who values the blessings it brings
Not only the useless material things.
Today is also another day
Just like yesterday.
It began this morning
And will end this evening.
Accidents will happen,
Taking the lives of many men.
Many people will cry,
And many more will try
To be brave and strong
Even when all goes wrong.

Today is another day
To me,it's like any other day.
Happy children will play,
And some people will pray.
For many,it will be their last,
And for young babies, their very first.
Few people will take a bath,
And many happy folks will laugh.
Many good books will be read,
And hungry Stomachs will be fed.
The dead among us will be buried
And many couples will get married.
Others will pray to God above
To send them someone to love.
Yes or no, it's up to God
To honor his divine word.
You see,at the end of the day,
It's He who has the final say.
So remember to give him praise,
For today was sent by his grace.

#IvanBrooksPoetry©
30/7/2018
Today is a messenger from God.
1.1k · Aug 2018
The Last Grio
Ivan Brooks Sr Aug 2018
I know not from whence my inspirations cometh.
I believe I was chosen from the time of my birth.
Alone and undisturbed, I have strange visitation,
Embellished with beautiful stories delivered via imagination.
Even the mental drought known as writer's block,
Goes away the very moment the spirits knocks.
Thanks to my late Queen mother who told me stories,
And tales of our ancestor's conquest of adversities.
I am the last of the great Grios from my tribe.
The spirits will always be my source of inspiration and guide.
I come alive at night when the entire world sleeps,
That's when the best ideas and loose words creep.
These words I process as part of my solemn obligation.
As custodian of Ancient history and its dissemination.
Call me a poet because of spoken word and great poetry
In actuality, I'm the last Grio sent to write our ancient oral history.

IvanBrooksPoetry©️
Grios are traditional historians and custodians of the ancient history of the African peoples spanning the great Sonhay and Malian Empires.These histories were merely and mostly passed down ****** by these Grios.who used songs and drums to teach as they performed....called that spoken word!
Note: All Grios comes only from a tribe of grios.
1.1k · Sep 2018
Mouths
Ivan Brooks Sr Sep 2018
Daybreak some mouths open to eat
And some open to host only flies.
Some mouths open to gossip or speak  
Falsehood, vulgarity and evil or lies.

Some mouths open only to do both
Yet they accomplish nothing from it.
Some open to display a bad tooth
And emit an odor that smells like ****.

Some mouths open but say nothing
Coherent and productive and actual,
Yet will go poking in nearly everything
Saying something that isn't factual.

Daybreak, some mouths stay closed
Opting to be neutral and say the truth.
These mouths may be mute and bored,
The price of gold these mouths are worth.

©IvanBrooksPoetry
3/9/2018
Shut up if you nothing to say... say s neural mouth.
1.1k · Jan 2018
Hope Village
Ivan Brooks Sr Jan 2018
As a resident of hope village be very thankful -
If for breakfast you have just a cup of water,
Say a big prayer to Baba and be very grateful.
Know ye that someday things will get better!
When stock in Hope Village, be very grateful!
I once lived there and boy, life wasn't so easy,
I remember how I would look so very sorrowful,
Using a bowl of water to shave, that's crazy!
Especially when I used old T-shirt as towel,
And rotated an umbrella as part of my roofing
life was hard but hope was on another level,
I knew that answer to my prayers was coming.

Despite the fact that I lived in abject poverty-
Hope made my condition seemed less pathetic -
All my situation was under God's own authority,
And my goals and objectives were authentic.
Never give up, hardship is only a transit camp.
One day your rescue Angel will come souring,
With solutions illuminated with a bright lamp-
Lights you'll always need as you go hustling!

To the residents of Hope village, never despair-
If wind of change is yet to blow in your direction,
Stay strong Hope village, real rescue is in the air,
It surely will if the Almighty is your connection.
I see you are a resilient bunch, so be very strong!
Though trials will come, hold on and be resolute,
Blessing for those with deep hope never goes wrong,
From a veteran of the movement, I say a big salute!

I pray you will keep to the fundamentals of hustle -
Know that on that very special day of God's reckoning,
Your stars will dance to success' beat, not struggle,
And the village's talking drums will echo your blessing.
Everyone far and near will know reward time has come.
People of hope village, come get your reward for courage,
Say goodbye to yesterday and say to tomorrow, welcome!
Soon, your last sight of the mango trees in your village-
Will be a breathtaking thirty five thousand feet far below.
As the white magic bird climbs hosting your dusty heels,
Sad faces will say bye and friendly faces will say hello.
There you'll know how the answers to your prayers feels!
Someday you will return as a great hero to your village,
To lament on the audacity of hope and your very own story -
With motivational messages to give everyone some courage,
Poverty will no longer be the main topic, it'll be history !

#Vanguard-poetry23
twitter @ivanclappers
Inspired by a true story..my story !
1.1k · Aug 2019
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.
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