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

One day God created the Heavens and Earth and Sonewen
From that impoverished Ghetto came great men and women
And from her shores came Zogos that are nationally notorious
Yet from in one blessed home came a child bound to be famous.

From His Throne he saw that his handed works was very good
So In every households He placed a family to populate the hood
And so from sunrise to sunset, their faces glowed with happiness
Yet it was from one blessed home came a poet bound for greatness.

One day the rumours of war began to echo on the playgrounds
It was December and arid heat had just dried up the muddy ponds
As far as the eyes could see, stranded frogs hopped and jumped
Signs the history of the Sonewen ghetto was about to be transformed.

Transformed it did because in her, the elements of war found a safe haven
Exacerbated by war, compounded by poverty still to God she said Amen
Trusting in Him to bless and bring prosperity according to his divine favors
So from this humble child comes a big thank you for answering his prayers .

In my poverty songbook, I wrote
Fear nothing but to do some wrong
Yet I wrote nothing about being broke
All because poverty made me strong.

From birth, I've sung the poverty song
It's about a unilateral fight against poverty
I know the road to the summit is long
I'll rest at nothing until I dwell in prosperity.

There's a verse in the book about perseverance
It's the main reason for which I wrote the song
In there I thanked God for His grace and Providence
For it's within his grace where we all belong.

In my poverty songbook, I left out a lot of things.
There ain't a single verse about laziness and self-pity.
I instead included a request for a Timberland and wings
These two I'll need to get about and do my hustle duty.

IvanBrooksPoetry©️

If yesterday was an old man,
He would be old by now.
His hair and lashes would
Be full of shining grey hair
And walking with a Kane.
He would probably be frail
And proudly speaking of the
Good old days marred with
Conquests and exploits from
From his youthful adventures.
The intricate details of his flamboyant
Years and youthful antics and shenanigans would bring sparkles
To his old wrinkled face.
There would be tears in his eyes
When lamenting on love and sorrows...
Squinting his eyes and fumbling to
Find faded photographs hidden away
In ancient boxes from dusty shelves.

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

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

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

#IvanBrooksPoetry ©️
4.16.2019

Right in the dead of a very cold winter
When the tired slave's soul is ash gray
And the cotton plantation becomes whiter ,
Begins a poor slave's hard working day .

In Winter when the master makes a call
This was every slave's worse nightmare
It was time for his hard whips to fall
insurmountable pains he couldn't bare .

Snowballs are piled outside like cotton
His Wounds hurts but as usual he's told
Stay strong brother Kunta, just hold on
Just Stay calm till the barn is closed .

This is the mid of a cold bitter winter
And the crow of a **** heralds a sad day
A slave's prayer to God was a sad whisper
He needed strength to get pass this day.

follow me on twitter@ivanclappers

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.


IB-Poetry©
26/11/2018

Why are there entire cities to drain,
When Somewhere in my village,
People are dying for a drop of rain
Coming from a cave through a seepage?

Why are many places flooded elsewhere
When the drought there is constant
And People are struggling everywhere
To moisturize the soil just to plant?

Why are young Maasai men digging
For hours Into the patched African soil
Searching way into the humid evening
For a drop of water, they have to toil?

Why did nature leave my playground arid
When she rains down billions of liters in Texas?
Streetlights, no lights, drought at the power grid,
Scolding of nature is the caveat of the water crisis.

Why did God give us diamonds and gold,
How can he bless us with an abundance of minerals?
Then seal up the skies and put the rains on hold?
Turning the crisis to a vulture's feast and human funerals.

#IvanBrooksPoetry©️

Are we talking too much more
about love than loving too much ?
So until we talk a little bit less about
it and do a little bit more about it ,
The world and those in need
of a little bit more dose of love,the
greatest of human emotions ,
will forever lack the much needed love .

Are we overly obsessed with the phenomena
called twitter and following more celebrities ,
who don't need us or the superfluous attentions
we give them ? So until we stop following
these one percent famous people,who are
unaware of our existence, and concern
ourselves more and become preoccupied
with the plights and destitution of the ninety percent
needy people in the world ,they'll forever
lack the love and care they need .  

Are we feeding the greedy politicians
and the government with our taxes more than
we should be caring for ourselves and our children?
Until we realize that our governments , politicians ,
The systems they designed and put in place to corrupt , control and dominate us,needs our money more than we need them. will we forever remain the anvil and pawns in the political game of chess designed for profits and gains ,power and control , manipulation  and dominance .

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
31/10/2018

How can the world find
Everlasting peace for mankind?
Some think we can achieve this
By using our muscles and fists
Nations have tried using bombs
That billows like mushrooms,
Obliterating everything in its path
And giving the earth an atomic bath.
What has all of this brought,
What lessons has war taught?
If peace hasn't been realized
It's because love hasn't been exercised.

The world can't move
Without the power of love.
So let's be kind to one another,
And be our brothers keeper.
I don't care if it happens today
Or tomorrow or someday,
The world needs peace
And a dose of God's grace.
Not wars,it brings destruction.
Not any kind of confussion,
For it causes perpetual division.

For peace we saw the dissolution of the League Of Nations,
And the formation of the United Nations.
Yet still the world can't find a solution
To all the deaths and destruction.
If to our issues we can't find the resolutions ,
What kind of world will we leave our future generations?

#IvanBrooksPoetry©
7/22/2018

Some poems are like classic cars
They're old, bestsellers and great
Very famous and heavyweight,
Their legendary tales told at the bars.

Some poems are like Lamborghini
Fast, loud and stir up different emotions
They are magical and perform like Houdini
Taking us beyond our wildest imaginations.

Some poems are like a Ferrari
Fast, loud, costly and mindblowing
Some went through fine tuning
Ready for the adventurous desert safari.

Some poems are a Mercedes SLK
Fast,affordable,famous,people's favorite
Upon sight, people just stand around and talk
Every time we see them we celebrate.

Some poems are simple and great
Some are so good and impossible to rate.
Some will keep you woke
Brilliant and so off the hook!

Some poems are so romantic
Appealing to one's fantasy
Some are just so demonic
Embellished with total heresy.

Some poems are like a Rollsroyce
They intrigue us
Classic, historic, famous
They embody royalty, very luxurious.

Some poems are like a Bugatti Veyron
very costly, fast, collectible
Loved by kings and Barons
Making our speed appetites insatiable.

Some poems are Mustangs
Muscles, deep, street savvy
Gruesome like hunger pangs
They are powerful and heavy.

Some poems are like Teslas
Clean, smart, rich people's favorite
Costing the average people accessive dollars
They are smoothly written and moderate.

Some poems are like a Koenigsegg
Fast, rare, collectible and very costly
They instantly sweep you off your one leg
leaving you like '' seriously! ''

Some poems will make you go WOW!
And some will make you bow
Making you feel inferior to the poet
Especially the ones written by a laureate.

Some poems are mundane
containing things to drive you insane
Some poems are just cool
but contains useful cools

Some poems have powerful impacts
they contain deep knowledge and facts
Some poems are very good
Some will nourish you like food.

Some poem will bore you
Some poems will entertain you
Some poems will enrich you
And reach you wherever you are.

Some poems will set your mind on fire
And leave lasting impacts like screeching tires
Some poems are just incredible
Revealing things that are relatable.

Some poems are wonderful
And some are prayerful
Some are a little bit radical
And some are somehow political.

Some poems are just ordinary
Yet they're devotion to start early
And motivation to use during the day
Something to take you all the way.

Some poets are so creative
their poems are just amazing.
Some are outright provocative
Yet their works are just fascinating.


©️ #IvanBrookspoetry✍️

Be like water,
be formless.
Be like a lion,
be fearless.
Be like the universe,
be limitless.
Be like Bluetooth,
Be wireless.
Be mysterious,
leave people clueless.
Be like a guard dog,
be restless.
Be like a machine,
be tireless.
Be a true hustler,
be relentless.
Be a fantastic poet,
leave your readers speechless.

IB-Poetry©️
12/6/2018

I'm a black man , I'm the essence of toughness
My roots are deep like the mighty baobab tree
Once a chained slave, today I stand in greatness
I'm a black man , I'm a proud man and I'm free .

I'm a black man , once the master's possession
I have scars stamped to my soul but I'm free
Once a cotton picker , I now have a profession
I'm a black man , a very proud man and I'm here.

I m a black man , the first born of mama Ebone
The black Goddess , the true mother of humanity
Once upon a time in jubaru, I sat upon a throne
Where my queens and warriors all lived in unity.

I'm a black man, I will always be the best runner
Shoot me if you will but my black soul fears no guns
Once like Garvey, today like Usine and Obama , I'm a winner
I'm a free black man and my soul hosts a thousand suns .

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.

IB-Poetry©
20/12/2018

I say learn to practice what you preach
You have no rights to tear other people down
Remember this life is a long sandy beach
Each man has a unique print of his own.

So learn to always show love and support
No man is an Island, the famous adage says,
Brother-keeping is what life's entirely about
And kindness is a blessed seed sown for better days.

Love your neighbor as thyself, the good book says
How long will we go contrary to this universal law,
Commanded by God Himself since ancient of days?
A law in which he invested time and love to draw.

So where is humanity, where is that universal love?
It's time for the strong to give the weak a helping hand
The seed of love is the will of the Most High from above
So let love become that unique footprint left in the sand.

#Vanguard-Poetry23 ©️✍️ #IvanBrookspoetry©️
twitter @ivanclappers #IvanBrooksquotes©️
follower,like,share

As thousands of migrants sojourned from Timbuktu
All destined for Libya from the ancient Kingdom of Mali,
One ,a patched lip skinny kid , greeted them''Assalamualaikum''
''Why are we dying in Libya ?'' asks the young migrant called Ali.

For several months , everyday , from sunset to sunrise
Ali said he too dreamed of being a part of the mass migration
'' Oh my dear brothers, I wish your plans were otherwise ''
For many of you will not reach your final destination.

Ali said Libya was the cradle of modern day slavery,
Death trap ,a magnate that lures desperate poor Africans
Escaping prosecution, economic hardships and poverty
Just for them to end up dead like sardines in cans.

Oh Africa Ali asks,where are all of your leaders?
What have we done to deserve this unspeakable evil?
Is it because of the hues of our beautiful black leathers?
When did we become the slavery anvil?

Man to man , is so unjust '' he quoted Bob Marley
'' But Arab to Black Africans is another sad story ! ''
'' Why are Black people being sold into slavery?
Why is the whole world sitting so supinely?

~ Ivan Brooks Sr ~

The voice inside me is never heard
And it doesn't matter how loud it is
Even though I find this very weird
I have never told a living soul about this .

The voice inside me has a frequency
That's measured in some silent decibel
No matter how acute the emergency
No one ever hears a silent bell .

The voice inside me never sleeps at night
It rings in my ears and never stops
Even in my dreams I have to deal with it
Sad that I'll never hear when the pin drops .

The voice inside of me is a vindictive *****
She doesn't care if I deserve some peace
Penetrating my soul like a surgeon's stitch
And disturbing my inner man with ease .

The voice inside of me is a perpetual arrow
It stays in motion and never slows down
Intoned mostly to my pain and sorrow
My voice is a storm that'll never be known .

The voice inside of me is a quiet storm
That will probably never ever be heard
But lives underground like an earthworm
That threads the earth's soil with its head .

The voice inside of me is my late mother's
A voice that continues to bless and inspire
A voice of wisdom I share with my brothers
A voice of a great woman to whom I aspire .
  

#IvanBrooksPoetry
twitter @ivanclappers

Poetry is part of my story
So I write not for glory.
I care about it like my health,
And protect it like my wealth.

Talking about wealth ,I have none.
But if just in case I get some,
It really wouldn't matter.
For me I think peace of mind is better,

So I pen away my thoughts.
Leaving no rooms for any doubts...
My emotions,
And my inspiration.

My frustration,
And desperation.
Through it all,
I tried being stoic and rational.

Even though my pains
Even when it rains.
I write not about a special thing,
My work covers anything.

Sometimes it's about love,
Or about the issues I can't solve.
The things I take to God in prayers
The things others take to soothsayers.

© IvanBrooksPoetry
21/8/2018

Thank you hello poetry
for making me feel worthy.
Here I can write
And can freely create.
I need no validation
and self-promotion.
It's a unique platform
or a stage to perform
On my own ,to rewind
Time or say what's on my mind.
Here I always feel fine
Once I have the available time
Here I shake no hands
Match to no bands
But when I make a mistake
Somebody wide awake
Inboxes me and respectfully says
You might want to take a look at this
I seriously like this
So I honestly pray
each and every day
to stay
And be very active
And have another perspective
I feel connected
Here ,I feel respected
the emotion, the hype
Just my place and my type
For completion of this process
to other platforms, no disrespect
from poets here, I get more respect!

© IvanBrooksPoetry
29/8/2018

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.


IvanBrooksPoetry©
30/12/2018

I hit play, Deng's's music was on repeat
The deep sultry voice sent soft echoes
Bouncing off everything into the street
Kemah smiled and laced her ballet shoes.

Kemah moved like a seductress in heat
Undulated her hips, moved to her feet
And she began to slow dance to the beat
Spinning like a flamingo on the street .

Deng nodded as she started to swing
There's really no dancer like Kemah
Her backside, rhythm, her everything
This was beyond contemporary Zomba .

I too wanted to rock to Deng's beat
Snapping my fingers, swaying at will
I just smiled and remained in my seat
But my old bones refused to sit still .

With Deng's latest hit song on repeat ,
Kemah's body swayed from place to place
Her entire soul intoned to his aesthetic beat
She was a temptress ,a girl with real grace .

Over where I sat in utter amazement
I felt humid looking at her silhouette
Suddenly I knew what Deng's song meant
For Kemah danced my soul beyond ballet .

Under the glow of the golden African sun
Her moves were flawless and unique
She danced like a young Doe on the run
Kemah was a star ,she was ballerina d'Afrique .

My favorite is the one by Jovan
The pervasive scent , nothing tops a musk
Why not Drakkar Noir or Ralph's Polo,Ivan ?
It's the appeal and aroma I love the most !

Musk is my favorite cologne.
That aromatic substance,the smell ,
The way it absorbs like a sponge
The mesmerizing and addictive spell .

The power and confidence when worn ,
the longevity and its staying power
That permeates the soul,deep as a ship's horn
Unique scent that lasts for hours .

The power of its undeniable presence
That lasts from dawn to dusk
Nothing compares to the fragrance
Of the distinct and classic scent of the musk.

I came directly from through the ranks
All my dues paid, my homage to life
To my God alone all my humble thanks
For bread I slice with prayer knife .

I came strictly from my very own hood
All of my dues I paid through my strife
To mama dear for prayers and our food
For all she sacrificed to save my life .

I came humbly from a very blessed home
All my dues are paid through my chores
To charity, that says take and share some
For all I learned , I am beyond my shores .

I came strongly ready to join the hustle
My dues paid with my years of readiness
To poverty, a real caveat for my struggle
For I've persevered through steadfastness .

#Vanguard-poetry

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

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 ©
2/12/2018

Indeed I was born in a s '''Hole  country
A royal citizen of Norway ,the world's best country
Whose citizens refused to come to a country
That elected an a '' hole to lead their country .

Donald Trump is right to call us s'''hole countries
Officials embezzle millions ,yet can't pay salaries
From dawn to dusk the people moan in anguish cries
Malnourished kids live with hunger disease and flies

African governments made their own homes s*holes
Look at the bad infrastructures bad roads and potholes
With all the natural resources our economies and financial woes
For the impoverished and gullible masses ,there are no hopes .

Let's not get angry at the dumb a''  President of America
But rather direct our discontents at our corrupt leaders in Africa
Who hides money in Swiss banks and vacations in Arabia
Africa,thou mayest not like this ,time to wake up from the coma !

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

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

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

#IvanBrooksportry📖

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.

IvanBrookspoetry
4.17.2019



'

What's greater than spoken words,
Yet poets flip them seamlessly?
What's Sharper than a Samurai's swords,
Yet great warriors used them bravely?
What's better than a woman's tender body,
Yet some men abuse them repeatedly?
What's purest than the tears she sheds
Yet it flows when she sobs quietly?

What's better than a mother's love
Yet she gives it so unconditionally?
What's more precious than a human life,
Yet many men live ever so carelessly?
What's more disappointing than Donald Trump,
Yet some Americans love him dearly?
Who came up with the idea of slavery,
Yet the world refuses to apologize openly?
Who invented the deadly assault rifles,
That people ****** innocent kids with remorselessly?

Who actually built the pyramids
That to this day, stands rigidly?
What's the function of the U.N,
Why are nations warring perpetually?
Why is it so impossible for mankind
To have peace, live and love harmoniously?
Where's justice for my queen mother
And the innocent people killed senselessly?
Why don't we appreciate the creation of this beautiful earth,
Why do we continue to destroy and mismanage it simultaneously?

Who came up with the concept of religion,
How did God Almighty become
A part of the prosperity Gospel industry?
Why do Rastafarians
Call him Jah,
Who are the true Christians,
Why do Muslims call him Allah?
Who named the Lord Jesus,
And why do priests proclaim
Peace unto us?
Who are Hindus,
What is the story about krishna?
Why do others worship
Budha?
Why do witch doctors
call him Babba,
Why do others believe
In no God,
But pray to the universe?
Why don"t they honor his word,
Yet from the bible quote a verse,
And when things falls apart,
They cry in his name?
What really is that?
Oh what a contradiction
And a big shame!


IvanBrooksPoetry©
7/6/2018

The stage is set..
The red Light's on ,
The condition is right ,
It's time to shine my son !
The time has come,
The world is ready ...
Superstar Welcome home,
Do them ***** !

Become a sensation,
In you a star is born ...
You are my inspiration,
Blow the poetic horn,
The world's watching...
Just keep going !
Don't stop creating,
Keep up the grinding...
Maybe from the onset,
You will be wrong..
Don't you ever get upset,
Like kunta Kanti,be strong !

Flex your muscle...
And keep pushing ,
And own your hustle .
Like a scribe ,keep writing ...
Stay active,
Keep grinding,
Remain calm but be passive,
Some day you gonna make it !
Don't wait ,
keep pushing..
Don't ever Quit !
keep writing ...
Make yourself at home ,
Poetic Avatar ...
The time has come
Mr ball-pen superstar !

~Ivan Brooks Sr. ~
twitter @ivaclappers
#IvanBrookspoetry

Fireflies need no introduction.
So at night time they just glow
And light up the constellation
With that natural illuminous flow.

Fireflies are nature's lightning bugs
When they glow they teach us how
To love by giving free undeserved hugs.
That ****** the summer's evening show.

Fireflies lights up the natural environment
Especially in the midsummer nights
When they form part of the entertainment
That nature designed using bright lights.

Fireflies are nature's beautiful showgirls
They love flying and flexing their wings
When they giggle at night like schoolgirls
Who set fireballs to the playground swings.

IBPoetry©️
2/9/2018

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







'

Walk away
When he starts to beat
And make you weep.

Walk away
if he is cheap
and starts to hide and sneak.

Walk away
If he doesn't support you
but instead suppresses you.

Walk away
If he can't sleep
at night and starts to creep.

Walk away
if you're not appreciated
and your love starts to get underrated.

Walk away
When your love isn't reciprocated
proudly walk away and be respected.

Walk away
If he really doesn't know your worth
And not about relationship growth.

Walk away
Maybe Somebody else deserves you
Somebody who will call you boo.

Walk away
If he will not remain loyal and committed,
Take you seriously and be dedicated.

Even though you tried to hold it together
walk away if you see no future in any brother.

Walk away
If you live in fear
before you drown in tears.

#IBPoetry©️
twitter @ivanclappers

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

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

Some days we are productive when we walk
Depending on where we go with the message
Some days we are destructive when we talk
Depending on the interpretation and usage.

Some days we can be helpful in our absence
Depending on the toxicity we bring with us
Some days we can do all these with our silence
Depending on the complexity of one's status .

#Vanguard-Poetry23
©️

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.

©IB-Poetry
12/11/2018

Many Sleepless nights
Living on empty stomachs
Warlords, Senseless fights
Carrying on daylight murders.

Many young people were killed
Innocent women and children
Wooden box coffins unnailed
As the hopeless masses ran.

Three hundred fifty thousand
Number of innocent souls lost
Unmarked graves in the sand
Why did they die, at what cost?

Rest in peace to mama dear
One of the innocent souls lost
Oh justice, how close or near?
For answers, we need you most!

Power, weapons, money I have not
Spoken words I'll use to demand justice
Until I die, this fight I'll always be about
Mama is the caveat for demanding poetic justice

Being black is the essence of strength
The ones my ancestors relied on to survive
When forcibly shipped across the ocean's length
Hanging on to only hope just to keep alive .

Being black is the essence of performance
The ones we put up at the mighty Apollo
When jazz and blues fill hearts with romance
As Chuck Berry's feet moved like flamingo .

Being black is the essence of toughness
Like those possesed by the giant baobab
Comes rain, storms, it stands in calmness
Defiant just like the sons of Queen Habib .

Being Black is the essence of athleticism
Portrayed by LeBron James, Jordan and Tiger
Gifted Black brothers born with enthusiasm
Black Essence runs deep as the River Niger .

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?

©IvanBrooksPoetry
15/10/2018

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
21/11/2018

In the land of the wise men,
where the wind blows ceaselessly
and the moon glows perpetually,
a great poet and his young protege
sat in the courtyard under the shadows
of the sycamore tree to meditate.
The protege said to his master.
" Sir, please make me a great poet"
The old master lifted his head
and gazed at the protege in awe.

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

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

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

#IvanBrookspoetry (c)
August 11.2019

I have been homeless
But never hopeless.
I have been jobless
But not faithless.
I have been penniless
But happy nevertheless.

I have been laughed at
But have never cared about that.
I have been downplayed
All I did was prayed.
I have been talked about,
Thrown out,
And beaten up...
Yet have never given up!

My home has been taken
But I have never been shaken.
When my possessions were removed,
I remained resolute and not moved.
I have been disenfranchised
Ostracized
And immobilized...
Yet I remained unfazed!

I have been used
And falsely accused.
I have been seriously abused,
And my ego bruised.
Though my suffering has been long,
Yet I have remained strong.
I have been called all sorts of names,
And unjustly pinned with blames...
Like the mighty baobab tree,
I haven't been moved as you can see.


#IvanBrooksPoetry©
12/6/2018