Yesterday is standing with us today
Today too will be with us tomorrow
Today and tomorrow will all pass away
And Adios from me represents sorrow.

If yesterday and today becomes tomorrow
It then makes no sense to look for them both
They took a flight today on the perpetual arrow
Destined for the future,east beyond the south .

Left with us now is only this moment called today
It's actually the leftover of the other day left with me
Which is basically part of the past called yesterday
I hate to say but all these days to me are the same .

I can finally exhale and look far beyond tomorrow
A wise man told me that's where the future lives
All I need to do is apply to God for days to borrow
For the future is beyond distance ,time and miles .
✍️©️
#IvanBrookspoetry

Nobody tells a prophet to shut up,neither a rooster to stop crowing.
It's like stopping a happy person from
Laughing.

Nobody says to the sun" stop shinning!"
Neither the wind "stop blowing!"
It's like stopping a bird from flying.

Nobody says to time "stop moving!"
All you can do is stop yours on the wristwatch.
And you know what that means;
You will only stall and fall behind, left behind by time and the rest of human civilization.

Similarity, nobody can say to a poet "shut up and stop writing poetry and exuding spoken word!".

Who's going to write about truth and introspection?
Who's going to write stories that'll captivate our imaginations?

Who's going to spin odes in a way that the world will question a poet's source of inspiration?

Who's going to make love letters speak another language?
Who's going to write tragic stories and make it look unique?

Who's going to give wings to dead letters?
Who's going to write for speech-impaired lovers?

Who's going to give light to blind words and afix them with wings?
Who's going to guide them thru things?

#IvanBrooksPoetry©
01/8/2018

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

©️IB-Poetry
2/23/2018

Give me food stamps or twenty bucks
I will feed a few hungry mouths.
Give me a laptop or pen and paper
I'll enlighten a million bright minds.

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

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

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


IB-Poetry©
27/11/2018

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

IB-Poetry
2/11/2018

On the battlefield of life,
the good and the bad are inseparable,
the lifestyles of the rich and poor incomparable,
the willpower of the determined unquenchable,
the combined forces of God's blessings and hard work unstoppable.


©IvanBrooksPoetry
29/8/2018

While the world sleeps,
and the night creeps,
I wake my body to prepare
as the moon prepares to fade.
I plan for the rest of the day.
I'm very orderly, if I may say...
which way to go,
what to do
who to talk to...
look at my time
read a line,
take a drink,
before I start to think.
I water my flowers,
plan my hours,
check my phone,
right before I leave home...
ready for a fresh day,
set to go all the way!

IB-Poetry©️
3/9/2018

Never despair when things start to go wrong
and around you, all walls start crumbling
Praise God and start a brand new song
The old walls gave way to a new beginning.
Be strong!

Don't be heartbroken when people forsake you
for no just cause, leave like you mean nothing.
Praise God, for soon they will see you on Youtube,
On multiple channels shinning and doing your thing.
Be strong!


IB-Poetry©️
3/13/2018

Like everything else in this life,
There's a special time for everything.
There's time set aside to take a wife
Without which a man is nothing.

There also comes a time to struggle
Which is a difficult stage in a man's life.
That stage when you're zero to people,
When you lack bread to cut with a knife.

So everything has a time they say
I've never ever stressed for anything.
I know there will surely come a day
When Jah will provide me everything.

The best time I like it when I sit to write
It's the time I can express my honest thoughts,
Or use the pen to go off like a poetic dynamite
That's the time I'm able to close people's mouths.

#IvanBrooksPoetry ©️
4/4/2018

Been so long Designer, so long my brother
You were truly a dear friend like no other
You left us early for a special voyage to God
It caused us pains but you honored his word
Maybe St. Joseph requested a new designer
Maybe Jehovah called you just as a reminder
That all his good people belong in Heaven.
The wall clock reminds me of you at eleven
When jazz was played on our favorite station,
So fond of clothes, designing was your destination.

Designer, you left soon my bro, been so long
Been so long by Anita is now just a sad song
I just wish you had all the time to do so much
you just wanted to give clothes a classic touch
What an empty void, one that we all have to fill
Even now I can't play our favorite songs at will
Today, we're all still in search of a replacement
A tedious task that feels just like a punishment
Been very long Designer, since you been gone
Breaks our hearts, we know you're on a throne.

Ivan Brooks Sr

My poetry will circumnavigate the world
And ride the waves beyond the continents.
Maybe become translated into many languages
Somewhere my words will grace many moments
Even though I was born to disadvantages
My poetry has resonated beyond the Ghetto.
Sonewen , the womb of abject poverty,
Who once prayed for the children of Soweto
Look at where you placed my poetic identity
See what your genes engraved in my DNA
Just listen to the poet in me roar like a lion.
Old verses I wrote from the belltower of CWA
Rhymes I perfected in the Chapel of AME Zion
Have become spoken words I penned in Europe
Disseminated daily on platforms on the internet
Words of motivation engineered for hope
I was born to write, for this journey I am set.

Yesterday is gone
But not without a fight
Hope she makes it home
On tomorrow 's flight.

Yesterday left us
Only with memories
Bittersweet like citrus,
Tomorrow's calories.

Yesterday is almost gone
My Sweet Lord Jesus
Today I'm not at all alone
For you blessed few of us.

Tomorrow was yesterday
And today will be tomorrow
I can't wait to see the day
When yesterday will bow.


IvanBrooksPoetry©
3/29/2018

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


©️IB-Poetry
2/23/2018

Beyond what we use ours for,
there are many kinds of rooms
So let's take a look at the four
walls we design in all rooms.

Bedroom is where we sleep
it contains our beds and pillows
The cushioning upon which we weep
Usually with hands astride or bent elbows.
We make love in our bedrooms
Some nights we just cuddle and talk
Especially those newlyweds who jumped the brooms.
Some night activity causes couples to walk.

The Wardroom is where battles are planned
This room has many good and bad ones
Some plan battles for the liberation of the oppressed
Some plan evil and the infringement of people's freedoms.

The courtroom is where legal decisions are made.
Whether about crimes or a divorce,
A courtroom is where fate and emotions can cascade
It's where justice gives the innocent a voice.

The Classroom is where minds are transformed.
It's where people learn to read and write.
It's where words and knowledge gets us informed
And where we learn, explore and become bright.

The Delivery room is where women give birth
to the babies, they made in the bedroom.
So this is probably the most important on Earth
It's where we receive the life we made in the bedroom.

IvanBrooksPoetry©️

Words were used in the creation of the world by the grandmaster of creation.

Words are essential, probably the greatest means of communication amongst people since we emerged from the caves.

Words can be used to communicate and express ourselves, our feelings, our emotions.

Words can also be used for the formulation of plans and evil that will cause potential destructions.

Words can be properly utilized to convey messages of hope and love, reconciliation and peace.

Words have often been used to express our genuine discontents about issues regarding human rights, moral justice, and equality.

Words can be used to write great stories and words can be tools when we write a beautiful poetry.

Words are often used as silent weapons in the dissimilation of lies propaganda and malicious gossips.

Words can start a war and words can stop a war.

Words can uplight or downgrade, Whether used to the console or motivate, inspire or cast a spell, manipulate or mislead.

Words can be the caveat for the downfall of a great nation because one idiotic leader uses it to disparage, negate and see others as shitholes.


IvanBrooksPoetry©️

Today I had a premonition about something
It was about the kinds of poems I keep writing.
I know most poets don't deem them fit
And not every one of them will be a hit.
I know most people will think it whacks
And will boldly write a comment like *****!
And by the same token tell you '' just kidding''
We all know this is direct intellectual bullying!
And every poet sits here and do absolutely nothing.
How can you live without any remorse of shame?
Maybe people do it to silence the poet in me,
Maybe they do it to ease the pains in themselves
Or to find identity in their miserable lives.
As for me, you just wasting your precious time
You really need to up your bully game.
For me, I certainly will not be defeated
Neither will I ever be intimidated,
By any pathetic, mean and sad individual
Masquerading as a poet or intellectual,
Using Hello Poetry as a cocoon
To scar people's emotions like in the bully room.
You know who you are
And I don't care.
For I'm here to stay
And will write any day!

IBPoetry
2/8/2018

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

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

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

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

IB-Poetry
2/13/2018

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

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

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

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

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

IB-Poetry©️
2/28/2018

There better not be an issue with race in Heaven.
And there better not be a bully,
If I find one there, I'll become his unsafe haven.
The battle between he and I will be ugly.

There better not be a problem with gossips.
If there ever be, let it be about God's glory.
Or about how Angel Micheal fellowships,
In a manner that's pure and holy.

There better not be a hater up in Heaven.
If I find one, we'll surely fight.
I'll make sure the fight ends at eleven.
For the saints begins prayers at midnight.

If any of these things happen,
I'll rather burn in hell!
Hence God knows hell isn't good for his children,
He won't allow sin around there as you can tell.

#IvanBrooksPoetry©
14/6/2018

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

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

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

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

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

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

IB-Poetry
2/15/2018

No hands
no problem.
no limits
no merits.

No money
No problem.
no inheritance,
No case.

No connection
no stress.
With benediction
I'll make progress.


No friends
No problem
With my hands
I'll call them.

No Wealth
No problem
With good health
I'm a complete man.


#IvanBrooksPoetry©
      2/7/2018

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

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

IB-Poetry
2/15/2018

The beauty of poetry is that it has no ugly.
It doesn't matter what mess a poet writes,
There's an element of poetry that stands out clearly
Even in the dark, it'll shine like Christmas lights!

The truth about overlooked poetry is that it's still poetry
It doesn't matter if you like or love it or not.
It still encapsulates a degree of poetic quality
And that's what poetry is all about.

The bitter truths about poetry is that
Some are well written and some aren't.
Some are so sad like they were written in the dark
Some get us saying how, why and when!

The signature of every poet's work is not hidden
It either portrays emotion, life, beauty, nature or love
So even if we reject it because of how poorly it was written,
The essence of every poetry is a puzzle we have to solve.


✍️

IBPoetry©️
2/7/2018

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

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

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

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

©️IB-Poetry
2/23/2018

Oh death, you merciless master of the dark underground
Have you no conscious perimeter when you roll call?
Oh death, you heartless master of the great beyond
Does your job description involves making nice people fall ?
Why do you always take the best and leave us grieving?
Your only job is to waste beautiful souls and break hearts
A part of our existence as man mortal by God's reckoning .

Oh death, thy cold and frail hands often takes our dearest
Maybe it's God's will to call home the very best among us
Taking them beyond the starry constellations for eternal rest
Where their souls will ride atop a beautiful golden horse
How long will you cause us pains for your selfish gains ?
Most times you separate us from those we deeply love
Does it please you to silence us and pull hell's curtains ?
Oh death, from us thy grey hands have taken a white dove .

We are the Ronaldos of the skillful use of words
The Da vancis of spoken words and poetry .
In the poetic universe, we are the iambic overlords
We are the atoms that bonds words in poetic chemistry
Poets are the architects and cradle of twisted emotions
Yet some consider us the masters of storytelling
You are welcome to peruse some of our creations
In no time you will be amazed, just keep reading!

Some call us the Lebrons of all euphoric writers
Privately we poets prefer to call ourselves wordsmiths
Because of the creative ways we bend loose letters
For it's only poets capable of polishing words like silversmiths
Most of the things we write about are profound and captivating
The deep emotions we stir , all the tears they evoke ,
Our passion and poetic ingenuity, the gift of writing
Our days,our nights , our lives to this craft we'll forever devote !

Nothing a poet writes is a waste.
It doesn't matter how you see it,
twist it ...
judge it ...
interpret it...
categorize it...
or place it.
As long as you don't read it backward,
It's still somehow a write...
Even if it looks awkward.

IB-Poetry©️
3/9/2018

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

© IB-Poetry
21/12/2018

The world's weather has gone mad
Grace to man himself
Mother nature is so sad
That she turned on herself.

Now she sneezes disastrous storms
And ***** heavy mudslides.
At noon forests burns,
Leaving acres of burned trees and dead birds.

She no longer showers at noon
Instead, she farts powerful lightenings
And urinates wet monsoons
Before sending the floods in the evenings.

Mother nature is now a vindictive *****.
She unleashes extreme weathers in America.
Next, she breathes the cold on Europe like a witch
And seizes the rainfalls in parts of Africa.

Mother nature's anger causes earthquakes
Her frustration is linked with signs of global warming.
Greenhouse gasses will melt the artic and scorch earth until it bakes
As a sign to mankind that mother nature is fuming.

IBPoetry©️
2/5/2018

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


IB-Poetry©️
2/27/2018

We all have just one birthday,
One heart, one brain, and one life.
We have one mother and one father

Yet life wasn't meant for one place,
One thing, one experience, one set of rules,
One religion, one belief system.

Then again I consider this a contradiction because
Many people have multiple Gods,
Many wives, many cars, many homes, many kids
Yet only one thing is certain, we will all die someday
And certainly, be buried in one grave.

✍️ #IvanBrookspoetry✍️©️

There's ***** in every lady
and gangster in every gentleman.
walk with caution
and watch your action.

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

IB-Poetry©
17/12/2018

Poetic knitted venation
Is not commonplace like PlayStation.
All poetry lovers are connected
They share a love for words and
To poetry alone, they are committed.
Like Grios who tells history of the land,
They share a deep and common bond  
With emotions and mystery and nature,
Confirming what they share is profound.
They love painting words like a picture
And appreciate the essence of true love.
Every Poet marvel at God's creation
And daydreams and watch the stars above
From whence cometh the poetic inspiration,
Which blasts ideas like a poetic canon.
A poet acknowledges that true beauty
Is an abstract yet deceitful phenomenon
Which endorses the vague idea of being pretty,
That has so many people on the hooks
Society uses it as a yardstick to measure
Ans label us worthless because of our looks.
Poetry lovers are under no real pressure
To fit or blend in, all we do is create poetry
And paint beautiful pictures using words.
Poetic minds are partners with a chemistry
Derived from words as sharp as a Samurai's swords,
Words they use to cut through curious minds
And plant all the results of a sleepless night
Gathered along with the rest of the finds
Which will set the perpetual dial of poetry right.

Today...
Invest wisely
move silently
observe keenly
speak respectfully
act accordingly
hustle aggressively
exercise regularly
seek continuously
ask politely  
eat properly
pray fervently
build your dream quietly
...tomorrow is soon here!

IB-Poetry©️
3/9/2018

I have a power
that nobody sees with their eyes
It's a little thing call faith.

I have a voice
That nobody else hears
It's my calling.

I have a Life
That nobody knows about,
Every night I see Maya Angelo.

I Speak another language
That nobody else understands,
My determination.

I committed a crime
That nobody else knows of,
I murdered fear!

I have a secret
that nobody knows of,
I'm a slave to poetry!

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


IB-Poetry©️
2/15/2018

When a woman loves you
She will cry like one dove
And her soul will desire you
She'll do anything to show that love.

You will occupy her thoughts
And She will love you for real.
But when her days are overwrought,
Help her by night to heal,
And mend her heart with glue,
Made from honey and red roses
Apply them when the sky is light blue,
A perfect time for amour and surprises.

Take her for a walk by the pool
Make it a special time in her life
Soften her heart like wool
Ask her to be your wife.
Make the night stars know she's your boo.
Give her a hug, touch, and feel
That will make her smiles to glow
Let every touch you give be real
Romance her with that amourous virtuoso.

Hence when a woman is in love
She loves for real,
Make her touch paradise for real
And give her a love story to tell

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

IB-Poetry
2/20/2018



.

Let nothing affright thee
Nothing lasts forever.
Let nobody tell you what to be,
It's your life, you can become whatever.
Live your life.

Let no earthling suppress you.,
Nothing is greater than God.
Let nobody mess with you
Make sure yours is the final word.
Live your life.

Let no man tell you he's immortal
For we will all die someday.
Let no man treat you like a nonequal.
If he does, peacefully turn and walk away.
Live your life.

Let not your heart be troubled,
As the Lord said in the good book.
It doesn't matter if you're blind or crippled,
Be glad you're alive and not how you look.
Live your life.

IB-Poetry©️
3/17/2018

Midnight is the free festival of bright ideas
This is the time my side of the world sleeps
When bold and brilliant ideas suffers insomnia
Courtesy of the time zone, a victim of yesterday.
My side of the world is asleep momentarily
Yet the mind eyes of those awake deeply sleeps.  
Some sleepless nights can be progressive nights,
And though the mind eyes suffer defeat,
The reserved army of neurons have lights
With powerful beams to make outputs great.
And just because the ensuing battle looms
It doesn't mean the insomnia demon has won.
This is only a pause in momentum, call it a recess
Oh you renown nemesis of night ravens
Why do you torment me and impede my progress?
Now brace yourself for battle, it's time for revenge.

IvanBrooksPoetry©️