Lights out for one of God's shining stars.
A humbled soul and good man is gone.
Not to the terrestrial worship house of God,
Where he was the director of beautiful music,
but to the Heavens, his celestial home.
A gifted man and tireless character,
A kindred soul who answered his calling,
and performed to his creator's delight.
May your sojourn be smooth and peaceful,
until we meet at Heaven's golden shore.

You lived a life very well lived
Maybe not in the years of men,
for it was short in their mortal eyes.
Like a bright star, you lighted the world
and touched everyone with an infectious smile.
Your life was like a brief candle in the wind,
but long according to the great arbiter's plans.
How sad and painful your sudden loss to us,
In solemn and fond memories you'll forever live.
The loved ones, family, and friends left behind,
we'll pray for the Lord to gladly receive you,
In Abraham's bossom for a perpetual rest.

#IvanBrookspoetry
4.28.2019

He who reads poetry will bless
He who writes the poetry to be read.
For he writes nothing less
than what his inner muse is fed.

A poet paints poetic words in a picture,
that only a blessed reader can see.
For with the magic of ink he can capture,
That which was never meant to be.

He who writes poetry is the fiber that links
mankind's soul to the awesome powers of the ink.
For whatever messages from the deep he brings,
Makes him a poetic vessel that will never ever sink.

He who writes poetry is like a light in the darkness,
He will always stand out and be seen.
For his work represents an unforgotten kindness,
He will always be known as a good human being.

#IvanBrookspoetry©️

I
A peasant sat and prayed
to the God of his ancestors.
The cool evening crept slowly
and the dust devil rose hastily,
Spraying mist of powdery brown
dust into his sunken eyes.
The cloud, as if It discerned
his dismal and dejected mood,
instantly formed a variation
Of comforting images
He was in a period of grief,
Visibly beset with gloom.
He ignored all of these
impromptu shows nature
improvised to curb his pains.
The tears came and came,
he shivered and sobbed until
he felt his loss had subsided.

II
With legs crossed and chin
In hands, he felt sorrow
and anger overwhelming him.
Perplexed by grief and
the thought of her.
"If only I knew how to fly.",
he thought, almost in tears.
His moistened eyes were motionless
Transfixed on the windowpane
Unaware of the gusts of wind
softly rattling the palm thatch roof
Of the disheveled gbafah he
he goes to whenever he needed
To be introverted.
He padded the soft silt with his
barefoot unaware of the colony of
fire ants as they mounted his limbs.
He was instantly jolted to reality
by the excruciating pains caused
By the fire ant's morsels deeply
embedded in his skinny patched
legs beneath his frail body frame

III
He missed the one and only love
He knew, his fondness for her could only be characterized as a malady of affection.
Ever since she left, every evening came and went without him taking his eyes off the main road leading down the overgrown trails beneath the canopy of trees. The day went by, but he failed to notice that dusk had engulfed the village and all around him were the burning flames of many diminutive fireflies.
He cared less about the pains still burning his now swollen feet. The eerie sounds of the night crickets echoed but he had one thought; to see his true love.
He couldn't get her off his mind and
It repulsed him to think of the possibility
Of her not coming back.

IV
"Where are you my queen, what has happened to your promise you made to me about coming back to me?"
Come let's roam in the undergrowth once again. The hills call your name and the birds chuckle.
I am losing my mind, I'm forfeiting my staying power. come lets play, come.
"come, my love, come walk barefooted in these ponds, come let's dance and play in the rain. come and undulate your gorgeous
hips and spin like a flamingo in flight."
In tears, I remember how you made me smile, how you turn my life around and blessed me with your heart and beautiful smile. Come to me, come to me, my love.
.

#IvanBrookspoetry ©
               8-28-2019
                 #Bassapoet
                               twitter@ivanclappers

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

I have just written a wonderful Song
For with words I have painted nature
It is so beautiful and not too long
Watch as it turns into a new picture.

Come join me let's all just sing along
For we have all eaten a bit from nature
Nutrients that have kept us going strong
Come and help me care for her like a fur.

I am going to leave nature here someday
And when I sojourn to my earthly roots
All my kids will dig nature's soft clay
Wearing few pairs of black muddy boots.

I've just written a beautiful new song
And way up to the hills I go climbing
Just to prove to nature that all along
It's about her we have all been singing.


Ivan Brooks Sr

Yesterday brought me the challenges
of today before fading away
beneath the canopy of the dark.
So tomorrow remains a dormant embryo.

I therefore rise each day before dusk,
to plow the fields and cloud of dust,
In the hope of turning faith into hope
And mere dream into a unique reality.

So before I lay down my soul to sleep,
I pray my labor will germinate seeds
And put bread on my table so I can
Feed my household and my neighbors.

This is my prayers to the universe,
Make all the tolls of today bring
Me very good tidings so I can live
beneath the morango sky tomorrow.

#IvanBrookspoetry (c)
#Bassapoet
5.2.2019

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