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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.
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.
I saved another planet today.
(superhero)
I am kind of like Batman,
because I don't have any super powers.
I'm just a super nova.
I'll outshine all of these galaxies.
I could be your shock wave.
If only it weren't for these black holes...
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.
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.
Ben Dutkin Apr 2015
Bad jokes, strong opinions, attention ****** galore
Brown nosing, over-reacting, annoying and more
Glorifying their actions, they're very self-centered
Extremely sheltered with no sense of adventure

Striving for A's and everyone knows it
But they have a big mouth, and they need to close it
They think there's a big conflict between AP and IB
But they can't just make friends, from what I can se

High school won't determine your life, wake up
One bad grade won't make you start begging from a cup
They think they're always right, and will never agree
But they're bound by ignorance, and will never be free.

70% of them really grind my gears
But I'm only here for one more year.
This was solely made by me, other people can have their own opinions on IB
Johnny Noiπ Jun 2018
Deities of the ancient Near East
Ancient Egyptian: Amun Apis Atum Buchis
Geb Horus Isis Montu Nephthys Nut Osiris
Ptah Ra Set Shu Tefnut Thoth

Arabian: Allah Aglibol Abgal al-Lat al-Qaum
al-‘Uzzá Atarsamain Athtar Baalshamin
Bēl Dhul Khalasa Dushara Hubal Malakbel
Manaf Manāt Nasr Nuha Orotalt Ruda Suwa'
Theandrios Wadd Ya'uq Yaghūth Yarhibol                                      Yatha
Levantine (Canaanite): Adonis Anat Asherah Ashima Astarte Atargatis Attar Baal Berith Chemosh Dagon El Elyon Eshmun Gad Hadad Kothar-wa-Khasis Melqart Moloch Mot Nikkal Qetesh Resheph Shadrafa Shahar Shalim Shapash Yam Yahweh Yarikh Elamite  Inshushinak Jabru Khumban Kiririsha Lahurati Nahundi Napir Ninsusinak Pinikir
Mesopotamian: Abzu/Apsu Adad Amurru An/Anu Anshar Ashur Enki/Ea Enlil Ereshkigal Inanna/Ishtar/Ishtarat Kingu Kishar Lahamu Lahmu Marduk Mummu Nabu Nammu Nanna/Sin Nergal Ningishzida Ninhursag Ninlil Tiamat Utu/Shamash
Religions of the ancient Near East
Anatolia Ancient Egypt Arabia Canaan   Persia
Mesopotamia Sumer Semitic; Ancient Semitic       religion encompasses the
    polytheistic religions of the Semitic peoples
from the ancient Near East and Northeast Africa.
Since the term Semitic itself represents a rough
category when referring to cultures, as opposed
to languages, the definitive bounds of the term
"ancient Semitic religion"  are only approximate.

Semitic traditions   and their pantheons
fall into regional categories: Canaanite religions of the Levant, Sumerian tradition-inspired Assyro-Babylonian religion of Mesopotamia, and Arabian polytheism. Semitic polytheism possibly transitioned into Abrahamic monotheism by way of the god El, whose name "El" is a word for "god" in Hebrew, cognate to Arabic Allah.

Abbreviations: Ac. Akkadian-Babylonian; Ug. Ugaritic;
Pp. Phoenician; Ib. Hebrew; Ar. Arabic; OSA Old South Arabian; Et. Ethiopic

ʼIlu - "god" (Sky god, head of pantheon: Ac. Ilu, Ug. il, Pp. ʼl/Ēlos, Ib. El/Elohim, Ar. Allāh, OSA ʼl).
ʼAṯiratu - (Ilu's wife: Ug. aṯrt, Ib. Ašērāh, OSA ʼṯrt) - The meaning of the name is unknown. She is also called ʼIlatu "goddess" (Ac. Ilat, Pp. ʼlt, Ar. Allāt).
ʻAṯtaru - (God of Fertility: Ug.
ʻṯtr, OSA ʻṯtr, Et. ʻAstar sky god).
ʻAṯtartu - (Goddess of Fertility:
Ac. Ištar, Ug. ʻṯtrt, Pp. ʻštrt / Astarte,
Ib. ʻAštoreṯ). The meaning of the
name is unknown and not related to ʼAṯiratu.
Haddu/Hadadu - (Storm god: Ac.
Adad, Ug. hd, Pp. Adodos). The meaning
of the name is probably "thunderer".
This god is also known as Baʻlu "husband, lord"
(Ac. Bel, Ug. bʻl, Pp. bʻl/Belos, Ib. Baʻal).
Śamšu - "sun" (Sun goddess: Ug. špš, OSA:
šmš, but Ac. Šamaš is a male god).
Wariḫu - "moon" (Moon god: Ug.                                        yrḫ,
Ib. Yārēaḥ, OSA wrḫ).
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. .
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!
Negra Jan 2016
If I crossed the street I would've been in the district with all the black kids
I begged my mom to take me there.
If I crossed the street I wouldn't have gotten IB
I wouldn't have gotten the prestige
That I thought everyone deserved
Saving me almost a year of college
And money like a scholarship.
If I crossed the street I wouldn't, as much, question my identity.
I wouldn't be single and question my beauty through white eyes
I would learn how to answer questions in class without feeling my white peers lying their eyes on me to see if the black girl could get it.
If I crossed the street I wouldn't be the only black girl in my classes.
If I crossed the street I wouldn't have to feel like MLK day was my job to announce according to my substitute teacher.
Because you know what week it is! Well of course you know girl.
If I crossed the street I would've been with my black brothers and sisters
Rather than trying to find my black experience in my white friends
But I didn't cross the street.
Maybe it took a bit longer to learn to love my black because of that.
But today I love myself
No matter what border I reach
And who disclaims or proclaims my authenticity.
I love my black self.
Maybe I wasn't supposed to cross the street
PK Wakefield  Sep 2010
IB
PK Wakefield Sep 2010
IB
YES. my simple biceps are purring perfectly slick immobile death
rictus wearing skulls. i needle my flesh and ink it and make it pretty

                      the smiling violence of my triceps
          bulge distended arcs of fists. ladling terrifically through stale
                             air mingling vibrant vibrations

calm tigers of effortless dream making darkness my arms dance and
jolt pleasurably and every body loves
               the infliction of their splendid pain;they roar and combust
suddenly at the night crafting carpals imbued to my wrists
jouncing and blustery voices thrash from throats

             they love it

they love it        they love it

       i
'll do it some more
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.

— The End —