A broken maze hides inside my mind;
Revelers rambling round never find
The end - lacking signposts or guides,
They tread eternities while the exit hides

From echoing clatter to blinding roar,
From gentle pitter-patter to take no more,
Crowds mill through in groups and pairs;
The walls vibrate, as do I downstairs

Food trucks ply their bountiful snacks
Feeding frenzy, launching scent attacks;
The noxious steam combines to rise,
Waft out, confound and desensitize

Enclosed in walls impossible to climb
Trapped all together in layered time
The revelers begin to sway and swerve
Blundering on networks of frayed nerve

With no path to success or even escape
The horde begins to push and scrape
The walls - tremble, creak, quiver, quake;
The maze, my mind, my universe - break

NCL August 2019

There is nothing lonelier than wanting to be alone
They are queuing at my door to tell me
About my latest work
Asking what I'm doing now
For advice on what to write
What's hip or in Vogue
As if I'd know, I've been talking
About myself for years

But the beer in the fridge has
More to say to me then any of them
It speaks of the quiet of loneliness
Seeping into bones numbing
Brain cells
I can feel it wash over me
It tastes of stale breath and smells of bo
It wears a shirt unbuttoned down the front
Trousers with the fly open
Sitting listening to Sibelius
Smoking cigarettes

It's like the ***** that just won't leave
You're tired of all the talking
But you know you want to do it
One more time while you can

In a “wise passiveness“ I sit
Able to conquer any fit.
Wounded is my melancholy
When he meets his deft enemies
My Serenity, and Spirit

oh i know that i'll die
in the warmth of your
a r m s

I pay great homage to my Africa
The continent of several million cultures
Roots of the Dreadlocks of Jamaica
Jambo Africa, land of the vultures
Akwaba to the Eden of Black people
Ancient Africa mother of humanity,
The world still feed at your diseased table
Oh, Africa, custodian of nature's bounty.

Mama Ebony, you've forever represented since the creation
Thy cornerstones are planted on top of Pharaoh's tomb
Oh Timbuktu, the cradle of ancient education,
Blessed is thy beautiful dark womb.
Lined with fertile dark mineral soil
Eternal volt of the Ashanti gold
Adorned with gems, smeared with oil
Yet not half of your story has been told
Volcanos fuels silently off your gas
Land of Akana, the guidance of the sun
Your Pyramid stands where it once was
Watching time and age having some fun.

IvanBrookspoetry