It blended eight bent branches

Curled a curved roof o'er-head.

With dead feelings; hurt, burnt, Dead.

We all are like plants I think
We start out small
And with a little bit of help
From our best people
We begin to grow
Sometimes we begin to wilt
And our loved ones
Help us to move on
And stay healthy
And continue to bloom

When you take a cutting
That plant is now living
With someone else
And has another life
This happens with people
When we give ourselves away
Our time and energy and love
To our friends and family
Our lives are now
Intertwined with theirs

Sometimes we get sad
And lose our leaves
When seasons change
And people change
But we learn to grow
Flower buds in the spring

Some plants grow well with others
And other plants are just weeds
The people we choose
To spend time with
Reflect the good plants
For one would not purposely
Fill their life with weeds
But even in gardens
Weeds aren’t planted
But they still show up
And block out the sun
So we must cut the weeds
Out of our lives

If you are not planted
In the right type of soil
You will not sprout
How you were meant to
But rather by
The dirt’s design
But if you allow yourself
To choose the right ground
You will blossom into
The best version of yourself

Water your plant
With content that will
Encourage your plant
To grow and develop
To its own best interest
Rather than content
That will slow down
Your progress

We must  be kind
To one another because
If we spend our time
Keeping other plants in the shade
We will grow the wrong way
We are all trying to create
A beautiful garden
Together

i have interviews;
plastic plants are placed squarely throughout stale spaces
the real plants are on desks and on window sills,
mainly private offices
where women sit and look out windows;
they wait once a month
for window washers to lather the glass
and it’s calm, their legs are crossed
they wait for the squeegee to screech
and then they wipe away the rain stains
that should have been pressed in a diary

windows get clean slates
at night you can hardly tell that anything is *****
but today the windows are stained
through sunlight one can see it all
even the grasshopper leg pinned to the fourth floor window
where a man is flossing his teeth
after having craved a super food salad
that he won’t allow his assistant to know about

i have interviews;
and i will pick at my **** stockings
hide my pleasant coffee stains
but not shave my ***** hair
i will sit with the women who take pleasure in windows;
collar bones with freckles and sun kissed tints
eyes always nearly closed
because of the succulent hisses by cubicle #3;
they slither through lungs and offer more
than how many words i can type
before someone lights up another cigarette

Cold, violet skin.
Red rose petals fall from my wrist.

The scent is pleasant.
It makes my head spin.

I spew eucalyptus leaves into the overflowing river.
Oleanders flow down my throat.

I puke out the petals, now stained red.
The river flows red as the lilypads sink.

Monkshood flowers cast shadows over my porcelain skin.
I pluck and I pluck and I pluck.

Until my fingertips are stained purple.
I lick them clean.

I weep tears that take the shape of an angel's trumpet.
They sing me a soft lullaby as they seep into my skin.

Pretty foxgloves draw me in closer.
I touch their shell and inhale their scent.

My stomach turns inside out.
Skyflower petals seep from my mouth.

I hadn't noticed until now.
That my entire body was a wilted rose.

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

i shall sweep the floor
shall draw the curtains
and water the plants

i shall smell the flowers
tug you in good night
shall read a book
or at least pretend to do so

because it is so sunny right now
the sun blinds my eyes
the warmth burns my skin
ripping it apart
but i shall not complain
for warmth is always good
right?

and i shall tolerate your bickering
shall understand your shouts
and nodd at your wrongs,
close my mouth shut

because it is sunny here
so so sunny
or so you say
but how do i truly know
how can i know
if the sun is simply a lamp
if the flowers are plain plastic
if the dust is never to be gone
if the ivy is actually dead

how can i know
how can i think
when all i can see
is the horizon
tainted in black
making its way here
a threatening shadow
lurking in the distance
setting up a trap

how can i know
that i’m not falling
for the tricks of the unmask man
how can i do
to repay you may debts in time
to be useful
not a waste of space
not a waste of cash

tell me so i can make it better
so i can make the strike softer
because you know who is coming
and baby your arms are not strong enough
to hold back the storm

Eating green peas,
Looking at the stalk curling,
With little twists and curves and edges.

What is that plant thinking of when it twists?
Is it pain? Is it bliss?
Beautiful and healing I thank the plant.
And continue eating...

How pretty is this little squiggly curved thing.