echoing, caroming balls
chat bouncing off the walls
tossed but uncaught
speaks of worlds exploding
dropped into the sun
a prophet overlooked and erased
a poet bound and blind
empty rooms, empty roods
A stranded auburn brittle leaf before me
surrenders to the deftly sweep of zephyr,
coriolically swirling to elevate its conquest
into an air of revolving molecules, colliding,

split by ultraviolets to recombine, ceaselessly
creating shielding layers of evanescence, rare,
delicate, perfect. All in graceful motion
synergically metamorphosing around,

immovable trees deeply rooted in fertile soils,
breathing in our toxics, exhaling our essential
inhales, growing to shade, fauna from irradiance,
that of a star wizardly shilly-shallying with water,

a silent duet, dissolving to ascend
towards the skies, finding freedom in vapours
yet unable to escape, hauled back to rain,
replenish lakes, rivers flowing a course

estuaries to lavishing blue oceans, the depths
in which cells creatively began moulding into shape,
under erumpent tides metronomes of balance
orchestrating and echoing foreplays of attraction,

to a distant enchanting moon of paleness
jealously mimicking the love affair between
Earth and Sun, the first chasing the latter
endlessly in infinite space, as it performs

revolutions around holes of darkness seduced
by its opposite in which it mirrors and identifies
mutual origins, marble games where speeds
of clustered spheres exceed a million miles an hour

where inexistent time beats the rhythm scored
by elegant laws pulling the strings to the dance
of seduction, pirouetting above our blind eyes,
power, as zephyr decides to repose

the auburn brittle leaf once more,
before me.
On nature and the Universe
If the papers lying on my desk
had a voice, they would ask me
why don’t I write anymore.
They would ask for more stories
about us that I kept telling them
for years, we are their favourites.
I first started writing when you
came in with a smile and
filled my heart with your warmth.
One day you’ve left me grieving in
this cold, dark place and I thought
may be I could write for one last time.
Tears stained the papers instead of
ink, but they didn’t understand
this new language I wrote in.
Those papers are just lying there,
I never write again after
wiping the last tear off my face.
May be they do have a voice and
want to know what made me
stop writing, but I can’t hear them now.
If
If I gave you my smile
Would you give me yours
Run your finger along it
Touch your forehead to mine

If I gave you my hands
Would you give me yours
Hold them gently
Our fingers entwined

If I gave you my body
Would you give me yours
Wrap yourself around me
Till we can no longer be defined

If I gave you my heart
Would you give me yours
Love me with a passion
Of our own design

If I gave you my soul
Would you give me yours
Merge the light and dark of them
So we can't be confined

If I gave you my demons
Would you give me yours
Let them play together
In our strange minds

These are the Ifs that I ask of you...
I only hope you will answer me true.
Sayer 8h
I saw myself at thirty-one
he came to me and said to keep my chin up, to straighten my back
to breathe, to hold on to the good parts of me
embrace my faults and find peace in my sadness and guilt

do I even sleep or am I always awake
I try to find myself in others
my shadow do I wish to smother
my sadness come back to play
it's okay
I shake before I sleep
I sense his presence in the corner of the room
right before I wish to give up by the burning candle
he mumbles:

"your mistakes do not define you
even though I am You I can not refine you
just know you are loved but peace is slow
that peace comes and goes as it pleases
but your heart never freezes
so I know you will learn to love yourself"
i'm not alone
I think I'm the product of things that I've read.
Some are evident in the life I've lived.
Some can be heard in the things I've said
Few have shown up in the ways I've behaved
and most have popped up when I've hustled my bread.

Is somebody else the product or what I write,
Can some of it be seen in the life that person lives?
Can some of it be heard in the things that person says?
Has it shown up in the way that person behaves
or the way he or she goes about hustling for his bread?


©️IB-Poetry
2/24/2018
I often catch myself using few tips from self-help books or quotes from other great poets.Which brings me to the questions and more.
Afiqah 9h
and out of choice,
I chose to stay attracted
and damn my rebellious heart
to unforgettable, futile moments
all else will mysteriously
take its own flight eventually
I simply just want to always be unafraid
to play my role in life devotedly,
to be able to stay around
with the stars thereafter
when I’m finally settled and meant to go

-a.
Rap was my first love
Rap will always hold my fire

Hip Hop will always have my heart
Hip Hop will always be the one I come home too

We started together
Even when she is on some bullshit
Mumbling around town with technicolor hair
Crunch berry grills
looking like a cartoon villain
I get it

Rock was cool
sometimes we all need to scream
need to be sad and different
sometimes we don’t need words
just a guitar
just a bass
just a drum

It’s a funny thing to say:

The Blues made me laugh
laugh hard too
That’s why she said she left me
she said she was done.

I got so lost in Jazz
When I thought I left I realized
I’m still here

When I thought I had seen all that there is to see
When I thought I rounded the final corner
It turned out to be a street named Lombard  
The light shone on me in notes of blue
With the blessing of The Sun and Ra

I realized
off beat is the beat

Jazz
She’s like Hip Hop
I may go away
but I’ll never leave.


© Christopher F. Brown 2018
julie 10h
love doesn't cost anything
but a penny, a nickel, and a quarter.

a lucky penny, breaking the odds of rigid reality.

the nickel i found near your bed, after making love to you.

and a quarter, because all it took to fall in love with you was the first fourth of a second you held my hand.
for my baby
Sometimes I wish I had
the raging verse and the naked word
to summarize what is going on
with people, with my mind, with the world

Sometimes I wish I had
the confidence to trust someone else
to let him or her read my letters
and try to figure out all this mess

I don't plead for mercy
nor cleanance for this mess
I don't plead for reason
I just want to have the raging verse

I don't plead for silence
nor pent claps inside halls
I don't plead for voices
I just want more ears to hear me more

I disown the rules of poetry
And recognize only a single language
                                    around the world
That sings about love, beauty
suffering, power,
history and more

I hear it and I hope you hear it too
I try to sing along | I hope you try it too

Because I don't want to be alone
Singing among a crowd in a pent hall
Quiet, deaf and silent

Yes, sometimes I wish I had
the raging verse and the naked word
to make people rage and denude their souls
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