The world's gone mad but my mind is made up.
Time to let ya'll into the darkroom of my mind,
A place where I'm the referee of a poetic world cup.
This is where I am creative even though I'm blind
Don't get me wrong I am not leaving from town.
No more radio or TV saturated with all the sad news,
I have got enough breaking news of my very own...
Breaking to me each and every moment as it brews.
Come and meet the hard drive of my creative doom,
That contains my beautiful and liberated mind.
Welcome to my one bright side I call my darkroom,
It's a place that's so special, I reckon it's one of a kind.

You have to know that I always act blind but I see.
In my mind, I can walk stack naked and levitate.
My mind is where I remain totally black and free.
Come join me set my poetic dial and help me activate,
The code that will outshine any power on this earth.
My mind is where I live and where nobody has access,
Here I can run a poetic marathon without taking a breath,
Call it my playground and intellectual fortress.

My mind is deep, a place of absolute calm and refuge,
Somewhere I will always see as the final frontier.
It is dangerous and toxic like a nuclear centrifuge.
In there, I am all alert and vigilant like a soldier.
My mind is a darkroom where I give birth to new ideas.
It is a vessel and place in which I do magic with letters.
It is my holy land of thoughts, my own creative Judea,
Where each idea is sacred and light as bird feathers.

Welcome to the epicenter of my creative mind.
This is where I turn letters into spoken words
A front line of creativity where no one leaves behind.
Come and see where all words become useful swords.
My mind produces powerful words like some light beams...
Courageous and powerful words for extra motivation.
Spoken Words that will light up people's faded dreams.
Now you know that up in my mind are no limitation,
There exists an enormous capacity of time and space.
Welcome one, welcome all to the darkroom of my mind
Take a seat and be calm, be quiet this is my place
For this here is my personal creative post of command.



www.poemhunter.com/IvanBrookssr
#Vanguard-poetry23
#IvanBrookspoetry
twitter @ivanclappers
@Bassapoet

Poetry is the direct cause of death of boredom.
Spoken words exist to excite the human soul
and to crown artistry with the nectar of wisdom 
Poetry has more decibels than the Superbowl.

Poetry is the Ganga of the human soul.
It induces a beautiful feeling that stupefies
and leaves the mind dazed like a drunken fowl,
yet it delivers results that really satisfies.

Poetry flows from the fountain of Wakanda
and permeates the arid soil of Timbuktu.
Poetry is the vault to the treasures of Zamunda,
where Mammy Wata guards the Kane of Mobutu.

Poetry is the language used at the creation.
When earth was young and everything was dark,
The great arbiter called out light and put things in motion.
He used spoken words to tell Noah to build the ark.

Poetry is life and life is in coexistance with poetry.
Before ancient Africa and the pyramid of Egypt,
Poetry was cooked and stored in God's pantry.
Ready for use in the Garden of Eden's script.

  

  
#IvanBrookspoetry ©️
#Bassapoet✍️
5.24.2019

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

Women, bearers of warriors' marks,
You're the tough layers of the baobab's barks,
Best of the portraits that nature paints,
and Catwalk models of baggy pants.

You have been misled and misused
Your bodies and souls have been abused,
Yet, like a rose planted in a concrete
You majestically rose on your feet.

Women, flawless skins, lipsticks queens.
Fresh like shades of master's greens.
Big bones babes, skinny jeans chicks,
Gorgeous women, with kitchen tricks.
                            
You are every woman, universal mama,
Rest in peace to the mother of Obama.
God bless every woman from Uganda
to the outskirts of the land of Wakanda.

African woman, Mother of humanity,
Thou are endowed with enviable beauty.
Eternal goddesses, brides of great kings
Multitasks babes, doers of great things.

Oh, Woman, givers of selfless love,
Sent to us from the great man above.
Oh, Woman thou are blessed,
You shall slay, was long prophesied.

This is a tribute to Maya Angelo's mammy.
Bless your lyrically poetic womb.
 a solemn tribute to Mother of LeBron,
The NBA GOAT, King James of Akron.

Curvy Women work your gorgeous hips,
Smile with your Luscious rogue lips,
Thou are the pollen grains of biology,
and the specimen of perfect anatomy.

Eve of Eden, the apple of God's own eyes,
You gave every woman bedroom eyes
that pierces to the core of diamonds,
Like hardened bejeweled armors.

Woman, thou are truly nature's bounty.
Showcase your freaks and sexuality,
For which your petals toast monthly...
Slay dear queen, slay perpetually.

You came from Adams's ribs to give life
Woe unto any man who mistreats a wife,
Thou are indeed a blessed assurance,
Behold your grace, strides, and elegance.

For Sarah Brooks, my deceased mother,
and Sarah Ivana Brooks, my daughter,
For white, yellow and Brown women,
and all beautiful black African women.

 This poetry, I penned for women is a tribute to everything.
For those nights you stayed up to sing,
Those prayerful songs only God heard,
Lying on tears soaked pillows in bed.


#IvanBrookdpoetry© Bassapoet©
August 16-2019

I shed tears of ink
For the voiceless.
I am the only link
To the hopeless.

For the poor I scribble
In love and solidarity,
to highlight the struggle
and do an anthem of poverty.

For the poor and marginalized,
I speak power to the validity,
I bring awareness for those victimized
to quench the thirst of brutality.

I can flow like a mighty fountain
In the face of mistreatments.
I crawl valleys and climb a mountain
In times of impediments.

I can leak useful information
In the cause of injustice.
I can write a memo for a demonstration
On behalf of disgruntled masses.

I am the defibrillator of broken hearts
and the hope of the downtrodden.
I can write love poems and draw arts
Just to motivate and embolden.

I have signed many peace treaties,
and declarations of independence.
I have been used to get properties
And I have been used for vengeance.

I am the weapon of choice for intellectuals
and the shield of protection against violence.
I am the stamp of instant rebuttals
and the glitch of terrestrial intelligence.


#IvanBrookspoetry ©  #Bassapoet
8-22-2019

Money didn't save Steve Jobs from death.
The physicians couldn't restore his health.
Sadly, he passed without taking his wealth.
So, in God Almighty alone invest your faith.

Steve Jobs built a very great empire
In which he had planned to retire.
Though he died, his name will never expire
Forever to his legend, will generations aspire?

Steve Jobs was a very good man
philanthropic with a helping hand.
Even that too didn't save him at all
In the end, death came with the call.

He gave us the iMac and the iPod
He gave us the iPhone and iPad
So he will forever be in our lives
In our homes and in our kid's lives.

#IvanBrookspoetry© #@Bassapoet©
      Aug. 2.2019

In troubled times and hard times,
I get strong and my faith shines.
Even if I'm down without dimes,
That's the best time God shines.

At the end of my very last try
when curled up and ready to cry,
faith nudges and urges me to cope
That's when I reach for dear hope.

In the middle of my roughest storms,
I fight to hang on to the bull's horns
Even if the wait is long and perilous
I stay determined and remain courageous.

Even though I waddle in some trials
I toughen up and walk the extra miles.
Even if the walk lead to unfamiliar places,
I'll always reroute and finish my races.

IvanBrookspoetry©️
Bassapoet✍️
6.6.2019

Life is a perpetual party.
Dance alone if you
find no dance partner.
Dance with the fat girl
everyone calls ugly Betty.
Try not to lift her up
If you don't want to hear
your ribs or shoulders pop.
Try to swing around her
and come face to face.
Wink and say thanks for
the beautiful moves baby.
She will melt and blush,
for you've made her happy.

Life is a perpetual party.
Come dressed as a clown
or suit up in a fancy suit.
Party wild and get drunk.
Dance all night if you wish,
retire early if you want.
Make sure you steal the show
Or be crown the best.
Make sure you out dance
yourself and the rest,
Sing along with the songs
you like and do it well.
Regardless of the pitch
Or the tune of your voice,
Own that song even
If you don't know the
Wordings and the timing.

Life is a perpetual party,
Everyone got invited by
He who planned the gig.
So rise to your own feet,
Jump to your far right,
Jump to your nearest left.
Rock to sound and beat
and do the split or boogie.
Breakdance if you have
the time and chance.
Moonwalk if space exists
and Flashdance at the end.
Make sure by the break
Of dawn, when the morning
comes and the light is out,
your last dance was a great one.

#IvanBrookspoetry© #Bassapoet
8-20-3019

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

Poetry is a form of life after death.
For spoken words lives on forever.
Even long after we're gone from earth,
Our words will be read everywhere .

One Poet Called it the immortality of arts
Which I wholeheartedly agreed with. beyond this and all reasonable doubts,
Through ink,poetry is guaranteed a rebirth.

                          #IB-poetry( c)
                           31/01/2019
                          #Bassapoet

My words can't crash the market,
but it can sell ideas.
My words can not mislead
but it can vividly direct.
My words can't start a war
put it can sensitize warlords.
My words can't condemn
but it can seriously demand.
My words can not tear down
but it can surely uplift.
My words can not hurt
but it can not definitely heal.
My words can dig the earth
but it can circumnavigate the globe.
My words can not pierce stones
but it can reach deep into the soul.
My word can not wipe a woman's tears
but it can calm her down, reassure
and put smiles on her beautiful face.
My words can not bring forth lives
but it can transform many lives.
My words can not crush a diamond,
but it can soften a hardened heart.
My words can not feed a multitude of folks
but it can wake up the consciousness of
An entire generation with faded dreams.
Most importantly, it can motivate and inspire
them to engage and rethink and Move.

#IvanBrookspoetry© #Bassapoet
21-8-2019

I will continue to compose every day,
and let the inner man say whatever.
I will let the darkroom of my mind
shine and showcase my products.
I will continue to inspire and captivate
the young, old and eager minds alike.
Deep down within me is a voice crying,
and craving for a space in the minds
of those with faded dreams and broken hearts.
I will continue to give wings to words
and fly them beyond their hopes and dreams.
See how I flip words and juggle thoughts,
I am the gladiator, see how I swing my pen,
I was commissioned to resurrect dead words
and I'll continue on this creative journey
until the lord of words takes away my last breath.

I will share whenever I can, however I can,
and whatever I want and share my thoughts.
I will continue to let my poetic ink leak
on different colors of papers or in digital form.
Call me the dark Vader of ghetto poetry,
Some think I'm the last link between
the overcomers of poverty and victims of politics.
I will let the poet in me let out decibels of screams,
I will mold minds and rekindle faded dreams
via the richness and depths of my poetry.
I wish to write poetry that is enchantingly lovely
and spit spoken words sharper than a Samurai's sword.

I will continue to head the renaissance of poetry.
I have the compulsion to write and share
all that I've received from the universe in my verses,
just look at my lines, see the iambic meters.
Too Many great minds once walked this earth,
too many dead legends died without a chance
to showcase their God-given talents and gifts
All because they had no access to FB
or other platforms on which to share their thoughts.
The graveyard is the richest place on earth.
They say it has too many unrefined talents,
too many unrealized dreams, unspoken words,
too many unexplored visions and unwritten lines,
too many unheard voices and unexpressed thoughts.

.....I will

#IvanBrookspoetry©️
#Bassapoet✍️
6.11.2019

I see a new tomorrow
Through today's lens
And I see Yesterday
In ancient days.
I see you, I see me
In my brother's eyes.
I see a new world
Beyond the constellation.
I smell the aroma
Of affluence in
the rich one percent
I taste the acidity
Of abject poverty
In the poor majority.
In God I trust
For what's beyond
My powers and means.
Yet in medical science
And technology I do it all.
I'm the fossil of Adam
Custodian of Eden
and Partner of Earth's
First beauty queen.

I'm the pyramid and Sphinx
I'm the sun God Akana
I'm the kingdom of Wakanda
And the veil of Black Panther.
I come from God's pantry
And roam free and Wild.
I am made Of old spices
Gathered from afar.
I can't be mixed in colors
I'm Earth, Wind, and Fire,
I worship no deity
Yet I stir emotions
And I birth inspiration.
Call me the defibrillator
Of broken hearts and dreams.
I'm a fountain of wisdom
Deeply embedded in the
Soul of every storyteller.
I'm time, I'll never sleep,
I'm the muse of poetry.


#IBpoetry © #Bassapoet
        <<<3.7.2019>>>

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

This poetry you are reading,
Came to me one evening.
This is just more than a poem,
It's a revolutionary anthem.

This poetry was sent from the deep
Via spoken words in my sleep.
This poetry was baked in the furnace
It's elusive, nobody will ever trace.

This poetry is so hot, it'll burn you
And probably shock you.
Yet it has the propensity to uplift,
So it's not something to play with.

This poetry will slowly creep
From the sole of your feet,
To the crown of your head.
This poetry is a didactic bread.

This poetry is a glitch
Yet it was sent to teach.
It will grasp your attention,
and stretch your imagination.

This poetry is a proclamation
Of our collective emancipation
From total mental slavery.
This poem bears the scars of bravery.

This work is the embodiment of artistry
And the blurry lines and meters of poetry.
It's a poem, it's music and it's a painting.
This poetry is a testament of my calling.

#IBpoetry© #Bassapoet
         <<5.7.2019>>