African woman
Mother of civilization.
Oh beautiful woman,
Thou are beyond description.

African woman
Queen of the people of Mamba.
Jambo to all those in heaven
Bless you too my dear mama.

African woman
Royal Nubian Queen.
The backbone of her man
You'll do anything to help him win.

Single Black woman
Made of broken pieces
You're the breadwinner,Superwoman.
You're the symbol of strength in all places.

African woman
Daughter of Eve's.
Thou are God's true specimen,
And the apple of his eyes.

Black woman
Daughter of Africa.
Blueprint of a **** woman,
Dark hue of coffee arabica.

African woman
Mother of humanity
Chieftess of ancient Nyngoman,
Mama Africa's bounty.

African woman
My Mandingo bride.
First woman of Africa's Eden
Center of God's black tribe.

Nigerian woman
My Yoruba Queen.
Envied by the women of Oman,
Cafe ou lair, cream of Africa's cream!

Warrior woman,
Queen of Wakanda.
Come and flip your wand,
Find the soul of Sarafina.

Curvy woman
In your womb lies Africa's future.
My Lormah woman
Oyobuays marvels at your structure.

Beautiful woman,
Perpetual envy of the silicon woman.
Pride of the Black man,
The essence of a real woman.

Indigo Woman
Lillies of the African plains.
Thou are Eve of the African Eden,
Best of the portraits that nature paints.

Voluptous woman,
Full, thick natural lips.
Real assert of the Black woman,
Nature gets aroused by your hips.

Ellen Sirleaf, today's woman,
Africa's first female president.
A Liberian woman,
Loved and revered wherever she went.

Smile ,Gambian woman,
You're daughter of Sarakunda.
Roots of the Black American woman,
Captives of the kanda Bolinga.

South African woman
Mariam Makeba
Sang for freedom and fought like a man
You were truly Soweto's finest Deva.

Dark ebony woman,
You are red, yellow and green.
Hanmatan wind stops at your command,
Born to slay and be seen.

African woman
Thou are the only reason
God put Adam in a coma.
Your perpetual beauty transcends time and Season.

African woman,
Under your cleavage, the Nile flows
And between your fingers, golden threads are woven,
You are the reason Beyonce glows.

Harriet Tubman, brave woman
Smuggled slaves underground.
She was a freed Black slave woman,
Who avowed to leave no soul behind.

Creative woman
Maya Angelou, gifted poetess.
Famous writer and a Black woman
Will be remembered for her poetic prowess.

Native African woman,
Africa's limestone and cement.
A mother, a wife, virtuous woman,
Lioness and the spine of the continent.

Liberian woman
Roots of my poetry, you gave me life
You are every woman.
Your edges are sharper than the Sumarais knife.



#IvanBrookspoetry©
13/8/2018

We are all here today
Courtesy of yesterday.
So fear not tomorrow,
It's a gift from God to borrow.

Take a look at everything,
Do you miss anything?
Everything, everyone here today,
Began their journies yesterday.
  
Fear not what tomorrow brings,
It could be some good or bad things.
Things allowed by yesterday
Just to manifest themselves today.

Yesterday is the same as today,
It's just a day that has passed away.
Though it takes a part of us with it,
Tomorrow is what we all await.

©IvanBrooksPoetry
21/8/2018

Before all of this, even after all of this, I will forever be a patriot.
Before the poet in me matured and I started talking like a parrot,
The dogs of war barked and I climbed exile's fence on my own
And there I have dwelled, with nothing tangible to bring me down.

I have been on this fence so long and I will remain there forever!
Especially since the premature child is still in the incubator.
From this vantage point, I have learned never to trust any politician
I've always looked at them with mistrust, disdain, and suspicion,

Before all of this  and before I ran and climbed the exile fence,
I was once mercilessly flogged, dragged and made to dance
By drugged up and coerced child soldiers with a rubber cable
They tied and spread me like a dog on the market table
I watched as innocent people were killed with a rusty knife
There, I vowed to become a fence dweller for the rest of my life!

I've been a patriot all my life but I have done it from here..safer.
From here I have seen blood spilled, hearts broken, hopes dashed,
progresses stalled, mullions embezzled, promises broken, lies told
people changed, games played, party surfed, interests prioritized.
And from this vantage point, I have learned never ever to trust any politician
I have always been right...though I have looked on with disdain, suspicion,
and operated with caution but through it all, I have remained a true patriot and a fence dweller.

.✍️©️✍️IvanBrooksPoetry.✍️©️✍️

Love is a blind *****
And a wicked witch.
She's like a bill collector
And a heartbreaker.

Love is a light
Sometimes she's bright,
Sometimes she's dangerous
And very mysterious.

Love is contentious
Like a strange virus,
She kills at times
At times, she saves.

What's this phenomenon
That moves like the moon?
Love eludes some people
And for her, some will struggle.

To some, she's a white dove
Sent for them from above.
To those not lucky like us,
Love is just like a bad curse.

Love is the bedrock of life
Yet she hurts like a knife.
To few, she works like a lawn mower
And too few she's a lawn blower.

Love to some is like a quick shower
In no time it's all over.
The mystery of love
Is the tale of the black dove.

Love's seed was planted in Heaven
And blossomed in the garden of Eden
A long time ago on this earth,
It was the caveat for Romeo's death.

#IvanBrooksPoetry©
7/22/2018

I speak the language of God
I speak Alleluyah and Amen!
I speak a perfect spoken word,
The language of poets and gifted men.

I speak fluent Norwegian
The language of the Norsk.
I was born a Liberian.
That took time and hard work.

I speak sound French
The language of French Guinea.
I speak it whenever I pray in church,
God blessed me there as a refugee.

I speak the English Language,
The universal language of business.
Wall Street used it to do damage,
Damages that caused the financial crisis.

I speak the hustle language,
The one adopted by hustlers.
This language I have used to engage,
All my challenges and troubles.

I speak a special creative language
The one spoken by writers and poets.
This language is so unique,
That it has produced many laureates.


#IvanBrooksPoetry©
1/8/2018

Poetry is a blank canvas
From the start, you'll be nervous.
Remember, it's about creativity,
And styles and individuality.

Let your inner voice paint
Try your best even if you can't.
Some will be like a blurry picture
And some will even lack structure.

Some will turn up so beautiful
And some will be very wonderful.
Just choose the right color line
And let your muse shine.

Talk to it like a pretty lady
Even if it appears ugly.
Make each and every line thine,
Make it slay beyond the borderline.

Appreciate it in the morning,
Worship it in the evening.
Do it daily or do it hourly,
Do it weekly or do it monthly.

Water it like a flower
Give your words power.
Roll it like Snoop does his joints,
And smoke it like weekend's blunts.


©IvanBrooksPoetry
23/8/2018

I think Poetry found me very early,
From somewhere in mama's womb.
Hooked to her umbilical cord firmly.
I heard something like a tiny bomb.
It was the sound of the talking drum,
Heralding the arrival of another grio.
So with gratitude, I said thanks mom,
And to the world, I said a very big hello.
Of course, I used the language of babies,
I cried and breathed in my very first air.
This was my first sight of the ladies
They smiled as they washed my hair.

My very first poem was a sad prayer.
It was written when I was very hungry
I was hopeless, I had only one dollar,
And no real prospect of ever making it.
So I took out my old used notepad,
UnfortunateIy, I had no pen to write with.
I wrote with a charcoal found in the yard,
And I wrote many long lines on my wall.
I wrote everything I had to tell God
Sadly, I couldn't write them all.
I cried in anguish to the Lord,
Asking If He had forgotten me.
Of Course, I got no immediate answer,
But years later my answer came.
It came in the form of a letter.
Addressed to me, ten years later
It came later but it felt better,
Instantly my struggle was all over!

The first love letter I wrote was poetry,
It was childish, unstructured and ugly.
It was written to a girl, she was pretty,
She read it and smiled, I wasn't so lucky.
Crushed, yet I pretended to be strong
I walked away but ran all the way home.
I cried in anguish and wrote a love song.
The lines were very sad, I felt all alone.
But I knew it was my first real rejection.
So I tried writing again, this time to me.
I was very focused, I was on a mission.
Finally, it finished and I wrote my name.
Unfortunately, the answer was the same,
There and then I knew I had no game,
So I reconciled and just took the blame.
Fast forward,and many years later,
I found the subject of my love letter.
I wrote a note to her on messenger.
I was optimistic because I wrote better.
I was emboldened by my poetic power.
Once again,the reply came to me later,
This time it was a resounding yes!
It felt so wonderful, thanks to poetry
And the universe I didn't make a mess.

  #IvanBrooksPoetry©
7/22/2018

What's this phenomenon called love,
That remains a puzzle no one can solve?
Love is the caveat for many broken hearts,
And the byword for many gracious acts.
Love has the characteristics of a witch
And the coldness of a vindictive *****!

Love, the greatest of human emotions
Has many different variations.
The good book talks about agape love,
And Beyonce sings about drunken love.
Its nature nobody really understands
Yet men have worked with their hands and paid bride prices with cows.
Some have proposed to women at the super bowls.
And on talk shows, jumped on couches
leaving a few to walk on crutches.

Nobody knows love's true colors.
Yet many men have spent top dollars
To buy their women cars as gifts.
And later on, end up begging for lifts.
For love, Romeo committed suicide
And Juliet died right by his side.

Love is very irresistible
And unpredictable.
Love has many dimensions
and many complications.
For love, many people have died
And much more has lied.
For love, knots have been tied
many bank accounts emptied,
For love, wars have been fought
And many Diamond rings bought.

Love is a wrecking ball
I call it an emotional hall.
For love, tears have been shed
by many in their lonely beds.
Love is a mystery
But the reality in my poetry.
It's a kinda game in most men lives,
A game played behind their wives.

So what do we know about love?
Is it peaceful as caged doves
Or dangerous as wild wolves?
Is it contagious as a disease,
Or rumpled as a crease?
Is it blind like brother Steve,
Or silent as a grave?
Is it deep like the ocean,
and beautiful like Heaven?
Love can at times be as cold as ice
And at times, twice as nice!

IvanBrooksPoetry©️
21/8/2018

I woke up very happy
This joy isn't for me alone,
But for nearly everybody
Who calls this world home.

I woke up energized
To continue my journey
For me and those marginalized
For the poor who has no money.

I woke up determined
To continue with the hustle
My exuberance remains untamed
In spite of my personal struggle.

I woke up feeling blessed
For dear life and its woes.
I, yesterday was depressed
Today I care less about what life does.

I woke up very pumped
Determined to do better.
Yesterday I erred and stumbled,
Excellence today is what I'm after.

I woke up feeling rejuvenated
To change the poetic narratives
So I remain resolute and obligated
Hoping my poetry will impact lives.

©IvanBrooksPoetry
22/8/2018

If I can't stand and say something
About injustice, hunger and poverty,
I can at least do one special thing,
I can write a very beautiful poetry.

If I can't fight modern-day slavery,
I can write and bring awareness.
My pen is like a mighty artillery
That can help stop this wickedness.

If my frame is short for me to be seen,
My mind is loud enough to be heard.
It can take me places I've never been
And give me a shelter and my bread.

If I don't have fine clothes and jewelry,
I have deep wisdom and intelligence.
That enables me to write good poetry
Capable of taking me out of decadence.

If I don't have fine cars and houses,
I have from Jah a blessed assurance.
And peace inaccessible by noises,
So I say thanks for life and Providence.

©IvanBrooksPoetry
22/8/2018

A dream can give a poor peasant a chance to be with a beautiful woman, in a pristine environment,
living a life of privilege.
A dream can make him have a bowl of royal ice cream on a hot summer day.
A dream can make her wealthy dad bless their marriage.
A dream can change a peasant's life.

Dreams can come true
Only if you believe.
A dream can transform the life of a homeless child.There can be love, care a warm bed and full bellie
and protection.

A dream can make a Baptist Preacher
See a bright future of his country.
A country polarized by racial segregation and social divides, injustice inequality.
A dream in which his children won't be judged
by their skin colors, rather by the contents of their characters.

©IvanBrooksPoetry
21/8/2018

When a published poet dies,
A shooting star falls.
The universe cries
And rainbows hugs waterfalls.

When an old poet dies,
A new poet is born.
Nature lights up a million fireflies,
And a ship gives a tot on its horn.

When a young poet dies,
A Crack appears in a crystal ball.
A Fountain pen dries,
And a sad poem appears on a wall.

When an old poetess dies,
For a while the wind will cease.
Petals will fall from Lillies,
And disappear without a trace.

When a great poetess dies,
Fallen poets observe silence.
The men adorn black bow ties,
And the ladies dress in elegance.

When any poet dies,
The world loses a bright mind.
Shakespeare appears across the skies,
Waving to those of us left behind.

When a poor poet dies,
Nothing at all happens.
The world goes about its duties
He goes on to rest with other legends.


#IvanBrooksPoetry
29/7/2018

Why is little Musa working in these diamond dirt pits,
Digging from sunset to sundown
Where are the laws that protect children 's rights,
Why is he left unsupervised working on his own?
Musa
Struggled from early childhood with all his strengths
Now he can hardly stand because of damaged vertebrates
To know the number of free hours he worked, do the maths
Yet some lucky girl somewhere celebrates.
So
How can he labor as a slave when he's just a boy?
How can Musa smile when he has no joy?
How can he run when he has no legs,
Who will speak for him knowing he has no voice?
so
How can the opportunity box be opened without the keys
How can the world do nothing about his demise,
Especially when to stay alive he has to work for food?
How can he locate hope if he can't see,
How can celebrities adorn diamonds with bad blood,
How can this possibly be?
So
If I can lend my pen to help every child slave working,
Then my life on earth is worth living.




✍️#IvanBrookspoetry©️✍️

There are bloggers and selfie-takers,
Know the difference.
There are noisemakers and peacemakers,
I can show you the evidence.
There are admirers and haters.
Be especially mindful.
There are well-wishers and supporters.
Be very careful
The are naysayers and yeasayers
Always be aware. 
There are brothers and brother's keeper,
Always ready to take care.
There are destroyers and fixers,
Separate them.
There are mixers and blenders,
We need them.
There are writers and publishers,
They need each other.

There are readers and proofreader.
Both read for different reasons.
There are bystanders and onlookers.
Both will be watching.
There are movers and shakers,
One of them has the edge.
There are dreams snatches and vision busters,
Be on the lookout.
There are ghost whisperers and Ghostbusters,
Both have connection to a ghost.
There are buyers and sellers,
Each one benefits.
There are singers and there are dancers.
Everyone provides some entertainment.

©IvanBrooksPoetry
21/8/2018

The kitten moved very slowly
She was a motherless lost kitten.
Again and again,she fumbled blindly,
Like everything was hidden.
She searched everywhere
And cried From dawn to dusk
But her mother was nowhere!
She dug into the earth's crust,
And tried to climb the olive tree,
She scaled the neighbor's wall
And wondered where could mom be.
So she began the desperate call;
"Mother,mother,where at thou?
Are you somewhere looking for me,
Are you trying but don't know how?
Mother,you I search but I can't see,
From me the world is hidden!
Why don't I see anything at all?
Mama,mama help for I haven't eaten!"

#IvanBrooksPoetry
7/22/2018

I know not from whence my inspirations cometh
I believe I was chosen from the time of my birth.
Alone and undisturbed, I have strange visitation
Embellished with beautiful stories delivered via imagination
Even the mental drought known as writer's block
Goes away the very moment the spirits knock.
Thanks to my late Queen mother who told me stories
And tales of our ancestor's conquest of adversities.
I am the last of the great Grios from my tribe.
The spirits will always be my source of inspiration and guide.
I come alive at night when the entire world sleep,
That's when the best ideas and loose words creep.
These words I process as part of my solemn obligation.
As custodian of Ancient history and its dissemination.
Call me a poet because of spoken word and great poetry
In actuality, I'm the last Grio sent to write our ancient oral history.

IvanBrooksPoetry©️

Music is my greatest inspiration.
My mind comes alive when I listen to jazz.
I can easily pen the product of my imagination
When I hear sound from the rhythm or bass.

Hope is the bedrock of my motivation.
My everything is in the hands of Almighty God who sits beyond the stars and constellation.
For in him I hope according to his holy word.

Love is the center of my emotion.
It has cost me happy and sad tears.
Brotherhood is the reason I abhor altercation,
It has created hatred amongst peers.

Peace is the reason I believe in unification.
In unity, strong success is always shown.
War is the main artery of death and destruction,
It leaves damages and orphans on their own.

©IvanBrooksPoetry
21/8/2018

Two-tongued and long,
Slander and smooth,
Naked and wicked.
Moves hissing,
Delivers kisses of death,
With tongue flicking.
A revered reptile.
Lives in dead piles of woods
In trees, and deserts,
The cold earth's hugger
Crawls like nature's gymnast.
Never has he ever laughed
Never made any friends
Never trusted by anybody.
Sadly he has a king,
Black like me
But has no soul
he lives in Africa
And in parts of Asia
He bites and hisses
But I don't bite
only on my food
He doesn't chew.
I do, and I swallow.
Him, his preys whole
I despise him.
I have many reasons
He social-engineered his ways
Around Adam"s woman
One day, he ****** eve up
With smooth lies
What this even implies,
Empirically, logically,
I really don't know,
All I know, I was told!
Hold on, I know not
From whence it came,
  Maybe from the good book,
That's a Long and twisted story.
It says he used his tongue
Not on her as a woman,
But to break her home.
Adam was a **** fool,
To leave that girl home alone.
Unannounced, he came in kool
Using his double tongues.
Was she kinda blind?
He isn't even cute.
This story I can't refute
Yet millions have concurred  
I'm not a friend.
Not of the story.
Of him, the notorious,
The venomous
The infamous heel biter
Once again, I hate him
Never was a friend
Never will be,
Because of that poor woman.
He's the First home breaker,
Frickin' liar
Cursed by God
His head to be severed
Using a sword,
A stone or stick,
Day or night,
Right or wrong,
Because of poor little eve
Adam's kids will strike
At his tiny little head.
Death to the serpent!
Eternal condemnation
Even if he repents,
Strike his elongated body
With a double-edged cutlass.
Don't you ever feel sorry
For this sorry ***.
Chinese add him cooked
segments by segments to curry.
He has no class
He Kills at will.
I hate him very much
And I do have my reasons.
He's the infamous snake
The symbol of evil
Father of confusion
With evil intention
Perpetual guide
To eternal hell
From the garden of Eden
Who gave Eve a heartbreak.
He's toxic and venomous.

©IvanBrooksPoetry
29/8/2018

Everyone of us will die someday
Death cares less about personality.
For the appointed ones,it's on the way
Death cares less if you rule a country .

Or possess fine clothes and blings
For those destined for today,he'll come
Be ready if the club of death swings,
Prepared or not,you're going home!

So weep not for me when I'm gone
It's not a bad thing to sleep forever.
It means my brief time here is done
So mourn me not my dear daughter.

For yourself cry hard and be prepared
For a visitation from death's hands.
Be brave,be strong and don't be afraid,
To depart from your ancestral lands.

Fear not death, death's fear just passed
Those who live very well will die
So does the poor, hungry and stressed
Soon we all will be on the other side.


© IvanBrooksPoetry
31/8/2918

Change is the blink of an eye
or the shift of a gear.
Change is saying goodbye
or a new outfit to wear.

Change could be a decision
or the reverse.
Change could be a promotion
given to someone else.

Change could be a relationship
whether old or new.
Change could be a friendship
adding or taking away a few.

Change is biology
the study of life.
Change is psychology
talking to a man to drop the knife.

Change is adaptation
When we have to adjust.
Change is transition
be it to or from a new post.

Change is acceptance
be it about you or a situation.
Change is reluctance
to move beyond your current position.

Change is Barack Obama
when he killed Osama.
Change is Donald Trump
Acting like a complete dumb.

Change is regime change
President Ellen Johnson leaving her position
Change is working with something strange
President Weah winning the election.

Change is new wealth
When you enjoy new money.
Change is a better health
Replacing sugar with honey.

Change is giving birth
when you bring forth a child.
Change is death
Or being buried in the field.

Change is taking a wife
and gladly jumping the broom
And staying together for life
till death do your part.

Change is tomorrow
for nobody knows what it'll bring.
Whether it'll be some kind of sorrow
Or a song of joy for us to sing.

     IvanBrookspoetry©️

Today is a messenger from God
Sent to us in fulfillment of his word.
Treat it like a precious gem.
It's a special day to them
Who values the blessings it brings
Not only the useless material things.
Today is also another day
Just like yesterday.
It began this morning
And will end this evening.
Accidents will happen,
Taking the lives of many men.
Many people will cry,
And many more will try
To be brave and strong
Even when all goes wrong.

Today is another day
To me,it's like any other day.
Happy children will play,
And some people will pray.
For many,it will be their last,
And for young babies, their very first.
Few people will take a bath,
And many happy folks will laugh.
Many good books will be read,
And hungry Stomachs will be fed.
The dead among us will be buried
And many couples will get married.
Others will pray to God above
To send them someone to love.
Yes or no, it's up to God
To honor his divine word.
You see,at the end of the day,
It's He who has the final say.
So remember to give him praise,
For today was sent by his grace.

#IvanBrooksPoetry©
30/7/2018

I know not from whence my inspirations cometh.
I believe I was chosen from the time of my birth.
Alone and undisturbed, I have strange visitation,
Embellished with beautiful stories delivered via imagination.
Even the mental drought known as writer's block,
Goes away the very moment the spirits knocks.
Thanks to my late Queen mother who told me stories,
And tales of our ancestor's conquest of adversities.
I am the last of the great Grios from my tribe.
The spirits will always be my source of inspiration and guide.
I come alive at night when the entire world sleeps,
That's when the best ideas and loose words creep.
These words I process as part of my solemn obligation.
As custodian of Ancient history and its dissemination.
Call me a poet because of spoken word and great poetry
In actuality, I'm the last Grio sent to write our ancient oral history.

IvanBrooksPoetry©️

If yesterday was an old man,
He would be old by now.
His hair and lashes would
Be full of shining grey hair
And walking with a Kane.
He would probably be frail
And proudly speaking of the
Good old days marred with
Conquests and exploits from
From his youthful adventures.
The intricate details of his flamboyant
Years and youthful antics and shenanigans would bring sparkles
To his old wrinkled face.
There would be tears in his eyes
When lamenting on love and sorrows...
Squinting his eyes and fumbling to
Find faded photographs hidden away
In ancient boxes from dusty shelves.

If yesterday was an old man,
He would speak between bad dentures
With shaky voice of an aging legend.
He would go on and on with tales
Of all the places he has been and
Calling the old names of cities and
People long gone but alive in his
Now on and off and fading memories.
He would talk about voyages taken aboard old vessels packed with ancient
Cargoes and Slaves and whale oil barrels.
He would recount stories of monsters
At sea and great beasts that once roamed the earth when it was young
And green and void of pollution.
About places and people and various
Cultures ,would be captivating stories
That young people would only imagine and listen in absolute awe, almost to a point of envy for his rich stories of a good life once lived in the past.

If yesterday was an old man, he would have a repetoire of ancient skills and knowledge that no one has today.He would talk about locomotives and steamships captained by bearded old sailors with horse drawn couches driven by hardened cowboys and couch men.
 If yesterday was an old man, he would talk about world war one and two like it was just yesterday.

If yesterday was an old man, he would know more of yesterday than today.

#IvanBrooksPoetry ©️
4.16.2019

In my poverty songbook, I wrote
Fear nothing but to do some wrong
Yet I wrote nothing about being broke
All because poverty made me strong.

From birth, I've sung the poverty song
It's about a unilateral fight against poverty
I know the road to the summit is long
I'll rest at nothing until I dwell in prosperity.

There's a verse in the book about perseverance
It's the main reason for which I wrote the song
In there I thanked God for His grace and Providence
For it's within his grace where we all belong.

In my poverty songbook, I left out a lot of things.
There ain't a single verse about laziness and self-pity.
I instead included a request for a Timberland and wings
These two I'll need to get about and do my hustle duty.

IvanBrooksPoetry©️

Why are there entire cities to drain,
When Somewhere in my village,
People are dying for a drop of rain
Coming from a cave through a seepage?

Why are many places flooded elsewhere
When the drought there is constant
And People are struggling everywhere
To moisturize the soil just to plant?

Why are young Maasai men digging
For hours Into the patched African soil
Searching way into the humid evening
For a drop of water, they have to toil?

Why did nature leave my playground arid
When she rains down billions of liters in Texas?
Streetlights, no lights, drought at the power grid,
Scolding of nature is the caveat of the water crisis.

Why did God give us diamonds and gold,
How can he bless us with an abundance of minerals?
Then seal up the skies and put the rains on hold?
Turning the crisis to a vulture's feast and human funerals.

#IvanBrooksPoetry©️

How can the world find
Everlasting peace for mankind?
Some think we can achieve this
By using our muscles and fists
Nations have tried using bombs
That billows like mushrooms,
Obliterating everything in its path
And giving the earth an atomic bath.
What has all of this brought,
What lessons has war taught?
If peace hasn't been realized
It's because love hasn't been exercised.

The world can't move
Without the power of love.
So let's be kind to one another,
And be our brothers keeper.
I don't care if it happens today
Or tomorrow or someday,
The world needs peace
And a dose of God's grace.
Not wars,it brings destruction.
Not any kind of confussion,
For it causes perpetual division.

For peace we saw the dissolution of the League Of Nations,
And the formation of the United Nations.
Yet still the world can't find a solution
To all the deaths and destruction.
If to our issues we can't find the resolutions ,
What kind of world will we leave our future generations?

#IvanBrooksPoetry©
7/22/2018

Some poems are like classic cars
They're old, bestsellers and great
Very famous and heavyweight,
Their legendary tales told at the bars.

Some poems are like Lamborghini
Fast, loud and stir up different emotions
They are magical and perform like Houdini
Taking us beyond our wildest imaginations.

Some poems are like a Ferrari
Fast, loud, costly and mindblowing
Some went through fine tuning
Ready for the adventurous desert safari.

Some poems are a Mercedes SLK
Fast,affordable,famous,people's favorite
Upon sight, people just stand around and talk
Every time we see them we celebrate.

Some poems are simple and great
Some are so good and impossible to rate.
Some will keep you woke
Brilliant and so off the hook!

Some poems are so romantic
Appealing to one's fantasy
Some are just so demonic
Embellished with total heresy.

Some poems are like a Rollsroyce
They intrigue us
Classic, historic, famous
They embody royalty, very luxurious.

Some poems are like a Bugatti Veyron
very costly, fast, collectible
Loved by kings and Barons
Making our speed appetites insatiable.

Some poems are Mustangs
Muscles, deep, street savvy
Gruesome like hunger pangs
They are powerful and heavy.

Some poems are like Teslas
Clean, smart, rich people's favorite
Costing the average people accessive dollars
They are smoothly written and moderate.

Some poems are like a Koenigsegg
Fast, rare, collectible and very costly
They instantly sweep you off your one leg
leaving you like '' seriously! ''

Some poems will make you go WOW!
And some will make you bow
Making you feel inferior to the poet
Especially the ones written by a laureate.

Some poems are mundane
containing things to drive you insane
Some poems are just cool
but contains useful cools

Some poems have powerful impacts
they contain deep knowledge and facts
Some poems are very good
Some will nourish you like food.

Some poem will bore you
Some poems will entertain you
Some poems will enrich you
And reach you wherever you are.

Some poems will set your mind on fire
And leave lasting impacts like screeching tires
Some poems are just incredible
Revealing things that are relatable.

Some poems are wonderful
And some are prayerful
Some are a little bit radical
And some are somehow political.

Some poems are just ordinary
Yet they're devotion to start early
And motivation to use during the day
Something to take you all the way.

Some poets are so creative
their poems are just amazing.
Some are outright provocative
Yet their works are just fascinating.


©️ #IvanBrookspoetry✍️

I say learn to practice what you preach
You have no rights to tear other people down
Remember this life is a long sandy beach
Each man has a unique print of his own.

So learn to always show love and support
No man is an Island, the famous adage says,
Brother-keeping is what life's entirely about
And kindness is a blessed seed sown for better days.

Love your neighbor as thyself, the good book says
How long will we go contrary to this universal law,
Commanded by God Himself since ancient of days?
A law in which he invested time and love to draw.

So where is humanity, where is that universal love?
It's time for the strong to give the weak a helping hand
The seed of love is the will of the Most High from above
So let love become that unique footprint left in the sand.

#Vanguard-Poetry23 ©️✍️ #IvanBrookspoetry©️
twitter @ivanclappers #IvanBrooksquotes©️
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The voice inside me is never heard
And it doesn't matter how loud it is
Even though I find this very weird
I have never told a living soul about this .

The voice inside me has a frequency
That's measured in some silent decibel
No matter how acute the emergency
No one ever hears a silent bell .

The voice inside me never sleeps at night
It rings in my ears and never stops
Even in my dreams I have to deal with it
Sad that I'll never hear when the pin drops .

The voice inside of me is a vindictive *****
She doesn't care if I deserve some peace
Penetrating my soul like a surgeon's stitch
And disturbing my inner man with ease .

The voice inside of me is a perpetual arrow
It stays in motion and never slows down
Intoned mostly to my pain and sorrow
My voice is a storm that'll never be known .

The voice inside of me is a quiet storm
That will probably never ever be heard
But lives underground like an earthworm
That threads the earth's soil with its head .

The voice inside of me is my late mother's
A voice that continues to bless and inspire
A voice of wisdom I share with my brothers
A voice of a great woman to whom I aspire .
  

#IvanBrooksPoetry
twitter @ivanclappers

Poetry is part of my story
So I write not for glory.
I care about it like my health,
And protect it like my wealth.

Talking about wealth ,I have none.
But if just in case I get some,
It really wouldn't matter.
For me I think peace of mind is better,

So I pen away my thoughts.
Leaving no rooms for any doubts...
My emotions,
And my inspiration.

My frustration,
And desperation.
Through it all,
I tried being stoic and rational.

Even though my pains
Even when it rains.
I write not about a special thing,
My work covers anything.

Sometimes it's about love,
Or about the issues I can't solve.
The things I take to God in prayers
The things others take to soothsayers.

© IvanBrooksPoetry
21/8/2018

Thank you hello poetry
for making me feel worthy.
Here I can write
And can freely create.
I need no validation
and self-promotion.
It's a unique platform
or a stage to perform
On my own ,to rewind
Time or say what's on my mind.
Here I always feel fine
Once I have the available time
Here I shake no hands
Match to no bands
But when I make a mistake
Somebody wide awake
Inboxes me and respectfully says
You might want to take a look at this
I seriously like this
So I honestly pray
each and every day
to stay
And be very active
And have another perspective
I feel connected
Here ,I feel respected
the emotion, the hype
Just my place and my type
For completion of this process
to other platforms, no disrespect
from poets here, I get more respect!

© IvanBrooksPoetry
29/8/2018