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

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

Do you know God is going to set fire
on those who failed to read poems?
Do you know there's going to be
No bad weather besides soft quiet storms?

Do you know we gonna meet hordes
Of legendary artists and poets there?
Do you know were going to see Maya,
Tupac, Prince, Kobe, Gianna, Miles,
Micheal Jackson and Shakespeare?

Do you know regular folks, the Saints and all good people are going to be in new Jerusalem?
Do you know a special place has been built for us poets, a place God called poetry-selem?

Do you know poets are going be on the team with kings David and Solomon, writing psalms and hymns?
Do you know we are going to speak a special language and be called by new names?

Do you know our words are going to line the Billboards of Heaven for all to see?
Do you know that the tree of life is heaven's only tree?

#IBpoetry©
Twitter @ivanclappers
6-2-2020