"produces" poems
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
Jan 7, 2018
Jan 7, 2018 at 10:52 PM UTC
Awake! arise! the hour is late!
Angels are knocking at thy door!
They are in haste and cannot wait,
And once departed come no more.
Awake! arise! the athlete’s arm
Loses its strength by too much rest;
The fallow land, the untilled farm
Produces only weeds at best.
11.6k
She came home and said
something like
Hey how you doing
But I didn’t tell her
that I have been
indulging in a
sweet and sour
strawberry string
sadness
there is a living ghost
on Facebook
and I can’t decide if
it is wrong to unfriend
the dead
so that I am not reminded
about the countdown
of my own mortality
or of my family
like a sordid experiment
so she said something
about the weekend
which produces guilt
for a spoil I haven’t committed
in the spot in my mind
that is addicted to
a strawberry string sadness
where Netflix plays
and the dent on my side
of the bed becomes more
pronounced
While I try and decide
about a living ghost
what is wrong and what is
right in this media induced
******* that develops from
beta to final release to a total
sadness 2.0
Feb 24, 2015
Feb 24, 2015 at 5:01 AM UTC
I play,
And my world disappears
My surroundings fade
Until there is nothing but my piano
Perfectly echoing my voice without words
I play,
I play to the beat of my heart
Letting it direct me
Letting the music flow through my blood
And through every vain in my body
Until every inch of my body is aching to hear the music
Making me feel alive
Like nothing else can
I play
Because the piano calls me
And we become one
With some broken keys here and there
That produces the perfect imperfect sound
With every key hit and a piano string pulled,
My heartstrings get played in harmony
I play
And the sound engulfs my world
Note by note
Measure by measure
Piece by piece
I play
On a broken piano
But I have never felt so whole
Dec 27, 2014
Dec 27, 2014 at 10:56 AM UTC
Many of the most profound pieces of poetry
May not have been dreamed and transferred
In particular manners professional,
And many of the most practiced writers
May not have been as noble nor indicative
As their readers would imagine and preach.
This concern thus produces a humorous conclusion
That through probability, possibility, and realism,
Many of the greatest and most inspiring words
Passed down to our misguided generation,
May have been conceived, scribbled, and explored
From the humble origins of atop a toilet.
Apr 6, 2016
Apr 6, 2016 at 11:39 PM UTC
I just feel so much guilt,
My words and actions built,
I know, what I did was wrong,
Tried to avoid it and be strong.
Following me has been the truth,
It was hurting like a tooth.
A second more, I could not deny,
Not apologising was a lie.
I'm sorry, from deep inside,
Clearly guilty, my hands are tied.
It was obviously, all my fault,
I have opened my inner vault.
I'm really sorry for my recent actions,
Selfishly searching for your reactions.
What I did wasn't kin,
I don't know what got into my mind.
Something wrong with my psychology,
From my heart I bring this apology.
I know there are no valid excuses,
Negative feelings arguments produces.
I'm really sorry, I truly care,
What I did was completely unfair,
Hope you forgive me over time,
I feel awful about my crime.
Please give me a chance to explain,
What I did was completely vain.
It was clearly way beyond rude,
Completely stupid, I must conclude.
I used words, I did not mean,
I need to stop-acting fifteen.
My actions and words, simply not right,
I'm sorry for my anger and spite.
Please give me a chance to explain,
There must be something wrong with my brain.
My emotions, I must learn to control,
And never hurt you, this is my goal.
I look in the mirror, feel so much shame.
It was my fault, I deserve all the blame.
Just don't know what I was thinking,
With all this shame, I feel like I'm sinking.
All the consequences, I completely deserve,
Can't imagine, where I found the nerve,
I just feel like the biggest fool,
What I did, was simply not cool.
Your forgiveness, I earnestly plead,
Without it, my heart won't be freed.
Please forgive me, I miss you so much,
Beautiful voice and your tender touch.
I agree, I was wrong,
Wish I could, sing a song,
I know you're are mad,
What I did was bad.
Nothing about it, I'm proud,
I was trying to impress the crowd.
Next time I should really thing,
Maybe even see a shrink
What I'm trying to say,
My love for you grow everyday.
We should never fight,
I need to hold you every night.
I've been lucky to have a girl like you,
I'm sorry if you only knew.
Feel so bad, for being so rude,
I'm sorry for messing up your mood.
I promise to treat you like a Queen,
I'm sorry for being so mean.
If only somehow, I could make things better,
This poem's from my heart, not just a letter.
Your inner and outer beauty amaze,
I'm sorry, for my crazy phase.
I wish to give you my entire heart,
Please forgive me, we could make new start.
Nov 14, 2015
Nov 14, 2015 at 12:12 PM UTC
Loneliness is a pain,
Not the pain of a knife cutting through skin, sinews, muscles,and drawing blood.
Not the pain of a tooth in your mouth throbbing and sending shocks of horrors through highways of swollen nerves..
Not a fatal pain of a dying cell being devoured by a cancerous growth that thrives on the death and the pain of the very cells that produces its been.
Not the pain of the prisoner s body been tortured by men who see no wrong or feel no shame as they insert sharp hot instruments into natural and man made orifices in their captives helpless, hopeless bodies.
Not the pain of age as the body's functions start their natural march towards unreliability , Hips, knees knuckles, elbows and all the other joints as they begin to slowly dry up and rub against each other like stones rolling down a hillside.
Not the pain of hearts slowing, livers hardening,lungs wheezing like ripped accordians bellows .
Not the pain of childbirth.
Not the pain of accidents that show no fairness to the person in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Not the pain of self inflicted wounds that can fool you into thinking that that pain is the answer to your problems.
Not the pain of the young healthy times when the body, and mind could accept it and overcome it
Not the pain of hunger or thirst.
Loneliness is the pain of the soul .
Loneliness is the pain of dreams that are dreamt when your asleep and when you'r awake.
Loneliness is the pain of memories . Some half forgotten some that are so clear you could almost touch them.
Some you'd rather forget.
Some you would spend the rest of your life reliving over and over again.
Loneliness is the pain that at times can be part relieved momentarily through the bottom of a whiskey bottle or a point of a syringe filled with a concoction of juices from plants poisonous to both the body and the soul.
Loneliness can never be cured by earthly things. Loneliness is a pain that can only find peace through a kinderd spirit.
Pat Rooney 2013
Feb 13, 2014
Feb 13, 2014 at 2:24 AM UTC
a tear drops from her eyes
and it brings no cause
though it quivers with emotion
and the stars do not shine brighter
when polished with her briny tears
but dim their glow and listen
listen!
to her sobbing
but wait
her capillaries will burst!
stop it!
stop it!
its translucence
its opaqueness
the inherent contradictions it produces
and the images it emanates
so while her eyes may open
they are unfocused
and gone
and the click of their judgements is obscene
because her soul has escaped
where has it gone?
she swears she saw it just a moment ago
just a moment
just a moment
just a moment
Apr 14, 2018
Apr 14, 2018 at 8:29 PM UTC
A flight of three crows
added to
a dense grey day
Next add four
iconic conifers
as high as the sky
eternally ******* down
These things are
always in my sight
through my window
on this wet world
Multiply all of this
by a sweet daughter
who makes me proud
and raise the whole
to the power of a strong woman
who carries us all
on her back
The equation produces
a result that I am 95 percent certain
equals happiness
though the confidence interval
is wide
And this result
sweet as it is
and as uncertain as it is
will outlive me
leave a faint echo in time
an echo that will bounce off a star
and finally be found
gripped in my shriveled paw
long after the epiphany
nowhere near paradise
somewhere short of
the end of the line
This is a moment of happiness
stolen from time
hijacked by a fugitive
from civil society
I'll hold it close
until death pries it
without mercy
from my hand
Leaves it as a blessing
and a curse
for all who come after
Take the blessing.
Leave the curse.
That's the advice I give
with my dying breath.
And I leave this to you
from the generosity
of my heart.
With a nod to
the scant traces
of God's grace
that I find on these pathways
of travail.
Never lost.
Never found.
Always present
and generous
to all.
Be that.
Nov 19, 2016
Nov 19, 2016 at 6:01 PM UTC
Food. What is food?
Is it something everyone needs to survive? Is it the thing that takes forever to make and has even less time time to enjoy?
Is it the beautiful plants that grow in the right season that produces so much pride that they deserve an instagram post?
Or is the thing that many people will never have the money to see?
For me, it is the center of everyday. It is the one thing that I know dictates my entire life. It is the one thing I wish I could forget and the one thing I wish I could live without.
It is the thing that forces me to do math, and it is the thing that keeps me from knowing any sort of satisfaction.
It is the thing that makes me wish I were someone else, anyone else.
It is the thing that I spend hours thinking about, measuring, classifying, and the one thing that I can never seem to get correct. It is also the thing that makes me cry at night. It makes me feel alone.
It is the thing that causes me to spend every day working out even when I don't want to, and it has made me be friends with a scale that isn't very friendly.
It is a bully, a cruel "ex" friend that wishes I were never born and it is a fighter that knows how to pack a heavy punch.
For me, it has not been very kind. It has been the thing that controls who I am.
It is THE thing, and sadly, it is everything.
May 25, 2021
May 25, 2021 at 12:16 AM UTC
the art of poetry
like any art
produces better work
when writers are not only
erudite but also smart
the lovers' painful state
upon loss or desertion
is voiced much more impressively
with less dramatic flourish
and more of the grate
that finishes the sword
at the old blacksmith's fire
where the hot flame of our desire
thrown into water
with a defiant hiss
turns into deadly steel
ready to **** and ******
friend or foe or lover
in our desperate search
for exits from the mire
or take the unexpected loss
of victory that seemed so close
on a wild battlefield
when suddenly the hero's gallant steed
falls victim to a hostile archers shot
and its proud rider is reduced to shout
"A kingdom for a horse!"
rather than holding a long monologue
about the treachery of fate
in short
less is oft' more
and lets the readers fill the empty spaces
with their own images and graces
Jan 14, 2016
Jan 14, 2016 at 5:23 PM UTC
*Man and woman, though different
Are equal in the eyes of God.
inexplicable though true but still
Unacceptable for some perhaps
Man is the highest of all creations
Woman is the most sublime of all Ideals.
God made for a man a throne,
for a woman an altar.
the throne exalts,
The altar sanctifies.
Man is the brain.
woman is the heart.
The brain fabricates light while
The heart produces love.
light fecunds,
Love resuscitates.
Man is the code.
Woman is the gospel.
The code corrects
As the gospel perfects.
Man is the genius while
Woman is the angel.
The genius is undefinable
And the angel is immeasurable.
Man is strong in reason
but woman is invincible in her tears.
Reason convinces the most stubborn
Just as tears soften the hardest of mortals.
Man is the ocean
And the woman is the lake.
The ocean has it's pearls that adorn;
The lake has its poems that dazzle.*
***Man stands where the earth ends;
And woman where heaven begins.***
Sep 27, 2014
Sep 27, 2014 at 9:46 PM UTC
We are all a garden
of sorts.
We all spring up
from a single seed.
And like a flourishing tree
or an expanding bush
we can branch out
and multiply
in number and in strength
surrounded by tender loving care,
being watered by others,
paid close attention to
as the gardener nurtures us
to maturity.
We bloom.
We blossum.
Beauty abounds.
Our colors come forth
in a harmony of hues
upon every petal
and every leaf.
But then come the weeds
that choke out our foliage
and wrap around our roots,
our foundations.
The weeds of hatred,
the weeds of bitterness
the weeds of loneliness,
the weeds of shame,
the weeds of fear,
and depression
invade.
Bugs infest our garden
and eat away at us,
tormenting us,
picking away at us,
and the beauty
and produce
that once was the glory
of our garden
has gone away.
Did we do this to ourselves?
We often wonder.
Did the gardener get too passive,
get too neglectul and uncaring
and forget to tend the garden?
Maybe we were not strong enough
to take up the fight,
wilting, fading in the sun.
Yet even a dying flower
produces seeds of growth,
and of renewal,
as a rebirth will come from
its entrance into the earth.
Even the most tragic looking
of sickly plant life
will have a comeback,
a resurrection
of sorts
when golden raindrops
do fall again
like prayers from the sky.
And so it is the gardener
was never asleep on the job,
did not neglect the duties.
And like all healthy ones do
abundant food
shall grow once again
in our garden,
fragrant flowers,
and branches
for the birds to perch upon
when at one time
all seemed dead
and hopeless
and lost.
Nov 26, 2009
Nov 26, 2009 at 12:48 PM UTC
ARTICHOKES are very nice roasted with pine nuts
Who likes BANANA cream pie?
They say that eating CARROTS improves your eye sight
Along the river Nile there are many DATE palms
ELDERBERRIES make a flavorsome wine
Piths from a FIG can easily get stuck between your teeth
Nape tape and shape all rhyme with GRAPE
HORSERADISH has a hot tangy taste
ICE-PLANT is a much used vegetable in Chinese cookery
The oil extract from JUNIPER BERRIES produces quine
My sister likes KALE steamed with lemon rind
It is so nice to munch on a LETTUCE leaf
MANDARINS are presently plentiful at the green grocer's
NEEPS can be mashed or left whole
On a hot summer day chilled ORANGE juice goes down well
Has anyone got a good PUMPKIN scone recipe?
Lashings of QUINCE jam were spread on my toast
The lady next door grows RHUBARB
SPINACH gave Popeye much strength
Smothering sausages in TOMATO sauce is sensational
UGLI is a member of the citrus family
In New Orleans you'll find fresh VELVET BEANS
WATERCRESS salad is so easy to prepare
XIGUA is a type of WATERMELON
YAMS are a staple of the New Guinean diet
ZUCCHINI bread is delicious fair
Aug 31, 2013
Aug 31, 2013 at 2:32 AM UTC
I own a good chin to lift
a look that threatens from a distance.
The shield I never thought I’d get in the mail is here,
name written on it and everything.
So I walk out, shield up,
and yet
I shiver if I only get a hint of
A scent,
reminding me of someone
who ****** me with no permission.
Sometimes, I forget the amount of my anger
But, if it bares meaning,
I understand it.
Not only mine, the anger of many women, who
woke up in someone’s bed, and
left there smelling of a body
they didn’t choose to smell of.
Don’t tell me I should’ve said “No.”
Because sometimes the mouth doesn’t listen to the body,
body doesn’t listen to the brain,
the brain is not aware that
six years later you’ll be sobbing with the realization that
you’re afraid of the man you trust most of all
because he produces testosterone.
Six years ago, it happened too fast.
I didn’t say “No.”
He didn’t give me time to do it.
As I was leaving, eyes clenched to my feet
I let him kiss me and say:
“I hope you don’t regret this night.”
That’s what makes me the angriest.
Aug 14, 2018
Aug 14, 2018 at 3:24 AM UTC
There is some magic
In the words left unsaid
A parallel universe exists
within those unspoken things
where the limitless open sky
is tempting you
to open your wings,
And fly
the wind blowing through your face
produces music of its own...
Only if you can listen
between all the things real
there is imagination
across all the desires
there are dreams
amid this silence,
there is music
there is magic
there is love.
Jan 7, 2017
Jan 7, 2017 at 1:37 AM UTC
Oh mighty powerhouse and largest gland
Snug in the abdominal cavity
Though few thy function fully understand
Should praise thee with the utmost gravity
Three pounds thy weight, but worth thy weight in gold
Four precious lobes through portal fissure fed
Tiny lobules in hexagonal mould
Each one formed by cuboidal cells widespread
Arranged in columns round a central aisle
Converting glucose into glycogen
Form plasma proteins and essential bile,
A, D, prothrombin and fibrinogen
De-aminates the protein that we eat
De-saturates the fat, produces heat
Nov 20, 2014
Nov 20, 2014 at 10:13 AM UTC
he is the guy who plants the rice corn and wheat
so each one of us has something to eat
at break of day he tills the many acres of land
for his harvest of food there is a great demand
he is the guy who milks the cows twice a day
to make the butter and cream for afternoon tea trays
shop sell these goods to people everywhere
his milking shed produces such fine fair
he is the guy who grows peaches and marrows
collecting them on tractors and in wheel barrows
he is dedicated to the pursuit of growing staples
which grace our kitchen and dining room tables
he is the guy that rarely gets much recognition
hard work he does and in all weather conditions
the man on the land provides our mouths with a feed
his vocation serves a community of need
Jan 14, 2014
Jan 14, 2014 at 5:18 AM UTC
They aim to blind
through the hidden abuse
of pepper spray,
but they forget that
I've been punished
(wrongfully) before.
My body remembers
the fiery sting,
punches and kicks
from abusive
step-brothers,
but they forget
that in due time
my muscles grow bigger,
my punch flies faster,
and I grow tolerance.
Whether such
produces patient
disobedience
or conditions the body
to react in violence
depends solely on
where they aim,
what they project,
and if I remain still.
Apr 7, 2016
Apr 7, 2016 at 1:38 AM UTC
"Boy were we wrong! We're the oddball. We're the freaks." --- Dr. Michio Kaku
We looked at trillions of those stars and knew,
that somewhere out there was another Planet Blue.
Those were not canals we saw on Mars;
optical illusions, lensed figment memoirs.
Stare into trillions, space mind overwhelms.
Rimbaud entrapped in countless ethereal realms.
Not the goal of evolution, merely happenstance,
the search for elsewhere leads a merry dance.
Planets a dime a dozen, yet no Goldilocks Zone
produces signals bearing SETI transient tones.
Birds more subtly impact our lives,
than do the aliens our universe provides.
Aug 14, 2018
Aug 14, 2018 at 1:16 AM UTC
Skating on thin ice my whole life like a figureskater.
First price on sight but the stripes, resembles a broken picture.
A golddigger... Go figure.
Writing straight from my heart so every bar tender. I remember a night in december,
from a walk in the park to a shot in the dark, I wasnt that cleaver.
Pretended to be concious and smart but now the scars on my arms shows that Im a beginner.
Sober for 3 years yet addicted to your liquor.
Sparked my transmitter when ladys slipper fell off after our first dinner,
But I never knew cinderella was a heavy hitter.
Couldnt connect the dots so now im on the ground with seven stars above my head like I got hit with the big dipper.
PTSD...
But **** all the modesty, I just need honesty...
My writtens a blasphemy (blast for me) but I can't be myself anymore like broken prophecy so God,
accept my apology, beacuse there's a monster inside of me that produces sick thoughts like it knew biology.
Some might say im insane but **** my brain, my heart is always by my side. Deranged thoughts but love tells me when its a lie.
So stay in my lane and embrace the fact that we all are going to die or live to busy and miss the heartbeat that takes you to the otherside.
Nov 11, 2016
Nov 11, 2016 at 9:16 AM UTC
Set me as a seal upon thine heart, for you are mine
Never let me go, grip me tight like a vineyard vine.
I love that pretty rose that your garden did grow
Betwixt those long beautiful thighs of strength
Exposing that sea shell pink jewel, I do know.
Your garden is so unique, it’s a one of a kind
Such parts are so delicate, that the slightest touch
Produces tropical showers that fill my mind.
Flowing from your meadow, and dripping from
Those soft sensitive pink rose petals,
Golden rain drops that taste O’ so sweet.
Thy lips O my spouse, drop as the honeycomb:
Honey and milk are under my tongue:
Causing the lips of those that are asleep to speak,
Every time that they meet.
I love all of your natural beauty,
And I love every lock of your hair
Swaying from a beautiful face, worthy of my stare.
How fair and how pleasant art thou. O love, for delights!
Your calm green eyes in my trance suddenly gave me visions,
Of hypnotic pupil shamrock sights!
I love your seductive soft lips,
One kiss upon them, takes me on so many trips.
My precious 1, your body is a wonderland I cannot resist,
I need for this dream to come true
And if so, I will forever do, everything for you.
You are the Garden of Eden, brought back to life
My only thought now is, I must betroth to have you,
As my wife!
Behold, thou art fair, my love:
Behold, thou art fair; thou hast,
Shamrock Eyes!
Mar 17, 2015
Mar 17, 2015 at 12:16 PM UTC
Prayer For Called and Gifted
Jesus you are the savior of the world author of salvation and creator of the universe and all good things. We are so small and frail and yet in your goodness you saw it fit to give us so much and to raise us up to more than we can be. You bestowed on your people different, beautiful gifts and call us to use them for others and for you. You have called us each by name and given us unique gifts, each with an integral part to play. You have given us a purpose and a reason. You have given us a passion for life. We are called to be beacons of hope, bearers of light. As wheat only produces fruit once it dies, may we also die to the things that hold us back from experiencing the fullness of your love for us. Help us Lord to be good stewards of the gifts you give so abundantly and so freely that we would be diligent, responsible, and humble as we try to live your love out in the world. You said to your apostles: "Go forth and make disciples of all nations; proclaiming the gospel by your lives and baptizing them in the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit". Lord, bless the people in this room; send your Holy Spirit and let it come to rest in our souls. Guide and lead and teach us along the journey of life to use our gifts that you gave us "for the greater glory of God". Just as we pray for ourselves Lord, we also pray for all those in the church and throughout the world that you would help them realize and utilize what they have been given to make this world a little better and to further your kingdom right here and now. May we all be a "blessing for life and a blessing for Christ"! We ask this and all things in your most beautiful and precious name. AMEN.
Dec 5, 2015
Dec 5, 2015 at 3:56 PM UTC