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

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©️

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©️

High up above our war-torn city,
On Snapper hills sit the old lighthouse.
For years in storms, she did her duty
Rain or shine without any kind of excuse.

High above our beautiful sandy shores,
Just like a good mother, she watches
not only over vessels but those
Who lost hopes and suffered all kinds of damages.

The light she flashes has for years,
Served as a perpetual beacon of hope
For those with bad memories and fears,
those traumatized by wars who still can't live and cope.

High above Monrovia, she stands
Watching the resilient people below
Survivors of the deadly Ebola strands
Who once refused to bow their heads low.

High above she sits, beyond the Montserrado basin.
At night her light remains the star of the city,
That has endured moaning and crying,
A city that has seen the good, the bad and the ugly.

The old lighthouse still stands there today,
directing maritime traffic at night
and flashing light over our beloved city
That for years witnessed a ****** and senseless fight.

IB-Poetry©️
2/19/2018

Verse 1:
I want to take you to a paradise
where everything is just cool and nice
Come take the journey in my spaceship
That I built using the components of friendship.

refrain:
Come with me, come with me
Come with me to a brand new world
Come with me, come with me
Come and become my all in all.

Come with me, come with me
Come slice like a Samurai's sword
Come with me, come with me
Come with me, come help me stand tall.

Verse 2:
Come let me take you on a long romantic holiday
Come with me and help me write the melody
To the love song that we'll sing on our honeymoon
Come let's soar beyond the stars and the moon.

©️IB-Poetry
2/21/2018

Someday I'm going to wake up
From my old rocking chair,
Somewhere far beyond this shore
And begin writing a memoir on my laptop.
The title, though vague and mundane,
Will encapsulate the tales of my life's journey.

In it, I will say less about money
or the girls I once called honey.
But I will rather mention that one special lady;
Who stood by me and only called me baby.

I'm going to dedicate an entire chapter to my people,
I'm going to talk about their resilience to the struggle.
There will also be a chapter dedicated to love;
Love for mankind, my family and the man above.

I'm also going to make mention of all the things I have done.
Be it good or bad, I will write even if it takes the afternoon.
One by one I will write down everything I did wrong.
After that, I'll play me my favorite Bob Marly song,

That one that tells the story of slavery and redemption.
In that particular one, I will use a little procrastination...
And at the very end of that memoir, I will give thanks to God,
For grace upon my life, my kids, my hustle and for spoken word.

Someday I will wake up far beyond this shore,
and write the final chapter of my life's journey.
I will then reveal the last wish of my life before I die.
I swear it will be so funny, it'll make every reader laugh.

IB-Poetry ©️
3/25/2018

I see not much through my mind eyes
What I see are dull and blurry images
Some are formless  and impossible to analyze
However  beyond what my ESP manages,
I mostly see alphabets and words on crutches
Badly in need of formation and rearrangement
Literary adoption and eventual placement.

I see not much through my mind eyes
I see tired vocabularies in need of exercise.
Some are so downtrodden and hopeless
I had to squint to gain my optical sharpness.
The nature of what I see is more metaphysical
So I avow to spit poetry that is real and actual.

IB-Poetry
2/17/2018

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 woke up and the sun is shining,
majestically emitting its golden glow.
In spite of this, it's a cold Scandinavian morning
and boy, the sun is putting up a real show.

So what's really going on here I asked,
why am I not yet sweating profusely?
Why am I not yet drenched in sweat and sunbaked,
Or is the arid heat being turned on slowly?

By birth, I was born a Liberian, a true African,
my umbilical cord was buried near the Equator.
My nationality is Norwegian, a Scandinavian
By virtue of the winter, I always feel like a visitor.

The African sun would shine until we hide or run
just to avoid the scorching heat and humidity.
The Scandinavian sun I feel shines and people have fun,
A factor to make me question the sun's true nationality.

So is it the same sun that rises at about 5 am in Ghana,
The one that shines brightly on the vaults of the Ashanti gold?
If it's the sun worshiped by Ancient Egypt, of the sun god Akana,
So why doesn't it burn away the snow and the extreme cold?

©️IB-Poetry
2/20/2018

Now that I'm old I just can't keep on moving
I can now relax because I have nowhere to go.
The rest of my life I'll sit because all my life I've been hustling
This is the reality, this is what my life has come to.

Society now gives credence to the wrong things.
Modern culture is now full of triviality,
And ethics and decency got affixed with wings
Then right after, flew off and left us with mediocrity.

I see my age as a factor in just about everything
Especially because I came from the old school
Where courtesy and respect was the thing,
An era in which it was a sin to become a fool.

I see my age also as a blessing in so many ways,
For I have lived beyond my youth to this day.
And no matter what my age and gray hair says
I'll always be that boy who grew up with Kid N' Play.

The adage says age is nothing but a number
Yet in the era beyond my prime, it matters.
It matters because there's a lot to do when you're older.
To hell with the world because I'll have nursing home workers.

Besides, Everything funny I say or do my age will explain
Be it good or bad, vile or wise, and even right or wrong.
My age will be a yardstick and until death requires no discipline.
All I have to do is sit in my rocking chair and sing the old age song.

To become gray old and wrinkled is to enter the wisdom stage
A time when every word I utter will have a positive impact
And every word of motivation from me will open a page
For the people around me and generations after I depart.


IB-Poetry©️
2/28/2018

Her friends died years ago
she and her cats were home.
Oh how she wished to play bingo
She felt so sad, she was home alone.

There's nowhere to go,
The streets are bare.
Nobody else to go to,
COVID19 is in the air.

There is nobody to see,
Everyone is at home.
Locked down to a certain degree
but am I really alone?

Nature is finally free
to do as she pleases.
I see three little birds on a tree
They are the new masses.

Knock-knock, is anyone home?
Yes, where else could I be?
Come ride out the COVID19 storm
Come take a cup of tea with me.


#IvanBrookspoetry©
@Bassap©et✍
29-3-2020

I have a power
that nobody sees with their eyes
It's a little thing call faith.

I have a voice
That nobody else hears
It's my calling.

I have a Life
That nobody knows about,
Every night I see Maya Angelo.

I Speak another language
That nobody else understands,
My determination.

I committed a crime
That nobody else knows of,
I murdered fear!

I have a secret
that nobody knows of,
I'm a slave to poetry!

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

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©️

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

The acquisition of the prayer blunt
Is the pathway to some solution
A puffed takes you up the mount
Another brings out the benediction.
After a while, you begin to wonder
If things fell below your expectation
Not until you laughed at some blunder,
And start to fall short of the rotation.
Then it'll dawn on you that the blunt
Was truly the source of your happiness,
And that all your worries were now fun
Unbeknownst to you, your royal highness
Is now officially looking down from space.
Where you've been for a little while now
Occupying a throne in that special place.
Where your mood put out a cool green show
Where your revamped taste buds discovered
How good everything suddenly tastes.
A place where your hidden senses gets uncovered
And stump out the clip of your **** beneath the shades.

IB-Poetry
2/11/2018

In the land of the wise men,
where the wind blows ceaselessly
and the moon glows perpetually,
a great poet and his young protege
sat in the courtyard under the shadows
of the sycamore tree to meditate.
The protege said to his master.
" Sir, please make me a great poet"
The old master lifted his head
and gazed at the protege in awe.

" My son, you are a poet he retorted.
You have it in you. you live it,
you are engaged with it each day,
you hang with poets and read the
amazing works they penned.
You understand spoken words,
the unique linga Franca of poetry.
To find and get it out of you,  
you have to tear yourself apart.
go to where words reside.
Get into the minds of others.
Ask and read other people"s works.
Though it's kinda motivational,
inspiration is everywhere.

" You see, the master told him,
every day the sun comes up,
it rises with a packaged gift
Unwrap it with your mind
appreciate anything therein.
A disappointment and a bad day
can be a caveat for a writer
because it spikes emotions and inspires one to dig deep...
My son, you have to write every day.
write about anything at any time.
rewrite what you aren't pleased with.
The more you write, the better you become.
The uglier the poems that come out the better the poems that follow.

Write about the sun and the moon,
write in the morning and afternoon.
Write captivating and uplifting stories
about mermaids with beautiful bodies.
Or write about a wandering stranger,
who traveled in search of an adventure
with your hands, write about nature.
Using your mind, paint a beautiful picture.
Do this as often as many times as possible,
Someday you will achieve the impossible.

#IvanBrookspoetry (c)
August 11.2019

Every day I walked past the graveyard
on my way to the supermarket.
I had a premonition that those laying there
were watching me or wondering,
who is he, what is he doing in our place?
Meanwhile, I too had multiple questions
of my own ''who are they, what happened
to them during their times?
Do they know
that the world has become a global village
and we going LIVE nowadays,
courtesy of the internet?
As I continued my journey to or from home
each day thinking of those people,
who once walked this earth before us, wondering
what their lives were back then.
Back when there was no FB
or social network to supplement
their times and enhance the social propinquity those days.

IB-Poetry
2/20/2018



.

I learned to read and write at school.
I educated myself during my traveling and adventures .
I learned to swim well but it was in life's whirlpool
From thugs in the streets I got my lectures
Life provided me with the courses
My Failures harden my resolves
I got taught by my personal experiences
To get my bread I had to join pack like the wolves .
My tests were my challenges ,help came from no connection.
I failed a few courses and had to do remainders .
Yet through it all , I persevered grace to my street education ,
I was promoted to the class of those called breadwinners .

Somehow I knew my only way out was to hustle
So I set out to find myself but missed my way many times
I ate grass ,lighted trees ,ran the streets to beat the struggle
From the streets I learned to calculate my nickles and dimes .
I discovered poetry from the greatest book called the Bible ,
Written by the author and finisher of my faith , Jah most high
After writing my first poetry thru prayers ,I knew I was able
Thank God for the school of life ,I know everything will be aight !


twitter @ivanclappers
#vanguardpoetry23
#IvanBrookspoetry

To live, Embrace Peace
Walk with Ease.
To everyone,
Speak in a soft tone.
To people, show love,
One day you'll need love.

©IB-Poetry
11/2/2018

Time flies like bullet everyday
Scrapping youthfulness as she speeds away
transforming and changing the way we look
Time has no special handbook
Telling us how to behave and live
Time takes away many opportunities
Yet valued as one of life's most precious commodities
It's like saying we don't deserve it
Yet real time cannot be dealt with
So call her the silent unseen enemy
Because She heads the aging army.

Time can chose to be both slow and yet aggressive
But to others she can become vile and abrasive
Especially when she claws evilly away at beauty
Leaving her sad ,all alone and empty..
And Wrinkled, useless and quite old ,
Left only with sad stories to be told
They say time waits on no man
So you have no time even if you can
It's so sad that time tells stories we don't believe
Time was here, Time is packed , ready to leave .

Some of the things I write
will be foolish or great...

Some will be controversial
yet actual.

Some will be bad
Or sad.

Some will be good
Some won't.

Some will be cool
Or make me look a fool.

Some will be liked
Or disliked.

Some will be commented on
Or shunned.

Some will be highly political
or comical.

Some will become an instant hit
or not deemed fit.

Some will divide
Or unite.

Some will make sense
or considered a nonsense.

Some will be tremendous
or ridiculous.

Some will be a waste
or without taste.

Some will be logical
or illogical.

Some will hurt people's feelings
and leave them foaming.

Some will be inspirational
or motivational.

Some writings will be right
and considered bright.

Some will be laughable
Or applaudable.

Some will be ingenious
or ridiculous.

Some will be enlightening
and some entertaining.

Some will be cooperative  
or divisive.

Some will be beautiful
or just wonderful.

Some will be plain
and clean.

Some will be positive
or negative.

Some will be kinetic
or acidic.

Some will be ******
and some factual.

Some will be constructive
or destructive.

Some will be educative
Or argumentative.

The things we write
few are somehow bitter
but they'll get better
....see you all later!


©️IB-Poetry
2/23/2018

I don't vocalize
I'm not a musician.
I don't embalm
I'm not a mortician.
I don't make objects
disappear in thin air,
I'm not a magician.
I don't flip numbers,
I'm not a mathematician.
I don't heal patients,
I'm not a physician.
I don't tell funny jokes
I'm not a comedian.
I don't do hair or makeup,
I'm not a beautician.
I can't run for public office
I am not a politician.

I was born to flip
Letters into words.
I can write a lovely script
Shiny like samurai swords
I can bring smiles to faces,
Via a beautiful love story.
I can take your mind to places,
Using the magic of poetry.
I can make the sun to shine,
In a dimly lit corridor.
My words will outlive time,
Like the soul of a gladiator.
I can morph into a genius,
By the stroke of my humble pen.
The nectar of my ink is gracious
Always doing the best it can.

#IvanBrookspoetry©
@Bassap©et✍

Live freely
your life.

Build solidly
your foundation.

Eat healthily
your food.

Invest wisely
your money.

Think clearly
your thoughts.

Exercise daily
your body.

Give selflessly
to the poor.

Drive carefully
your car.

Love faithfully
your partner.

Serve honestly
your master.

Work diligently
for your living.

Speak truthfully
your mind.

Pray unceasingly
to your God.

Defend fearlessly
your rights.

Move cautiously
in your business.

Travel extensively
the world.

Protect aggressively
your family.

Talk respectfully
to the elderly.

Love unconditionally
your fellow man.

Care absolutely less
about haters.

IBPoetry©️

You asked for me once
I wasn't around.
You asked twice
He's out, said Mr. Brown.

What do you want?
He asked you,
What do I want?
In fact, who are you?

I'm the landlord, he said.
Are you from out of town?
What, are you afraid?
No, you're dressed like a clown!

Haha you giggled
Are you sound?
Again you laughed as if tickled
Proof that you were a clown.

IB-Poetry
2/19/2018

God gave me a gift
And I'll use it to uplift,
To inspire and motivate
To impact and create.
Maybe I'm a vessel
Maybe I'm an axil
Through whose works
Quotations, Poetry or books,
Generations will be awakened
And subsequently emboldened.
To rise up and make changes
And produce juices like oranges
And shine like lights on a dark street.
Oh how sweet it tis, oh how sweet
To know that I have a part to play,
To know I can tell a kid to not sway
That no matter what really happens,
Hope is a parachute that opens
For those who take a leap of faith.
No matter what you have to deal with,
There's a God somewhere who cares,
So never give in to your fears.

© IB-Poetry
21/12/2018

Nobody tells a prophet to shut up,neither a rooster to stop crowing.
It's like stopping a happy person from
Laughing.

Nobody says to the sun" stop shinning!"
Neither the wind "stop blowing!"
It's like stopping a bird from flying.

Nobody says to time "stop moving!"
All you can do is stop yours on the wristwatch.
And you know what that means;
You will only stall and fall behind, left behind by time and the rest of human civilization.

Similarity, nobody can say to a poet "shut up and stop writing poetry and exuding spoken word!".

Who's going to write about truth and introspection?
Who's going to write stories that'll captivate our imaginations?

Who's going to spin odes in a way that the world will question a poet's source of inspiration?

Who's going to make love letters speak another language?
Who's going to write tragic stories and make it look unique?

Who's going to give wings to dead letters?
Who's going to write for speech-impaired lovers?

Who's going to give light to blind words and afix them with wings?
Who's going to guide them thru things?

#IvanBrooksPoetry©
01/8/2018

A wise man thinks twice
And only acts once.
He asks several times
And accepts blames.

A wise man prays
And always waits.
He understands delays
And certainly never quits.

A wise man spits wisdom
And always seeks knowledge.
His thoughts aren't random
And is never associated with rage.

A wise man is very honest
He strives for perfection.
In everything, he does his best
All because he follows instruction.

A wise man is always a student
And loves to ask questions.
He's always willing to listen
And will at all times, ask for directions.

A wise man changes
They say,
His words and deeds he balances
At each and every step of the way.

IvanBrooksPoetry©️

I can sit and write a love story
or a very nice piece of poetry
about a girl who was so beautiful  
and make it sound wonderful.
I can write about her attractiveness
maybe say something about the softness
of her satin-like skin and kissable lips.
I can describe how she undulates her hips
When she sways to the beat of the music
and make moves looks seamless and classic.
I can describe her strides as she rocks the beat,
Leaping like a ballerina in uncontrollable heat.
I have the option to call her a sinful seductress
Or take my time to paint her as a temptress.
.......all because I'm a poet.

IB-Poetry
2/15/2018

Just like an old master my mind comes alive,
Often not when my side of the world wakes.
When sleepless constellations performs live -
Delivering new ideas like some sweet cakes,
This is rather the product of a timeless flight-
This is what I can show for a sleepless night

With the Virtuoso of an artist in slow motion,
I'm aligned with the universe and the elements,
Braced for an onslaught of creative projection-
With humbleness I received all of the payments.
This is rather the product of a timeless flight-
This is what I can show for a sleepless night

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

Give me food stamps or twenty bucks
I will feed a few hungry mouths.
Give me a laptop or pen and paper
I'll enlighten a million bright minds.

Give me one thousand swords
I'll train and build a rebel army.
I'll rather take twenty textbooks
And transform a generation of minds.

Give me a golf club membership,
I'll trade it for a couple of laptops.
I'll rather you give out scholarships
So underprivileged kids can learn.

Give me a day with Donald Trump,
I'll rather an hour with Dr.William Barber
Being part of the Moral Monday movement
Marching for voters rights and equality.


IB-Poetry©
27/11/2018

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.

In the darkest hours of my trials
I stay grounded and get hopeful
Even if l have to crawl extra miles
That's when I  just remain grateful.

At night time when the sun sleeps
I stay in bed and remain thoughtful
Thinking beyond what my mind keeps
Which is why my mind remains blissful.

I'm underrated
Yet I sit alone
undefeated
On the throne
I created
I'm home.

I'll never be defeated
Not with a drone
Because I protected
My entire zone
With a tool I fabricated
Using a harpoon
That was discarded
By a great typhoon.
But they reacted
And sent a platoon
To have me eliminated
late in the afternoon.
Again I circumvented
Them like a half moon
And with all I had, defended
My title like a real goon.

IvanBrooksPoetry

I'm underrated
Yet I sit alone
undefeated
On the throne
I created
I'm home.

I'll never be defeated
Not with a drone
Because I protected
My entire zone
With a tool I fabricated
Using a harpoon
That was discarded
By a great typhoon.
But they reacted
And sent a platoon
To have me eliminated
late in the afternoon
Again I circumvented
Them like a half moon
And with all I had, defended
My title like a real goon.

IvanBrookPoetry©️

Be like water
be formless
Be like a lion
be fearless
Be like the universe
be limitless
Be like Bluetooth
be  wireless
Be mysterious
leave people clueless
Be like a guard dog
be restless
Be like a machine
be tireless
Be a true hustler
be relentless
Be a fantastic poet
leave your readers speechless.

IB-Poetry©️
3/23/2018

As powerful as the sun is, its rays don't touch everything on earth and neither does it shine in every corner always.Similarly, our days will not always be filled with goodness and abundance.

As wonderful as it is to fall in love, the end results don't favor everybody who falls in love.Equally, our individual love stories will not always end with red roses delivered to us with ease and romance.

As beautiful as paradise is, death, which is the prerequisite and path to transition to that glorious place paved with gold, is not at all welcome by the devotees of any religious faiths.

As careful as we are about our future plans, goals, marriages, and dreams, nothing in life is guaranteed.

As merciful and loving as God Almighty is, hellfire is already a designated place for sinners.

Nothing a poet writes is a waste.
It doesn't matter how you see it,
twist it ...
judge it ...
interpret it...
categorize it...
or place it.
As long as you don't read it backward,
It's still somehow a write...
Even if it looks awkward.

IB-Poetry©️
3/9/2018

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

Today...
Invest wisely
move silently
observe keenly
speak respectfully
act accordingly
hustle aggressively
exercise regularly
seek continuously
ask politely  
eat properly
pray fervently
build your dream quietly
...tomorrow is soon here!

IB-Poetry©️
3/9/2018

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