a flagrant lie slid by;
then another,

then another;

from a whistle to a clamor
of 'blood and soil';

soon they were marching
on The Lawn;
over our parched preamble

and a general
perched high on his gelding gray
stared in stoic silence

silence

silence

can you hear the truth
in the din of silence?

can you?

can you see the lies
through glazed eyes?

can you?

can you find your voice
in a maze of hate…

and take a stand

as flames of bigotry
sear the conscience of a nation?

heather did.

~ Pablo
(8/17/2017)

I,
poet of quill repute,
do pledge,
with provident passion,
to fill every verse of poesy
with poignant colors of life...

To forage the universe of words
for gems and pearls
to enrich the reader's experience...

To leave no page unturned
in pursuit of knowledge
to enhance my creativity...

To chase my dream
through fire and raging storm
with resolve and persistence,
knowing that the gift to write is divine,
a blessing no mortal could ever wrestle from me.

~ P

For the dreamers
who'd rather live white than free.
And channel the hubris of hue
To conflate liberty
With trans-Atlantic ****
And slavery.

A captive beast
Shares not the butcher's dream.
His cosmic struggle
Demands a course higher
Than filet du-jour.

A course that preserves his body
In it's natural state.
Free of *******.
Free of hate,
Free of fear.
Free  to dream his cosmic dream
Beyond the hubris of hue.

~ P
#HubrisOfHue
2/12/2017

Your tail wags my dog
And I bite
To the board's delight
More than I can chew.

Your bells jingle
In my dreams;
A meme so pure
It fills my life with toys
I barely use or need.

I am the object
Of your briefs.
The clueless pawn
of your motley storyboards.

I inform your varied faces
Of type.
Your place of graphic/
scheme of color/economy of words.

You crave my eyeballs
And savor my clicks.

You beat on my ear drum
With blabber and schtik.

Your tats and tie-dyed tees
Do not deceive me.
Your canvass is but a script
Artfully painted to show and sell.

If Van Gogh only knew,
He would've carved a cryptic headline
Over The Yellow House,
A timeless logo below the pool-table
In The Night Cafe.

~ P
#TheAdManNever_Rings
2/11/2017

"do you live here?"
said a woman labeled white
and bred to prejudge the spectrum.

a woman I had greeted thrice
previously,
and offered a ride
on McGarrity.

her dog
of mixed pedigree
glanced at me,
eyes glossed with shame
as if he sensed my pain.

he tugged on the leash,
eager to be rid
of the tension,
or her....

i couldn't tell.

so I swallowed my nuclear option
and biked on.

~ P
#BikingNearLake_Dow
2/10/2017

This body;
This temple of one;
Cursed to some;
Sinister to many.

This body;
This temple of one;
Scarred by struggle;
Consumed by fear.

Conditioned to be wary;
Scavenging at the weakest links
Of destiny's food chain.

As the lions roam free,
Higher up.
Raising kin to be kings,
To break this body;
This temple of one,
With impunity.

This body was lynched in Montgomery,
***** in Rome.
Poisoned by Derby's dose
In Montego Bay.
And fed to bull gators in Jacksonville.

This body was stripped in Rio;
Feathered in Saint Kitts;
Beheaded in Berbice;
And tarred in Tennessee.

This body was shot In Chicago;
Shot in Charlotte.
Shot in Missouri.
Shot in the Bronx.

Shot.
Shot.
Shot.
Shot.

This body;
This temple of one;
This ******* child of the universe
Is sick of being
Shot.

Of dying young.
Of rotting in cell block 9
And sealed boxes underground.

While the lions roam free,
Higher up.
Raising kin to be kings,
To break this body;
This temple of one,
With impunity.

~ P
#This_Body
2/10/2017

I read a book today.
A  136-page furnace
That seared my learned flesh
Of history to its core,
Unveiling The Man within.

His name was Gomez.
A grand wizard
With roots in Lisbon,
Newport and Curaçao.

He bore the cross
With pride
For all to see
But held his star inside
To worship secretly.

Under a Latin shield
He wove a gilded web
Over land and sea
Buoyed by curse of ham
And ivory.

He loaned the ship.
He sold the slave.
He ran the bank.
He owned the game.

His name was Gomez.

~ P
#HisNameWasGomez