Spring memes
Cuddle under iced sheets
Seduced by frigid lies
And a burberry scarf;
As snow ploughs rule the runway

Glazed rosebuds,
Thimbled thorns,
Strawberries wrapped in cashmere;
And a carrot-nosed character dressed in white,
Play the fiddle

Naked limbs creep
Into the sky,
Seeking green accessories
For fashion week in June
Amidst global miles of warmth

Grandfather's  clock
Ticks wisely ahead,
Hands free of politic;

And the memes of Spring delayed
Propagate through verse
And cliched controversies...

Eclipsed by tweets from the Black Sea.

~ P
(#TheMemesOfSpringDelayed)
(3/7/2014)

~ dad said she'd be famous ~

"...a doctor
or diva
like lena horne," he said

he'd been doing odd day jobs
and driving cabs deep into the night
through  these mean city streets
since ella's debut
at the apollo

and his smile
grew wider than
jackie o's
reservoir in central park
when this bouncing baby girl
made her grand debut
into his world

the dimples on her
cherub caramel cheeks
were irresistibly pinchable

and those twinkling eyes
knew she'd be spoiled infinitely
like a fruit-fly in a box
of rotten apples

~ reality check ~

....if you look closely
you might still see one dimple;
but the twinkles departed
back in '75

....and the burns
on her fingertips
and blistered lips

....and the bones....
jutting  like the bones
of refugees and anorexics

....missing flesh

...and the tracks
on her forearms
and filthy jeans

.....and the eyes....
shifting like the eyes
of senators and thieves

....telling lies

.....and the rotting corpse
in a black garbage bag
in fresh kills

multiple choices removed
from the doctor
and diva of daddy's dreams

hijacked by dream-killers:
smack
      crack
  and addiction

~ P (Pablo)
(8/1/2013)

she gave me 5 stars
cause the BIG dipper
left scars on her psyche,
searing her soul,
touching her in forbidden places,
tapping new springs
of dieve and decadence

MOTHER OF GOD!

she screams,
tongue untied by throes of passion,
toes curl,
fingers engage
stroking wax off bikini strings

as she rolls over
to insert
a page marker
into my new anthology
of ****** poetry:

the BIG dipper!

coming soon to a booksmith's near you....

~ P
(#theBIGdipper)

I will hear your voice
Singing joyful hymns
Between chores
On Saturday morn;

I will see your smile of radiance
On the faces of my sisters and nieces;

And your boundless energy
Will manifest in the limbs
Of my sons and nephews;

And the legacy
Of a Nubian Queen
From Islington Village
On the breezy bank
Of the majestic Berbice river,
Shall reign eternal...

~ Pablo (#formom)
10/25/2013

Come into my commune,
My farm
In the sky;
You won't be lonely
Baby,
Not by a hiker's mile

Let's climb
Into the morrow,
Throwing fear
To the wind

The curators
Of sorrow
Are seething within

They prey
On your pleasure
And worship your sin

Like vultures
They hover,
Like maggots
They win

Come into my commune,
My farm
In the sky;
And feast
On your freedom

Then bury your lies;

You won't be lonely
Baby,
Not by a hiker's mile

~ P
#AHikersMile
(12/20/2014)

remember...
when you were young,
very young,
recently untethered from
proximal parental strings...

that liberated freshman
rushing into a .... cave
of independent studies
and uninhibited sexuality...

that mulligan phase
of impulse and irrationality
and...yes...experimentation...

of wide-eyed science interns  with
mother's cheeks, daddy's visa
and the best animal-testing lab
on the planet...

with live uncontrolled studies of sleep deprivation,
orgiastic tolerance, *** toxicity
and the effect of extreme jello-shooting
on graduation rates...

and, of course, the ultra-rad LUG/GUG philosophy,
the ultimate pregnancy-avoidance plan
guaranteed
or your STD back...

then you got a degree,
a real job,
and a surreal 5-figure
student loan balance...

or was it 6?

or maybe you just
dropped out
like
bill, steve or mark...

and started a revolution...

~ P
(7/21/2013)

there are no limits
on speed,
no bumps to impede
that singular rush of inspiration,
that surging wave we ride
to euphoric highs
defying doubt and disbelief
within and throughout
these paths least-travelled

where rhythmic beats
of compulsion
thrill the air
way beyond the mean,
and we glide
over ambiguous bell
curves
dispelling conspicuous myths
and null hypotheses
with relative ease

where iambic warriors
and wordsmiths,
high on lyrical amphetamines,
wage  epic battles
of verse and rhyme
and the blood of creativity
is spilled onto
finite scrolls and screens

where the thoughts and dreams
of poets, peasants and pimps
reign
eternal

~ P ( Pablo)
(8/2/2013)

I once slept
with a few sophisticated rats,
5 to be exact,
on a pull-out couch
from a garage sale
in corona, queens

they had ivy league IQs;
double majors in
evasion and skullduggery,
and a crush on my left thumb....

the  one you ****** on as a kid...,
posited dr diaz,
my shrink with an md
from the lesser antilles

like freaks,
they came out at night,

in indian file...

as the raging moon dipped
below my cracked glass window,

and  a cimmerian shroud
swallowed its receding light,

and I snored...

on the couch,
left thumb hanging loose
near the floor
where a heavily highlighted
textbook lay wide open...

cued by the dipping moon
or the rhythmic rasp
ripping through the room
like a stihl chain saw,

the curious 5 whisked
over the persian rug,

or was it soiled chinese?

like I said
they had ivy league IQs....

thus my heavily cheesed
wire traps
remained engaged

but cheese-less...

as the curious 5 converged
around the couch
for dessert...

~

I skipped mgmt 301 at 10
and dr diaz gave me
a rabies shot:
4 doses ig,

a sterile bandage
for my shredded left thumb,

and a referral
to his realtor...

~ P (Pablo)
(8/8/2013)

*****'s screws weren't loose,
they were missing,
all of them,
leaving gaping holes
of unpredictable insanity
in her manic life

only 22,
and built like haya,
the mistress of desire
and lust,
every male nurse and
a certain shrink  at the nut house
couldn't wait to ******
a missing ***** or two
into her

~ psychotherapy with a turgid twist ~

so mum the matron gave her
a protective room at our crib

only 13,
and built like *** wee
the hermit of lore,
I sat at the dinner table
opposite *****

she played footsie
with my naked toes
then gave me the crazy eye
as her lazy tongue
slid in...and out...
of her crazy mouth

~ she needed some ***-wee therapy ~

seed planted,
*** wee fed the fantasy
until it bore fruit:
a succulent apple
in his prurient mind

~ ready to be ...reaped ~

*** wee knocked on the door
~ silence ~

knock.....knock....
~ silence ~

*** wee turned the ****
and there she was...

~ en el desnudo ~

curves, *****, legs
open and inviting,
vacuous eyes staring at me,
daring me...

then she started screaming....

~ P (Pablo)
(7/28/2013)

when words are few,
or stuck in dictionaries
unused or unknown
like
compassion,

tyrants and wife-beaters
scream
with iron fists,
silencing fluent lips
in clotting streams of  blood

...and machetes,
severing lucid limbs
from able bodies
in active states of articulation

...and guns,
the kryptonite of cowards
and buffoons,
the callow voice of philistines
and goons,
blasting cogent words
and vocal women
into oblivion

....and laboratories
where forensics of
fingerprint and dna
scream loudest,

sending tyrants and wife-beaters away
to sleep with the devil
in a shallow cell
on earth
or
hell below...

~ P (#Pablo#OTAWB)

(8/11/2013)

my date with thc,
serendipitous and sublime,
like the first time
curious george killed
the black persian *****...

got me sky-hiking
in a cloud of delusion
and creativity,
climbing ladders of abstraction
for nine mystic rungs

from mundane muse,
regrettable
like drunk ***
with an octogenarian

to lucid peaks of eccentricity,
a vaunted house built by
jimi and john,
long gone,
but resurrected
this date

we split a dime
into 3 nickels
and rolled every penny
into a top-5 billboard joint

we sprayed the submarine
purple
with haze
then made the wind cry
mary
as we gazed at two
giraffes making babies
on the serengeti,
laughing hysterically
like schoolgirls watching
riding miss daisy

then the cbd kicked in
and I toodle-ooed
my two
ungratefully dead hippy
stoneheads

and crashed from
the ninth rung of
the last ladder
onto grandma's bed,

clutching the first lines of
my date with thc,
serendipitous
and
sublime...

~ P (#Pablo#hcgktbpp)

(8/12/2013)

Between the din of dusk and dawn
Runs Sleepy Pillow Lane,
Where gators guard the Gates of Thorn
And cryptid creatures reign.

They glide across the midnight sky
Like grime in sanguine sewers;
White canines long and talons drawn
Spike rodents on a skewer.

Gray giants glare from full-moon eyes,
A ghastly ghoulish spell;
Sweet sleepers swell the wells of Nile
While centaurs swing the bell.

Horned vipers writhe into your fears
Like scythes through strangled weeds;
And severed heads of angel hair
From shouldered stumps relieved.

A putrid pile of newly-deads
Awaits the devil's scorn;
And legless maggots gorge in beds
From which the fly is born.

Hungry hyenas howl in packs
While circling carrions crow;
And chunks of flesh are torn from backs
Cracking bones bare below.

Scavengers feast on man and beast,
No rotting limb is spared;
From hanging tongues to napping feet
Blood splatters everywhere.

Brimstone and thunder fill the air
With hail presaging doom;
Ten toothless witches shriek and cheer
As zombies creep from tombs.

Masked mummies stalk with stakes and stones
In search of sleeping heads;
They crave the skulls and living bones
Of bodies slumped in bed.

Through R.E.M. you toss and turn
And roll on restless wheels;
Alas Red Rooster blows his horn
To end your grim ordeal....

~ P
(January, 2013)

Reaching back,
Back to that fork
In the road
Where irreversible consequence
Hid like angina
In a dunhill bubble

And you veered left,
Smitten by the decadence of mint
And mythical circles
Blown with liberal disdain
From a camel's ****

You followed the green line
Rippling like waves
Of vintage wine
Through gomorrah

Caution blown
As a midsummers gale
Between tarred lips,
Your ship sailed
The straits of cool
From bogart to newport

If dean only knew
Nat the king
Could still be singing
Nature boy on the square,
Live

He might have spurned his spyder
And lucky strikes
For a slice of life
Beyond 24

And you might have
Veered right
At that fork in the road,
Swapping scarred consequence,
Tarred lips,
And angina
For the whole pie

~ P
(#FromTheCamelsButt)
12/24/2014

were you a 50's
godchild in the city,
wing-tipped feet
running the streets
all week, ketchin hell...
then you gots that check
come friday
and needed a taste of heaven...

you and the dog pound
swung mid-town
to broadway & 47th
after 9,
and joined the line spilling
from the royal roost round 48th...

by 10, the joint was jammed
with gents well-coifed,
matching honeys, and the sounds
of money being made:

chime of silverware ~ cling,
and the cash register's ~ swish cha-ching,
and the chatter of guests,
servers and bartenders
doing their thing ~ wah da bing

then the lights dimmed
leaving a semi-dark haze
of gray smoke swirling
over the crowd,
and mc symphony sid
grabbed the mike:

"...welcome to the friday nite jam session
at the metropolitan bopera house
ladies and gentlemen...."

hysterical hoots and applause
followed
as  the circular spotlight paused
center stage,
unveiling:

~ the miles davis nonet ~

featuring,
max on drums,
john on keys,
gerry and lee on sax
and a genius
on trumpet

'twas the birth of cool
and soon the rhapsody
of modern jazz
waxed hypnotic,
casting a spell
over god's children
when budo chased lady bird
down allen's alley,
spittin'...
          riffin'....
boppin'...,
          po­ppin'.....
superfluidity
like acid through
varicosed veins

the earth stood still
it seemed
for 4 thrilling hours
as heaven rained a rifftide
onto the lucky crowd...

and dewey's sublime trumpet
exorcised the devil
from the week that was...

~ P (Pablo)
(7/24/2013)

between giggles, toys and text messages,
dolls emulate strippers and **** stars;

~ did you know...?

between lights-out and sunrise,
sleep-over tongues and pubescent fingers linger
down-low deep into the night;

~ did you know...?

between the final  whistle
and the minvan-drive home,
men and boys mingle naked
in shower stalls
eye to eye-ball;

~ did you know...?

between study hall and midnight,
the temperature in boarding rooms
rises like butter beans and burritos
baking prurient pies to last
a lifetime
or 2;

~ did you know...?

between the clean wedding and nasty divorce,
covers are blown
like crack **'s
hustlin' for a hit,
exposing every vice
and the woeful frailty
of man

~ did you know...?

between birth, puberty and death,
humans emulate dogs,
weasels,
and fleas;

~ did you know...?

~ P (#Pablo#DYK)
(8/10/2013)

I
duchess in labor;
trusted royal storks on call;
where is the baby..?

II
duchess delivers,
trusted royal storks receive;
a charmed boy or girl...?

III
duchess is relieved,
royal baby is conceived;
it's a burly boy!

if my pen were a surgeon's blade,
cutting edge,
razor-made
to excise secrets suppressed
in closets of guilt
or shame;

like the married bishop
with the mega-church and
tera-ego,
trading ****** fluids
with choir boys
in the 9th grade
on wednesdays,
after bible study...

like the senator
with two right feet
preaching chastity
while playing footsie
with perfect strangers
on public seat # 2...

like the donald's high-ranking apprentice
who pulled the plug on mc
as he slept
then wept like boehner
all the way
to morgan stanley and
dean witter,
allegedly...

like the mayor out west
with pinocchio's nose
and jefferson's zest
for extra-marital ***,
lies
and belligerence...

like the late king
of pop
who so hated
his beautiful black skin,
he beached it white
then paid m. lester
of similar hue
a loot times two
to weave a blanket,
conceive a prince
and deliver a french city,
allegedly;

I would be a lyrical surgeon
with a passion
for incisive prose,
spilling truths hidden,
whole and half
with the cutting edge
of a poet's pen

~ P (‪#‎Pablo‬#ls)

(8/14/2013)

one lazy tropical afternoon
in June,
a green coconut fell
from a 15-foot tree
in my backyard

a tree I'd planted a few years back

not in a climbing mood,
I grabbed a 10-ft pole
and stabbed the bunch of swollen nuts

stab...
stab...
stab...

then my neighbor yelled:
'pablo, pick one for me..'

and I turned my head
towards her voice,
then back
up

the green coconut fell
from the 15-foot tree
in my backyard

and landed on my face...

~ P (#Pablo#PC)

(8/10/2013)

between wrinkled sheets
and a week in september,
her voice swims through my dreams,
a misty fusion of exotic blues,
samba and a tropical breeze
from rio;

smitten by the  melody,
dripping promises of ****** delights,
lazy  days and long steamy nights,

I plunged in,
arms of impulse,
***** of steel,
eager for a spin 
on her heavenly wheels;

and my head's been spinning
ever since,
stuck in a vortex
of blissful regret,
memories I'll never forget,
of that tropical breeze
from rio..

~ P (#PabloATBFR)
(8/17/2013)

In Kogelo,
The Sun burns closer to Earth
Challenging native melanin
And the will of villagers
And Zebu herds
To persist...

At dusk,
Obsidian clouds descend
And kerosene lamps flicker
Through open windows
Of handcrafted homes...

There,
The father of a famous senator
Was born...

Transforming her trajectory
From the annals of obscurity
To the front pages of Times...

Soon,
Power lines upstaged the flickering lamp
And street signs were changed
Extolling her new-found fame
As history was made across the Atlantic...

In Kogelo,
Hope thrives in the eyes
Of every student
At Senator Obama Secondary School...

Sourced with native pride
From a White house
On the other side
Of the world.

~ P
(‪#‎Kogelo)
3/11/2014

At the party,
I saw faces
    painted passionately
In  smiles and laughter;

Eyes sparkling
          like Crystal
In every hue of inebriation;

Hands clapping
     Extended waves
Of cheerful celebration;

Lips smearing
      lavish layers of
Love on captive ears;

Friends toasting
   The Life
With Ciroc, Moët and beer;

Hollywood wannabes rocking
     Bootlegged Ray-bans
In the dark;

Buzzed ex-lovers
         waging battles
Of the heart;

15's smashed
      into 10's,
Flashing rolls of flesh;

Uncle Johnny
    in his Walkin' glory
Stumbling way past 'when';

'83 Hustlers
         in furs and fedoras
Feasting on free treats;

Soul Train rejects
    moon-stalking
On two left feet;

iPhones and Samsungs
     Making memories
For the curious web;

PotHeads
   in the smoky loo
Getting bloodshot red;

At the party,
  The  living colors
   of life
Piqued my creative core...

And
   I saw
poetry
      in motion...

~ P
(#AtTheParty)
3/3/2014

Flames flew from Salem to Soweto,
Fanned by freedom's winds
In sails stubborn like mules
Seeking the rights of  thoroughbreds
And the thrill of the trifecta;

But in the land of speed
Horses and zebras reign
And the mules,
They dream of pristine barns
With piles of fresh hay
And corn...

Dry, white, primed
For revolution
by fire
Like crimson race-cards
And threadless black tires...

~ P (#burnfree)
12/20/2013

what am I...
if the mere color of my skin
smears fear, suspicion and dread
in the heads of perfect strangers...?

what am I...
if I feel the need to
recede to a sanctuary within  
my very own black skin
allowing the familiar stranger
sharing the elevator
to exhale
and set  her bundle of apprehension,
perceived and imagined,
aside
for the ride...?

what am I...
if I instinctively
hide my black eyes
in the screens
of iphones and ipads
avoiding icontact when isolated
with nervous strangers
lest I inflate the balloon of anxiety
to panicked proportions....?

creating that space of comfort
for all nervous strangers in my life
becomes my obsession...

and I switch lanes
by night
crossing to the other side
of  streets with dim lights
lest I collide head-on
with trepidation personified
in the eyes of perfect strangers...

and I ditch the hoodie
for a crew neck sweater
by abercrombie and fitch
lest some slug with a 9mm gun
profile me as a ****
and defy order, rhyme and reason
to exercise his license to ****
in the still of a rainy night in florida
with no credible witness
in sight...

what am I...?

~ P
(7/18/2013)

lessons of life's sanctity,
clarity of reason
and chastity
elude
the sociopath unglued;

clouded lens
filtering threads
of sense
common from extreme,
relishing shreds of conspiracies
unfounded...

tying the falling dow and twin-towers...
to  call of duty and

the man....

in the slick blue suit
with the funny last name
sticking it to us,
stripping us of our  inalienable rights,
god-given,
taking our bibles and guns away
to mombasa

spiraling memes of dysfunction
programmed to propagate fallacies
in minds unhinged

on the fringes of reality...

like paranoiacs
sipping green tea

or a.m. fanatics
fueling the frenzy

of sociopaths unglued,
licensed to spill
sacred blood
of the masses

at a crowded school
or movie theater
near you

now previewing:

~ mass homicide XII
&
~ teenage terrorist in black - the sequel

home-grown
&
fully-loaded...

~ P (Pablo)
(8/5/2013)

twisted mind, finger twisted,
twisted trigger
@ Killeen
& Camden

RA-TA-TAT-TAT...

twisted mind, finger twisted,
twisted trigger
@ San Diego
& Aurora

RA-TA-TAT-TAT...

twisted mind, finger twisted,
twisted trigger
@ Fairchild
& Fort Hood

RA-TA-TAT-TAT...

twisted mind, finger twisted,
twisted trigger
@ Columbine
& V. Tech

RA-TA-TAT-TAT...

twisted mind, finger twisted,
twisted trigger
@ Pearl
& Paducah

RA-TA-TAT-TAT...

twisted mind, finger twisted,
twisted trigger
@ Newtown
& Santa Barbara

RA-TA-TAT-TAT...

twisted minds, fingers twisted,
twisted triggers
@???
&???

broken system

broken lives
        
straight bullets

RA-TA-TAT-TAT...

~ P
#Twisted
(5/30/2014)

My son's a cereal killer.
I thought I raised him well.
He started chewing slowly
Now he's chomping like hell.

Froot Loops' his favorite victim.
Frooty Pebbles' a sucker too.
He takes them for a milky swim
Then kills them with a crunchy chew.

If his fave two are in hiding
And he's hungry for a ****,
Tony The Tiger gets a grinding
And Honey Graham takes a spill.

His kills are wet and chilling.
His appetite's mean and insane
Cereality is his calling;
Cereal killing is his game..

~ P

History was made here
As a blacksmith
On Ebbets field
Hammering metal blocks
Into master keys;

That doors once locked
Unjustly
Might yield;

That access once denied
Might field a team
Of jack and white;

And a wrinkled page
Might burn the braves
And turn a band of indians
Into champions...

~ P
(#Integration)
1/2/2015

she lived alone
by the little glass window
on the 12th floor
always open
seeing every color and stain
of urban life flashing below
across the courtyard

black, white, yellow, brown
and a redhead going down
the block for a ghetto special
4 chicken wings and fries

and fly uncle johnny
in his trench-coat and superslims
running paper slips to the bodega
on the corner of broadway and 5th

and little blues babies in ponytails
doing the double-dutch hustle
a skip and **** away
from motherhood

and radio raheems
peddling mix tapes, joints and conspiracies
to mis-educated teens
flashing silver grills, c's and black stones
under high-top fades and fro's

closing only for hurricanes
and ricochet bullets

permanently when one
caught miss helen in the eye

she lived alone..  

~ P
(7/8/2013)

filed in
the most deviant chambers
of my memory bank
is a
summer of bliss
in a
breezy city
of blue lakes,
buxom blondes
and *****,
near the baltic sea

eva's skin-tight
****** white jeans
were the envy
of my roving eye

"hi"
she replied
to my
transparent thought

and I
bought her
a screwdriver
with a twist
of jive

we sat poolside
chatting about this
and that

and after the
5th *****
driver that is,
we both knew
'twas time for
some intercontinental
love-making

she was curious
and excited
to sample the coffee
in my african skin

and her talented
slavic tongue
stirred me gently
from
gdansk
all the way down
to krakow

I took eva
for a long
wild ride over
the serengeti
on my faithful thoroughbred
johnson

together
we climbed
the rugged hills of lust
to passion's prurient peak,
a blissful journey
that left us
gasping
breathlessly

we embraced
under a fountain of rapture
as words
hung dry
in our throats

we would wear them later...

~ P
(7/21/2013)

Tiles damp and unforgiving
Like granite
Cover his bed;

The rock of misfortune is his pillow;

On a broken public stool
He leans,
An urban fixture
Unwashed and unseen
For every ruthless reason between
Hopeful birth and grateful death;

He once played lead guitar
In a band,
In Tennessee,
Like Jimi,
He says....

Then he landed a gig in Woodstock
Planting poppy seeds on fields rife with fertility
Where cash crops thrive
And feed hopeful babies,
Cheeks plump with the promise and pride
On which great nations thrive...

Then the monsoon descended,
Sweeping sown seeds and trees in full bloom
Into a desert of despair;

And no one cares....

That tiles damp and unforgiving
Like granite
Cover his bed;

That the rock of misfortune is his pillow;

That he leans on a broken public stool,
An urban fixture
Unwashed and unseen
For every ruthless reason between
Hopeful birth and grateful death....

~ Pablo
(1/20/2014)

she passed me
daily
by the door,
saying hi
only when our eyes collided

they were sad eyes
and swollen,
unable to hide
the pain inside

of malignant terror cells

of failed chemo
and kidneys

and marriage...

'mama's' eyes were wide open

when she died
among friends

on a hospital bed
in oncology...


...yesterday

~ P
(8/3/2013)

she shuffled aboard
on the tail of rush-hour,
at bowling green,
brooklyn-bound,
70 unwashed scents in tow,
and a purple bergdorf-goodman shopping bag
stuffed with stains and soiled rags,
a crumpled ny post
and a white plastic bag,
the focus of her bare hands
as she sat down;

hands wrinkled and worn
but tough
like a boxer's;

silver strands of knotted hair,
fell over her face
etched in age and acrimony,
as she  rummaged through the bag;

right eye closed,
feigning sleep,
I peaked over the aisle
through the left;

she untied the white plastic bag
unveiling dinner
in a styrofoam take-out container:

rice, beans and chunks of meat
smothered in red gravy;
a 5-dollar special no doubt,
stuffed into her mouth
with  a black plastic spoon;
slurp....slurp....slurp

burp....lick..burp

she looked up,
flaunting a toothless smile of extreme delight

"SAY YOU LOVE ME!
SAY YOU LOVE ME!"
she screamed
to no one,
and everyone...

then barged through the door
at franklin,
scents, stains, rags et al,
tossing spoon and styrofoam
onto the
floor...

but for a few shaking heads
and wry smiles,
most were unmoved,
and glued to digital magnets;

she was just another
nut-of-the-day
on the ny subway...

~ Pablo (#fcbb)
10/21/2013

she plants her lipstick
on my cheek
or forehead daily;

her stamp,
she says

leaving her puckered claim,
she says

in case some young *****
with game
throws a slow hanging curve ball
over my plate

and I'm tempted to hit it
like a-rod,
hgh and all,
up and over the outfield wall

then slide into home base
later

like it's batting practice
or

a double-header...

~ P (Pablo)
(8/7/2013)

two hits
and I'm gone
holding my high
from dubai to discovery bay

I met John
on his black harley
along the way,
my nowhere man in ponytails
chasing Jesus off the charts

he gave me
his bloodied lens
and a dime

I peered through bullet holes
in his heart
and saw the devil

and the glazed eyes of Mark
frozen in time
like grime and graffiti
on the walls of Attica

he gave me
his smoking gun
and a pen

"Imagine......"

~ P (Pablo)

Four frantic  fingers flicker
Over parallel strings
And a classical lullaby
Thrills the ears of passersby;

Chopin du jour
For the masses
Served gratis by a diminutive maestro;

A fleeting fixture for traveling eyes....

And the random audience of curious strangers
Heaves  a collective sigh,
Touched by the uncommon brush of a diminutive maestro...

Plucking parallel strings
From a busy sidewalk in Soho....

~ Pablo (#ABSIS)
1/15/14

I found a penny in the sand
As rusted as can be,
But when I held it in my hand,
A thought occurred to me...

Why mint a coin of idle worth,
That beggars would eschew,
Then leave her buried in the dirt
Beside the ocean blue?

There mighty winds would roar and wail
And blast riptides ashore,
To brush his head and wash his tail;
What boy could ask for more?

The months and years went by and by
Without a saving grace,
And Johns would gather on the fly,
A piscine meal to chase.

And when it seemed that all was lost
And Penny's fate was sealed,
A Nickel by her side was tossed,
Her destiny revealed....

~ P (#Pablo#apits)

I sell loosies
On the strip
Flipping Jacksons
Into Grants and Benjamins,
Tax-free

At 6 five
And a few stones
Shy of a brick house,
My packs are stashed
Like mousetraps
On the block
Primed with nicotine

Beyond the naked eye
Pieces of me
Bleed broken
Between pores of kohn
Like colored inmates shackled in cells
To misdemeanors

Like selling loosies...

And I need mdi's
To breathe
When the air gets thin
Or when a chiseled arm is locked
Below my chin

For selling loosies...

And I'm kissing cement,
Gasping, "I--can't--breathe!"
On bay street
Bullied by black boots,
Blue eyes
And deaf ears

For selling loosies...

But don't tell that
To my future assassins...

Their sacred blue is immune
To my tainted black.

~ P
#ISellLoosies
(12/13/14)

in the foyer of midnight
bleeding into the lucid gallery of dreams,
a cluster of curious voyeurs
wait impatiently for the floodgates to open

they shuffle in the misty air
swirling through the room
dimly lit
like a theater in session
feasting the hungry eyes of patrons
with gore du jour

blood red drapes ascend
as my guests are seated
in the dark still of night

a staccato drum roll shatters the silence
signaling the intro to...

scene I

a recurring theme of
the one-eyed carpenter
hammering a nail into my coffin

tap...
tap...
tap...

"It won't be much longer now, sir pablo," he snaps
between gaps of rotting yellow teeth

"I'll save the best nails for the house-warming...."

what a charmer.....I muse....hugging my pillow tighter

scene II

a gang of my favorite seafood - giant king ***** -
is chasing me
down flatbush avenue in brooklyn;
they are brandishing broken bottles, bricks and machetes,
chanting, "payback is a biyaaatch.......payback is a biyaaatch!"

my peeps in the streets do nothing
to save me from the crustacean beat down;
they stop and stare and clown
as the killer ***** corner me downtown
in a cul-de-sac...

with *****-f$#k!n friends like that....I cuss...
huffing and puffing between the sheets

scene III

the fat nurse with a cataract in her left eye
bangs on the door to my small private room
in the psych ward at byberry

"It's time for your meds pablo.....make sure you're decent now....
I'm coming in...."

I'm curled up naked like a fetus
in the far corner
teeth, hands and feet shaking
under the nervous spells
of mania and parkinson's

she jams a long needle into my back
and fills me up with anti-psychotic cocktail
my crack for the week

she leaves and locks the door

I roll on the floor
it's moving
shaking up and down
there is a quake in my head
It's a 9
the bed's coming to get me
I'm losing my mind
there's a fat lady sitting on my spine
I can't move
she has a gun
stuck between my eyes
It's loaded
a 357 magnum
she has a cataract in hers
It's cocked
mine gets bigger

she pulls  the trigger....

ringgggggggg!

my alarm goes off.....it's 6:00 am

I yawn.....stretch......roll out of bed

wiping the cold from my eye...


blood red drapes descend


~ the end ~

~ P

as we run over the limits
of speed and slumber
where technology beats tradition
hands down
and free....
eyes-stuck...
heads-bowed.....ears-plugged,
fingers walking over screens
and oceans
between heartbeats

tweets stomping like clydesdales
over tradition,
kicking phone booths, kiosks
and cubicles
to the curb
with todays news prints
rendered extinct by noon
yesterday

if you paused...

for the cause
of a caffeine boost
or to order chinese take-out,
you missed 10,000 updates

and between styrofoam  sips
and chopsticks clutching
greased chicken strips
you play ketchup

but catch only
white-collar stains
and steamed rice grains
on your laptop

in your haste
and compulsive
obsession
to keep pace with
the text-generation

when you could've
been flipping through the
times back in '89

but that would make you
a dinosaur

~ P
(7/27/2013)

Deep into a
Dungeon of dreams
I slept,
Every demon resurrected;

The predator and  thieves,
The victims whose grief
Suppressed
Fuels the hunt for prey;

She feeds an aberrant need
For ****** flesh,
The chase, the test,
The bait, the birth of decadence;

She is my jury and judge,
The prurient couple who came
To my trials of temptation
And never left;

I tossed and wept,
My cotton sheets of discomfort
Twisting like a noose
Around my neck;

Eyes bugging red
Like every demon
Resurrected,
Seeking my head
On a platter
With a serving of remorse
On the side;

But I am rescued,
Once more,
By Dawn's pearly light
And her wakeful mercy....

~ P
(#MyDemonicPlague)
3/12/14

many moulds of beauty
shape this scenic city
into a vintage masterpiece,
a montage of hues
from blonds to blues
stirring sacred senses  
into a frenzy of lust

roving eyes swivel
left to right
thrusting wistful rays
onto phenotypes
curved to perfection

open-toed stilettos
housing tasty pedicures
click on cobblestones
winding like a river
through Gomorrah

street lights glow dim,
shadows grow tall
scaling walls and towers like gray ivy

seeds of love are sown
between shrieks of inebriation;
some blossom into radiant nuptials,
most shrivel like leaves on seasonal trees

bitten by Winter's merciless freeze!

~ P
(11/2009)

Armed with a truthbrush
And a few mythbusters
From zanzibar,
I scoured my soul
Like I'd never done before

Defying delusions
Of grandeur
Guarding doors shackled
And sealed
With cultural stereotape

I broke through the locks
And the shock
Of four centuries
Consumed me

The stench of humanity
Gone wild
Was palpable
Like cotton and gold

But the world was neither
Pitiless nor blind
To the plight
Of the slave's child

And the chiren
Of her *****
Would unite in the fight
To repair wounds
20 generations deep

Making the scars
Of imperious nations
Easier to bear

~ P
(#TheScarsofImperiousNations)
4/21/2014

I think I'll buy a book
tomorrow;
maybe an autobiography
of a young black kid
who made it big;
defying odds
and urban statisticians
who had him in the pen
by 19;

a shallow grave
by 29

with pages of preparation
and focus;
perseverance
when failure became
a formidable foe;
a social sledgehammer
slamming him
back into his basement
studio
with the rodents,
chronic unemployment
and piles of unpaid bills

and diplomas on the wall
framed in gold and mahogany

and photographs of fleeting
scenes of success
and hope

fleeting...

banished by fate?

am I destined to be
old, gifted and poor
like my fathers before me?

what dreadful deed
or sin
has sealed my destiny
with such savage sorrow?

maybe my hero,
the young black kid
in the book
I'll buy tomorrow

who made it big...

will have some answers...

~ P (Pablo)
(8/7/2013)

Last eve,
I yearned
For the blissful comfort
Of sleep
And the delicate brush of
Cotton throws
On cheeks two
Weary to treat
Her hungry ears
To pillow talk...

Our feast of flattery
Spiced in the naughty lyric
Of foreplay,
The gourmet of prurient delights,
Simmered unstirred...

My spoon too
Weary to deliver...

~ P
(#TongueInCheek)
03/21/14

Ancestors of a certain hue
With a penchant for adventure
Ventured West
Then South
Discovering lands inhabited
Eons ago

Staking claims nonetheless
with guns
For the Queen;
Silencing millions
With germs and the Old Testament
Way back when

All lives didn't matter then....
Those savages and heathens
Weren't men
But akin to beasts
To be hunted and subdued
For the Queen

They bled red;
Had eyes and ears
On their heads;
They even had two legs
And arms to match
But they were brown and black

A melanin caste
Destined to labor in the Sun;
To bleed and serve
But never lead

Cursed,
Said the Talmud.

Crime-prone,
Said the pundit on tv.

And the meme was spun
Spawning a presumption of guilt
In the jury's pool;
Guilt by pigmentation

There's a bulls-eye
On your back
Jack

And it's hunting season in America.

~ P
#GuiltByPigmentation
7/11/2016

The tireless wheel of time
Spins change...

Change of weather;
Change of fortune;
Change of heart...

And though your day seems
Lost in a blizzard of darkness
And sorrow...

Be encouraged beloved...

That change,
And a brighter day
Are but a spin away...

That your gift of sunshine
Is wrapped in layers of pain...

That your seasons of joy
Will be enriched by the rain...

That your twin towers
Of Love and Happiness
Will rise again...

And the code to unlock
Those harrowing chains
Will be written on a rainbow...

For your eyes only...

~ Pablo (#forYourEyesOnly)
1/29/14

take me down
that poetry lane
where complex thoughts
and emotions reign

tease me 
with your radical  wit,
riffing rhymes through 
torrid twists 
and tacit turns 
of whim and satire

****** me
with copious sips
from your cup
of cryptic allegory
laced like lyrical  jello shots
for literate minds

rock me
to the beat of shackle-free verse,
channeling countercultural cues
from cassidy to edson
and jack

shock me
with lucid volts of eccentricity
from every storm and saga
in your life

make me
yearn for more 
of your creative core 
and essence,
scouring shelves 
virtual and real
for another surreal rendezvous
with a poignant piece of
you
down 
your 
poetry lane..

~ P (#Pablo#PLII)
8/18/2013

my thoughts
often bring me discomfort;
untamed impulses with picket signs
marching and heckling
at the guardians of my comfort zone;
lyrical demigods hurling  verbal spears
into protective shields of conformity,
sparing no means necessary
to crush the mould,
and shatter the paradigm of paralysis
rooted in fear,
the fabled sphere of thespians that didn't...

heed the beat of spontaneity,
the clashing cymbals of discomfort
and dance to deviant drums
like ginsberg and ferlinghetti
and kerouac and wakoski...

disaffected thespians that did

~ P
(7/13/2013)

In this rare natural preserve,
cardinals cheer from nests in tree towers
sheltered by veils of plush green leaves
as frisky herds of  baby deer
hop, skip and dance
with the grace of ballerinas
on the grassy knoll below.

The keen ear discerns
the whisper of streams
spilling over shallow beds
of igneous rocks
spearing through the translucence
of aqueous purity
not yet muddied by elements
destructive  to the green movement.

F**ar removed from the huff and puff of industry,
where a breath of fresh air
is a luxury long forgotten,
and wheezing lungs abound,
the natural preserve
takes us to higher ground
where the scenes and sounds
of natural synergies
touch the heart,
cleanse the spirit,
and soothe the soul.

~ P (#Pablo#hg)

immigrant eyes,
damp with elation
and anticipation,
crowd oval windows in the sky

that first glimpse of lady liberty's
hand....inviting....extended
from her storied isle
on the hudson,
is euphoric like
must-see reality tv

millions yearn
but less than a privileged few
earn that coveted stamp,
the dream of peasants and chiefs
from distant shores
where operas and iphones
are rare luxuries

and a minimum wage
dish-washing gig
at olive garden
is a bed of roses
in full-bloom

then the snow stormed
on the summer of my dream,
and spring's effulgence
withered like seasonal leaves
in november

and the greener grass...

~ P (#Pablo#tfod)
(8/14/2013)