black chile o' mine...

the unfulfilled dream of slaves
and martyrs

the envy of restiviks
and refugees worldwide

who'd risk life and limb
for a slice of your pie

and your choice of a
learning tree to climb
or pepperoni

a marketable skill
with cheese
or a street hustle
on the side

black chile o' mine...

on line since yesterday
for new kicks by mj
and kanye

blowing stacks on grills
and transient thrills
to impress

quoting 2 chainz
and ti
like scripture

twiddling thumbs stuck
on virtual play
deep into school nights

classroom eyes
sleep-deprived
dotting "t's" and crossing "i's"

and you wonder why
black chile o' mine
ain't on spelling bees
like kumar khan
and lisa lee

why the pen
not the pullitzer prize
fits the hidden script
written in cursive
between typed lines

black chile o' mine...

flashing gang signs
and guns
on facebook

tweeting
net lingo typos
on twitter

while the good books
with master keys
to unlock unlimited potential

and fulfill
the dream of slaves

gather dust...

you betta get your act right!

back chile o' mine...

~ P
(7/19/2013)

the earth shook
last night
sending a tremor
through six feet of
dirt, wreath and wood
to my rotting corpse
beneath

and I rolled over

for 16 months
I  tried to
rest in peace
as my spirit wandered
restlessly
but last night
even the stoic palms
shuddered in disbelief

and I rolled over

I was just
going home....ma,
talking
on the phone...ma,
when a '*******'
with a gun
shot be down...ma
now maggots and fleas
are crunching
my bones ...ma

and the '*******' is free???

maybe if
I were white
like lanza and holmes
I'd be left alone,
not profiled;
given a pass,
to commit
mass homicides,
not take a bullet
through the heart

for being black!!!

I was born in '95
the year 168 died
in OKC
and 1 million men marched
in DC
but last night
justice exploded
in sanford

and
I
rolled
over...

~ P

I looked at the beggarman
Wrapped in a bundle
Of cardboard, rags and dirt,
With a royal smirk on his face
As his eyes pierced mine
For the second or less
It took to wander by
His space of rest,
His makeshift nest
Of cardboard, rags and dirt...

Today he laid
On his side,
Knees slightly bent,
A blue Bic gripped loosely
In his right fist,
Notepad white
In his right...

What does a beggarman write
From his sanctuary
Of cardboard, rags and dirt,
I wondered?

Could it be a sign,
A plea for a penny
Or a piece of bread?

Or was the beggarman
A thespian well-read
With a tale or two
Trapped in his troubled head....

As he was,
In his bastille
Of cardboard, rags and dirt...

A Danielle Steele
Undiscovered....

An Amiri Baraka
Reborn...

A literary genius trapped
In a bundle
Of cardboard, rags and dirt
With a royal smirk on his face.

~ P
(#TheBeggarman)
2/28/2014

I'm pacing the corridor,
that desperate zone
between insomnia and insanity,
sanctuary of  eccentrics
and junkies
chasing a word, a fix,
a revelation,
an allegorical mix
of purple haze, logic and similes...

It's a race of attrition,
of addicts incurring
meteoric costs of opportunity
irretrievable,
surreal,
euphoric,
and misunderstood...

like mania

this corridor precedes time
and space

it is the beginning
of faith and exploration

and revelation....

dead poets live here...

~ P (Pablo)
(7/31/2013)

When a book is read
To a child,
Her eyes open wide with yearning;
His fledgling mind starts churning
Like pedals on a bike
With learning wheels;
Together,
They climb curves steep
And wide
With words that sing
And thoughts that glide
Like birds
They fly to the Sun,
Enlightened...
~ P
(#LearningCurves)
4/6/2014

they cower in motels
behind brave windows and balconies,
hurling mortal nouns
into private spaces

avatar faces
painted dirt brown
spew hurt and shame
like acid rain
with decadent refrain

and broken blades
seek veins hidden
in sheer fright
from eyes cued to gore,
grime and more

criminal cocktails
circumvent cogency
by a moonshiner's mile

improvised neckwear
leave a mark
as the world goes dark
like forensic files
or the hunt

and another soul
checks out early,
bypassing the lobby
and the regally blind

eyes cued to gore,
grime and more....

~ P
#bedroombullies
(8/3/2015)

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

I listened to the rain
And its pitter patter refrain
On the roof top
From a feathered pillow
Below,
Comforted by cashmere,
Chopsticks, Chinese take-out
And the memories of love made
And discarded
Like the red, white and blue wrapping
On my favorite snack,
*******-jacks...

Memories stuck between
Lust and commitment
Unflossed;

Leaving cavities of remorse
In the core of my cupid compulsion;

And I am reminded of the fabled lion
Whose toothless roar
Triggers not fright
But laughter
From his prey...

He savors and dreams of death....

There are no dentures
For toothless kings
And carnivores.

~ P
(#mycupidcompulsion)
(11/22/2013)

Like human drones,
They trailed the messiah
From Frisco to Guyana,
In search of Eden
Among anacondas, tapirs,
Diminutive Wai Wais,
And Purple-heart giants....

Where torrential rain
Blasted the ****** soil
Like B-24 bombers
Over Normandy...

And piranhas
Shredded human flesh
To naked bone
In black-water creeks
Coursing through the Amazon...

And a fledging nation
Of less than 1 million
Navigated the treacherous canefields
Of independence...

Why....?

The question lingers
Like maggots on
900 rotting corpses...

Why....?

The answers wither
Like 900 minds mesmerized
By Jim the messiah...

Forfeiting lavish luxuries of freedom
For the Temple's tickets
To a worry-free ride...

To Heaven.

~ Pablo
(#JimTheMessiah)
3/1/2014

after slicing through
a few white layers of
the anthropological egg,
an erudite chef
observed a ***** in the fetal position

he was well-preserved,
a black olive in a pickle jar,
preceding the beginning of recorded time,
and the boreal age

the bells were all flat then;
curves came later

he held a golden key in his hand
and a crumpled scroll,
a map of sorts
in a series of 1 and 0
connected by dots

the chef took the key,
deciphered the scroll,
put the ***** in chains,
and stole his gold

then he prepared
a delectable feast for the world....

history!

~ P
(#Miseducation)

Red rooster is yet to crow
but I feel
my pulse racing to
to embrace the new day.

Shadows of the night
cling tenuously to
parked cars and trees
awaiting the golden brush
of dawn's early light.

Sleepy elbows and knees
complain in vain;
my brain yearns only
for the kettle's
shrill persistent refrain;

caffeine's coveted crutch is near.

Roasted vapors of
Kenya's finest beans
thrill the air
with redolent coffee streams.

Breathers flare,
lips quiver,
tasters salivate,
first sip is here...

Ahhhhhhhhhhhh!

My heart sighs...

It's time to write!

~ P (#writerscrutch)

Just yesterday
I stared at the dead blue sky
Yawning wide and high
Over Georgia

As a solitary bird,
Feathered wings extended,
Surfed the gusting wind
White, uncaged,
Thirsting for life

And song...
For reasons known
Only to gifted thespians
Like Maya

She painted words
Like rainbows
Through our rainy days,
Each cryptic line
Enriched with incandescent
Colors of light

She filled our cups
With infinite wit, allegory
And a whimsical slice
Of hope

Rippling springs
In the desert
Of our thirst

For inspiration
And clarity
Are the rocks
That weep this day
In the dark unknown

As angels smile,
And the uncaged bird
Sings goodbye
From the dead blue sky
Yawning wide and high
Over the world

~ P
#ForMaya
(05/28/2014)

I cry a trail of tears
from the Coast of Ivory,
land of Mandigo and Ashanti,
where ships swollen with betrayal
sailed and sailed and sailed
over pious canons and civil creeds,
feeding colored limbs to circling sharks
when they could row no more.

I cry a trail of tears
through the haunted hills of Mississippi,
land of Choctaw and Cherokee,
where wagons loaded with betrayal
on tireless wheels,
rolled and rolled and rolled
over signed statutes and sealed deals,
crushing colored spirits
'til they could fight no more.

I cry a trail of tears
to the parched walls of Auschwitz,
crypt of Sephardi and Ashkenazi,
where ovens stoked with betrayal
burned and burned and burned
through hair and flesh and bone,
scorching a million souls
'til they could scream no more.

This p-o-g-r-o-m trail of tears...

I cry.

~ P
(#trailoftears)
2008

Lest your words
Die unheard
In the silence of your fears,
As your pulse races
To the trending beat of conformation

Lest the genesis
Of a revolution
Elude yet another generation,
Then another

Unmute the doctrine
Of truth
From your sealed
Cowardly lips

Undress the dinosaurs
Of bigotry and hate
With your lyrical whip
Of accountability

Let them squirm
Like maggots
Gorging on their own rotting bones

Until they are one
With the earth's crust

Like triceratops

And sterlingosaurus...

~ P
(#FromMySealedCowadlyLips)
05/29/2014

It started with a devious question
And the answer was clear
To all
But a curious faction
Fueled by fear,
With the means to concoct
An Orwellian plot
That rendered hate normal,
Like bible study.

Let the Right say, 'Amen'.

"She should be in jail," said
A lady in the deli
With a red cap
And matching tee.

Her eyes spewed fire;
Mine stayed on the menu.
Bypassing the bologna,
I ordered turkey on rye,
To Go.

I had a revolution to catch.
One I'd missed like the polls
On Election Eve.

Dylan shot nine,
Dead.
Sparing one to spread the news
And start a race riot
Before Obama takes away our guns.

Then Vladimir bombed
A city Gary didn't know
But no one asked Don.

"I like you," said one tyrant
To another.
"But I despise Fidel, CNN and ObamaCare.
They are all dead to me."

We heard the lie.
Of the grand Muslim celebration in Jersey
After the towers fell.

And a million more.
Yet the tide of deaf ears kept growing,
Engulfing US in a tsunami
Of *****-grabbing misogyny
That made Bill blush
And gave Hill another shocking traumatic defeat.

Women from Times Square
To Tokyo rained on his parade
And a speech spawned in 7th grade
Earned an A on FOX
And a wet sticker
Everywhere else.

Let the world say, "Impeach Him!"

~ P
#LyricalAssassination
01/21/2017

Friday last,
I found the nerve,
A dubious dendrite
Dangling in my grief
Like a  stubborn kite
In a midsummer's storm,
Flashing razor on her tail
Slicing through the wind
And every norm of propriety;

As the cryptic  cord
Wrestled my right hand
And my ambivalence
About letting go;

A battle of wills ensued:

The stubborn kite, glory-bound,
Vs
the grieving son...

And the kite won...

Last Friday...

~ Pablo (#lastfriday)
11/17/2013

The bridge to my ole factory
Crumbled under the fury
Of 70 stenches times 2
That welcomed me back to the Garden City in '06

The high priest of higher learning
and fulfillment
Had lured me away
For a few decades

And the wheels of time
Kept turning and turning
Along the long grinding road
To that elusive greener sanctuary of lore,
The El Dorado of every wide-eyed
Immigrant to foreign shores

A fat black cat floated sideways in the gutter
Between a bevy of fruit vendors,
Bloated by the pungent gases of death;
It was still there when I returned,
5 days later

The roads all seemed to have shrunk,
Overwhelmed by a tsunami
of trucks, cars and mini vans;
All in a rush,
Running late to their own funerals

I gave the driver a few extra dollars
To slow down;
I wanted to be on time
For mine

Feeling like a stranger
In my own backyard,
I scanned the crowded marketplace
For one familiar face
To ask about the dead black cat
floating in the gutter

"He used to run things around here," she said
"Back when rats were shy and scared;
But times have changed
And these new rats have no fear."

And they don't care about clean gutters either.....

~ P (Pablo)
(6/24/2013)

Monday morning commuters
Wrapped in layers
Of wool and polyester
From China,
Spill off the train
At Grand Central
Like grains of rice
From a busted bag,
Rushing everywhere
And nowhere...

Can you scan me through
Sir?
She queried, a flicker
Of hope in her weary eyes
I'm trying to get to
The homeless shelter.

Was it a lie
Or a ruse?

Was this brown-skinned woman
With a mole on her cheek
And a flicker of hope
In her weary eyes,
An artist?

Wary eyes trained to detect
The giver within
And among a bustling throng
Work-bound,
Bearing finite degrees of discretion
In their wallets and purses...

Her pleading brush chose me today
As I ran up the stairs
Strides fueled by Maze...

Spirit stirred by Saint Nick...

I succumb,
Granting her wish
At the turnstile...

As a few men in blue
Huddled nearby
Cradling morning brews
From Dunkin...

~ P (#asfrh)
(11/25/2013)

before the wall
came down,
there were lines
12 hours long
for bread and kielbasa;

and nuclear warheads raced
rhetoric east to west,
and back,
and rhetoric won...

I sat on a train
westbound,
idling on the left side
of the border

the 'gestapos' stormed aboard
with their black leather boots
knee-high;
stern angled faces
missing smiles;
eyes of winter
and steel,
unblinking....blue,
sending chills through
and through

'you,' he said
pointing at me

his open fist
flipping the universal
'come here' signal...

60 minutes later
he conceded...
reluctantly...

the 15-year old
black face smiling
in the mug shot
on my passport

was indeed....me

not some ****** student
trying to flee
the misery
behind those curtains

to freedom...

without walls 12-feet high
topped by razor-edged rolls
of barbed wire;

without food lines
12-hours long;

where choice
and opportunity
know no bounds...

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

somewhere deep within,
sheltered from
the litter of life
unrecycled....malodorous...
like civic lessons unlearned,
ignored even,
stuffed into spastic bags
piled high like butter
on southern rolls...

sat a child
in a cocoon of innocence,
eyes wide with desire
to explore and discover;
staring at the sun,
chasing the sparrow
over solid rock
and red hills,
day-dreaming of play stations
and ice cream;
eyes blind to color
class and creed...

then the real world
started talking...

and the child listened,

and morphed into you...

~ P (Pablo)
(7/25/2013)

Excuse me while I insert
This logical probe through the frontal lobe
Of my emotional epicenter

This is a latency test....

Ratings of my muse
Are falling like waistlines at the mall
From the best of rhymes
Tacitly turned on wheels of subtlety,
To the jest of all time,
A lyrical mockumentary,
Starring Miss Pellings
And her first cousin Cliche

Excuse me while I excise
The phobias, limits and lies
Polluting my paradigm of choice,
Diluting the core of my creativity,
Muting the "i" in my voice

This latency test is now complete...

Welcome to my new Literary Bar
Raised beyond the average line;

The stars of our poetic destiny await....

~ P
(#latencytest)

Piercing rays of Sunshine
Thawed the chill some
And I shed my black cashmere scarf
With subtle silver stripes,
A birthday gift from ma,
Dear departed,
Who loved God
And wanted to preach on Sundays
Like Jimmy Swaggart
Or Bennie Hin

She'd write checks
Of a thousand or more....
'For The Lord,' she'd say
'They are doing The Lord's work!'

And I smiled like the Saturday  morning sun
Over Canarsie;

My tearful tide had crested on Friday at sorrow's peak;

And I stared at the clear blue heavens,
Scanning the clouds
For the smiling face of a new angel
Who loved God
And wanted to preach on Sundays
Like Jimmy Swaggart
Or Bennie Hin

My grieving eyes soon  found
A solitary bird,
Wings askew  and waving,
Dashing with childish glee
Through the skies above...

A whistling dove,
Or skylark,
Or perhaps the mariner's albatross;

Her work on earth was done...

'Twas time to fly...

In Paradise

~ P (#attf)
10/31/2013

Though we bleed the same,
We are torn by miles of indifference,
More of pain.

In a brief respite from terror,
My mind escapes this squalor,
This harsh reality;

And I become you.

Clean. Clothed. Cool.

Glossed lips pursed
In idle chatter
Between blissful sips of Chai.

Pristine cheeks caressed
By pillows, silky smooth.

Alexa idles on the dresser.

Samsungs recharge on the floor.

Come dawn,
Which suit to wear
Is my biggest worry.

Being late for work,
My worst fear.

O! To be free
Of war and tyranny.

To be you!

Perhaps someday
You’ll think of me.

Or send me a note
To spark a ray of hope
Into my God-forsaken space,
Where bombs reign daily
By the ton,
And blood spills a river
From Aleppo
To Armageddon.

As the world turns
To the next virtual meme;
And waves of refugees
Fill a desperate tide
Over the Western Sea.

Though we bleed the same,
We are torn by miles of indifference,
More of pain.

~ P
#ADreamFrom_Aleppo
01/26/2017

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 got three.
Degrees.
One shy of a phd.

And I'm dusting shelves
At Walgreens.

Too young for ss;
Too old for bs.

And hr.

I fell in the black hole
A million times two.

Maybe the third
Million's the charm?

Ima keep clicking,
*** the fed got bloodhounds
On my cell.

Chasing that 55k
I can't pay.

Or won't...

In solidarity with
The underemployed...

Dusting shelves
At a Walgreens near you.

~ P
(#HRblues)
4/10/2014

the task awaits
its martyr
lost in the toothless cavity
of those who rant and rave
then take a mountain of words
to their graves...

here lies a man of brave tongue
who wielded nouns
and verbs
like shaka's golden assegai
hurled at the sun...

there lies a woman
whose meter and rhyme
ricochets off pakoraima's peak
filling the amazon with song
as the waracabra sleep
unfazed,
dreaming of blood....

the savage beast's
only fear
is the certainty
and imminence of death...

save your breath
for the hunt
dear comrade,
and your lyrical fury
for the ****

~ P
(#DearComrade)
1/25/2015

These random thoughts
Are mine,
And that finite act of doing
Defines the essence of me;

Vacillate like a squirrel ?
No....not I!

The monster storm I shall ever chase,
Channeling fear as fuel
For the engine within,
A cerebral turbine
Hell-bent on exploration;

The mythic mountain I shall ever climb,
Stains of sweat and struggle
Streaking over her peaks
And jagged edges,
Bleeding wisdom into callouses and scars
For future wars;

And the roar of the rhythmic river
Hurling  waves high over
Hidden cliffs,
Her furious fall
A source of energy
And joy for all;

Here I shall ever swim
On  a dare, a whim
Or simply because she's there...

Calling!

~ P (#stormchaser)
11/14/2013

miles before we became
men full-blown,
we crunched nails for lunch,
lead for dinner,
heartburn for life....

after the dance
came shock therapy
and dreams interrupted,
incomplete
like pages ripped
from the manUScript of me
slicing apple pies
under the white picket fence
while babies chase bubbles over the lawn,
green like malvoes in cantho...

pages torn...
discarded...
unpublished...

and the author is dead!

~ P
(#19in71)

I feel it sometimes
driving through the backwoods
of Georgia
along narrow winding roads
patrolled by tall solemn trees,
and no lights for miles...

praying my tires hold up,
that the thermostat stays cool...

this is no place for a *****
to get lost,
or stuck,
and this *****
doesn't need a history
lesson to know
what I feel
in my shango bones...

and yesterday I saw it
screaming in black
from an off-white wall
at a pit stop in Macon:

" I hate n#&&@rs
  let's killem all..."

and I started packing mentally,
stacking the frost bite,
hustle and rat race
that chased me down
south
in the first place

back into my duffel bag...

I had a train to catch

~ P (Pablo)
(7/27/2013)

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

Falsetto screams of beggars and teens
Shatter my dreams of slumber on the subway,
Southbound
and stacked...

Unwritten boundaries of propriety crumble
Under petulant pleas for pennies, compulsive giggles
and a mindless medley of random profanity...

My urban shell swells,
Adding a coarse layer of indifference into
the ever-shrinking space between
sound values and the urge to crudely pound
A defiant fist into the rude faces of insensitivity...

Instead,
I lower blood-red beats over
my sleepy head and
turn up the volume....

~ Pablo (#brooklynTough)
1/25/2014

Ice cakes stick like
Bricks on Brownstones
And Brooklyn sidewalks,
Strangling Michellins
And mice in polar death grips;
Suspending alternate  parking
Indefinitely...

Street sweepers sleep by the Bay
Dreaming of spring
And summer's stifling heat;

Garbage piles rise to the sky
From graves of snow

A stray cat named Rufus
wrapped in extra layers
Of fat
And black fur,
Streaks into the night,
Looking for love
And mice...

Two hookers in heels
Case the block
Flashing random Johns
And Jills
For 10-dollar thrills

Salt, shovels and greased elbows
Battle ice and snow
And frozen mountains grow
In the aftermath,
Strangling Michellins
And mice in polar death grips...

For Rufus...

~ Pablo (#ASCNR)
2/19/2014

she gave her baby sister
a bag of condoms
then took her by the river
to make rent before Lent

rats, tramps and pimps traded leads
on the ****** exchange
to fat cats with cheese
on the BIG BOATS

they came to the island once a year
in February
with blond bushy beards, ******
and beer bellies,
and a perverse preference for
pubescent pleasure

armed with Lust, Sweat and Disease
they threw the bag
over her pleas
into the raging sea

and between the rip of thongs
and licking tongues
and knees stretched from east to west,
her screams and dreams fizzled
south,
stifled on the ****** exchange

and the shame and stains remain
like a sordid refrain...

and the shame and stains remain
like a sordid refrain....

and she will forever be named:

the ***** by the river...

~ P
(6/17/2013)

"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

A lazy stack of gray clouds from london
Hung somberly over white plains yesterday
After the rain,
And work...

As I walked on the damp sidewalk
Under a tree;

And I gathered my thoughts,
Grim and overdrawn,
Like my checking account on payday....

As I walked on the damp sidewalk
Under a tree;

A bird dumped on me...

And I cried,

Like a MAN...

~ P (#asiwalked)
(11/19/2013)

if greyhounds could talk,
tales buried in beats, braids and snapbacks
would be told;

lines blurred by the plight
of indifference
would unfold,
connecting souls waiting to die
on straits unforgiving,
to souls willing to try...

and the book of humanity
wouldn't be so
blue...

~ P
(#soblue)
8/1/2015

in the midst of powperpoint slides,
smart analyses and flash drives
stacked with loose facts and projections,
I mentally noted my objections

~ but never opined overtly...~

the mission colored green reigned supreme
to every white-collared stooge in the room
blinded by perks lavish and obscene,
we failed to heed that patented prologue of doom

~ how culpable were we....~

sales and profits grew by tens of millions;
stock prices drove  bulls to record highs;
gross revenues  ballooned into the billions
on the thrilling spin of blue pills and true lies

~  o....what a ride....~

but three stooges blew the infamous whistle
spilling the beans from soup to nuts;
and the feds flexed their regulatory muscle
flipping my gravy train from boom to bust

                           ~  the end ~

~ P
(8/3/2013)

something...
some match-making spirit in the wind
brushed his chin
with intimate persistence;
fleeting fingers of flirtation
determined to disrupt
and command his full attention
presently focused on the day ahead

his eyes responded
with predestined precision
finding hers
in a tacit turn of time and fate,
a second more
or less
would've been too late

and he would've missed
his soul's companion
with summer in her eyes
and tropical springs in her gait

she paused
and flashed the smile
of his amazonian dreams
as if she knew
the fusion of two passing melodies
into one seductive symphony
had begun

and his winters would never be the same again...

~ P (Pablo)

I ticked off my day
with a tepid mug of Morning Joe...

Then a liberal bowl of CNN
left me bitter like aloe...

So I asked the Fox and his Friends
to put me on the right track...

But Hannity prevailed
and I gagged on a cocktail of Rushian Kool-Aid.

~ P

He spoke of God
In a lucid  whisper,
Probing questions rolling
Off his manic tongue
Like the crunching wheels of a train
Well-rehearsed in the verses
Of the Good Book,
And the third rail...

Having failed shock therapy
And the system,
He rambles in public spaces,
Eyes glazed by the passionate brush
Of a missionary
Who missed his calling...

By a manic mile...

As he smiles
On the corner of Bliss
And Insanity...

Switching seamlessly
From:
Probing preacher
To:
Choir teacher
To:
Sister Hillary...

The hand-waving,
Foot-stomping sister Hillary
From a baptist chapel near you...

Watch this,
Dear commuters,
On the 5 to 9 patrol...

This train runs Express
From Hopeville to Reality,
Local to Utopia,
And derails at Bellevue...

This probing preacher/
*** choir teacher/
*** foot-stomping sister,
Rambling on the corner of Bliss
And Insanity...

Could be you!

~ Pablo
(#TheThirdRail)
2/22/2014

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)

joy to most
melancholy to many
and the clouds descend
even on sunny days
or Christmas Eve,
leaving sorrow....sorrow

toys and loved ones
know the ritual,
the ebb and flow of sanity
like falling snow
or balloons deflated
from full moons
luminous with love
to crushed souls
filled with sorrow....sorrow

when the shrinks surrendered
I knew the battle was lost
that causes unknown
would define my fate
and my autopsy would be
an airbrushed question mark
on canvass
in black and blue
like sorrow....sorrow

~ Pablo (#sad)
(10/22/2013)

When the thirst for freedom
Quenches the hunger of fear,
The cups of the oppressed
Shall fill to overflowing
With courage and zest
To wrestle,
By every means necessary,
rights and liberties
Denied far too long,
From the lascivious grasp
Of tyrants and kings;
So bloated by the feast,
They ate their lies
For dessert...
And forgot the truth.
~ P
(#OfTyrantsandKings)
4/19/2014

I
hands of justice bleed
into stormy sea of rage;
black boys are drowning.

            II
killer acquitted...
sidewalk the ****** weapon;
trayvon convicted.

           III
a smoking hand gun...
a bullet piercing the night
and a black teen's heart.

          IV
stalked by a stranger...
raindrops and stars bear witness;
he murdered that boy!

           V
the world stopped to see
the ***** hung from a tree
by a blind jury.

          VI
color of justice
bleeds white like cotton and lies,
and chalk around blacks.

~ P
(7/15/2013)

while wedding bells
are ringing
and love birds
are singing,
a child is born
in london
and
yet another dies in chicago...

gunned down!

while coffee
is brewing
at starbucks
and dinner
is served
at ray's,
a child cries
in hunger
and
yet another dies in chicago...

gunned down!

while mercury
is rising
in DC
and the heat
win
title #3,
a child abused
cowers
in fear
and
yet another dies in chicago...

gunned down!

while the clock
ticks
on the wall
and senators
scream
down
the hall,
a child
is profiled
in sanford
and
500 die in chicago

gunned down!

~ P
(7/21/2013)

he wore it
like stripes
and patches earned,
stitched to his chest
with needles through flesh;

...from amazing face at birth,
fresh, with cheeks to cash
and grow into
something valued like
commitment  or blue chip stocks

something his children
could latch on to

that's my dad...

like medals and awards
and highlight pictures on the walls
of foyers
and family rooms

like gates to
the family's estate
swinging free of debt
for generations
next
and beyond...

something his children
would embrace
not erase

like foul stains
on childhood memories
in the making

like the illusion
of traditional ties
and vows

like graduations
and weddings
missed
and new births;

...to the lifeless face
of another casualty
of addiction;

cheeks pale like ashes,
cashing
only dust

~ P  (Pablo)
(8/4/2013)

If your his-story
Were laundered
On the public square,
Extracting dirt and lie

Then hung out to dry
For all to see

Would you claim it?

Or would you deny
Those black-eyed holes
Glaring
From your wife-beaters...

Shards of glass
Sparkling
From your backyard....

Skulls and bones
Cackling
From your closet...

Projecting only
Those glossy golden eggs
Like cliff the eta carinae
From st luke's
In the village

'til those cluckin' hens came home...

~ P
(#ThoseCluckinHens)
12/25/2014

she was 13
going on 23...

I was 10
going on 2 ...
inches...

her tongue tasted like
jello pudding...

~ P (#Pablo#FK)
(8/11/2013)

Though we look the same,
we are torn
by miles of ocean,
more of pain.

In a rare respite from terror,
my dreams escape
this squalor,
this harsh reality,
and I ...

become you,
clean, clothed, cool;
shampooed head asleep
on plush cotton pillows;

charcoal skin caressed
by pajamas silky smooth.

Come dawn…

‘Which suit to wear?'
becomes my worst worry;

‘Being late for work,'
my worst fear.

O, to be free!

Perhaps someday
you'll think of me,
or send me a note
to spark a smile of hope
on my pubescent face,
two decades aged by hunger and disease.

Though we look the same,
we are torn
by miles of ocean,
more of pain.

~ P

Ambition,
Like green ivy,
Is a twisting thing.

She scales walls meant
To divide,
Uplifting spirits like bossa nova
To new highs.

Objects in the sky
Beyond the naked eye's locus
Descend into focus
Filling voids of mind
With lasik clarity.

Super-headed fuel
Refined for
Optimal thought production.

Problems complex appear
Then recede as your motivation
Bleeds like coletrane
through life's storms;

And seeds of preparation

Bear fruit....

~ P
(#BossaNova)
1/12/2015