~ 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)

what are the final thoughts
after the final words
before the guillotine drops
or 2000 volts shock
or the farewell cocktail pops
the veins of a serial killer...

does he wish his sentence
had been executed much sooner,
in the first trimester...

does she wonder why
her right to live weighs less
than that of her fetus...

does he regret poor choices made
or  poor voices erased...

does she pray for redemption
or divine intervention

does he fear God's wrath
or
the devil's trident...

or
is the mind of the walking dead
crystal clear like morality...

and the conscience of the living
stained like that ole rugged cross at calvary?

~ P
(#DeadManThinking)
(7/9/2013)

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)

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

i got burned
again.
seems like i chase the pain,
the no’s, closed doors
and open hands raised
five fingers long
like slap signs
from 2cool4u sisters
@ club 925.

seems like sandman’s
always sweeping me off
the page,
and the big stage @ columbia u
claimed by new negroes
named kendric and hussain
will remain a fleeting illusion.

but ima keep writing
cause bill said,
‘do what you love
wither you *** paid
or not.’

and these words few
are my gift to you
beloved.

ima keep on giving
til
the
music
stops.

ayo!

~ P

the tyrant sneezed
and his stooges
caught the minionic plague

~ P
1/26/2015

he knows not
yet speaks loudly,
proudly flaunting
his knowsnotness to the world
as if it were some regal virtue
worthy of praise and reverence,
not verbal manure
so malodorous
it smothers us all
in mind-shrinking flatulence.

~ P

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)

When I stare
At nothing in the air
And smile

Or sneer
Behind closed lids
At villains
In my dreams;

Do not despair
Or wonder.

I am neither mad
Nor glad.

I am merely a writer
Doing work;
Sowing seeds
In the fertile fields
Of my imagination.

AYO

~ P

Dat Rock of his dreams,
Peakin through distant clouds
Of struggle and doubt;
Calloused feet shoutin
From soles worn-out
At the bottom;
Climbin crowded stairs
To deaf ears
At the top.

Stories screamin to be told
Like sirens on the crime-side.
Memories of old resurrected
In mindsight.
Fingers typin rhymes through dark nights.
Moon shinin bright
On doors closed,
Never seen.
Ground floors  reekin stardust,
Clever memes.
Here only giants dare,
Starin at the ground
Through mirrors too small
To capture them all.

Gonna need a visionary,
A see-faring guide
To blast a path
Up these charts.

Gonna need a missionary
A God-fearin ride-or-die
To take the leap of faith;
To chase a dream
Through distant clouds
Of struggle and doubt;
To find a spot on Dat Rock

Where destiny awaits...

Capture the ride.
Watch him glide,
Free-stylin
From Chi-Town
To Platinums.

Don't blink.

You've got to see this.

AYO
~ P

If by chance
or fate,
you leave for church
a few hours too soon
and the moon, drunks and ******
on the guilty path home,
see you walking by
in your solemn sunday suit
and your king james
with the black cover
and white cross,
and your holy attitude

and they hurl obscenities:
f-bombs, middle fingers,
daggers of disdain

flooding the street with
loathing

and you turn
the other cheek

and preach:
"I was there too....mere weeks ago...
let it go...let your light shine!"

and only the moon does...

~ P
(7/21/2013)

My day's been idling
‘tween grim and gray
since Corona came by
and stole my Sunshine away
like a thief in the light,
sweeping my dreams
into a dungeon of despair.

hope flutters in the wind
on broken wing,
her salvage flight
upstaged by Ebola's evil twin.

what splendid deed
or need of man
have I not met
to earn this noose around my neck?

bare stems,
on trunks of fate
do quiver,
from fear of darkness
or lack of faith?
I cannot tell;
neither served me well
as you dear Sunshine.

soon these lungs two may fail
unable to inhale
or exhale without you.

my days thus spent,
idling from grim to gray,
since Corona came by
and stole my sweet Sunshine away,
shall come to end.

~ P

...when her prized Zulu mask fell
Off the wall
Where it glared four decades
In stoic silence
From the house-warming
To the day before
Summer went home
For her long-anticipated reunion
With the man who stole her heart
Near Prospect Park
Back in '91....

It was an augury
The frigid winds of grief
Would cease
In the morrow.

And Summer's sorrow
Would cede
To Fall's eternal joy.

AYO

~P

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)

he went into national service
high on hope and his future;

I could see it in his eyes,
and his supersized smile,
and when he shook my hands
I felt it too...

my brother had grand dreams
filled with scholarly books, hard work
and college degrees
earned overseas;

"I'll send back photographs,"
he said

and the image of his happy face
stuck with me

they didn't show it,
what was left of it,
at the funeral

they couldn't...

according to the coroner,
and the fishes in the lake
where his body was found...

~ P
(7/20/2013)

I looked up,
Up into the brilliance of history
Filling the sky with awe
And mystery

Then down,
Down onto solid ground,
The enigmatic host
Of life,
Death
And every fossil
In between

And through
The leaves of time
My light came
Shining,
Shining

For every storm
That raged
And every bird
Uncaged

There is a cause,
A natural calling,
A learning tree
To climb
And preserve

Like living fruit
With seeds the world
To feed

By every means necessary

~ P
#ForEveryStorm
(12/14/2014)

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)

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)

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 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

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

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

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

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 foraged
The universe of words
Seeking a few
To remotely
Define you;

But I found
None...

Love...

~ P
(#FromTheHeart)
3/5/2014

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)

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

I found a note today
Drafted by Future Me
On a virtual cloud of 2053,
Gnarled knuckles and knees
Buckled by
Life's raging storms
like leafless trees
In a hurricane;

Cranium overran
By plaque invaders;

Multiple meds stacked
On  a lonely nightstand
By my single bed
At the senior center;

As bb king sang the blues
And the thrill vanished with the wind
Into an abyss of oblivion;

Everyone will be a stranger then,
It read;
Including snapshots of you...
And us...
And the life we shared...
Saving for the rainy day;

Not this terminal tsunami...
This atrophy of love
And life...

When a man looks
At the tearing face
Of his faithful wife...

And sees a stranger!

~ Pablo (#FutureMe)
2/22/2014

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)

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)

Let there be light.
A new ultra-virulent wave
Of clarity
To wash old myths
And memes
And compulsions away,

Like yesterday...

The meta-magician;
The cyberspace medicine-man
Coding seeds for all
that ails the world
Sat inside your head
Far too long;
Inverse-engineering your sense
Of right from wrong;
Want from need...

Greed is good!

Capitalist pawn you;
Click....Buy Now!

Capitalist pawn me;
Click ....Buy Now!

Greed is good!

Heed the Ad Man's call to action.
Fund the anchor's pension.
And the preacher's mansion.
And the politician's next campaign
Of empty promises.

Capitalist pawn you;
Spend! Spend! Spend!

Capitalist pawn me;
Spend! Spend! Spend!

ENOUGH!!!

Grab the rainbow.
Bend it towards clarity
And equity
And common sense...

Let there be light!

AYO

~P

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

was a time when black chattel
was inheritance
like cattle,
like silver and gold

herded and sold
on auction blocks
to the highest bidder

going once,
going twice,
sold...

to the cotton king
and his kin
from florida’s keys  
to the lochs of kentucky

wealth flowed like the Mississippi
filling white wells with prosperity
four centuries
and more

as seminal droughts rained
cyclones of poverty
on the black side of town

no gold
would be handed down
to the kin
of booker t and harriet...

only slivers of hope.

~ P

he held her hand
and wouldn’t let go;
lidless eyes open wild
like a raging Victorian  bushfire

not knowing what to do,
she apologized
for the human race

then quenched
his thirst
with a long plastic bottle
of Voss  

~ P

he found a bundle
of rights intangible
hanging like leaves
in plain sight
without a label or name

so he claimed...

it was perched like a parrot
on a poplar tree
in Central Park
left furtively
after dark
by ranger Henry III
who opened the gates daily

for the likes of...

Joe
of Public renown
who'd lost all he owned
in a Ponzi scheme
trading his golden throne
and sins
for the broken bench

and a bottle of gin...

under the shade of leaves
green like the open court
he prayed
and plotted his return

it wasn't long...

after his fall
from Chase
to the broken bench
that 1000 points of light
descended
shattering the fog over his lens

and with lasik eyes....

he saw the bundle
of rights intangible
hanging like leaves
in plain sight
with a label and name

and he claimed it as his own....

~ P
(#HenrysBundleOfRights)

Hey you!
With a hole in your head
And a widow
In your bed
Sleeping with your Purple Heart  

Hey you!
In a shallow grave of sand
In a far too distant land
Where war shall ever reign
Like Hell's eternal flame

Where is your peace?

Where is your soul?

Where was your God?

~ P
#HeroesRemorse
(1/1/2016)

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)

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

chosen by fate to fight
by night the blistering fire  
and face by day
the blazing storm

the mission called
well travelled feet
you climbed the wall
and faced the heat

of loved ones kissed
well travelled feet
the mission called
we watched them weep

of hearts you touched
well travelled feet
the mission called
we watched them bleed

of battles fought
well travelled feet
the mission called
you crashed the wall

of fires braved
well travelled feet
the mission called
you took the heat

chosen by fate to fight
by night the blistering fire  
and face by day
the blazing storm

~ P
(7/4/2013)

In this house
Of toys
Built by Penn,
The gable never peaks

Higher, higher...

It soars from sand through air
And surging storm
Defying the weeping rain
And her ominous refrain

Pitter, patter...

The owls knew
But their sage counsel
Fizzled in the wind

Hoo, hoo...

Bulls bred on steroids
From Farm Fed
Rang the bell

Moo, moo...

Goring without prejudice
Matadors who didn't see red
Until their dreams bled
On the front lawn
Like lambs of lore

Maaa, maaa...

And the house
Of toys
Built by Penn
Crumbled in the sand
Levered string severed
By the red marching band

~ P
(#HouseOfToys)
1/4/2015

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)

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

From ex to next
And every twinge of regret,
Or relief,
In between

There is a trinket,
A treasured nugget sunk
Deep in the chest
Of her recurring dream

A raw reminder
Of what might have been
Had she forsaken
The processed diamond
For that precious
Hunk of gold

~ P
(#HunkOfGold)
12/29/2014

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)

Her camel Tims hit a slick
Of black ice
Pan-caked to the curb
By February's fickle frost

She slipped
But didn't fall....

Gathering her cool interrupted
And all,
She pointed a manicured finger skywards,
Fixed her wig
And resumed her shuffling jig
To Van Siclen,
Evading winter's treachery...

With an assist
From her guardian angel
Dancing on a cloud over Brownsville.

~ Pablo (2/17/14)
(#IDIB)

i had a prayin mother
of four
daily sometimes more
she kneeled
and knocked
on heaven’s door

on heaven’s door
she knocked
kneeling on the floor
before dawn
before her chiren
woke up

i had a prayin mother
who loved the lord
she read his book
she kept his word

kneeling on the floor
she called his name
over and over and over again
my prayin mother
called his name

from my room
i heard her call
before every meal
i heard her call
when bills were due
i heard her call
when bills were paid
i heard her call

i heard her call
to say thank you
kneeling on the floor
knocking on his door
daily sometime more

i had a prayin mother
of four
who loved the lord

she read his book

she kept his word

ayo

~ p

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)

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

Into the swirling Summer's gale,
Arms flailing to and fro;
Legs churning on the blacktop trail,
And miles of road to go.

Four months the mighty muscles screamed
Like torture on the Bay;
The price of every Patriot's dream,
And records blown away.

Four Kenyans storm into the lead
That stretched with every stride;
Four million raised for souls  in need,
And hearts infused with pride.

The dreaded wall atop the hill
Where only eagles dare;
Two hooded heathens dressed to ****,
And hope erupts in fear.

The virtual space of every room
From Boston to Belfast,
Explodes like meteors on the Moon,
And Twitter's horns on blast.

A line that many never cross
From civil creed to hate
Define the lives we live and lost,
And freedom swings the gate.

Into the swirling Summer's gale,
Arms flailing to and fro;
Legs churning on the blacktop trail,
And miles of road to go.

~ P
(4/16/2013)

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)