the yoke and her mule
parted ways at independence square;
they'd been a pair
inseparable
since the early days
of hunter and prey...

and the mule's been dancing
in circles ever since,
chasing the pi on his tail
for answers to his circular demise...

the wise leech knew
but never clued
the dancing mule
into her pool of infinite possibilities...

she grew on his skin
as he stuck to his spin
like a pin in the 1st dimension,
growing old, weary and thin....

wishing his yoke had never left...

~ P

you will not say NO to me
said the second of two
baby girls,
now grown in stature
and grit;
brows knit;
eyes bristling with
metoo defiance;

her mother shed
a fountain of tears
she was told,
that fateful day in calcutta;
back in ‘84

she wanted a boy...

~ P

I wish you had found me
When I was six.

I wish you had entered my world then
And stirred by consciousness
Like you did
When we first met,
Two decades later.

I think of all the children
Like me;
Young, spirited
And vulnerable.

Who didn't know
They were poor.

Who had no phones or TVs;
Only radios
In their homes.

Who didn't know
There were literary giants in the world
Who looked like them.

Who were fed a steady white diet
Of history, literature and
Religion...

I would've had an albatross
On my deck.

I would've had big-dream winds
Beneath by sails.

I would've been
The black mariner of lore
Shielded through the raging storm...

Not shipwrecked;
Left like shark bait to navigate
The turbulence of prepubescent life
Rife with philistines and predators.

My ship and treasure
Would've landed sooner,
Safely onto destiny's shores.

And my poetry
Wouldn't be

So blue...

AYO

~P
#iwish
(3/27/2023)

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

Many games ago,
When  radios reigned
And the tube had two colors,
We played tag in the rain
And threw rocks at window panes
Of abandoned homes;
Just for the hell of it!

Many fads ago,
When Afros reigned
And the Ojays made Money
In zoot suits and bell-bottoms,
We shook our groove thang
And showed them how to do it;
Just for the hell of it!

Many rides ago,
Before Beamers and Bentleys,
When GM was King
And MJ was just a Prince
Of Pop,
We did the bus stop
And didn't stop
'Til  we had enough;
Just for the hell of it!

Many flicks ago,
Before Spike did the right thing,
And Sydney was king
On the Big Screen,
And MLK screamed from
A balcony in Tennessee,
And his blood stained a nation divided...

Still...

Ductile...

Shall we be...

The object of parody...

Just for the hell of it...!?

~ P
(#JustForTheHellOfIt)
3/6/2014

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

we suspected a roving rodent
or perhaps a curious canine
had been silenced
and sauteed with ample portions
of garlic, olives and onions
then served on sparkling silver trays
as the special-of-the-day

the neighbor's pet chihuahua
had been missing for weeks,
and the chunk of cheddar cheese
in the wire trap
had turned blue

any master chef, we knew,
could easily slice and dice
a medley of meddlesome meats
into a savory stew
and patrons unsuspecting
at cafe de la rue
would lick their chops
and fingers too,
as if it were korean barbecue

the maitre d' flashed a toothy smile
and with a twinkle in his eye,
asked if the meats had met
our wildest expectations

"woof!"  we barked in unison
licking our paws
like stuffed cannibals of the caribbean

"I see you speak our language well." he quipped

"would you like some blue cheese for dessert?"

~ P

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

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)

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

Unchristened,
I circle the sun
Clutching books of darkness.

Each page, a starless night,
A devil's duel for the soul.

An orphaned *****
Shackles my ****** thoughts
And to her drums
I beat.

Lust stomping feet
Of pleasure and song,
Of treasures sunk
Betwixt a finger and thumb.

I turn the page
Engaged,
I turn another
To find a willing centerfold.

Pedicured pink on toes
Flung high
In steel stilettos,
A feast for hungry eyes.

The mind grieves
Spilling guilt like leaves
Onto a passing cloud.

A boy
Perchance a girl
The world shall never know.

Like stars unborn,
They whisper
In the wind.

~ P
(#LeavesUponAPassingCloud)
6/7/2014

It matters not
If you're black as night,
White as light
Or any hue
Between those two...

If you can ball
You'll get the call;
You'll make the team
If the team is built  
To compete;
If the team is built
To win.

That's meritocracy
In motion.

A starving dog
Cares not
Who feeds him.
He won't bite those hands;
He understands and obeys
His instinct to survive
And stay alive
To bark another day.

That's survival
As nature intended.

The team
And dog
Should surely lose
Or die
If guided by hue
Like some in blue
Spilling black blood on cue
Like life's a game
For Whites Only.

But they are winning

And we are dying

Like dogs.

~ P

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)

rituals of mind
excise tactile memory
of physical pain

ayo
~ P

When the land
Is the land of your ancestors,
You feel it in your soul
And the wind welcomes you home,
Rushing in
From the ocean
Onto the sandy shores of shells,
Clay and igneous rocks
Where leather-backs roam
And natives reigned
Centuries before the big ships came
With cargo black
Then brown.

If you listened with your Waiwai's ear
You would hear the whispering wind
And the subtle warning it brings
Each time it blows.

You would know when to run
For shelter
Under the sacred trees
Connecting earth to heaven.

Or when to bask in the tropical Sun.

When the land
Is the land of your ancestors,
You have a duty divine
To keep the leaves lush and green,
The air fresh and clean,
The soil rich in organic glory
As nature intended,
In the beginning.

Ignore not the wind
My friend
For it bears infinite wisdom
And the keys to preserving
This planet we call home.

The future flutters like a toucan
With broken wings
Unable to soar through the sky
And paint stunning silhouettes
For watchful eyes
To see
And fledgling minds
To cherish
For eternity.

When the land
Is the land of your ancestors...
You must
Listen
To the wind.

AYO...
~ P

and she wrote the gospel
broke it down
from the book of mothers
to a son

lost in translation

drowning in a hollow
universe of words

his tongue tied
to vowels hanging
from dissonant trees

over the main stream

don’t be a verb
my son

you were born
to be a noun

ayo

~ P

Fell from a space spiritual
Into this physical place
Called Life.

I'm a Late-Boomer.

Memory takes me back
In time
To a blue brick house
(Or was it wood? )
With a door painted white.
A rental.
I was five.
My baby sister was four.

Mommy, a nurse,
Rode a bike to work.
Our Daddy fought fires;
Rode a bike to work.

My Godfather, David,
Rode a bike to work.

He fought fires too.

No one I knew had cars.
They all rode
Bikes to work.

Too young to ride,
I walked to school
Or took the round-de-town bus
For a jill or two.

That's how my life began in
this physical space;
A winner among winners
of the human race.

Lucky me.
Lucky us.

Then I grew up;
Too slowly.
I was too short
For too long.

One year -
'77 or '78,
I grew so tall,
Mommy didn't recognize me,
At all.

Her own son!

That happened again,
Sadly,
After a fall
In '07 or '08.

She's back in that
Spiritual space now.
Heaven,
I suppose.

She was a Believer.

Lucky her.

Ashe.

~ P

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

I was stuck in free verse
On the circuit
With slammers renowned
Ripping rhymes sublime
Heard and seen
By the deaf and blind,
Respectively...

But the spin soon spun
From slick to schtick
Layered so thick with more
Of the same ole tricks
That even Mike and Spike
Couldn't just do it
Like before...

So I upgraded my lyrical Nike
Of the open court
To a pair of couplets
And formally entered the draft
With the pros...

"With the #1 pick...."

My dedication to the craft
And hours logged after dark,
Flipping through Plath, Wilde
And Walker
Yielded the manuscript of my dreams,
And a YES
From the publisher

I had arrived...

Or so it seemed...

The path well-travelled
Of the published pros,
Once paved in exclusivity,
Now glittered  with chaos and opportunity

And the carcasses of couplets in print...

The sprint to models new
Laced in virtual strings
On tablets, kindles and bing
Had  begun....

~ P
#lyricalevolution

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)

They drop bombs
Made in the USA

Blameless
Bunker-busting
Bombs

Made in the USA

Thirty thousand tons of
Blameless
Bunker-busting
Bombs

Made in the USA

Each
Two thousand pound bomb
A grim reaper
Of death and destruction

Made in the USA

Each crater
A mass grave
Made by descendants of
Holocaust victims,
survivors,
And their sycophants

In the USA
And
Around the world

Silenced sycophants
Singing Christmas carols
Exchanging gifts

In the USA
And
Around the world...


And those who dare
Speak up
Or march

In protest

For the innocent
Silenced victims of
Blameless
Bunker-busting
Bombs

Made in the USA

For the twenty thousand
Silenced Palestinian victims of
Blameless
Bunker-busting
Bombs

Made in the USA...

Are labeled
"Anti-Semites"

And silenced too.

~ P
(12/23/2023)


Image credit: Euro-Med Human Rights Monitor

a plane will crash
in the future
and your wingless soul
could a casualty be;
a probability
more likely than heaven
without the thrill;
your pious potential spilled
onto the ocean blue
to sharks’ delight

black box screams
haunt dreams of widows
and orphans

incidental casualties of greed.

~ P
#max8blues
(4/14/2019)

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)

mine eye is a liar
and these images I see
as clear as can be
are but smoke
to the fire,
stoking my ire,
my scathing desire
for truth

I burn
when lens of lore
magnify times ten,
the plight of thieves and ******
on bleak street
but skip the drum's beat
to which they bop
at city hall

mine eye is a liar
and this black misery I see
cycling from court
to jail
and back
on bikes broken and bent,
is but a tour de jour,
a race with no end
but scars and stripes

the stars are long gone,
stripped from mine eye
and theirs
by hope-stealers,

they haunt the straits within

~ P
#MineEyeIsALiar
(8/5/2015)

mine eyes now simmer with insight
hitherto unseen;

glow like embers
hitherto unfelt.

mine spirit erupts
like mount tambora,
dormant far too long
now woke;

ignited by the fuel
of a calling yearned
and finally found;
threatening to
confound
if not nurtured and toned;
exhaust
if not harnessed and honed
for a journey of lyrical renown.

mine volcano erupts
yet its lava does not burn;

it only fuels my fire...

ayo

~ p

did you see
the ladies in white
dancing

their magic feet
black and bare
daring your pious eyes
to stare

their bronze heads
and tails
blissfully wrapped
in grace and rapture
like minstrels of badu

did you hear
them spin a mythic ballad
or two
of kipling
and angelou

did you feel
the muse
timeless and pure
daring you to sin

and curse those blessed hymns
that blinded you
from the secular

and kept you holier than thou

until now

ayo

~ P

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)

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)

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

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

Take a walk with me
As I weave a tale of mystery
Riddled with latent clues
And sunken treasures,
Enough to tease
But not appease
The pensive mind
Programmed to unravel
Abstruse anomalies from covert lines
And decipher codes in
Every enigmatic sign;
Calibrated to extricate
Materiality from the matrix of mendacity,
Salience from the smorgasbord of subjectivity,
But frustrated by this vacuous tale
Of lyrical poesy,
Woven with wilful intent to obfuscate
And rarify,
Enshrouded with elfish eccentricity to excruciate
And mystify mused minds
As haughty heads and hands
Ring and wring
In bemused bewilderment…

Alas!

You'll find neither hidden clue
Nor sunken treasure
In this tedious tale,
For 'twas penned solely for pleasure
By a poet with too much time on his hands...

I trust you'll understand...

~ P

eyes blackened by a darker tint of blue
a neoliberal haze of masses on the left
who fall in line
every time
since that civil bill
stained in the blood of messiahs
gave us hope
two centuries long

black lifeless limbs may
no longer swing in southern winds
like strange fruit

black conscious themes may
no longer scorch the status quo
like burning michellins in Soweto

black inspired voices may
no longer sing battle hymns
that stirred huddled masses
to march and fight and die
for equal rights
over the bridge

but these teeming shores still reek
with hate and inequality
by race

and the golden door remains closed
to wretched masses
black and brown

yet we vote
blue or red.

AYO!

~ P

Under a Godless sky
They fed her newborn screaming
To giant gators
Then laughed with drunken glee
Through moonshine
And missing teeth
At her desperate plea

No mercy
Would there ever be
For the nigguh chile
With light blue eyes
Like Jesus

They fed um screaming
To giant gators

They fed um screaming
To giant gators
~ P
(#NigguhChile)
9/21/2014

On the rooftop,
60 flights removed
From my ni##uh woes
Searching the streets below...

I am free to exhale
And savor the salt,
Freeze and possibilities
Of the evening breeze

Or jump...

Without prejudice
Or trepidation,
I breathe...

And dream a scene surreal
On the canvas of my immigrant mind
Where hope is an eagle
That ever flies

She soars o'er profiles of pain
Unfazed by chains of color
And crass

She is my die cast
On destiny's carousel
And I shall ever be
A dreamer...

A life worth saving...

On the rooftop
60 flights removed
From my ni##uh woes
Frisking the streets below....

~ P
(#NigguhWoes)
12/26/2014

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

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)

Every voice of reason
Screamed Yes
Do it
Excise it
The malignant ones
Steeped in hubris and narcissism
To the bone
Breaking bad beyond repair
Like toxic air
From a saxophone
Blowin off-key
Down Bourbon Street

The coup de grace
Of Mardi Gras
And freedom

Onward
Christian Nationalists

Onward
Putin sympathizers
Who despised Hugo and Fidel

Sieg Heil
Hypocrisy and homophobia

Sieg Heil
Misogyny and xenophobia

The tumor grew
As cancers do
Ignored

The day
Democracy died

~ P

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

ten 'gestapos' stormed aboard,
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

open fist
flipping the universal
'come here' sign

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  iron 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

O silent ones
With chronic sneers,
White robes and crooked pens;
The world sees your guile
As trees the Sun
And knees the mourning aisle.

I saw you
Marching by the bay
In  Charlotte
Where Heather lay
Breathless;
Your cross held high
Like white privilege.

I saw you
Storming the capitol
In DC
Where laws are made
Not broken;
Your flags held high
Like white privilege.

We saw you
Kneeling on his neck
In Minnesota
As George lay
Lifeless
On the street
In cuffs;
Your head held high
Like white privilege.

Stealthily rolls the hearse,
A lowly beast of burden
With more grace than you
And your chauvinist crew
Of pseudo-patriots.

There will come
A time,
By providence,
When the breath of life
Leaves you too
And I won't be unhappy
Or shed a tear...

For the world would've moved
One grave closer to justice.

~ p

The dream.
The sky.
The Do or Die.
The zeal and muscle
And steel in your eyes.

Unyielding.

Resolute.

You've seen the future before
And, like air,
It feeds your fire...

Leaping from rem of slumber
Into odd chambers
Of the few
Who thrive in dark solitude;
Like thunder;
Like lightning bolts of disruption...

Convention shuddered.
Oaks of resistance
Snapped like toothpicks
After generations stuck
In teeth of the morbidly obtuse...

Yet they prevailed.

Where did your dream go?

What happened to 'do or die'?

What happened to that zeal and muscle
And steel in your eyes?

Your purse had no strings.

Your fingers had no rings.

Your palace in the sky had no King...


Only a dreamer.

AYO

~ P

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)

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)

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

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

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

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

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

~ P

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

I ticked off my day
With a tepid mug of Morning Joe.
Then a neoliberal bowl of CNN
Left me bitter like aloe.
So I asked the Fox and his radical Friends
To put me on the right track…

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

Ayo!

~P

I gots a bunch o' poems
On my iPhone;
This ode came to me
Last eve
As the moon raged
And I watched Quincy Jones
Wax nostalgic on Netflix...

Music, like poetry,
Is Art;
And the great musicians,
The great artists
Like Quincy,
I've learned
As I watched and listened
To Quincy, on Netflix,
Drop lyrical dimes
By the dozen
off the proverbial cuff
with measured cadence,
Rhythm,
Clarity,
And wisdom...

I heard  
Tupac
As I watched and listened to Quincy...

I heard
Maya
As I watched and listened to Quincy...

I heard
Ray
As I watched and listened to Quincy...

I heard
Sinatra
As I watched and listened to Quincy...

I heard
Mandela
As I watched and listened to Quincy...

As I watched and listened to Quincy
On Netflix...

I heard
Cryptic insight in verse...

I heard
The voice of God...

I heard
Poetry.

AYO

~ P

I may not
See you again,
Or you
Me
In this fleeting journey
Called life.

So when next
We meet
Beloved,
Don't be discreet
Or aloof
Like cacti in the sand.

Shake my hand
Brother
With gusto.

Hug me right
Sister.

Let your essence
Linger in my soul.

Let our light shine
In smiles and laughter.

As we savor the old
And mould new memories
For the gallery of us.

Lest that wall
We hoped to fill
With red berry blossoms
Stays gray and bare
Like branches on poplar trees
After the storm.

AYO!

~ P

She leans on faith
As victims do
To make it through
To heaven's gate;

And though she cries
Black swollen eyes,
Her feet two bleed
On sacred ground;

Her battered pride
She tries to hide
Under the guise
Of laughter;

She wears a smile
For every mile
Of sorrow
Life throws at her;

She shakes a dollar
From a dime
And makes
Her quarters cry;

She gathers pennies
By the roll
Until the well
Runs dry;

Her only vice:
A man of ice
Who brings her
Joy and pain;

From gothic eyes
To granite fists,
She's shackled
To his chains;

And scores of us
Who know her not
Do scoff
And call her names;

We judge her plight
From distant heights
Like Gods
Of her domain;

We know not why
She wears a smile
For every mile
Of sorrow;

Perhaps she knows
That woes unearned
Are all redeemed
Tomorrow ...

Perhaps she knows
That woes unearned
Are all redeemed
Tomorrow...

~ P
(#RedemptionSong)
3/20/14