#poetrybypablo
my buddies and i
swam fearlessly in rivers
that kissed the sky
and yawned wide
like plantation rice fields;
rivers swollen by rolling waves of brine,
4-eyed fishes and e. coli;
and stuffed gators hitching rides
on rafts of wild bermuda
powered by wind and tide.
squabbles of seagulls swoop in,
silently seeking scaled snacks
on the fly-by.
dark naked limbs
flash more bone, less flesh
as we splash a dubious trail;
hands, feet, flailing
into the deep unknown,
fueled by whim
and naïveté.
fear came later.
~ P
#smalldays
(9/4/2017)
Sep 8, 2017
Sep 8, 2017 at 9:54 AM UTC
came from a land of 6
races
to a land of many
more
with many doors
locked
by the color code
broke a few
down
with erudition
but the ultimate
combination
elusive remains
you gonna make it P,
said J of another
persuasion,
citing actions affirmative
as key
then rodney got beat
down
to a pulp
in LA
by the po po
*** *****
didn’t you know
you’s still a ***** to me
don’t be deceived by dem
degrees;
summa *** laude this
***** f#kka
and all lives matter
became the chatter
after 3959 swung from trees
down
south
laura nelson’s blood-shot eyes
dug-out,
sold as souvenirs
for a nickel;
pics of the scene
went for a dime;
**** *****
didn’t you know
you’s still a ***** to me
jim’s crows
stole 40 acres
then drove the mule
to detroit,
chicago
and brooklyn’s first houses
built by fiorello in ‘35
became the hive
for black b’s
honey, why are they fleeing
in droves
to jericho...
coz they think we sting baby.
~ P
#chasinhoney
(9/7/2017)
Sep 8, 2017
Sep 8, 2017 at 9:37 AM UTC
Your tail wags my dog
And I bite
To the board's delight
More than I can chew.
Your bells jingle
In my dreams;
A meme so pure
It fills my life with toys
I barely use or need.
I am the object
Of your briefs.
The clueless pawn
of your motley storyboards.
I inform your varied faces
Of type.
Your place of graphic/
scheme of color/economy of words.
You crave my eyeballs
And savor my clicks.
You beat on my ear drum
With blabber and schtik.
Your tats and tie-dyed tees
Do not deceive me.
Your canvass is but a script
Artfully painted to show and sell.
If Van Gogh only knew,
He would've carved a cryptic headline
Over The Yellow House,
A timeless logo below the pool-table
In The Night Cafe.
~ P
#The_AdMan_Never_Rings
2/11/2017
Feb 11, 2017
Feb 11, 2017 at 6:40 AM UTC
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
Feb 10, 2017
Feb 10, 2017 at 7:36 PM UTC
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
Aug 1, 2015
Aug 1, 2015 at 2:12 PM UTC