THEY won’t make forbes’ list
or the cover of vogue.
THEY won’t sink buzzer-beaters
on sports center and fox news.
THEY won’t ink bank-breaking deals
with nike
for custom shoes
like mike.
THEY won’t sail the pacific
in the history supreme
like a mighty malaysian tycoon
with billions to splurge
on luxury yachts
and lamborghinis.
THEY won’t have brass stars
on hollywood’s walk of fame
or win academy awards
like halle and jack…

but in your hour of need

THEY will be there,
masked, gloved and ready
to deliver the best medical care
money can’t buy
and stem a tidal wave of tragedy

that we might thrive
again.

ayo!

~ P

color me bad.
profile me as a ****
you’d rather frisk than hug.
paint me in red, white and rude
like the chalk around
black bodies bleeding
on prime time news.

my mama walked me to
the school bus too
y’know,
everyday.
she watched me play ball
in the park,
eyes glued to my every move
like i was the bald eagle;
like she knew
my days were numbered,
colored as i was.

she had big dreams for me too
y’know,
beyond these chalked lines.

she gave me crayons to write
and draw;
and big books of every hue
to read
and learn to fly
away from bigotry,
beyond the color line.

but you broke my wings
and my mama’s heart.

you colored me bad.
you profiled me as a ****
you’d rather shoot than hug.
you put a bullet through my head.
you painted me
red, white and dead.

ayo!

~P

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

marooned in writer’s den
with empty thoughts
and a pen.
raindrops pitter pattin’
morse cues from heaven.

nina simone blowin’
baltimore blues
through my soul.

soon similes start a flowin’
like tropical waves over
montego bay,
infusing my muse
with sunshine lyrics
on a rainy day.

cryptic blocks dissipate
as the water breaks,
and a new song
is born.

ayo!

~ P

I wake up
Most mornings
Soaking sweat,
Chest heaving,
Hope streaming out my eyes
Like light rays
From dark caves of mind.

They say the brain reboots
When we sleep
Then opens wider
As we learn
To navigate the storms
Of a new day
And blaze a trail
To those dreams
Of the night before.
That elusive rainbow
Of inner peace;
Those treasured pieces of gold
Buried on the other side
Of the daily grind.

I’ve been chasing that mine
For a long, long time.
And maybe I won’t find it today…

But I’ll keep digging.

AYO!

~ P

The world seems built for Tyrants
Egos scraping the sky
They chase glory, adulation, loyalty
They place cataracts in your eye
And fill circuits of mind
With plaque-inducing memes
You’ll only catch phrases
Banal recurring themes
Sublime viral encounters at Airstrip Nine
A streaming black market
Of lies revised as gospel truths
You’ll master the fine arts
Of double-think
And polemics
You’ll scorn friends and lovers
Who dare intervene
You’ll run from the Thought Police
Screaming obscenities
Like $uicide boy$ @ Woo Hah
Run from truth
Run from facts
Run with lies
Run with the Tribe
Run to Big Brother
Run
*****  F*hka
Run.

~ P

My dreams of late
Take me to heavenly destinations
Far removed from news du jour.
There are no Don Lemons there.
No Sanjay Guptas on the trail
Of novel viral contagions
Bent on global jihad.

I see huge crowds
Of healthy, happy people
Unmasked,
Chasing joy in a whole New World.
There are no walls there.
No social isolation.
No yawning divides of rich and poor.
No royal Haves or starving Nots.

I see purple flamingoes in the sky
And rolling hills of windmills down below.
Every home has gone solar.
Every car electric.
The switch to clean energy is clear.

And the Gods smiled.

There would be no pandemic
in my dreams.

~ P