between
the bang......and.....crunch
everything matters
including
nothing
...............
for no-thing
is some-thing
and every-thing
is no-thing
without
some-thing

~ P
(#theoryofappliednothingness)
1/16/2015

as i stumble through this life, may virtue be my guide to face the blitz of fear with honor, grit and pride / the fleeting flash of light. the fight to make the grade as dusk concedes to night beneath the twilight shade / the coral snakes through leaves with rings of colors bright. the gray wolf howls to heaven, spiked canines snarling white / i swiftly stretch my stride into a steady run and reach the other side; my brush with fear was done.

ayo.

~P

The seed of my dreams
Is neither greed
Nor grandeur,
But a simple need to be...

Valued as an ear of corn
To a starving child;

Respected as a medal earned
For the fastest mile;

Judged no more or less
By the skin of my flesh;

Rewarded like a sinner blessed
For ace-ing the Test;

Loved like a ray of light
By a budding rose;

Remembered for the path I chose...

So layered in burdens...

So littered with woes....

Yet Oh....

So very fulfilling!

~ P
(#ThePathIChose)
02/28/2014

go back into the ashes
of gifted souls,
legends long gone
from the finer arts of life.
there you shall find
gems of inspiration
buried

alive
in virtual urns of eternity
like Vimeo and YouTube.
you will laugh and cry and share
and dare to be
a better version of you
less consumed by the secular
more in tune with self, spirit
and sacred calling;
and fill your virtual urn
with a blessing
or two.

AYO!

~P

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)

she plants her lipstick
on my cheek
or forehead daily;

her stamp,
she says

leaving her puckered claim,
she says

in case some young *****
with game
throws a slow hanging curve ball
over my plate

and I'm tempted to hit it
like a-rod,
hgh and all,
up and over the outfield wall

then slide into home base
later

like it's batting practice
or

a double-header...

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

I
duchess in labor;
trusted royal storks on call;
where is the baby..?

II
duchess delivers,
trusted royal storks receive;
a charmed boy or girl...?

III
duchess is relieved,
royal baby is conceived;
it's a burly boy!

Armed with a truthbrush
And a few mythbusters
From zanzibar,
I scoured my soul
Like I'd never done before

Defying delusions
Of grandeur
Guarding doors shackled
And sealed
With cultural stereotape

I broke through the locks
And the shock
Of four centuries
Consumed me

The stench of humanity
Gone wild
Was palpable
Like cotton and gold

But the world was neither
Pitiless nor blind
To the plight
Of the slave's child

And the chiren
Of her *****
Would unite in the fight
To repair wounds
20 generations deep

Making the scars
Of imperious nations
Easier to bear

~ P
(#TheScarsofImperiousNations)
4/21/2014

these eyes are your window to the truth.
they empower you with vision
and help you filter details
like color, facts and lies
to better process
and navigate
the chaos
in your
world.

~ P

Tiles damp and unforgiving
Like granite
Cover his bed;

The rock of misfortune is his pillow;

On a broken public stool
He leans,
An urban fixture
Unwashed and unseen
For every ruthless reason between
Hopeful birth and grateful death;

He once played lead guitar
In a band,
In Tennessee,
Like Jimi,
He says....

Then he landed a gig in Woodstock
Planting poppy seeds on fields rife with fertility
Where cash crops thrive
And feed hopeful babies,
Cheeks plump with the promise and pride
On which great nations thrive...

Then the monsoon descended,
Sweeping sown seeds and trees in full bloom
Into a desert of despair;

And no one cares....

That tiles damp and unforgiving
Like granite
Cover his bed;

That the rock of misfortune is his pillow;

That he leans on a broken public stool,
An urban fixture
Unwashed and unseen
For every ruthless reason between
Hopeful birth and grateful death....

~ Pablo
(1/20/2014)

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

these are my thoughts
from the future
shared today
in the flesh
as fresh fodder from
my writer’s mind
unblemished
by blurred lines
of reflection

uncensured
by time and fate

filter the tidal wave
my friend
with a patient hand

for it leaves
a trail of treasures
as it recedes
into the great beyond

ayo

~ P

Misty eyes of a familiar stranger
Swallow my inhibitions
Like evergreens the drifting sun

Thoughts darker than midnight emerge
Feeding lines sublime
To erstwhile tied tongue,
Now ready to roll

Bold strides glide the gap
From day dreams to fantasies
On the eve of fulfillment

Then I see her Adam's apple...

~ P (#TheUnbittenApple)
2/8/2014

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)

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

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

He fell through the crack,
That black hole in the ghetto

Can't you see?

Back before 1st grade;
He ain't like you or me

His eyes are cold;
His soul is empty;
His mode is survival

And everyone's a prey
When doors close everyday,
His checkered past
Unworthy of a pass

Shackled he stays
To minimum wage,
Petty crime and misdemeanors;
Doing hard time
Beyond bars

"This country ain't for me..."
He seethes
"I'm only good for wars,
Not the cultural caviar..."

He fell through the crack,
That black hole in the ghetto

Can't you see?

Back before 1st grade;
He ain't like you or me...

~P
(#ThisCountryAintForMe)
12/26/2014

Did George Floyd’s life matter?
Did Breonna Taylor’s life matter?
Did Ahmaud Arbery’s life matter?
Did Eric Garner’s life matter?
Did Trayvon Martin’s life matter?
Did Mike Brown’s life matter?
Did Tamir Rice’s life matter?
Did Keith Childress’ life matter?
Did Bettie Jones’ life matter?
Did Philando Castille’s life matter?
Did Michael Noel’s life matter?
Did Jamar Clark’s life matter?
Did Michael Lee Marshall’s life matter?
Did Dominic Hutchinson’s life matter?
Did Junior Prosper’s life matter?
Did Keith McLeod’s life matter?
Did India Kager’s life matter?
Did Felix Kumi’s life matter?
Did Samuel Dubose’s life matter?
Did Darrius Stewart’s life matter?
Did Sandra Bland’s life matter?
Did George Mann’s life matter?
Did Jonathan Sander’s life matter?
Did Victor Laros’s life matter?
Did Spencer McCain’s life matter?
Did Jermaine Benjamin’s life matter?
Did Kris Jackson life matter?
Did Kevin Higgenbotham’s life matter?
Did Amadou Diallo’s life matter?
Did Oscar Grant’s life matter?
Did Calvon Reid’s life matter?
Did William Chapman’s life matter?
Did Walter Scott’s life matter?

All black / All unarmed / All murdered by US Police

Did Dylan Roof’s life matter?
Did Peter Manfredonia’s life matter?
Did Anthony Trifiletti’s life matter?
Did Patrick Crusius’ life matter?
Did James Holmes’ life matter?

All white / All murderers / All arrested peacefully by US Police

Unarmed blacks
Killed by US Police
5x unarmed whites

Black men and boys
Killed by US Police
2.5x white men and boys

This is why we kneel
This is why we march
This is why we protest
This is why we are mad as hell
This is why we are fed-up as well

This is why we riot

Riot is the language of voices unheard

When you respond
“All Lives Matter”
To our “Black Lives Matter”
You’re not listening
You didn’t hear
You don’t care
GTFOH

~ P

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

'Like platform shoes
And bell-bottoms
I miss you

And those soul train  moves
On Saturdays,
I still can't do
Quite  like you
But I try

And I cry
Through my smile
Like rain on a sunny day,
As evergreens sway
To the riffing wind

A natural fusion
Of jazz, thunder
And flashes of light
Prey on my mind

And I wonder
If you miss me too

From up yonder

Or down under...

But we didn't pray
So I can't say
If you are flying high
Or frying deep

So I'll keep dancing,
Kicking and dreaming of you

'Til the music stops...

~ P (#ttms)
(11/12/13)

I think I'll buy a book
tomorrow;
maybe an autobiography
of a young black kid
who made it big;
defying odds
and urban statisticians
who had him in the pen
by 19;

a shallow grave
by 29

with pages of preparation
and focus;
perseverance
when failure became
a formidable foe;
a social sledgehammer
slamming him
back into his basement
studio
with the rodents,
chronic unemployment
and piles of unpaid bills

and diplomas on the wall
framed in gold and mahogany

and photographs of fleeting
scenes of success
and hope

fleeting...

banished by fate?

am I destined to be
old, gifted and poor
like my fathers before me?

what dreadful deed
or sin
has sealed my destiny
with such savage sorrow?

maybe my hero,
the young black kid
in the book
I'll buy tomorrow

who made it big...

will have some answers...

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

Last eve,
I yearned
For the blissful comfort
Of sleep
And the delicate brush of
Cotton throws
On cheeks two
Weary to treat
Her hungry ears
To pillow talk...

Our feast of flattery
Spiced in the naughty lyric
Of foreplay,
The gourmet of prurient delights,
Simmered unstirred...

My spoon too
Weary to deliver...

~ P
(#TongueInCheek)
03/21/14

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

The Sun burns deep
In their wounds,
Then and now...

Miles past Emancipation
And Independence,
That contemptuous stench
Lingers on these mean streets
Where bare feet once brushed rocks
Burnt, crushed and red

And though our heels
Are covered
In leather and style

And we quote Hamlet
And Chaucer
And Wilde
Heads swollen with pride,
Brain-washed in dogma,
Tribal tongues tied
To the very stigma
That shackled our ancestors...

We become
what we once despised
When we hurl pejoratives
Like spears
With wanton refrain
Into the wounds of our
Brothers and sisters

Who share this space
And that history
We seem to have forgotten
On these mean streets
Where bare feet once brushed rocks
Burnt, crushed and red...

AYO

~ P

truth came out
from sam smith
to the base in charlottesville;

an identity evolution
of he, they and david dukes

as kap’s knee became legendary
like ali and jack
without the stats;

and nipsy’s hustle
caught the early shuttle
to immortality
with biggie and pac;

trump blew the whistle.

foul became fair.
fog, clear.
and hillary,
a career criminal
from benghazi.

thus, the crooked winner lost;
the crooked loser won
and electors placed pinocchio
on a private plane

to dc...

and impeachment.

truth came out.

~ P

twisted mind, finger twisted,
twisted trigger
@ Killeen
& Camden

RA-TA-TAT-TAT...

twisted mind, finger twisted,
twisted trigger
@ San Diego
& Aurora

RA-TA-TAT-TAT...

twisted mind, finger twisted,
twisted trigger
@ Fairchild
& Fort Hood

RA-TA-TAT-TAT...

twisted mind, finger twisted,
twisted trigger
@ Columbine
& V. Tech

RA-TA-TAT-TAT...

twisted mind, finger twisted,
twisted trigger
@ Pearl
& Paducah

RA-TA-TAT-TAT...

twisted mind, finger twisted,
twisted trigger
@ Newtown
& Santa Barbara

RA-TA-TAT-TAT...

twisted minds, fingers twisted,
twisted triggers
@???
&???

broken system

broken lives
        
straight bullets

RA-TA-TAT-TAT...

~ P
#Twisted
(5/30/2014)

Until we see the world
As a space shared by all living things,
Each having a right to exist;
As nature intended,
In the beginning.

Until we see the world
As an infinite wonder
Through which we wander finitely
With a duty to care and share
That all living things
Might be fruitful and multiply;
As nature intended,
In the beginning.

Until we see the world
As our most valued asset
To maintain and grow
That our children
Might thrive and prosper
Without fear of disasters,
man-made and cataclysmic;
As nature intended,
In the beginning.

Until we see the world
As the only world
There is
Or will ever be;

And reform our lives
From greed to green...

We shall ALL be victims
of the worst crime
In the history of the world:

Ecocide.

AYO
~P

to sing the song of life
from hymn to lyte
and every dark verse
buried from sight
in the silence of your fears

to build a bridge
from broke to whole
over those troubled troughs
of doubt and insecurity

to make your choice
and soar

to find your voice
and roar

to be a victim
no more

to be victorious

~ P

To live and earn;
To risk and learn
From chances missed
To treasures spurned

To laugh and cry;
To leap and fly
The jagged peaks
Of mountains high

To act and lead;
To plant the seed
That trees might grow
From fields below

To ask and probe;
To break the code,
The ties that bind,
The keys of mind

To dream and love;
To scream and shove
And carve in stone
An earthly throne

To sing and write;
To feel the plight
Of victims wronged
And make it right

To live!

~ P
(#VivoVixiVictum)
3/23/2014

don’t waste it;
that window to the world

your window
with  a glow
transient but compelling

to see through you
brings joy
to wizened eyes;
they can’t stop staring

and touching…

that image in the glass
dancing like guilt
on a feather
untethered to time or vow

a partner here,
a coveted client now

oh, the sheen,
the glow;
the groping fingerprints
in the know

champagne spills
onto your pane;
where did the time go?

stains linger
like wrinkles;
a fright for four eyes

pity stares through you
now;
your then is gone

if only you had seized
that ray of sunshine
and made it your own

way back when

~ P
(3/28/2016)

The storm window to her room,
Fused shut by time and inactivity,
Bears witness to all,
Especially fall's nose-dive
Into winter.

Bubbles of condensation gather
In cold clusters at a leaking corner,
Seeking the warmth within;

And the silver radiator blows her top
Like a chain-smoking choo-choo train,
An hourly refrain  
Of dreams interrupted;

And the mirrors weep,
In this lonely room
Where my mother slept
For 40 years;

And prayed with a white cotton sheet
Over her head,
A nightly soliloquy
For the Gentle One.

This room has seen
And heard it all:
From the supple nakedness of youth
And the  physical betrayal of age
To the immutable sounds of lust, love, laughter,
Screaming siblings
And coo-ing babies;

This room knows
The cycle of seasons
And life only too well;

But it'll never tell...

Its solitary window
To the world
Is fused shut...

As the mirrors weep,
And my mother sleeps
in eternity.

~ P (#WeepingMirrors)
(11/14/2013)

I Need
Someone who will be there
Forever;
Who's  more than a million followers
Or 10 million views

I need
To be more than
Some Fat Jew
Stuck at 21
When I'm sixty-two

Or Brittany
Chasing Paris
And Kim
Up Hilton Avenue

I need

To be someone more
Than this animal
On top of the food chain
Cloning content and hashtags
In my virtual house of wax
Built on impulse and tweets

Someone more
Than a rich troll
Shooting selfies with strangers
On Meme Streets

I need

Someone
Who will be there
When I fall off this virtual high
And crash

Tik
Through time

Tok
Through fame

Down
That food chain

To the banal roots
Of my existence

To catch and hold me
Forever

When I'm
Sixty-two

AYO

~P

The sirens are wailing
Again.
Where did the music go?
And the strident shrieks of laughter
From the streets below?

It won’t be long
Before someone you know,
Someone close
Is the subject of attention
From valiant masked men
And women
On the floors of battle
At ground zero.

They’ll throw centuries of medical missiles
At the enemy,
An elusive viral villain
Of ill-repute;
All to no avail.

They’ll plead to the mayor,
To the governor,
To the president,
For more gloves and ventilators,
For every means necessary
To protect and prolong life.

Many will die on the call of duty.

And the sirens will wail again...

Long after
The music stopped.

~ P

where were you
in april

before the blaze of summer
and white room

before the son
and hate collided

in memphis

and the check
for civil rights
was cashed

in blood...

where were you?

~ P

I'd rather be dead
than call her ...dad,
he said
~
the autopsy
showed
his skull
....fractured

his legs
and collarbone
....shattered
~
my 4-year old
slipped and fell
in the shower,
she said

his cries...
of  agony

his pleas...
no mercy

his mom....
an accessory?

stoic like these walls
and silent,
as her bully's bare fists
battered
her only son...

you will call me dad!
she said

...between head shots

I'd rather be dead!*
he said

~ P (#Pablo)
(8/9/2013)

what have we done
to trigger nuclear options,
tasers and guns
for misdemeanors
or worse -
errors rooted in prejudice,
privilege and power?

are we less worthy
of presumed innocence?

are we dispensable
like gloves and masks
and evidence?

do our service
and uniforms
and humanity
even matter?

our mothers cry too
when we die.

our children cry too
when we die.

yet your eyes
stay dry

when we die

why?

~ p

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)

Louder beats silence
When the law fails
In a broken system
And the arc of history
Never bends
for some
As if justice
Wasn’t meant to be
Served equally
In a democracy
With more skeletons
Than a military cemetery
In Richmond

And though slavery ended in 1865
Racism is still alive
155 years later
And hate has a place in DC
Where white privileged chickens
Came home to roost in 2016

All lives matter’s the scripted chatter
To evade and obfuscate
The rage and graves
Of future George Floyds
Of every hue
Marching on avenues
Far and Near you
So you build fences of denial
Around your guilt
To preserve
your milk and money
Drained from the masses
Trapped In lower classes
Screaming
“We can’t breathe”

Get your knees
Off our  
***** effin necks
America

South Africa burned
Then learned

You got next.

AYO

~ P

you have a story to tell
and the world won't be the same
only richer;
for the refineries of your mind
are programmed to combine
thoughts, emotions and experiences
uniquely you,
into a narrative or rhyme
hitherto unseen,
a naturally wrapped gift of your creativity
destined to build a universal platform
that unites and uplifts humanity
one poem
at a time....

you have a story to tell

~ P
(7/12/2013)