There it's sitting, tucked between others unlike it.

Strolling, about the colorful decorum,
She briskly greets me, with a warming smile.

Clothed in simply exotic jeans, with leather boots,
The top fringes, flapping with her every step and turn.

As modern Jazz music plays, softly in the background.
People, walking briskly, down the clean stone surfaced
Street.

A fashion show, accentuating the plethora of boutiques
Encapsulating, the Expresso Bar.

Exotic cars creep along the narrow street,
Exhibiting their unique styles and models,
With their little ones riding quietly with,
Piercing eyes.

As a local cat, fondly plays with the small leaf.
Being gently, moved by the wind's breath.

As the sun sets quietly, we move to another spot,
To complete the day at the Expresso Bar.
Quietly, sitting in the mist of the dawn of the eve.

© The Expresso Bar, 2013, Paul S Hickman, All Right Reserved

Sitting, in this place, lonely, mind,
Searching for reasons. The years, passing
As swiftly as they came.

With thoughts, in the corners of the
Mind. Searching the experiences the
Answer—unknown.

Cast off, into the reality of others.
Traveling, through the halls of
Academia. Facing, minds of the world.

The disruptions, unsolicited, unwanted
Annoying to self. Precious moments passing
Valuable to lose.

Though unknown to self, unknown to others.
The envy, the jealousy, the dreams to
Leave the land of reality.

Into a distant world, far beyond the
Thoughts of others. To realize, they
Have a world of their own.

Copyright (c) 1996, Paul S Hickman, All Rights Reserved

A walk in the park, listening to the birds and bees.
Visiting with other strollers, a smile and a hello.

Challenging my eyes with a glistening glow.
My, my is this going to be my life style to enjoy,
And cherish for the rest of my days?

If so, then those who must slave for others,
While I enjoy the freedom so greatly earned.

Copyright (c) 2004 “ A Walk in the Park”, Paul S Hickman, All Rights Reserved

      Your blood flows in our veins. As we are passing through
                          And you are coming through.

     After over 400 years “The Post-African Enslavement and the
    African Diaspora Era” in America and the world. Many cultures
  reap the creative fruits of the African forefathers and present day
                       Africans without profound gratitude.

     We are the inheritors of the intelligentsia of the Ancient Benin
     Africans and all the Ancient African Cultures. We have shared
                      These intelligent gifts with the world.

         Our music-science-mathematics-eloquent logos-leadership
-statesmanship-literature-sculptures and sports are a testament of our
            Determination to exploit these gifts to their fullest.

    No matter the breath or frequency of obstacles placed before us.
      For Africans, it is either- over, under, or through them towards
Fulfilling the Footprints left by our Ancient African Ancestral Cultures.

      Though at times clouds may cast a shadow on our endeavors
        We Africans are still here- plowing the rows towards our
        destiny to build our humanity and share with the world.

(C)2021 “Your Blood” by Paul S Hickman -All Rights Reserved

Inauguration Poem

You thought it would be done. But you didn't know
That it would be so. By the Grace of God -you start
 A new journey with His Angels as your Guardians.

   There you sit far away from us. Yet so close.
    As you feel in your heart the fire that burns
                  In all of God's Chosen.

        Not to worry about that what follows.
     His Lead and you emerge as fresh as the
Clear running stream. As strong as the Native Bison.
   As true as the arrow. And as gentle as the cello-
                  Piano-flute and the violin.

There you have it. Mr. President of the United States.
         Long life-sail with the Winds of change.
      And your walks moves towards the destiny
   To accomplish the trials and tribulations of life.

  As you walk over the hill-you are a young person's
President. Our time has passed As you plow the road
                      For the years to come.

     Time crosses your footsteps in the sand . As a
             Gentle breeze erases the previous
                   Path followed by so many.

       Your hand with open face points to the sky
      And the heavens sing and the thunder roars.

                         Now you start....

(C)2021-”UNFINISHED” by Paul S Hickman -All Rights Reserved

Seein‘ folks storm through the capitol halls
Wonderin’ if they got any sense at all
Carryin’ signs of indignant hate
Is this democracy’s future fate?
Online malignity is a booming industry
Spreadin’ false news while lyin’ miserably
Police gettin’ knocked down and beat
Puttin’ their feet up on Pelosi’s seat!
Weapons carried to the front door
But what is really at this here core?
What is the sudden hidden fear?
To lose all we hold so dear?
Is it Martin’s dream that scares us so?
Selfish citizens who want more?
Inauguration is on its way
Biden working hard to save the day
The nation has never been so split
I’m troubled too I must admit
So democracy I ask of you
What the hell are we gonna do?

Copyright@ All rights reserved
Camille Elaine Thomas
January 18, 2021

“Show me thy Rituals and I will show thee thy Heart”.
          - Paul S Hickman

This Is Not My Dream

My mother call me “Martin”. Not just my name, but
  A strong spiritual tone in her voice. Seemingly, the
     Same as all the others at play. But, mine was
                      Different than theirs.

   Not even I could understand that hallow feeling
 Burning in the center of my chest. Swiftly, time was
     Passing through roads of life mine was unlike
      The others- too. As it seems like living in a
           Strange world. Peering, out into the
           Outer world. This is not my Dream.

     And, far beyond my reach, but the end was
 Not in my sight. There is much more to do more
               To do. This is not my Dream.

      Tears, rolling down my cheeks. People of
      All cultures embracing each other giving
  Love for a great loss. Marching, as one culture.
    I saw in my dream that BLM as the epitome
                        Of my dreams.

   Then, came the culture of the vile deed doers.
  As with me, the invisible battle rages on. Hearts
  filled with hatred, despair and fear of that which
      will come -violent. This is Not my Dream.

   Whose hand is this! Lord is that you? Martin!
 Your job is done time to come home. It has been a
 Long, but short journey with so much more to do.
    Wiping the paths of wrongness with care and
    Thoughtfulness. Sure, there were good times
                        Beyond the pale.

  Maybe, I can watch them from here as my soul
         Sails around until the end of eternity.
         I have a Dream! I have a Dream...!

© 2021 “THIS IS NOT MY DREAM”-Paul S Hickman-All Rights Reserved

   Tried to instill the inheritance from
The Ancient Africans-powering past the
       Objectives of the naysayers.

 Tooling the intelligentsia handed down
    Into viable workmanship of useful
         Growth into one of a doer.

(C)2021 “Stand Tall” -Paul S Hickman-All Rights Reserved