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

  Aw Shucks! Ya think it is over. How great are the
      Final remnants of the MAGA false tales. As
  The Sun sets over the gleaming white structures
        And the seams of destruction collapse.

    The seditious activity screaming up the stairs
   Into the hollow chambers so secreted even the
       Good citizenry cannot penetrate its doors.

    Aw shucks! The villainous souls came. Bursting
Through the windows- the doors dancing in the open
   Areas of the protectors as they trekked through
  The hallow hall into the secret rooms of the deed
      Doers. As though they were in the confines
                         of their Homes.

  Aw Shucks! Ya think it is over. How great are the
       Final remnants of the MAGA false tales. As
  The sun sets over the gleaming white structures
         And the seams of destruction collapse.
              Wait until the sun comes up...!

(C)2021 “AW SHUCKS”-Paul S Hickman-ll Rights Reserved

I am not a Bullets Prize
If you see me on the street...
Mindin’ my own business
Just tryin’ to live my struggles
Don’t eye me as a victim
Don’t faze out into paranoia
My wings have already been clipped
My vision wears contact lenses
There are burlap bags of refuge
Invisibly clinging to my dusky back
I don’t wear a bullet proof vest
Superman doesn’t live in my breast
If you see me on the street
Tryin’ to make some time
Going on my merry way
Why stop my innocent travels?
Is the word enemy written
Tattooed on my forehead
Does my presence threaten
Offend your noble sensibilities
Are you frightened by my appearance
Does it awaken disgust or despair
Is my present life of no value
Or do you not even care
If you see me on the street
Just remember this
My mother didn’t raise me to be no bullets prize.

Copyright@ All rights reserved
Camille Elaine Thomas, 2016, 2021

What was there yesterday is no longer.
      With time eclipsing, the days, the weeks, the months, now
          The years. All is fading into what?

No longer as exciting, as it was in the yesteryear's. Now- filled
      With suspicion, mistrust, in the halls of the new beginning.
            Revealing unfulfilled dreams.

Erstwhile needing to be remembered for the future. The dreams were a
    Glowing glimpse of what could have been- now, they fade.

Melting, slipping into worlds of others. While snow and fires
    Cress the day, as noise ring into the ears,
          We stand waiting....

Copyright © 2020 - Paul Simpson Hickman - All Rights Reserved