G-Square Publishing LLC

G-Square Publishing LLC G-Square is a well-established publishing company owned and operated by people of color. We publish in multiple genres. These include; Poetry, Novels, Children's books, Youth books Anti-corruption books, short stories, and audiobooks.


Stephen Covey once wrote; "The challenge is to be a light, not a judge, to be a model not a critic. This is the mindset upon which attentive organizations will build the square of integrity. G-Square's approach to eradicating corruption and building organizations of high standards staffed with individuals of integrity is rooted in what we call the Square of Integrity. The


Stephen Covey once wrote; "The challenge is to be a light, not a judge, to be a model not a critic. This is the mindset upon which attentive organizations will build the square of integrity. G-Square's approach to eradicating corruption and building organizations of high standards staffed with individuals of integrity is rooted in what we call the Square of Integrity. The

Operating as usual

ONE NIGHT WITH THE QUEENBeing “In-Love” was never meant to express a singular emotion.It is far different than loving th...


Being “In-Love” was never meant to express a singular emotion.
It is far different than loving that arm-candy beauty that brings you physical delight to get through the night.

It transcends the outer beauty, which is a victim of time and lies to earthly eyes.

It rests its passion on inner beauty, which is unchanging and at the same time, renewed each day, through these untrammeled eyes, where lust has no say.

It moves in a complex thriving motion; moving to and fro in a seismic wave flowing to that celestial place where only you and I can breathe the air that ultimately ends in climactic sighs expressing how much we care.

It is intended to be a singular sharing, one heart to another, serenaded about from the rafters without fear of judgment.

It is a clarion call to be bellowed from atop the Kingdom’s walls.

While we may not speak with the dawn of each new day, I know that our hearts converse, for they are synchronized with the rising and setting of the God-given sun; anticipating the realities that will materialize, should you and I become one.

I do not believe that I simply love you; that would be a lie.
I know that I am, In-Love with you.
It is in the knowing that allows for grasping the difference between being In-Love as compared to the simple act of love, which rarely ever thrives.

I gladly profess that each conversation is infinitely more pleasing than the last.

Every word is a seed to be tilled in the soil of delight, to confirm that unique taste, born of the passion-filled needs of these two hearts and nurtured in the oneness of our thoughts.

Nevertheless, even knowing that, I must also admit that my spirit is indescribably troubled at my constant inability to truly express my deepest affection and love for you.

Daily, I search for the words or the act, which will touch your heart so that joy and happiness will be ever-present.

I have come to the disappointing realization, that there have been no words ever penned by man, or poetry ever dreamed or imagined, that has ever come close to justly expressing the passion and truth that exists within the love that I have for you.

I am confident that many have tried to express this degree of love.
I have tried on countless occasions, and I have always fallen short.
In fact, I have failed to great lengths, but I must admit, each time has been a glorious failure.

Spending the rest of my life trying to express to you the depth of my love, is an endeavor at which I sadly will never reach, but I will gladly attempt it each day that God allows breath in this body and the imagination to achieve this enduring feat.

The unyielding truth is that my love grows deeper each day.

If I were to come close today to finding the words or expression of love that I have for you at this moment, those words and expressions would be incomplete in the very next moment, because this love is boundless, its need for excellence, timeless.
It knows no beginning and does not dear to seek an end.

I have always loved you; even when I did not know of your existence.

I have always been deeply and passionately in love with the idea of you; never knowing that it could actually be true.

Before the sun rises in the morning, you are already resting in my heart.

When I awake, I immediately feel sorry for the world because there is not a man or a woman, alive or dead, that can genuinely understand the emotion known as love.

This is the case because they have not been blessed with the reality of being in-loving with a woman or man like you, and more importantly, being loved by a blessing like you.

Ours is that solitary love between a man and a woman that actually comes close to giving birth to perfection.

There are days that I weep at the thought of how many moments of my life have slipped away without you at my side.

My eyes fill with tears as I pen these words, knowing that tomorrow; I will still not have you in my arms with an embrace of passion that only you deserve.

You are my Queen, who I worship from afar; a goddess without compare.

If I were granted one wish in this world to which I am bound, it would be to spend one night with the Queen.

To wish for more, would be beyond what I ever hope for when it comes to the gift of experiencing true love.
The troubling part is that in my heart of hearts, I know I will want more.


From A Poet of Color:

By: Vinny Green

You speak of unity but direct me to the back door of life. Providing opportunity but never equality.

You call me brother but reject my mother. Disrespect my father as though it is no bother.

You handcuff me at every gate.
Place a tariff on me from state to state.

When I look toward the path that will make me free, you put up roadblocks and protest that it is not for me.

You place me on a path of gullies and mountains while you navigate simple straits with open gates.

You preach the gospel of equality, then shackle my legs and start the race.

You challenge my ethics with your deceitful ways, confident in your mind that my feet are made of moldy clay, to be shaped in any which way that you say.

I respond that if you knew my mother or knew my father, you would know my integrity would never lead me blindly down any path that would not allow me to be me.
I make no accusation to any race or nation.
I present my dilemma for whoever is honest enough to see their own reflection.

I present the truth of my plan, as would any honest mortal throughout the land.
Allow me to be me so that I, too, can raise my family.

Nevertheless, through all of this, I still seek unity. On this, we must all agree, not one step taken bitterly.

Don’t you see that with unity, we can all be free?
I need no gifts, pledges, or affirmative actions.

Just clear the path and let me be.
I will run my race with dignity.

G-Square Publishing will take time each day during the month of February to Recognize that, Black Lives Really Do Matter...

G-Square Publishing will take time each day during the month of February to Recognize that, Black Lives Really Do Matter.
Spoiler Alert, All lives matter.

6500, that is the approximate number of black people lynched in the United States between 1865 and 1950.

Before George Floyd, Ahmaud Arbery, Breonna Taylor, and the Black Lives Matter movement, there was young Emmett Till, a black teenager from Chicago brutally beaten and hanged in 1955 in the State of Mississippi after being accused of whistling at a white woman.

Emmett’s senseless and heinous death took place ten years after the death of his father, Louis Till who was put to death by the U.S. Army for insubordination in 1945.

For those of you who may not know the name, in 1955, Emmett Till, age fourteen, boarded a train in Chicago to visit family in Mississippi. A couple of weeks later a train brought his lifeless body home.

Emmett Louis Till had been murdered because he was a young man of color who had allegedly whistled at a white woman.

Today, Emmett Till is viewed as a civil-rights martyr, although not the intent of his murders.

The questionable exoneration of Emmett’s killers has largely disappeared from the public's imagination.

Sadly, again and again in courtrooms across America, killers are released as if the colored lives they have snatched away simply do not matter.

Let this month be a clarion call across the globe that people of color must be respected for who they are, noble contributors to life. Not the poster child for singing out that while justice may be blind, it is truth equally applied that we seek. Nothing more, just allow me to raise my family.


Congratulations to young Kaden Ballard on the release of his first book, Victories of a Puny Kid.

With 20 years gone by since the horrific attack on 911, I would like to give a special shout-out to DOI. Not to suggests...

With 20 years gone by since the horrific attack on 911, I would like to give a special shout-out to DOI. Not to suggests in any way that the New York City Department of Investigation did more than anyone else. But, more so to simply share how proud I am to say that on that day and the months thereafter, DOI was there.
I am so ineffably proud to have been a part of the selfless team that stood tall and never blinked once when called upon to respond to the needs of this great City.

There are so many stories to tell, but the greatest one of all is to say, DOI was there standing tall. I take this moment to extend a personal thanks to each and every one of you.



I stood at the pane transfixed and amazed as I watched an evil most foul, partaking in a meal of human innocence, fleeing what was to become holed ground.

19 cowards to my home they are bound, bringing a false gospel through the air.
They preach a word that cannot be heard by most any civilized ear.
Little boys transporting endless shame to their worthless and empty names.

The Towers are down.
The Pentagon Attacked.
Shanksville turned into a burial ground.

We will not forget, you demented wretch.
From these cowardly acts, we will rebound.

Hear this sound even from the grave; you and your cohorts will all be found, 19 and counting down.

American, I proclaim without any shame, color not my claim to fame.

19 cowards easy to sway, allowed yourselves to be molded like cheap store-bought clay.
Not a Soldier among them, not a man in sight.
19 cowards, you boarded the wrong flight.
Eternal hate is your check-in gate.
There will be no applause for your dastardly cause.

Four planes in flight, 19 cowards in sight.
Each making false claims of morality.
With feckless thugs claiming a right to blood, supported by God above.
Haven’t you heard that God is love?
Hiding behind curtains, claiming credit from afar, devoid of honor, dignity, and a true sense of who you are.

Soulless puppets hanging from a dead tree, this is all they can ever hope to be.

Feet of clay with manhood left wanting.
Misdirected boys growing up with no toys.

Bereft of the valor that it takes to be a man.
Knowing no honor, your words a joke.
On every syllable, I pray you choke.
All you have done is bring shame to your State.
Flying cowards your only fate.

Cowardly spawns that speak of lust and virgins waiting in the sky to ease their boyish urges.
Seeking s*x, not love, with shameful indifference, as if blessed from above, this truly isn’t.

What god above would proclaim this as just?
Living day to day seeking only lust.

Foolish cowards, you have sealed your fate.
Chained to your followers living eternity in hate.

I ask you weak and rudderless thugs, how many must die before you open your eyes and realize that you and your kind are living a lie?

I have an extra bit of news for you intruders; your daggers of hate will never pe*****te the God-inspired gates of the United States.

I challenge all cowards of your similar ilk; make your case to this determined face.
Meet me head-on, let’s settle our fates.

I challenge you, come from behind the curtain, step to the gate, pick any date, look me in the eye, and let’s seal our fates.
Let’s see who blinks first and is just living a lie.
Let’s see who blinks first and who must die.

What honor is there in what you have done?
Where is the victory in your demon ways?
Show me, coward, what have you won?
Tell me, coward, why do you continue to run?

Your empty sacrifice was not the means to an end.
Your misguided direction, not true to any cause.
19 Cowards flying limp and blind, into an eternal fate of hate.
Into a rapid decline.


888c 8th Ave Sute 424
New York, NY




A minority-owned publishing company. We publish in multiple genres. These include; Poetry, Novels, Children's books, Youth books Anti-corruption books, short stories, and audiobooks.


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G-Square Books is working hard to get the word out about G-Square Books.
The following is the first chapter of a novel I expect to release through G-Square Publishing toward the end of the year. The name of the book is NIKKI ARMSTRONG, MEASURE OF A WOMAN". It focuses of the adventures of a young black female who grew up in the projects, attended a prestigious college in New England, became an awarded Navy Pilot, New York City Police Officer and moved into independently fighting crime. Nikki is a kickass woman who doesn't take s**t from anyone. Please read the first chapter and let me know if there is anything about what you read that interest you and leaves you wanting more. This book will be availabe on paperback, ebook and audiobook. Your comments will help me make it the best that it can be. If any of you would like to read an advanced copy, please let me know. CHAPTER 1 NOTHING IN LIFE HAPPENS IN A VACUUM If my peace depends on external reality, then it is not peace Detective Nikki Evelyn Armstrong, a decorated member of the United States Navy and the New York City Police Department, stood at the site of the freshly dug grave surrounded by its moist piles of dirt. From where she stood, Nikki could see all the acreage known as the Canarsie Cemetery. The cemetery was a City-owned burial ground, which ran along Remsen Avenue in Brooklyn, New York, just a few blocks south of Canarsie Park, once a part of the famed hunting ground of the Canarsie Indians, and about two miles from the Belt Parkway, the handy escape route for many Canarsie residents needing to just get away for a while. This sacred ground was open to the public as a site to honor loved ones who had gone home to be with the Lord, or for those who question the existence of a higher being, it was no more than a final resting place. Over the years, it had become more and more the resting place for those who had passed on with no one willing to or maybe able to celebrate their life. Many of the Canarsie residents had taken to calling it, Boot Hill. Nikki began to shed a tear as her finely manicured, slender fingers stroked the oversized wooden casket sprinkled with knotholes, splinters and other imperfections that housed the small body of Kamari Prescott. A young boy who seemed to love life despite its harsh realities. Kamari had been befriended by abuse far too often in his battered young life and visited by death much too early than what Nikki believed the good Lord intended. As she stood at the grave, she questioned the wisdom of God’s gift of free will. It was clear to her that human beings had misused this precious gift. She was hoping that one day soon, God would remove the scales from the marred eyes of what seemed to be countless numbers of human beings daily abusing this unmerited gift. It appeared that in Boot Hill, caskets for impoverished members of society were purchased in bulk, and only came in one size, much like death itself. Nikki felt there was nothing spiritual or humbling about the place where she stood; everything was reduced to an assembly line process with the sole intent to get the product to the assigned hole in the ground. Nikki shook her head when she realized that the hole she stood before already had at least four other wooden caskets in it riddled with imperfections and housing the remains of life all but forgotten. Nikki thought to herself; I was always told that we enter life alone and we exit it alone. I guess no one here got the damn memo. Life meant nothing here, nor did death. All that mattered was keeping the damn assembly line moving. Nikki, was flanked on either side by two impatient gravediggers leaning on government-issued shovels, reminded her for the third time that union rules required that they take lunch no later than noon. There was a dirt truck standing by just a few yards away with three other gravediggers standing outside waiting to whisk away the two men to the nearest Fast-food hamburger joint for an artery-blocking meal and a step closer to their own holes, complete with government shovels and workers as soon as Nikki released them from their current disposal chores. Nikki smiled, giving no other response, but sadly noted that bureaucracy had no bounds and seemed to carry a universal passport of apathy that unfortunately, appeared to find comfort, even in the grave. It saddened Nikki deeply that she and the gravediggers were the only ones in attendance for the Home Going Service of a little boy whose life had been mercilessly and painfully taken by his uncaring bitch of a mother. The reality of this setting renewed Nikki’s rage over the entire heartless chain of events. As she stood wondering if there was more she could have done; more she should have done, she began to ponder the injustice of it all. To Nikki, it all seemed purposely designed to fail the people and to perpetuate the existence of spinning wheel bureaucracy, injustice, and the irrelevance of truth. The entire elaborate system turned out to be all form, with no substance. Nikki began to reflect on the words of her old ethics professor; "Nothing in life happens in a vacuum. Everything that you do or say; will influence someone else whether you want it to or not. The simple truth is that because you breathe someone's life will be changed." Nikki never wholly embraced these words or understood how they related to the Public Ethics class she was taking. Well more than a decade had elapsed since she first heard those words and began to ponder their meaning. It was only now, as she stood in a cemetery surrounded by broken lives, graves marked by numbers instead of names, wondering who all these people were, or could have been in life, that the wisdom of her professor’s words began to speak with clarity to both her heart and mind. The little boy in the casket had a corporeal existence of less than five years; born into an abusive household birthed by a brutal mother unmatched by any woman Nikki has ever crossed paths with in her life. Nikki did not know Kamari as a child who would run to sit on her lap whenever they were in each other’s presence to talk of his day of imaginary friends, superheroes or what’s for dinner. She and the boy never had a conversation focused on his hopes and dreams for his future and what he might want to grow up to be in life. What Nikki did know with certainty was that because Kamari breathed the air, her life was irrevocably changed. While the experience of losing him had hurt her deeply, she hoped the change was somehow for the better; she wondered how that could be, but she had learned over the years that hope was always a good thing. Nikki looked at her cell phone and saw that it was ten minutes before noon. She turned to one of the gravediggers who was patting his foot in the mud and impatiently tapping the face of his watch, which was now wet from the drizzle that had begun to fall again. She picked up a handful of moist dirt, thankful that the earlier rain had not turned the dirt into mud. Nikki touched the casket and thanked the young boy for coming into her life, if even for a moment. She then spoke these often-heard words, Ashes to Ashes, Dust to dust, as she sprinkled the dirt over the warped wooden casket. Nikki turned to the gravediggers, thank them for bearing with her and gave them each a twenty-dollar bill as she slowly navigated mud holes, wooden boards and patches of dry land as she made an effort to return to the parking lot without destroying her favorite high heel shoes in the process. With each step, she repeated to herself “Nothing in life happens in a vacuum.”