I said to a student this morning,
in a voice of authority,
and immediately thought of a statue
of some towering figure
who ruled with an iron fist and sharp
tongue --- the least of his (or her) weapons
against humanity.

I won't tell you again means
I just told you
How many times to do I have to tell
you
You're not listening
you are stubborn and insolent,
I am wronged.
What you have done is egregious,
but what is worse is that you can't
spell egregious or pronounce
it or appreciate its meaning
in a sentence.

What are you doing here, anyway,
confounding me, interrupting my plan
for how things are going to be?
When I say quiet, I mean quiet,
shut the door, sit down, pay attention.
Pay attention.  Pay attention
to me.  Build a mental statue
in my honor, kneel there. How
can you learn if you are talking
instead of hearing me the first time
I said I won't tell you again.

Outside the traffic hums.  
You will get in your car later
and drive home to where,
hopefully, there are a few kids
just waiting to get on your nerves
so that you eventually scream
I won't tell you again!

In the dark you may cry
because of someone's insensitivity,
someone's impatience toward
you, because you are in trouble
but you won't tell anyone
and you sure as hell won't
tell me because
I won't tell you again.

I want to be a criminal defence lawyer.
And I would be a ‘sincere’ criminal defence lawyer,
Breaking the norms.
Pretending to defend the criminal till the court date,
Just long enough to gather all of the evidence I get against him.
Give him just enough hope to stop the seed of suspicion to grow,
Then change my colour like a chameleon,
And sweep his sinful life into the darkness of prison.
But I will be rich right?
Because my uncle makes a fortune with this profession,
So yes, being a criminal defence lawyer would be a good idea.

I could also be a realtor.
And I would be an impatient realtor,
Yelling at the buyers when
They spend 6 months looking at houses and deciding not to buy it.
I would give them half of the information,
Leaving them wondering,
Like an individual looking for a drop of water in a desert.
And I would be able to live in a luxurious house,
With a huge chandelier at the entrance and a glass elevator, right?
Just like my cousin.
So yes, being a realtor is also not a bad idea.

Or I could be a writer.
And I would be an excellent writer,
Something that I wanted to be after the first book I read,
Reflecting upon what I know and,
Wondering about the unknown.
A grand chandelier I may not have but,
A wall decorated with my curious thoughts,
Lightning up the mind of the one who enters the small but cozy home.
I am not the water changing myself to fit the glass,
But I am the glass with unique design and space,
Allowing my dreams and imagination to fill the empty space.

I watch freedom dangling on a fishing hook
from a rusty nail outside my door.
Swinging to and fro it calls to me
in a tantalising tone
to take a piece.
To savour the sweet nectar it hides within
but I slip right past
because I've already eaten.
You see I've heard freedom is an acquired taste,
it's something you have to really want
and many just waste.
Although I crave it deep within my soul,
the taste is not worth the toll
and the gruel I get is fine enough,
I could last a lifetime on this stuff.

We pray, we march yet nothing occurs
The line between love and hate remains a blurred
Line...
I...
Want to love them but their hate for me doesnt make the pain hurt less
When they put their bullets in my back, their knees in my back
Dead blacks in the street makes me want to attack
In defense of self
My pride for self
My love for self
Relishes not in useless killing or demeaning
I find myself grieving for every mother and father putting their child in a grave
In a day and age when social media shows the outrage live
The outcry just seems to embolden police officers lies
The 24 hour news, reminds us what we mean to Lady Liberty
And as her children sing the blues
Historical levels of un-education continue
Existential unemployment
Prison rates that makes for better business
The world witnesses police brutality and black fatalities in real time and does nothing about it
If you never walked a mile in my shoes then you know nothing about it
If you lived a day in my life you would never feel blessed
You would feel less vested in teaching your children that in the U.S. all men are created equal

Slender and tenuous reasons
Run through the droplets of motive
Which impel us in our actions
Direct us to  our self-fulfilling fates
Our cleverly devised mistakes
For we each bear the scars
Of our own fatal flaws
Victims of our own design
As I have been of mine
Haven't you?

I am the saboteur of my dreams
Picking at the seams
Of a braver me
A wiser and unlikelier me
All my tendencies and traits
Conspire and defeat me
To subtly beat me
About my empty head
With every word I've said
Every thought I've had
And that's why

                       By Phil Roberts

I stand by the period bed
where Dupleix rested his head,
wondering at his kind of life,

if he lay there with wife
or some native maid.

doesn't hint his bronze bust
if he lay there bare
in ebullient lust

stirred by a girl darkly thin
bowing himself to her embrace
finding in his war beaten mind, happiness,

or, there wasn't any such thing,
he lay there staring at the ceiling
far from even one warm kiss
storming his brain to defeat the British...

I think of the kitten that survived a few days,
it still pains.

In the museum, I rhyme dust with lust.