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Michael Robertson Poem
The knowledge…from ‘The College’…
Is any other high school greater…maybe later…?
From a tender age…what is the stage…?
The motto…never yield…but be brave…
For five years…no fears…some stares…many cheers…
The academics…the challenge of schools…
The athletics…the lane makes the pool…
The football…makes it to the hall…
Of fame…to dominate the game…no shame…
The teachings of life…the overcoming of strife…
The offerings…the differing…
The camaraderie…the rivalry…
The victories…what a history…?
From whence we came…we cherish the name…
Boys only…never a lonely…
The journey to school…the learning; our tool…
The subjects we take…the times we awake…
The visits to the library…we never get weary…?
The varied of our surroundings…the range of our moldings…
Branded as downtown….never to frown…
Few without shoes…never to lose…
The focus…like most of us…
To be leaders…role models…
To be life changers…confronting dangers…
Embracing of strangers….being re-arrangers…
As the journey unfolds…some stories told…
Many have stated…the times have been dated…
The meaning of ties…the words to the wise…
The creation of a bond…which blended beyond…
The school-term years…the classroom chairs…
The running up stairs…the books of theirs…
The memories of an institution…the carvings of a tradition…
The initiation of a plan…the creating of a man…
Look back…take stack…
It’s not an assumption…neither an assertion…
‘The College’…is it the greatness of foundation…?
Copyright © Michael Robertson | Year Posted 2016
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Michael Robertson Poem
Africa the continent…of incredible wealth …?
Through exploitation, corruption…and stealth…attrition felt…?
Called the mother land…are you a fan…?
The significance of tribes…the subject of their lives…
The stark of their marks…to the ranges in their talks…
From the spears that some bear…to the people who cares…
Reflections of hate…significance of faith…
The origin of slavery…where is your bravery…?
Colonization in nations…for western distributions…
With forced migrations…the development of other nations…
Transported in ships…landed on the tips…
Areas like North America…to Jamaica…and the Caribbean…
With barrels and cans…how to explain the master plan…?
A nation in fusion…an education in illusion…?
The mining of gold…many stories untold…
The illegal extraction of diamonds…is there any lies man…?
Large deposits of oil…is this a spoil...?
Several dictators…who are the creators…?
The mind of the people…limited in steeple…?
The statistics on crime…no nursery rhyme...
Scars of many civil wars…like tumors…no rumors…
The bases…to the places…and the faces…
Some children…god's help them…
Spawned in the games…where is the shame…?
With rifles…their freedom stifles…
From Angola…to Nigeria…to Zimbabwe…international reports say…
From time immemorial…is this a constant ritual…?
Take stack…majority blacks…what are the lacks…?
How many states…do we have to wait till late…?
What is my date…is this what culture creates…?
United States of Africa…?
America…the Mecca…
How can you copy…the era of the floppy…?
Is it not gone…how to eliminate the scorn…?
Let bygones be bygones…move to the lushness of lawns…
Look beyond the dirt…search for your true worth…
Try to look within…and live without…
The violence…so intense…does it make sense…?
Africa…to whom will we call…
Mamma…?
Copyright © Michael Robertson | Year Posted 2015
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Michael Robertson Poem
On the shore he sits….
With his wits…he feels the grits…
Through his feet…and in his teeths…?
Having the determination…with some affection…
Cherishing the urge…with the intention to splurge…
And the sea waits …preparing for his dates…
What will his future hold…?
Will there be stories untold…as his destiny unfold…?
The testimony of a man…who, for so long…
Has travelled…the globe…
The fishes …the boats…the sinks…the floats…
The ships …the sailors…the bunkers…the freighters…
The oils in craters…the servings of waiters…
From the bows…to the sterns…he learns…
It’s difficult…no doubt…
The experience…like mountains…
The incidents…no fountains…
No parents could teach…the limits of his reach…
A young man…his dreams…his lifelong…it seems…
To be daring…no fearing…his only caring…
On the sea…to be…where he’ll always be free…
Through strong winds…and pouring rains..,
The glaring of sunshine…the severity of pains…
The channels…the straits…
The landscapes…the oceans…
The bearings…the emotions…
Where the South…no doubt…
Is a path…to the north…?
The successes…the disasters…the writhing of waters…
Some men…gods help them…
They stare…no fear…
Yet disappear…like thin air…
His wisdom…it’s like a kingdom…
No scare…to share…
No Ivy League…or premier league…
No university…what an audacity…
No Buckingham…no Yale…
Could pass…or fail…
The vision…to sail…
Of a seaman…his tale…
Copyright © Michael Robertson | Year Posted 2015
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Michael Robertson Poem
Cuba…Mamma Mia…like most of the Caribbean; part of the 1492 slam…
Slavery, sugar plantations… invasions, upheaval, independence…
Then the American kisses; with a slight twist…who initiated the ’disses’…?
Was it Blaine…is he insane…?
Was it Marti…the heart of the party…?
Or Teller…many say he was the real speller…
Or Estrada Palma…could he have been the calmer…?
Was it San Martin…any questions of his parting…?
Or was it Batista…is he the real twister…?
With his interwove of expansion…then stagnation and dissatisfaction…
Coupled with his increased economic regulation plan…
Was this the spike for the revolution…?
Enter Castro; was he the real maestro…his thoughts, his plans; communize the land…?
Centralize, non-democratize…ostracize, reorganize…
The politics…were they laden in tricks…?
The CIA; not here to stay… but what role did they play…?
When they realize the RAF size…what will they emphasize…?
With great plans to defeat…did they end in retreat…?
Now with Eisenhower…speculations of a great shower…
But after only months…fixation shift to ouster hunts…
Severed diplomatic relations…the new sensation…
Impositions of trade embargo…the ‘Fargo’ in my cargo…?
The ‘Bay of Pigs’…will you understand the gigs…?
The ‘Cuban Missile Crisis’…what was this Tri-fit…?
The military games…were these substances in flames…?
For a superpower war…or the everlasting scars…?
Of suppression, political persecution…migration, and interventions…
In Angola, and Ethiopia…from Nicaragua to North Africa…
To the Congo…to some say; ‘Jah Mek Yah’…?
Cooperation with Russia…was this the real crusher…?
The mid-eighties…the beginning of their ending gaiety’s…?
The dissolving of the Soviet Union…continuation of the country’s isolations…
Reduced rations…the new fashion…
Unpainted buildings…now the in-thing…
Old vehicles with limited repairs…any scares…?
Lack of electricity…did it colour the ethnicity…?
A country on the verge…is there a new urge…?
Tourist attraction…one logical concoction…
Amidst the flow…of system many Cubans know…
The US now attests…it is in the country’s interest…
Cuba has withstood the test…put the embargo to rest…?
Copyright © Michael Robertson | Year Posted 2015
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Michael Robertson Poem
Like a hammer…they hit…some twit…
My earnings…my savings…but my cravings…
Beyond control…what kind of a future…to hold…?
The promise of wealth…but then the stealth…
No bomber…
The jack pot…it seems a lot…
What will it cost…get lost…?
Who dare…a vision of fear…where…?
We set the people free…at least initially…
To later tally their losses…what were your classes…?
The simple demand…no case in remand…?
A small deposit…will make it legit…
Check on my coffers…how great are these offers…?
Maybe I will never again have to work…what a jerk…?
My blind… leading me to a hole…when will it unfold…?
I hear the voice…is it that nice…?
‘Ye mon’…is this a clan from the Caribbean…?
No Henry Morgan jargon…well…” watch yah man” …?
Send Western Union…is it the real reunion…?
Just a little dash…of my 401K stash…?
It will it be ok…I pray…?
What about consultation…will this only distort my illusion…?
Will it be a deterrent…to my true intent…?
The prize is awaiting…only for my elevating…
Even if my dating…may lose some rating…
I may need the change…time to rearrange…
Dreams do come true…but only for a few…
Is this my moment…whether it be hell…or heaven sent…?
I cannot let it past…it may be my last…
With the promise of later…will be greater…is it from the creator…?
Now that this tempting…is leading to my emptying…
Should I go to the authorities…what will be my notorieties…?
Maybe the FBI…have some eye in the sky…
Can the CIA…secure my pay…?
The investigation…what a procrastination…?
They have someone locked up…but will that refill my cup…?
Now drained…my system strained…was it ordained…?
Was it greed…that made me heed…?
I was not that poor…for sure…
So swift…was the lift…
Damn…what a slam…
Dunk…you punk…???
Copyright © Michael Robertson | Year Posted 2016
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Michael Robertson Poem
Hey blokes…do you really know what life is…?
Like living in the ghetto…any memories of Soweto…?
Maybe you can’t…make me a chant…
Yes…I know…because I grow…
In the streets…where my feet…
Would meet…the dead…and the underfed…
Where food variety was scarcity…like living is atrocity…
Where poverty…like a sin…makes u thin…wary and dreary…
Like soldiers in Iraq…on the attack…from Sunnis, and Shiites…
But have to fight…with all might…not knowing when…it will end…
The audacity of hope…or is it dope…the scope…?
The choices have limits…gods dam it…just give it…
Sufferation...infection…addiction…
Prostitutions…institutions of frustration…
Thugs…drug…bugs…some hugs…
Shoots…loots…rapes…some escapes…
Prison walls…jails calls…sleepless nights…fights…would frights…
When police…with sirens…is the signal…to stay in…
The guns…the cries…the lives lost…can you tell me the cost…?
From ashes to ashes, dust to dust…my homie…it does get foamy…
His blood…on the curve…it shatters…my nerve…
And so is my faith…will I await…my date…?
With history…which often seem like a mystery…
Is revenge the only consolation…as reflected in the penal conditions…?
What did I do mate…hate…?
My will was to kill...but still…any adrenalin fills…?
The crack…no lack…of stack…
To execute the mission…what is the decision…?
Snorts…gets torn apart…
This homie…he knows me…from birth …
The same school…the rule…from my parents…and his…
Live and let live…learn to share…and care…like boys…with toys…
Remember Slomy…he was before me…
Lock away…everyday…in handcuffs…
It’s tough…the stuff…in my hand…no contraband…
It’s a weapon…it’s loaded…it’s heavy…like my heart…
Beating…competing…a life…to take…
Whilst he dies…I awake…the stake…
It is high…why…?
He’s gone…am I a pawn…or a victim…of the system…?
What will be the gain…only hurt…and pain…?
While my memories linger…what was the real rearranger…?
Of my destiny…does it sit next to me…?
And what is your view of the danger…stranger…?
Copyright © Michael Robertson | Year Posted 2016
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Michael Robertson Poem
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Copyright © Michael Robertson | Year Posted 2015
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Michael Robertson Poem
Used to be a happy go around…later shrouded in frowns…?
For many a birth places…what are the shades of their faces…?
A log of many a cases…where are the words of their paces…
Memories of a ghetto…not in Soweto…
But it is located in Jamaica…some call it ‘Jah Mek Yah’…
Right there in Kingston…where the 70’s ‘kill some’…
With smears of being all poor…what is there to adore…?
Is there any glowing in their growing…or is it a constant lowing that is flowing…?
Incense of some violence…at times very intense…
Why question from whence…the condition of your fence…
Some work for minimum wage…till their children comes of age…
Some may try a ‘hustle’…amid times of a real tussle…
A school is the real tool…not to be classified a fool…
How many took the opportunity…was it there in its entirety…?
Expectations are low…within the underlying glow…
If you noted some highs…many people might accuse you of lies…
But what about some doctors…what are the determinations of their characters…?
What says of the lawyers…any semblance to Tom Sawyers…?
The list of engineers…worthy of professional scares…?
What of other professionals…would you question their rationales…?
What do you expect…outcasts in select…?
To put it in context…a myriad of rejects…?
Like some ‘Shotters’…what are their real matters…?
The diary of their jotters…to splatters…the brain of ‘ratters’…?
What of the common people…any conclusions from their STEEPLE…?
A ‘transfer’ will be good for him; or her survival…are there many a rivals...?
Through Western Union…is this the symbolic source of a reunion…?
Or through Money Gram…is it the lamb within a damn…?
Within the spacing of the land…are there any sightings of bland…?
Good gods of Moses…will their limitations exposes…?
Can they escape the brand…is there any magic in their wand…?
Within the society…what are the flavours of our notoriety…?
You are not from ‘uptown’…will I make you a frown…?
What’s the expectation of your game…any flame; or is it plain lame…?
Like ‘boys in the hood’…can you ever come good…?
Questions to a faction…what’s the typical reaction…?
Will you move beyond the seeming limits of your scope…?
Or will you condemn yourself to the notion of no hope…?
Jones Town…it once was my playground…
Copyright © Michael Robertson | Year Posted 2015
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Michael Robertson Poem
Young…content…seemingly innocent…
With family…and friends…where is their ends…?
He is now hunted…for a crime committed…?
On the run…no pun…a gun...is it any fun…?
At large…what’s the charge…Sarge…?
Possession…looting, or shooting…with intent…
Murder, of Inc.…homicide…who decide...?
Think…no blinks…it may stink…
The evidence…from whence…?
The questions…the fury…the jury…
The details…they’re gory…what is the story…?
With judgment destined…innocence assigned…
The reality…it’s filthy…“until proven guilty” …?
The suspect…any respect…?
The news…the views…the false…the truths…
Plenty of assortments…the system’s intent…
To seek justice, for all...whose call…?
One better stand tall…is it money…is it the lawyers…or the foyers…?
Background…race…colour…who will they devour…?
Facts or lies…maybe assumptions …what are the intentions…?
Legal aid…will it fade…what is the grade…?
The innocent…the guilty…the decisions…in revisions…
Some free…some punished…some fabricated…some just…is it a must…?
The plan…to flee…who will agree...?
Will it be you…me…him…or she…?
So poor…of the ghetto…sub-educated…not yet rated…
My gods…what are the odds…?
Of being branded…to be landed…in a cell…to hell…?
How random…this is no condom…?
Can it burst…before it gets worst…?
The numbers…the chances…for justice…
Life without parole…no stroll…for any man…young…or old…
The electric chair…the accompanying fear…
To die…for the truth…or a lie…
The courtroom…the zoom…the happiness…the gloom…
Body language…this is no sandwich…
The twisting’s of speeches…how far are their reaches…?
The attacks…any lacks in their facts…?
Interpreting the laws…any human flaws…?
Assessments of the press…sobriety or zest…?
As the trial drags…with instances of lags…
The verdict is near…the defendant’s stare…will the decision be fair…?
Prepare…
Copyright © Michael Robertson | Year Posted 2016
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Michael Robertson Poem
Afghanistan…the land of occupation…?
From Britain…to Russia…to America…no love…a dove…?
Some military actions…referential contractions…
Moral destruction…resistance of fractions…
Country so poor…exposure to more…
Land mines…air strikes…the likes…
Hey man…what is the plan..?
Years of being a stronghold…as we are told…
From the Taliban to Al-Qaeda…the resistance seems wider…
The country…so hungry…
For survival…see the arrival…
Of foreign forces…any resources…?
For food…shelter…education…clothing…transports…?
The report…of the UN…the world food program…UNICEF…
Corruption…drugs…thugs…any hugs...?
The children…the pawns…in the storms…
The bombings…so damning…the innocents…the guilty…
The wounded…the dead…the counts…still mounts…
The cries…the lies…the truth…the root…
The news…the views…the critics…the rhetoric’s…
The politics of change…the range…
Of assessment…of the situation…is it a nation…in depletion…?
The costs…for the arms…it alarms…
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