Prison Poetry

 

 

This poem is in memory of my creator, my mother
May your soul see these words. 


Leo…Mother…Mom…
Giver of eyes that witness love pure as the spark
You gave to ignite my breath of existence. 
You the warrior, teacher, philosopher, guardian angel.
Barrier of trial and tribulation, 
let these words fill your heart and soul with recognition. 
This paper, these scratches from this pen are beating from my heart

Harlon, Tehacapi, CA

 
 

The Birth

In ancient lands both near and far
A promise made in sacred Word
The wise men sought by distant star
Be it seen or be it heard.

Angels voiced in shepherd’s hearts
The promise of the Birth fulfilled
Man’s curse of banishment departs
As all who rise in faith are healed.

In darkened day of wintery chill
As barren nature shrinks with death
The word is heard while all is still
In precious sound of baby’s breath.

What innocence in manger lay
A gift to free the captive soul
The Bread of Life in bed of hay
Who have himself to make man whole.

O Christmas bells, do sound thy ring!
Announce to all the newborn King!
A song for joy for all to sing!
The greatest gift this Birth will bring!

O Light Divine, O Christ within
Be born to all the lost this night
Shine from the heart and free from sin
The weary soul in need of Light.

May Light be born in man today
May Life arise from nature’s tomb
May Truth arise to guide The Way
The Word of God, Divine Bridegroom.
 

Alexis, Holdenville, OK

 

 

 The Letter

I was sitting in my cell last night
Very lonely and depressed you see
When the bossman stopped at my door
And said he had a letter there for me. 

Now who could that be from? 
Was the thought going through my mind.
I hadn’t heard from any of my old friends 
In such a long, long time.

So, I looked down at the envelope
And saw a name I used to know.
One who had been a friend 
And a lot of years ago.

I was afraid to open it up 
And even more scared not to. 
What would she have to say?
Oh, this is too good to be true!

My hands were shaking oh so hard
And my heart was racing, too. 
As I pulled the letter out
And began to read it through.

She told me about her family
Who had been born and who had died.
When she told of pain that she’d endured
I just sat down and cried. 

I thought back to a time
When I had hurt her bad.
You see I walked out on her
When I was all she had. 
 

Shawn
 Colorado City, CA

 The Letter

I was sitting in my cell last night
Very lonely and depressed you see
When the bossman stopped at my door
And said he had a letter there for me. 

Now who could that be from? 
Was the thought going through my mind.
I hadn’t heard from any of my old friends 
In such a long, long time.

So, I looked down at the envelope
And saw a name I used to know.
One who had been a friend 
And a lot of years ago.

I was afraid to open it up 
And even more scared not to. 
What would she have to say?
Oh, this is too good to be true!

My hands were shaking oh so hard
And my heart was racing, too. 
As I pulled the letter out
And began to read it through.

She told me about her family
Who had been born and who had died.
When she told of pain that she’d endured
I just sat down and cried. 

I thought back to a time
When I had hurt her bad.
You see I walked out on her
When I was all she had. 

Shawn
 Colorado City, CA

 

 

 To All the Little Boys’ Fathers

There are little eyes upon you,
They’re watching night and day,
There are little ears that quickly take in everything you say,
There are little hands all eager,
To do everything you do,
A little boy who’s dreaming of the day he’ll be like you,
You’re the little fellow’s idol,
You’re the wisest of the wise,
In his mind no suspicions ever rise,
He believes in you devoutly,
Holds all that you say and do,
He will say and do in your way,
When he grow’s up – just like you,
There’s a wide-eyed sweet little fellow,
Who believes you’re always right,
His eyes are always open as he watches day and night
You’re setting an example,
Everyday in all you do,
For the little boy is waiting to grow up and be like you.

Anthony
Corcoran, CA

 

 

What If I Died In Prison 

What if I died in prison
Would anyone know my name?
Would anyone even notice
Or would everything stay the same?

Who would come to my funeral?
The guards, they sure would not care,
The Warden, the inmates, my cellie,
Would even the Chaplain be there?

Who would give my eulogy?
I don’t know what to expect.
Why would they wait ‘till I died
To finally show some respect?

Would there be an article in the paper
Someone would cut out and save?
Where would they lay me to rest
If nobody digs me a grave?

I guess I’ll never know.
The question still remains:
What if I died in prison,
Would anyone know my name?
                               

                                                                                                                                      John

 

 

Lemon yellow, Prussian blue,
Green brings them together,
It’s so beautiful, believe me, it’s true!

Can you see it in your mind?
Look deep, stay focused, don’t fall behind.
Can you imagine the radiant colors?
Concentrate, if only for 5 minutes—
Share this with others!

Appreciate the beauty of it all.
Use paints, whatever shade, it’s your call.
Take advantage of what colors have to offer.
For they have a tendency to make us softer.

 

Arturo, Beaumont, TX

 

 

Do Not Look Down Upon Our Fall

You remember Cagliostro,
The initiate sublime?
He worked many wonders 
That some would call divine.

Many time he healed the ailing,
Turned metals into gold.
May have followed St. Germain
(at least so I’ve been told).

But is it known to you as well
That before he gained the Light
He was in and out of prison
For a string of different crimes?

A hoodlum in his younger days,
Unruly, full of strife;
Even chased out of Italy
Before the age of twenty-five!

Yet illumination WAS achieved, 
This we know full well.
But many a day in his wild youth
Was spent inside a cell.

Please pay attention to these words
Understand them if you might,
Different lessons for us all;
Some heavy, some light.

So just because we’ve seen the Dungeon
Do not look down upon our fall;
For you never really know WHO truly
Sits within these walls.

 

Richard
Palestine, TX

 

 

 Out of the Soul


Imagine being an anthroposophist
And going ---
Through a murder trial. 
So surreal.
Something from twenty years ago.
The Soviet Union still existed then.
So long ago.
Yet it happened. 
Something happened. Something ---
Psychopathic
Something you did.
You wish you could undo it. 
So wrong.
You see it now, like the pain ---
In everyone’s faces.
So much pain.
You wish you could fix it. 
The harm. Irreparable harm.
You harmed them so badly.
Everyone. And you think:
My God, what have I done?
You deserve to die.
You want to live.
Such a contrast, like the judge’s young voice
Sentencing you to death ---
Once again. 

Mark
Livingston, TX

 

 

Mighty Oak


Sturdy and strong,
Destined for heights,
Alone or apart,
Living by the light,
Nurturing the land,
With it’s every breath,
Giving us shelter,
Even in death,
Too often we fail to see,
The bravery of even a tree,
So stop a second,
Look and see,
For just a moment,
How we all should be.

Terry
Lewisburg, PA

 

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