Prisoner Express – 127 Anabel Taylor Hall – Ithaca, NY 14853 Self Reflection let’s hope it, I float with the My mind labors and gives birth omnipotent, anything loudly, you wrote down he already wrote it. daily, freely, So my advice: let’s roll the dice, as we hit and it is good and very good. And miss and watch death come down with its sweet Define by Edd Alexander kiss but for the moment let’s I am nothing but a word, defined by reminisce, those who this is my genesis know my meaning, and empowered by all who use Final Thoughts by Sandra D. me. Forged by knowledge, and Brown crafted by wisdom, I am the sum total of the world I am a builder of many worlds and Art by Steven Fegan she disguised me in labels, destroyer of many nations. lies and stereotypes. Constantly I have been Genesis by Marino Leyba underestimated For the moment this pain, I own it, I am the one about which by the human limitation. I am the I’m unable to they all have something to say. inspirator of dreams control it just like the lottery, but As if they really know me. with the power to crown queens and instead of winning I I am the purest blue dethrone kings. All make pottery. beating at the heart because I am nothing but a word of burning candles whose meaning cannot So please don’t bother me, as I hit moving in the stillness. be truly defined. I am nothing but a and miss death word that comes down with its sweet kiss but In the beginning plagues a clouded mind, and a word for the moment I reinvented myself. that is crafted let’s reminisce of genesis and my And the mind was without form to withstand the test of time. first kiss, the ones I and void. miss, even my nemesis. So I said, “let there be thought,” Hail the King! By Isaac Chavez and there was thought. I’ve come to the conclusion So what’s behind that, I sent a that message to the The angel in the house I am in fact a bohemian! world, but I get no reply back. tried to seduce me with silence, I must be As I sit and I think I ask questions like the big, bad Woolf, because if not so like will I killed her too. then what else I sink or will I peak? I wink because I but know Blank canvas gave birth to words, a breathing number, my situation is bleak. birth to lines, birth to verse. member of the steel Voice in hand put form to thoughts, clan As I’m sitting by the creek, I can hear round, living like a full womb. who bow to none other them than doublespeak, my physique is weak, I am the difference the razor king my technique unique no one wanted me to make. brought to life through electric but I feel I haven’t slept in a week or Woman, Black Phoenix, pulses, so infinite holder of the stars. metal ruler I think. I reinvented myself. which feeds off of the fear of my past life. It seems like it, the road I’m on, I I am the one about which NO! know They all still have something to say. I must be a bohemian, my dreams might split, so any My heart still beats a man, an unconventional chance for survival in the stillness of the night. poet, 1

[email protected] – www.prisonerexpress.org one who writes every so often Gypsy Wind Stirs my Soul by C.S. My Heart Beats by Blair of the king’s looming omnipresence, Bagwell Blanchette nothing but a pretender presenting a This blessed life is all I know. My heart beats conflicting What thought can I think, that I Deep inside a river conscious haven’t muttered before? Keeps love free All I have, do I yearn for more? To be delivered-- CAUTION! Sometimes, gypsy wind stirs my With the force of a wave I must warn that I am him, soul. It flays the knave’s shield; he who has worn out the warmth Whispering for permission Consider the brave feat-- and left a trail of cold shoulders to be unleashed against the world, This quest to steal away hopeful sneers, half full beers, Abandoning the complacent my unconcealed heart’s seat cheerful condemnation, existence Contains; unchains… disgusting sensations I’ve labored to shape and mold that invoke moments of self into love so dependent upon me Ascertain well reflection. a reciprocal responsibility. The might entailed Perhaps Love that acts the host To restrain this rabid beast I am but a jester sent here to when like a parasite I feed. Surging against its chains; casually entertain Still, these daydreams I entertain Peace oft retains a paradox the most gracious king and his setting my conscience unleashed to Replete with its unique legend hierarchy, or roam Drained from a quintessence maybe even though not un-chaperoned. Of mystical impressions-- an early opponent in a cheap chess Because such emotions will never And she alone holds the match entirely go. key! that has just lost his queen Inevitably, from time to time to a puny green pawn. still, gypsy wind stirs my soul. Refrain, only to watch her wither; Always intriguing and enticing, Blue lips quiver, renewing their hold ENOUGH! The epitome of exciting --memories… I must be a bohemian! until I muse upon this blessed life Rampant in my soul If not then God’s made. Who knows the answer? please send me One day I’ll leave an amazing legacy God help us all if we lie! to the hangman. subtly the itch of passion starts to Too bold to be denied fade. Truth seeks its own demise-- Author’s Note: “The idea of seeing Dreams are fun to wander errantly, That it might live myself as just an inmate haunts me but could never outweigh the when put to the test. just as much as the thought that I am significance of me. The eternal flame burns deep in my seen as just a prisoner. The beautiful lives I’ve created, chest I talk about what I think of as living a selflessly touched and raised Emblazoned--emboldened love double life, when I say “nothing but a to no less continue to rely on me Forever asleep to risk. pretender presenting a conflicting I wouldn’t have it any other way. conscious.” In one life I’m what might No lingering doubts about the The waves...golden, crestfallen be perceived as cold, indifferent, decisions that I’ve made, troughs whereas in the other, I’m quite the the foundation that’s become me Ravage battered shores; opposite; I love and I am loved. Still the vein through which my family Times greatest secret in this struggle with myself, I reach a bleeds Ravaged like a whore point where in my desperation to be like an essential artery In the hands of this savage garden; more I come to the conclusion that I the love transporting roots of a Priming lavish minefields must live in this unconventional way windblown tree In time-filled pretensions. (like a bohemian) and write about it in a sweet gently tempting breeze. Passionately chiming dissensions-- all, because if I don’t, I can’t possibly Even though I have the will to not let Intertwining admissions; be more and hope would be lost go In for finding suspense in ‘..send me to the hangman.’” still, gypsy wind stirs my soul. Abhorred intentions; Binding our hearts As one.

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Prisoner Express – 127 Anabel Taylor Hall – Ithaca, NY 14853 Its streets cloaked in shadows Of yours… And when tribulation impedes Blacker than coal, lead Sending the waving tides angels fall from heaven quickly, To sable reelings of fabled feelings Which hides embrace; We’ve forgotten somewhere along Sorrow filled tears grace, from the talons of a phoenix; this road; Defacing blind eyes let sereneness be your rapture. Flooding this keeling heart; As I As you dance amidst the waves of Dousing its vital spark; Patiently await the pasty embrace chaos, Brilliant stars Of the shores tender kiss; upon that turbulence in the mind Swimming in sapphire skies There is nothing more sensual than where the armies of heaven and hell Bridal eyes, this collide, Blind--at the mention of her name… Fiery glow let love be your muse. All loves are not the same… That flows in the midst Understand that you are me, My heart beats Of shadows, And I am you. Deep inside a river Cast by a past of pain as Set a flame! Purple raindrops soak each grain Author’s Note: “Let me tell you that I And the tender tears of angels was a poor kid from a broken home Ember’s burst, Fain fall; in New Orleans, Louisiana. My dad Cascading showers of ochre flowers- Forming a river wasn’t always there, which took a toll - Sending shivers up my spine; on my development. I’ve dealt with Parading towers of pastel hues; As the bind breaks my past well though. I am now in Flashes of protestant red’s Creating the chord in which prison, having abandoned my son, Intense whites Lives a beat Trajan. I am thankful to be able to Blinding common sense between That keeps see and talk to him.” Blue’s wrongs and pink’s rights Me alive... As I fight to contain My heart beats deep inside a river. Journeys by Gregory John This incensed flame of purified pain- Bartholomew filled anger Fire in the Attic of my Soul by Let us find beauty in life’s mysteries. Each teardrop an ocean filled with Gary Winslow II The hard emotions that stiffen the danger Through the circle within the triangle soul. Making strangers of intimate mates; flows the glory of a full moon. To have some doubts as we grow A thin line exists between love and As the flame consumes the debris old. hate there sits a young prince; About the philosophies of life told. scintillating-- his fingerprints upon a ribbon My feet through wet sands tracing that screams-- SECOND PLACE! We are taught at times not to be The chasing tides As illumination proceeds taught! Lost somewhere between good-bye, he feels the anger swiftly, erased. Not to question the Divine things of Her thighs The dark clouds infringe passage. And too late… and eagerly begin to singe Rather to wait and sigh in one’s own a surreal portrait of a fallen hero. anger Palpitations, beatings Zero time to waste, the youth Of why did it have to be me. Desperate pleadings: makes haste to plunge through the Where the hell is it all leading circle; We have words that are yet not Is my sacrifice worthy not very far to fall, for spoken. Or self-defeating? standing strong and tall Dreams left unheralded as tokens. Urgently seeking Susan with outstretched arms, Smiles because it is better than a --needing! is his redeemer… cry. The soft embrace of violet laced For this world has lost its caring eye. bleedings; And then he speaks to the child: Contusions… Things that we wish could honestly Greeting our placed faith with the Fret not, sweet innocent be. confusion of a beneficent nature; Each day’s journey accepted and Of a trusting heart to the evanescent be reconciled and seen. That beats know that I am with you; But still it lingers deep in the soul. To the beat truth of our union is essential. 3

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Life’s unspoken mysteries that Cause if these thoughts are This may be the saving grace I’ve created this mold. homeless, longed for, Forever will they roam, my cornucopia of unabashed Should I just inch along this trail of Exposed to the cold-- remedies. brokenness. Undernourished, and untold. To finally come into that place of no (Till King-don’ Come) by A.M. regret. Shut-up, confined, Spaulding And becoming angelica in spirit of But now my thoughts are free, It was a bloody Sunday. hormonal spheres. Blossoming into I walked through a bloody field. Of all the silent thought twisted This poetry tree. Bought with 30 pieces of sil’ ideas. Or righteous souls that got plucked Harnessing some imagery by a 9 mil’ Here. Bold enough to say that I can I gain a bit of dignity, and cannot. Contained and yet unleashed, Every direction the king turns is No longer afraid of being lost. Subjugated into the form of a poetry chaos. Maybe it is better not to be found. feast. A monstrous vitriol. For every king must break his crown. But first, they must face They spit at him; Author’s Note: “It was the Endless contemplations God they throwing shit at him. sweltering summer of 1973 when I Frequent or infrequent Him? first met Debbie. She moved in next Mini contemplations, He came in peace. door and we had quickly become the Not eye for an eye, best of friends. We had become To avoid the spiral He turned the other cheek. inseparable and in the course of time Of my anger escalations. Squashing beefs in miraculous had discovered that this friendship And my otherwise infamous fashion. had turned into love. She had Dictorical orations. He tamed some hooded dragons, convinced me that I needed to keep Made me imagine how I could mimic a journal of all my poetry and Sometimes I write him thoughts. When Debbie disappeared To teach someone a lesson. With mimetic and applied sciences. in April of 1982, I was frantic, But ultimately, here is Applied the blueprint to my social searching day and night, for I knew My innermost confession: Dispensation and create new social she would never just abandon all she constructs. loved, especially her two younger I write and I write sisters. The day I received the news Because I love it so. In touch with my higher-self that they had found her (and other It makes me so happy Not my liar-self. women) brutally murdered, that was From my head to my big toe. the day my soul became covered See. Even. Lions. Make. with a blanket of doubt about life, Healing Power by Craig Shipley Arrangements. love and faith. This is a poem of self Each time I press my pen to the (Selma) discovery in the midst of self hate, it paper I feel relief. reaches to the very core of our Just letting my thoughts be released I’m crossing the narrow bridge shattered beliefs and the poisonous eases the pressure of life behind the Of earth’s natural dormitory injustices of life. This poem is the curtains. To eternal life’s mansion. extension of many others that is Most days are not that bad, written with honor and respect for life I even enjoy myself at times. Legacy! and death.“ My writing is a bandage for my soul, a staunch to keep me from “eternal” They gon’ talk about me, Poet-Tree by “Sarah” Julie bleeding. Like they talk about him; Spencer Some may see this as the nadir of Why do I write thee? my life, Forever! To give these thoughts a home, yet I believe it to be just the start. Till King Don’ Come In my poetry constructions Poetry is in the making every single Where I’m writing all alone. day, lessons on how to live intrepidly. 4

Prisoner Express – 127 Anabel Taylor Hall – Ithaca, NY 14853 that stands before you. Yet I “Stand up, be strong!” implore you not to judge “The things he does to you are too fast, lest you be abashed by wrong!” your own hypocrisy. I try to whisper truth; scream it when Just listen, I can, I had too many mothers that It was so long ago when it all began. coddled and crippled my conscience with clichés, platitudes I bear the scars, he feels my pain. and nonsense, All ears are deaf when he tries to until I believed myself “special,” complain. which then meant He’s so scared and I am too; “better than,” not unique. The future is clear, but not from his Art by dominic Marac I had understood as a child view. probably because I had no fathers, Miaki Woman by Geneva Phillips the only male figures The one he fears, his name is Joe. Pounded flat turned I knew of were on cents and dollars. An unshaken fear he’ll never folded Plus, those, too, were practically outgrow. Pounded flat turned non-existent within To another he’s given; I know that folded my home. man. Pounded flat turned So I sought outward, and what I saw Doing right by Joe was never his folded was a whole plan. Pounded flat other world, one where with a stiff Pounded flat a thousand times upper lip and a Joe had a boy, he wanted a man jaw on clench you could seize Why was that so hard to This is how a sword is made whatever you wished understand? This is how a warrior is without earning your way. Harsh words and beatings, they did made Or so I thought then. no good, This is how a woman is I was late to see So he sent that boy to someone who made that in the end could. you always have to pay. Author’s Note: “The poem is A scout’s honor, he took the oath, inspired by the art of ancient Shattered Reflection by Heath And swore to a life of character Japanese sword making where a Stocks growth. single blade was folded one We visit, he and I. He was set on path; a course to thousand times. It is heated, His youth, so fragile. His limits, the disaster. pounded flat and folded a thousand sky. Welcome to the Boy Scouts! Walls, times. Instead of breaking, the metal Comfort, I give. Assurance, he you Scoutmaster. is some of the strongest ever needs. produced. In the same way I can’t stop time; it simply proceeds. The rumors and the gossip, so many (metaphorically) warriors are knew. produced and in my own experience, There are answers, today I know, Allegations; yet to some it was true. strong women. Survivors who endure It’s tough, telling that to him though. Never would they forget the day, all that the world and life relentlessly A mind so cloudy, a heart so bruised, A predator took their innocence mete out, pounding them flat over How do you explain love to a child, away. and over again. Yet instead of abused? breaking they get back up, stronger Walls; the scouts just called him than before.” Distorted; his view, perceptions; so “Jack,” wrong. To the town, the name went way Paid in Fool by Ryan Morrison His abuser lies, but he’ll sing his back, I was, song. The son of a judge and “Man of the another tragic tale of wasted youth. A I know the tune, a melody I repeat, Year,” mad child that My life’s theme song; “lullaby of It was a name so many did fear. ran wild until I produced...the skeletal defeat.” wreck of a man Jack had money, politics and power, 5

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He’d save your son in the 11th hour And I continued to help Jack sing his across the stage, my girlfriend and I “Give them to me, I’ll make ‘em a song. danced together on top of a picnic man.” I had no hope and all lies became table. I tried to make the contrast of The parents became his biggest truth, high school and seaside as clear as fans. So I mourned my future, along with possible. Hence the valedictorian my youth. laughing gull, the stage of sand and Jack had guns he would let them the waves crashing pomp and use, We still visit, he and I. circumstance. It was fond memory Then given his pick of whom to His youth, so fragile. Our limits, the but the last line is tinged with regret. I abuse. sky. committed my crime a little less than Books-dirty, alcohol--so pure, We tell this story; help others a year after that day so I never Neither worth what they’d endure. understand graduated college. I’ve never even For I am that boy and, he, this man. been to a graduation, ever thrown a Meetings they had; campouts the mortarboard into the air. I was never best High School Graduation by Conor able to participate in that symbolic Allegiance to Jack would be the test. McBride act of completion. Fondle that, just touch him there, That day, “It’s our secret, only we can share.” I did not graduate, Undone by William Andrews though I finished school. Far flung be the gossip’s tongue… Disguised as love, support, and A barefoot rebel Rumors spread from a two faced praise, I wore no gown or mortarboard. head. That boy would learn all of Jack’s The valedictorian, a laughing gull, Fun house mirrors are the liars eyes. ways. squawked about life: Trusted friends become double Manipulations a many, and sexual salty breeze, spies. abuse, sun kissed shore, Still it was Jack that he would empty sandwich wrappers. Twisting fact into fairytale. choose. I swapped ceremony for seaside, Rinsing the truth until it’s sickly pale. tradition for love, The deck is stacked against my fate. I watch him carry, I remember the and walked across a stage of sand Shuffled and scattered until it’s too weight; with crashing waves playing “pomp late. An innocent heart that grew to hate. and circumstance.” None could reach him, his soul was And on a wooden picnic table, They trip and tangle all honest plans. lost, witnessed only by Just to grease their selfish hands. He could never know the ultimate the setting sun and an old fisherman, Making sport of misery dealt. cost. I danced with my love Not caring about the pain felt longing for a hat to toss in the air. “It’s our secret; only we can share.” so heed trust put into another He told that secret; he no longer Author’s Note: “I actually wrote the be it foe, friend or brother could bear. poem for a poetry class I was taking nothing is sure in this world you see THe one who loved him was who he though Ohio University. This poem is illusions curtain can smother thee. betrayed, one of my favorite products of that It was Jack’s forgiveness for which class. (I may be a bit biased.) The Til breath is short and nerves a twist, he prayed. reason it is my favorite is because it holding back a tightened fist is based on a fond memory. Rather now the cloud is dark which hides He created a problem Jack said he than attend a long, boring graduation the sun, must fix; ceremony, my girlfriend and I went alone again...I’m coming undone. A solution with which his heart down to St. George Island. A day at conflicts. the beach is way better than sitting in Author’s note: “At the time of writing All jack’s lies, like a seed took root a hot auditorium for four hours. So “Undone,” I was an ADSEG inmate, Jack would win, there was no we bought sub sandwiches and locked in my cell 23/7 and allowed dispute. spent the whole day relaxing in the little sunshine, which led to mostly sand, playing in the ocean and cynical attitude. The sense that all A secret was safe but that boy’s soaking up sunshine. At dusk, about have forsaken you can create family gone, the time we would have walked paranoia as well, and I was in a room 6

Prisoner Express – 127 Anabel Taylor Hall – Ithaca, NY 14853 alone long enough to dissect the So mother may I please try again? it’s time I finally admitted it, the only recent past and find that all was not one to blame is me. as I was allowing myself to believe it Who’s to Blame by Ellis Hyatt was. I feel that I have matured much It’s not my fault, so who is there to Man in the Mirror by Jose “Tony” since that writing and I kind of use blame? Herrera my poems as a barometer to My father who beat me and sent me As I look at the reflection of the measure emotional growth.” to school in shame. man in the mirror, my mind starts to My mother whom I love, yet she let race Decisions Made by Beast him treat me that way, as an image appears. I think of all the pain I’ve wrought but he treated her the same, so who This person that I see, how The destruction that my actions am I to say. can this be! Was the image of a brought “I love you,” were words never man who resembled a junky. Decisions made spoken in our house, He wears his long sleeves in I look into the mirror that is my mind Most days I trembled in fear and was the heat of the day, hiding the and ask myself where did I go wrong quiet as a mouse. tracks that ran every which way. Decisions made Maybe it was my teacher, who didn’t He wears the same clothes I need to clear my mind take time for me; for days at a time, scraping up to understand how my life has come If she could’ve looked inside would enough money just to get by. to this there have been As he washes a few windows can someone help to pull me from anything to see? and begs for your change, that was this pain that I have caused his only hustle, this man had no Decisions made What about my coach who thought I shame. Was it my insecurities lurking that put was just okay, He was so afraid of getting me on this path but it was me on the bench when it busted and then getting so sick, he Was it the drugs that made me act came time to play. was that way Was it that drill sergeant, who swore a real life addict that just couldn’t Or was it my heroes that molded me he’d make me a man, quit. To be something I longed to be. I’ve never been a child so do the The image of the man with best that you can. his Mother May I by Sarah Gray Was it my boss, who said I did really rolled up sleeves fixing in the Mother may I good work; bathroom Have a replay I I know he was lying and he was brought me to my knees. Messed up my turn really a jerk. The image that I saw was a Cause I wasn’t concerned about vision of me, I was this man… where I’d end up I can blame it on the drugs, they After all I thought I was tough really screwed up my life. ...how could this be? There’s so much stuff I would No, I’ll blame all the women, change especially my ex-wife. Author’s Note: “I have never taken And save myself lots of pain I think it was the prison guards, the any kind of poetry writing class; I’m If only I’d listened way they treated me, pretty much self-taught. The funny I probably would not be sitting in always locking the doors, then thing is, it took getting hit on the prison, showing me the key. head and left for dead and Missing my life overcoming brain damage way back Wouldn’t it be nice? It’s the parole board; they’re the ones in 2007 to realize I had a gift of If we got to try twice to blame. expressing myself with words. This I’d have done things so different with Year after year, their answer is was something I just couldn’t do matters of the heart always the same. before. So you can say they knocked If I could go back, where would I I really want to blame Jesus but I a screw or two into place. This poem start? know he’s not the one. is about me and the addiction that I Where it all began He shed his blood for me and spoke fight with daily. “Man in the Mirror,” Would I make a mess all over again? the words, “It’s done.” was me at one point in my life. Today Mother may I be honest with this pen So who is there to blame, let me look I don’t see myself as that same Some days I think this will never end deep inside and see, junky. Today I see a man with a I’m all alone trapped in this pen dream.” 7

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Lucid Eyes by Jeremy Brown I let go into my own enormous flow, “My Name Is…” by Greg Shattuck I can feel my heart beating, the blood should I want the ultimate? I thought it was a game moving through my veins. No more sense, desires, needs or Really, no big deal I feel the cells moving, they are wants, let me be, leave me alone, Reached out to touch the flame regenerating and dying all the time. No more gratification, I am Then the pain became all too real I see the information processing ascended, transcendental oneness, A game no more. I realize through my neurons faster than I unity, wait rebirth? I’ve been playing with fire know. Damn! I try to run, try to hide I, the knower and doer think of the But trapped by my desire potential, yet I’m almost there On Reaching Thirty by Derrick A game no more, I realize I need to break the cell’s nucleus to Lynn Bratcher I’m fighting for my life get past the boundaries and Former obscure years Can feel it biting into me obstacles. Sever Each tooth feels like a knife I remember as a child drinking my A violent And as I die, out loud I cry mother’s milk, the taste of nutrients Melee “What is this affliction?!” fulfilling me. Along a mask of swollen Death just smiles, looks me in the I remember seeing my family before I Scars and in a cage eye, chose them, like on a virtual screen. I Wired with party razors And whispers saw them And locked with contented desire. “My name is addiction” Past lives, past memories, flickering While thirty through me, downloading my life’s With the celebrated Like a Stone by Jacob Baladez information, back in my body I sense Cool of a jazz The only angels I impressions of others’ thoughts. I Quartet (playing Know… feel, I think, I know, I hear them, Without pay; Have lost their halos Whispers on the unseen strings of Working the nightshift) Long ago… energy, coalescing into a myriad of Passes a brandy and cigar to the I reach out to god, musical notes. Rookie guard of midlife With woulds of time.. The false ego’s peeling away from And makes duties of his memories. Only to hear, self. I am one with Earth. I don’t heal that kind… I know what it is like now to have Unless you have the acquired The only angels I know, hurt. Ignorance have fallen long ago… They are draining me of blood black And clumsiness I cry out to god, oil, my life current, And are unlucky enough Only to hear.. The gold in my caves, mountains in To die at She don’t heal my which I sense, send out messages Twenty-nine. Kind… Is no longer there. Secretly these parasites fear me. Author’s Note: “I’m not the “fan- So I sit here alone, like a stone I need to show them my anger, what type.” I could never get sucked into Like the only angels I know it is like to be forgotten, the rooting-for-a-team, falling-out- Cracked and weathered, broken, Yet we are all entwined in the webs when-you-meet-someone-famous Of stone and alone of life. kind of thing. Not to say I don’t have Only this, this burst of my love will my fair share of “idols” strewn across Author’s Note: I used to hang out in bring us into harmony. my mental mantle. Be they spiritual cemeteries, me and my friends Everything gone, am I dead, all I see gurus, financial experts, literacy would hang there at night since one is nothing, blackness very thick legends, master musicians, cinema of my best friend’s mom was buried Light, rebirth, past the stage of soul stars, world class athletes and on there. We used to go there at night purification, again I am. and on, the shrines stretch. Yet to and just sit and talk and think! I can Yet deep inside, I know this can’t be this day one figure towers above see the angels standing over us just it. them all in my heart: Dr. Maya waiting, watching over us. Old Where is the infinite, why am I here Angelou. cracked and weathered and broken yet again? It was her poem “On Reaching angels just like us! I no longer feel attached change Forty,” which she recited for Oprah’s happening so fast, I stop trying to 40th birthday that inspired me to hold on write “On Reaching Thirty” to 8

Prisoner Express – 127 Anabel Taylor Hall – Ithaca, NY 14853 commemorate my own thirtieth Like our infancy A blanket of musty earth and dog birthday. The structure of my poem is Babbling bones. a trope to her’s while the content is Like our senility The roots have cracked my chest, exclusively autobiographical. Stark And made me, a rattlers nest. contrast defines the different Toward the weltering waves The worms and maggots ate my treatment Dr. Angelou and I give our As the sea beckons eyes, commemorated year. She had been Our thoughts downstream At least they didn’t fill my head with “acquainted” (familiar) with her With you; seaward lies. turbulent childhood, teenage Crawling ants are like a torture rack, motherhood, trying to find her place Was the question carried They find every crevice and tiny in the world, and eventually landing In the current? crack. on stages the world over. My youth Was the answer settled The birds squawk and shit on me, however, was very much obscure to In the sands? Just like in life, this must be. me at the time of “thirty’s” writing. A Except my old worn boots, “violent melee” of events was my Is there clarity Next to clawed up roots. confused struggle that left me with a That lies There’s no mark of where I lay, “mask of swollen scars” covering Beneath the surface Nonetheless this is where I stay. whatever image of myself lay Of the stream? I expect no one will come and dormant beneath it.” mourn, Author’s Note: Like Woolf, I have, For most, never knew I was born. The Edge by Stephen LaValle from early childhood and throughout My only friends are past crimes, When I come to the edge of all the life, suffered from severe depression And the iron bracelet chimes. light and anxiety, including many My ashes won’t get scattered I know, I am about to step off into the instances of self-harm and suicide For what did I do that mattered. darkness of the unknown. Faith is attempts. One of the former, leaving I leave behind no love or widow, knowing me wheelchair bound and many of No money, no house, and kids ditto. one of two things will happen: either the latter not successful (by large I never had or wanted any fame there quantities of pills) in defiance of all Or at least that I’ll now claim. will be something solid to stand on, medical expectation--by what Little in life did I get right, or I undeserved miracles I lack sufficient No more chances, gone is my light. will be taught how to fly. spirituality to fully fathom. Nothing else around the next bend, Empathizing with Ms. Woolf on many With all life there’s an end! Virginia by Cee Vagante fronts, I not only understand the “What is the thing weight of depression, with the lure of Back into the Ocean by Lou That lies peaceful quietude which may reside Tompkins Beneath the semblance in that undiscovered country but I Sitting cross-legged on the beach, Of the thing?” also share (as many do) her facing the ocean and watching indefatigable love of reading for the waves roll in, I feel Did coat pockets which she was renown; and I too the rhythm of eternity rolling For warming fingers have literary aspirations (if lacking through me, though my presence Instead stuffed the requisite talents). Unlike Woolf, in this body lasts an eye blink With cold creek stones I’ve not achieved that suicidal end. and is gone. That end, her end, and my Forever sink the answer speculations on it constitute the rest I am unnoticed by the waves, With you? of my poem. by the ocean, by the tides Or does the answer still and the moon pulling the tides. Live with us Living Death by Jesse Clasby I am less substantial No one lay me down to sleep, than the grains of sand beneath me In purling ripples Or prayed my soul to keep. that were here long before Ever They just stuck me in this shallow I was born into this life Continuing to flow grave, and will be here long after Unbroken Next to a blunt, and rusted glaive. my bones become grains of sand My pillow is a pile of rigged stones, and rejoin them. Babbling 9

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Author’s Note: When I wrote this An immortal war poem, I was remembering trips I’ve To replenish them- They’re much too busy made to the Texas Gulf Coast. I Selves living up to stereotypes, imagined this particular scenario as a villains straight out of central casting: way of talking about the small role In a modest hewn tomb shady drug dealers. that humans as a species fill in the bones are rattling Anonymous thugs and gangbangers. great infinite universe, with individual The spark of fresh marrow Greedy embezzlers. humans being even less important. Knitting sinew and fiber Creepy child molesters. In geologic time, we are Johnny- Of a rendered heart Fill in the blank; they’re all here come-latelys. I wanted the reader to Mending playing out the drama feel the wonder of forces that flow Mending like the reruns of Law and Order through us even when we don’t Mending they watch over and over. completely understand them. The first tomtom Low...slow A sad reality--especially Lazarus by Derrick Bratcher Slow...low for somebody like me If anything happens, please try to Stirring blood who wants to transcend labels find me. Please Into decayed veins and become known for more -Hooligan Sparrow than my failures. Scattered abroad Awaken! Every organ we spackle history Envelop! Glorious flesh What Prison Teaches You by A. Globe-strewn citizens of the world Richardson We are Our new lungs await It’s lonely at night e=mc² in Manhattan’s projects Our new brain eyes tongue Waiting for letters no one writes Saharan samurai In-the-beginning body It’s depending on family and friends Nuzzling maroon geisha Wrapped in layer Waiting on pictures no one sends We are leviathan buried upon layer It’s sitting around with nothing to do And deforming Upon layer Figuring out who’s really who Our ancestral selves Of dehumanizing It’s finding out hearts are made of And dispersing Drug infested stone Like clouded-leopard eve Self-hating Realizing you’re truly alone Grave clothes It’s wondering how time can move so Rain in the jungle All slow At the calling Prayers that are answered “no” Elephant Of our name It’s learning friendship is dying Antelope They say you’re family, but they are Buffalo Stumbling from tomb lying Crocodile Struggling for air It’s waiting for the day when I’m free Gorilla We the miracle I’ll remember who has forsaken me. At the waterhole clearing In all our splendor Drifting into torpor Fading into hibernation Bound Resting long Buried Dreaming longer Waiting to be loosed. Our ash encrusted family Beneath a pain Both old and phenomenal Prison Life Can these dry bones live Like a snowcapped mountain The Problem with Prisoners by Towering over vice Chad Frank Fabuleme The problem with prisoners is that they too often Emerging in the distance lack the imagination required to The salmon challenge envision The might of brother river life beyond prison. 10

Prisoner Express – 127 Anabel Taylor Hall – Ithaca, NY 14853 Art by Catherine LaFleur a note--here he comes now. Now I’m just gonna sit on the steps Oh please let it come true, of the tier, Karma Calling by Philip Grigsby I just need to hear I’m loved, watch as inmates roll on out Power nap in my cell I don’t care from whom. I’m sittin’ on the steps of the tier Tap, tap, tap wasting time. Inmate sounds commonplace to me I don’t believe it, this just Tap, tap, tap can’t be. He passed my cell Do do do do do twiddling my I curse as my nap fades to memory like he had nothing for me. thumbs...dum dum da Bolting to me feet angry now It must be a mistake, something is Da da do do do do...hey there, A movement from my barred window wrong. what’s up… da da da da... catches my eye I should have gotten a letter, Tap, tap, tap it’s been too long. Author’s Note: I have a 37.5 year A pigeon stares at me while pecking sentence and in the years I have at a spot on the glass It looks as if the darkness been incarcerated, I have seen many Tap, tap, tap of my world will overcome women come in, leave and come Childhood memories of zoos and and prevail since like all the back. I’m from Albuquerque, New aquariums days before, again, I got no Mexico, informally known as ‘Burque A child tapping the glass to annoy mail. The mailman passed and upon conviction went to a the captive animals my cell for there was no mail Corrections Corporation of America Tap, tap, tap for me. (CCA) facility, NMWCF in Grants, The bird cocks its head, winks an NM. In the fourth stanza I refer to the opal eye, then flies away Sittin’ on the Steps of the Tier by great move from CCA to two Over the fence, where freedom lives, “Kit” Cathleen Roth separate state facilities. Although it the bird gently glides Sittin’ under fluorescent lights was a big transition, nothing really My anger fades I’ll be sittin’ when the evening count changed. Same uncomfortable Karma has many faces comes, uniforms, same asshole officers, Sadly we awake to this at the wrong watching inmates roll in, same locked doors. I’m a diagnosed time and then I’ll watch ‘em out again. bi-polar so my mind is constantly moving. And face it, all I really do in A Day in my Life by Chad Frank I’m sittin’ on the steps of the tier prison is waste time.” Wake up on steel bunk watching the cops lock us away. Surrounded by concrete, bars, razor Oh, I’m just sitting on the steps of the Dungeons in Paradise by Ken wire, and enemies. tier, More Write crazy ramblings wasting time. Embraced by my loneliness And bad poetry. So still is the night. Watch TV. I left my home in ‘Burque I masquerade as one Eat. headed for CCA Exposed, just out of sight. Shit. I had it all to live for Pleased with my madness Shower. but I threw it all away. Phantoms become dear. Jack off the illicit fantasies. Now I’m sitting on the steps of the No soothing melodies Fight with my boyfriend. tier Darkness is all I hear. Get counted like sheep. wasting time. Wonder escapes my window Sleep. Atop the candle’s flame. Repeat the miserable cycle. Looks like everything about to Sweet anguish, and felicity change To me, it’s all the same. Mailman Passed my Cell by Miguel but it all still remains the same. Peals of humble laughter Ruiz I can’t do what ten C.O.’s tell me Resound in gilded sorrow. How wonderful it would be so I’ll just do nothing at all. Ancients sigh in portents to know someone cared, Hence, memories might follow, to be valued, loved and Sittin’ here restin’ my mind Where the light cannot reach have my feelings shared. but this mind knows no rest My shadow lies in wait. Maybe today, with a little luck it’s up and down these halls I roam There’s dungeons in paradise and a lot of hope, I’ll get just to call this tier my home. Where gleeful wails resonate, a letter, a card or at least These doors are never locked 11

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I’m captured by freewill. them. Not for what they are told to Three years and haunting I thank phantasmic reality see, a ghost, Six months and adding And welcome the night so still. but for what lies beneath. For those Years like pages flicked who haven’t Spines broken and thickened. Author’s Note: “This particular and do not want to forget, who still poem I wrote from the title down: just cherish and hang I’ve lived 1,000 years putting in what I felt fit. It also fit the on to their humanity, it means the In one day. type of prisoner that because he world to them. And that day feels he can’t do all his time, Repeats. succumbs to the beast--the walls So yes, behind these four walls I’ve closing in on him. Some will level out most Five years and haunting and actually become passive to definitely come to feel what a ghost Nothing brings me back now much of what the environment must feel, The choice they’ve taken throws at him, captured by free will-- your friendly ghost. Birthed what I allow. some go stark-raving mad. Me--I love life; I count my blessings and ...And Haunting by Matthew Fox Ten years and haunting hope for the best. I’ve got the best One week and haunting I seldom think of sister on the planet--she’s been with To think my existence now Tiny parts that once me since day one. And although I Is four walls deep. Were the only things I loved. feel I should have been paroled 16 years ago, I’m not going to let hope One week and haunting Twenty years and haunting go. I’ve written comical short stories, Finding the time to wake Inside so resounding country and western songs, rock But not to rise The crowd of emptiness unrelenting. lyrics, a passel of love poems, Somehow the sleep is easy philosophical poems etc. The apathy is the surprise Twenty-five years and haunting I work by myself (except for two cats) To kill is too kind in one of the prison’s boiler rooms-- Two weeks and haunting The punishment is to be alive my solitude. Mostly, I try to bring a To dine on dreams When I should have died. smile to the reader’s face.“ And feast on one belief: Nothing’s as bad as it seems. Where Dreams are not Welcome by Taj Mahan-Haft Ghost by Daniel Montano One month and haunting Most folks presume encompassing With all these years in prison I Time nudges truth razor wire, believe I’ve And everything changes topping countless layers of barrier come to feel what a ghost must feel, When it comes loose. (metaphorical wedding cake of steel forced to be and demarcation), spectators in a world where we’ve Six months and haunting serves primarily to separate been long forgotten, Pain actualized us “criminals” from “normal guys.” neither here nor there as life goes on Earns its embrace. around us. Memories become poison Those glinting, shredding doilies do Some have forgotten that they were Thought was the knife separate it’s true, ever part All used in but not mainly for keeping in the of that world, they go around hating The warping of one’s mind. deviants. the world Rather to keep out every dream, and the people in it. Others One year and haunting those delicate tendrils that nourish remember too well; You move everywhere hearts, they long to be part of that world But loneliness and despair fragile glimpses of tomorrow, again, to be seen, --this stunted growth-- so readily intimidated by to be heard, to be relevant. You carry them both. hopelessness and hate.

Every once in awhile, for however Two years and haunting The few bubbles of delightful brief it may be someone sees them, Where was I possibility, really sees When time disappeared? the occasional sneak rogue of subconscious fantasy 12

Prisoner Express – 127 Anabel Taylor Hall – Ithaca, NY 14853 juking past grasps of fences’ barbed I choose to believe a more loving I can hear, smell, feel and see and reaching tentacles God withholds All the treasures riding holds for me squeezing between the corrugated final judgment for each haunted links, inhabitant of Click clack, click clack such morsels stand little chance of America’s death row. The turtle swimming in the stream survival or recognition, By the rails More likely snagged and Author’s Note: I wrote this poem The farm fields scattered with hay disemboweled after spending years on New York’s bales, (even if they make it in alive) death row. My appeal abolished the Skyscrapers and crowds of people upon shivs, scars, tongues, bigotry, death penalty in this state on June Deserted towns and broken steeples and other self-sharpened prison 24th 2004. Many people don’t know From horizon to horizon, winding survival tools. what it feels like to be condemned, Its course how society perceives you, as you I am a god among kinds on my Have you ever seen a dream wait for the most ultimate Iron horse disemboweled, heard its silent cry? punishment to take place. Hung up on shiny, sharded coils Click clack, click clack dangling ephemeral viscera Shackled by Wilbert Jefferson Wind in my hair, soot on my cheek leaving empty of humanity the Those old rusty chains Haven’t bathed in ages, vessels caged inside. dank in cold, seen better days. Homeless in how I reek Distinct by markings, Imbibed with wine, two liters just Author’s Note: “Dreams are an drug down aisles, chrome chip and To get well essentially human thing and having flake Safe in my steel shell them taken away steals life. This between the shuffle of feet. My dog cuddled in my lap piece is a subtle shout to Langston My man at my side and his many references to dreams II Truly at peace when I ride deferred. Those old rusty chains I wrote this only a year into prison firmly hold onto chafed skin. Click clack, click clack when I’d gotten the lay of the land, Cuffs dig into flesh, Click clack, click clack was still very depressed and after the cutting off circulation; sociologist in me had some time to while joints swell in agony. Author’s Note: “Before I got analyze. As much of the punishment arrested I hopped freight trains for 8 as anything is geared towards taking III years all over the country--at times dreams, the delicate vessels of hope, Those old rusty chains with a dog or a boyfriend and away from people.” chant within the still silence, sometimes both. I spent two and a as the gray goose sway half years in county fighting my case Condemned by Stephen LaValle transporting human cargo before taking a deal for voluntary Long in advance the condemned up interstate 101. manslaughter--even though my man knows lawyer could prove I didn’t make the that he is going to be killed and that Leaving Incarceration Station on death blow; if I went to trial I could’ve the only thing the Freedom Train by Scary Laura ended up with Life instead of 11 that can save him is a reprieve. Rawx years at 80%. During that two and a In any case, he cannot intervene, Click clack, click clack half year time frame I spent over a make a plea, The pulse of the trains pounds year in disciplinary isolation (D.I.) outside of himself, or convince. Through my veins because I didn’t care to follow the Everything goes There is no blood on my hands rules and actually preferred to be by on outside of him. Yet, there is, according to “the man” myself and would prefer my DI stints He is no longer a man but a thing Sitting, doing time as vacations because I would be waiting to be After losing all that was mine able to get away from all the other handled by the executioners. This females and the drama they explains the Click clack, click clack encompassed. odd submissiveness that is Alone in my D.I. cell During my DI vacations I often found customary in the Their adaptation of hell my mind wandering to the memories condemned at the moment of their The freedom in my brain of my riding days and all the beauty I execution. Keeps my vacation sane have seen, the freedom I have felt 13

[email protected] – www.prisonerexpress.org and the things that I loved. Although A dry stalk that you are so amazing, smart, I’m approaching three and a half yields no grain beautiful with a heart that shines like years being incarcerated I can still This barren field the moon hear the sound of the steel wheels Devoid of growth be strong, keep your head pounding on the tracks, smell the Where the truth is buried up, never frown-- diesel soot and feel the rocking of So no one can know Keep a continuous smile to the cars as the train buckled in My mental vines are bound all those around. movement. I may still be No room to bud or flower You are of God. incarcerated but those memories No chance of sprouting forth Speak like you mean it, let keep my mind free and hopeful. The My shoots are stepped on your words tell it all. poem is based on real experiences Trampled Broken relationships and things that I’ve had and things I have seen.” As if they have no worth should have been. My hope Close your eyes, listen to my Grows dormant whisper: Chain-Link Fence by Michael While my tears “God loves you and so do I.” Reichert Come down in torrents I’m surrounded by a chain-link fence Because I labor to no avail with Spring is a season meant for Social/Political Issues razor-wire topping. new beginnings There’s a rabbit in the meadow. But until this sentence I can see him through the fence. Comes to an ending People drive along the road, Spring is just a scent I smell. there they go, far beyond its links. The world outside the fence is Author’s Note: “This poem is an beautiful attempt to describe to someone who despite its obstruction. has never done a bid or what is most Did I build this fence? commonly known as hard-time. It is No, but I did cause my placement very depressing and unnatural and behind it. my use of “spring” as a metaphor for Everything I see, it seems, is framed freedom and “scent” as a metaphor by the chain-link fence. for hope is obvious to only those who But if I keep my head up, the sky is have had the experience. Us clear, prisoners know how we have to put a even on a cloudy day. gloss on our lives behind bars so that The fence can’t reach that high. we won’t grieve our loved ones or cause them to worry too much about The Scent of Spring by Dennis D. us. We constantly tell little white lies Thomas like “I’m fine” or “everything is okay,” The scent of spring when in reality we’re doing all we can Brings to mind to keep it together. For anyone who’s A time when life was green done hard time, they remember Art by Christopher Bujanda Reviving memories when they reached that point where Of a place s/he felt that s/he had no one to Society by Stephen LaValle Where I sowed as I please depend upon. Our helplessness is To assert in any case that a man But here I’m teased mitigated by the dependability of the must By this breeze seasons. No matter what, fall will be absolutely cut off from society Upon which I smell a scent always follow summer and spring will because For it sows always follow winter. Knowing this he is absolutely evil amounts to Seeds of discontent helps me get through my darkest saying that As the seasons pass moments.” all society is absolutely good and no (with no relent) one in My vigor fades Those in Prison by Cliff Smith their right mind will believe this to be The new day To those inside, true. Brings no change even those not inside, 14

Prisoner Express – 127 Anabel Taylor Hall – Ithaca, NY 14853 me What Becomes by Jason Williams Does someone deserve to be held… I sit against unjust authority What becomes of truth Captive in a cell? This is a call for equality When the lie appears convincing, How will they succeed… This is a call for unity And of those who’ve based their If it’s designed so they fail? Won’t you join me? entire existence On the uncertainty of its ending… What happened to rehabilitation… Silly Boy by Marcus Trevino What becomes of faith In freedom’s nation? Silly boy don’t be fooled by that In times of trial and disappointment, Why are countless homes broken… marine corps hymn. When beliefs and ideals are tested By excessive incarceration? First to fight you will indeed, but the for strength glory you seek will only be bleak. And people abuse what you value, Is a mistake worth a life… You’ll fight for rights and freedom simply for their enjoyment… Or should it cost you your rights? and to keep your honor clean. What becomes of peace Do tears lose their significance… But should you fall… When struggle and discontent seem When they’re shed in the silence of Your sacrifices will not matter and constant and consistent, night? the war will never shatter. When the mind and spirit are worn That desert is a hole you’ll never down from the turmoil How are loved ones left behind… escape. And the drive to maintain your Lost in vacuums of time? You’ll see it, hear it, smell it, and serenity seems less and less Why is the government’s crime… relive it everyday. insistent… Less noticed than mine? It won’t matter if you killed or not. What becomes of importance The deed is done… When you’re so fed up that nothing When will the industries be known… Trained for war and left to think it seems to matter anymore, Of those oppressed and alone? ever mattered. When sounds ethics and morals are How will decades of mental So in love with a country that left you abandoned because they’re out of imprisonment… battered. style Forever be overthrown? Despite it all, you’ll gain a lot. And concern for whether you do the Just don’t forget it’ll cost a lot. right thing or not has rotted at the How will we return amongst peers… core… Withholding our fears? Author’s Note: This poem was What becomes of trust How have the same questions… actually the first I’ve ever written in When a society becomes corrupt and Gone unanswered for years? my entire life. It was an assignment deceitful, for a group (PTSD for veterans) here When fairness of word and deed are Sitting in Solidarity by Chad Frank at CSATF/SP in the enhanced no longer a must I sit in solidarity outpatient program. I joined the And the honor of an agreement is With Colin Kaepernik Marine Corps straight out of high laced with evil… As a man without a country. school in June 2005. After getting What becomes of humanity Like a Buddhist monk, married and having my son, I When the value of life gets cheaper I’ll continue to sit deployed to Al Anbar Province, Iraq and cheaper, Even when the flames engulf me. from March 2006 to January 2007. I At best, we’re a dysfunctional family I sit against began experiencing depression and But we were created as a reflection Police brutality anxiety right after I returned and I of our maker and keeper… Poverty self-medicated. It worsened as six What becomes of us Prejudice friends died in 2007 and 2008 in When we’ve become complacent Racism separate incidents. As the symptoms with all that has become, Homophobia worsened, it led to domestic All that it has become… Hatred violence, alcoholism, DUIs, arrests I sit against the abuse and and divorce until June 2, 2010 with a Questions of Time by Jeremiah mistreatment of fatal DUI crash in Bakersfield, CA. Shubbs Women This resulted in a person’s death and Where do you start… children two injured. I was sentenced to 19 When lives are torn apart? veterans years in prison and discharged from How do you maintain love… Prisoners the Marine Corps with an “other than With hatred in your heart? You honorable” characterization of 15

[email protected] – www.prisonerexpress.org service. I wouldn’t admit to my mental struggle and it cost an Mommy, why can’t we go to Texas Invisible People by Shawn Kunio innocent life. with Daddy? I have seen the promised land. But The glory my former self is Because they do not let us. it’s been promised to someone else. pursuing will come at a cost greater But who are they to tell us? Do you know what it is to be than I can fathom. All the good I ever The ones who supposedly own the homeless? Living in a state of did will not matter because my land/world. complete aloneness, like a car mistake has threatened the Marine That cannot roll, without wheels, Corps’ political image. My time in Why must walls exist? unwhole! Iraq will haunt me forever in the form By what right do you say no? Maybe you find a doorway you can of PTSD. My country will turn its Do you ban the animals too? call your own. But the building’s cheek with the Marine Corps Times I dare you to tell me so. owned by somebody, Article “Abandoned by the Corps,” a You could never call it home. court motion to bar me from wearing These invisible boundaries Those faceless armies march the my military uniform in trial, and any often marked by a bridge or a wall street; I saw then smile; I saw them mention of my service to the jury. I are only for humanity. perish with every rag and refuse to will be left confused and betrayed by Any other species may freely come cherish. a country I love and am willing to die or go. Hollow, I saw them confer with secret for, but despite it all I’ll gain a lot. friends, within the night that never Who made you the ruler of life? ends. Black Tears by Cornell Hurley Jr. Yet, you give orders to me! A funeral pyre to warm their hands, a Does my dark brown skin Just because I was born in this land smoke signal to the promised lands. complexion camouflage my black Must I give up my right to be free?! Lay me down on a bench so hard. I tears dream serene of my backyard Do my cries only reach those with Author’s Note: “I’m Juan the silent Where children play till dusk of night deaf ears poet whose whispers cannot be held and sleep in sheets crisp and tight. On my knees late at night, maybe I’m by walls, fences, or bans, let alone Where dreams begin with a mother’s not praying right bars. This is a poem from my heart kiss and keep the seal of innocence. As I cry my black tears written in love and anger. Love for all I tried my best to sleep for long but a With society’s rules and the history of people and anger at the injustice we night stick cracks, “Time to move black people being used and abused all face. These times of controversy on.” They think it is merely impossible for inspired it--well to be accurate, cause I am in a town where they only rent us to cry these black tears it to bloom into the beauty of truth. to the rich or the statistically Looking at the bible they only see Unbeknownst to me, the growth acceptable poor. I smiled at you, you pictures of white angels occurred when as a child I just turned your head, and went on So they think it’s impossible for us to questioned why my family from through your own door. fly Mexico could not come visit me here, Well I have been traveling down an the U.S of A, when I visited them Untitled by Sarah Gray unpaved path crying black tears of there. The answer: borders, fences, The world rejects them tar papers, bans and now, an Life seems to neglect them So feel free to follow this road envisioned wall by the troglodyte Feels like there’s no one to protect Do not be afraid to let your black who hold the title, President of the them tears be exposed United States of America. “Walls” Welcome to a life lived on the Because black tears are beautiful, speaks of being shunned by walls spectrum even without their reasoning being and bans. Being born into the chains She never really belongs told and cuffs of the law of the land She’s felt alone for so long unknowingly was the seed that This is her story, this is her song ¿Walls? By Juan Rosales started it all. It is a shame that a wall She lays awake at night ¿Mami, por que no podemos ir pa’ came down in Berlin only to be She craves the loving touch of Texas con Papi? raised in the U.S. That, for me, was someone like the blind crave sight Porque ellos no nos dejan. the breaking point and the reason my Her burden is anything but light ¿Pero quien son ellos pa’ decirnos? pen whispered “Walls.” It’s an everyday fight to keep it in Los que según se adueñan de la It’s been the same since her life tierra. began 16

Prisoner Express – 127 Anabel Taylor Hall – Ithaca, NY 14853 She cries herself to sleep once She wishes she were someone else show me how to be a man, is that again, She’ll have to learn to settle for not what my father should do for me? Only to wake and face tomorrow herself Some days she’s overwhelmed by Will she be like this till the day she My father, my father where are you, I sorrow dies need you? I wake up A little strength she needed to Or will she go home, give up and just mornings looking for you. My mom borrow, get high does the best she can, but she Just enough to get by The day passes by and turns to night cannot The next thing she knew she was She wonders again is it worth the teach me how to be a man. Things living life high fight are starting to get out of hand. I’m Why didn’t she try this years ago She only wants to be alright. rebelling against mom, The best part is no one knows her calling myself a man. Why I sit in secret Family and Friends class and cry daily for a man I never Drugs took it away and she wanted saw, I can’t understand. to keep it Then her would blew up like a My father, my father where are you, I grenade need you? Do you even care? Let me paint you a picture, Thomas Have you ever wondered how I look Kinkade or wanted to feel the softness of my Her whole facade was completely hair? shattered I have become violent because once She wound up in jail broken and my father came, he promised he’s tattered come back She couldn't think for all the clatter But I never saw him again. everyone asked her what was the matter My father, my father where are you, I She couldn’t find the words to tell need you? Save me About the life of pain she knew too from this pain. Come back into my well life, be the example of love, When asked about herself she was show me how to lead, teach me to basically silent Art by Norris Beebe be a man. If I When her emotions got too strong did something wrong forgive me, but she became violent A Father by Cedric L. Davis if you can’t, at least Turns out she’s autistic My father, my father where are you, I try to understand. I need a father so Which is exactly why no one gets it need you? I am that I can become a man. It’s so obvious how did they miss it growing up and I don’t know what to She was misdiagnosed do. I have a mom Author’s Note: “I am 41 years old. I For 30 years she lived like a ghost but from what I have learned, have six kids and two grandsons. She was doing the most, trying to parents are supposed to be two. I’ve been incarcerated 14 years. That disappear means that my children have gone She was out of control, trying to steer As I grow up inthis world, who will 14 years without a father in their Now that her mind is clear help to shape my view? physical presence. I grew up without She has to face one of her biggest my father. I never knew him and I fears From what I am told, it was never met him. But had I had my She wants to live life sober supposed to be you. Who will teach father in my life, my life would have But she’d travel the world over me to mow the lawn, fix my bike, been much different. I would not be To find someone to hold her plant a garden, change the oil, a tire, in the physical place that I am today. That’s where the problem lies rake the leaves, to stay and not Thus fathers are very important and That’s why late at night she cries leave? so I have tried my hardest from Aside from the fact that she don’t inside these prison walls to be the look you in the eyes Who will teach me how to provide father that I can be and love my She can’t stand for you to touch her the love and support a family needs? children so that they know and never Physical contact causes her to suffer To doubt their father’s love.” if only she were tougher 17

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Helping Him Grow by Chris Kline No matter what the world says to Because I’m paying with my To look at the world with a child’s you. freedom, for all of my mistakes. point of view Give yourself estás palabras de I’ve thought about ending it, at times Is sometimes a task, not easy to do. amor, I’ve held razors to my wrists But try it just once, and you will And remember to make them last But then I always hear this voice; it agree forever sounds something like this, A boy’s trust and love will grow tall In your heart of gold. “You have so much more to live for, as a tree. Heal the wound of forgotten love, please don’t end it this way. Something so unattainable in the If you have that strength now, you Encourage a boy to stand tall and physical realm will see brighter days. erect Of this unforgiving universe. I’ve never really left you, even And soon you will see you have But forgive yourself, thought I’m not here in the flesh. gained his respect. It matters to your inner-being. Just look inside you, and I hope that Be honest and firm, yet bend when A perfect kind loving heart awaits it helps. you need: you with I’ll always have your back, I’m your He’ll feel good about himself, since Open arms, Guardian Angel you’ve planted the seed. Ready to embrace your precious So I know this as a fact. I pray that humanity. what I say saves you. Let a boy make mistakes, be allowed Mijo, it is a love so true that if you When you think about me, smile, more than one. Hold your breath until you’re blue, please never start to cry. Be himself, he’ll discover it’s not too The tears of millions will stream And when you talk about me don’t much fun. down look down, I’m up here in the sky. He’ll make his own path, he’ll make Your brown handsome chiseled face. Be confident I’ve made it, the Gods the right choice-- To my Nina Sylvia who showered me gave me this chance, With patience and love, he’ll hear the With her loving kisses all through So stay strong and be brave and right voices. My childhood. when you’re in need I’ll hold your I was her little man ready to love hand. Teach a boy--he can laugh at With a pure heart. If you ever seem to need me, just himself--it’s okay! I love you maldito Frank, look into your heart We all have our flaws, we’ll outgrow Mi amor keep it real firme, Because that’s where you’ll find me, them one day. Porque that perfection is near. and I know that life’s hard. Be kind and patient, but don’t ever Your best friend, your partner, your You have so much more to live for, ridicule lover, so please don’t end it this way, By himself, you’ll discover he’s And your ride or die for the Because I’m your mom and I love learned the golden rule. Next three eternities. you and we’ll meet again someday. Feel that mi vida?! Teach a boy a set of values, not too You are my one and only true object Waiting by Jonathan Craig high, not too low Of desire with this passionate fire Another day goes by waiting for your He’ll feel good about himself, be a Burning from within my soul. letter, joy to watch grow. You are loved “maldito Frank.” As time flies by the chances aren’t If you do all these things, I promise Mijo, you are love... looking any better. one day It’s been so long since I heard from A good many he’ll be, for you’ve I’m Here by William Spaulding you, shown him the way. I’ve spent most my life behind bars, Wow can’t believe our son is already it’s been a life filled with pain. turning two. Mi Maldito Hijo by Francisco Behind these walls I’ve looked out, Another birthday dad’s not there, Gonzalez but seen nothing but rain. Sorry son I know it’s not fair. Maldito Frank, I’ve lost loved ones too early, my I messed up in more ways than one, I am in love with you mijo. heart’s taken shots way too often My only concerns were about having You deserve the unconditional love But my heart’s built like a soldier, or fun. God I’d already be lying in a coffin. I apologize for the choices and Bestowed upon your beautiful brown So much pain lives inside me, most decisions I made. skin. days I don’t want to wake I apologize for the foundation I Love yourself mi maldito hijo, should have laid 18

Prisoner Express – 127 Anabel Taylor Hall – Ithaca, NY 14853 In the future I promise to do better. To even hear you curse me Having each other’s backs and As for now I just sit and wait for your Not dropping the ball-- letter. Reflection: Them, Me by Janice J-paying money, Funk Making sure we can call-- Long Distance Dad by Taj Mahon- Like it or not--and really I don’t like it Holding me down Taft With every passing year they muscle When the way was unclear-- Smirk, snarl, grin, and cackle in, Just saying “I miss you” I lose my mind in fantasy Inhabit my skin like fingers in a sock, When no one else cared Of staying a thread in the primary Shifting my face into a foreign I’m proud to call you family seam familiarity, Without a doubt-- Of your nature path to manhood Less me, more them: father, mother, Loyalty, honesty, respect, Interwoven with your cloth uncle, aunt, Is what a real family, our family, Inseparable without fraying. Blunt nose from one, slack cheeks Is all about-- Will it unravel now that I’ve been from another, Bound by years, pulled? Her lips, her eyes, and from them all, Not by blood or by mother-- the wrinkles. Our family is tighter To offer verbal antacid Than most any other. To chase the bile burn Age bring them home to me in this And aid calm digestion new way, The List by Rickey Gately From well-earned embarrassment And how hard it is to love myself I’ve been searching for someone The first time state authorities As I loved them--still do, down to the That has always been true Ring or bring you home moles So I made a list of names On the backs of their hands, the Of everyone I ever knew To cross message within your social tobacco breath, circle The bald spot I pray I’d never have. As I went through that list Laugh along to slapstick, farts, and God One name at a time balls Didn’t listen. This morning in the And every name on that list And other boyhood antidotes mirror they Are still friends of mine Against the mortal ailment of growing are merciless and I stare at my face up until As I went over that list Even as I cast knowing looks To see who it would be To reel you in at 3am I lift my hand and press it against The one person that cares the most When splashing in “too loud pond” My eyes the way one presses down For such a man like me With my barbless, subtle glance the eyes Of the dead. But then, in darkness I came up with one name To memorize your glisten and behind That I’ve been looking for verdant breath My eyelids, I see what I won’t want to Then I threw the list away Of your sated, hazy, quiet smile forget I won’t be needing it anymore Reflecting halos of hope and endless When I trace their features on my possibility changing face Your name stood out the most In the early, shiny half dark They are where I come from, and my More than all the rest Of the north west winter night age Yours is the only name After your first kiss Brings me home to them. That could pass my test

To sit helplessly silenced, Family by Kristen Urquiza aka Untitled by John Burmeister Vicariously miasma-ed Pocahontas Wanted. Offering hugs and cuddles long Our family may not be the baddest, A friend. outgrown Or even the best-- As you drown your first heartache It may be broken, No experience necessary. In a river of salty tears And a fucking mess-- There’s no need to speak, And deluge of defiant “never agains” But what matters most is what No need to understand, That silt the delta of bigger romance Happens behind the scenes-- No life changing advice Fertilizing future love They type of shit that need by given. Others just don’t see-- 19

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Must be willing to give of oneself, Legends are written, though this that she’s a queen in need of a and day’s burden, in history stands true, throne. Enter into my loneliness and pain. the Must be willing to dry tears should Lessons we’ve learned, through You see her flesh and ignore her they fall. scars as they burn, tomorrow brings soul, Must be tender and compassionate. a new. With hardened hearts, you can crush her spirit-- Wanted. Dedicated to my 3 favorite friends, And though you need her to make Someone who cares. the fairy tale never ends. you whole, When she cries out, you can’t even Apply in person. Love hear it.

Friends in the Fairy Tales by I have a message for the man in the Daniel Enriquez street, Knights behold their princesses, Who it appears need to be reminded- queens grasp kings hand-in-hand, - As armies march in gathered forces, Without the woman you’d be trampling homes and fields on land. incomplete. Royalties at stake, the grounds still You’d search for peace and you’d shake, no end to pointless wars, our never find it. Righteousness, a dying man’s last wish, pleads healing of present Through God’s grace we’ve been scars. given a gift Incarcerating legal slaves, behind And you can’t even see beyond the glass barriers filled with sand, as wrapping-- Empathetic emotions run deep, The love inside, you just set it adrift carelessly falling from enemy hands. Left with the sound of one hand Art by Santos Carrera clapping. Murderers filled with red rum in their veins, flow through their drunken The Message by Gary Field Like a one-eyed king in the land of minds, I’ve got a message for the man in the the blind, Obliterating, as time’s not waste, still street You think we’ve got it all figured out-- pace the enemy lines. Who it appears to me has been But one day you’ll awaken to find On forward, the call reigns aloud, blinded-- That you’ve been left with the militiamen coated in arms, Without the woman you’d be shadow of doubt. Side by side, savaged barbarians obsolete. abroad know not the ends nearing I think it’s time that you were You won’t miss your water til the well harm. reminded. runs dry, Elimination comes quickly this day, in And you’re left to suffer in your thirst- this sudden result, there’s no other She’s like a flower trampled under - way. your feet Some woman’s daughter will just Whose sweet scent is wasted on the wave good-bye Moon rises in the eastern sky, as the air-- To the apology you’d rehearsed. blazing sun sinks in the west, You somehow, in your macho Imaginations seek victorious battle conceit, How long do you think she’ll play cries, to wipeout the king man’s best. It seems to me that you are unaware. your game, Torches burn with crackling sounds Until her own heart begins to while piercing the darkness black, A precious gem in the palm of your harden? Children shrills, their dreamscapes hand Brothers, you’ll only have yourselves reveal, no hope to counter the attack. That you treat as if a common stone- to blame Henchmen honor to protect and - When she begins to tend to her own serve, no glory in giving up, Brothers, it’s time that you garden. Encouraged by their holy word, as understand their banners are strongly held up. 20

Prisoner Express – 127 Anabel Taylor Hall – Ithaca, NY 14853 A place where flowers aren’t I know that I was born anew, carelessly plucked, when I realized my love for you. Tu es ma Venus Where swollen grapes grow upon the Comme mars, je suis tol frontière. vine-- This love has bounds I cannot see, Her own place where she can it is universal poetry; Notre amour, ce trou noire reconstruct and with its durability, Me tive jusqu’a ton universe. Her sense of self and find peace of it shall continue endlessly. mind. Notre amour est sans So future trials will not repress; comprehensive I’ve got a message for the man in the Life’s tribulations will not suppress Je suis en apesanteur. street, This well-tempered love, which I What you’ve lost, I hope one day to possess; Alors, salut mon ange find it-- forged in the fires of my loneliness. Seulement toi, propriétaire de mon And I’d sip that nectar that’s oh so amour sweet Untitled by Lonnie Gavaldon Just the way that God had designed I envision your body in front of me Je me rencontrerai avec toi au ciel it. Curves stunningly persuasive Parce que je suis en apesanteur. My heartbeat similar to when the I’d be there to wipe the tears from bass kicks The Original by Shawn Henderson her eyes, Gravity does not apply to me And let her lay her head upon my That seductive look is trying my I am eye to eye with an angel chest-- patience I’d be there to hear her whispered Intense feelings got me in total Concrete and iron separate us sighs, devastation But through your scent, I abide To satisfy her and to give her rest. Is there any way we could continue You are my Venus You’ve held a jewel in the palm of our relations As Mars, I am your divide your hand, Without any sexual exploitations? And treated it like a common stone-- Our love, this black hole One day soon, perhaps you’ll The look on her face was utter Is pulling me in your universe understand, amazement Why I chose to place her on a Because of her beauty so radiant Our love is beyond understanding throne. it’s hard to stay away from Gravity does not apply to me

Well-Tempered Love by HD Only the strength from above So hello my angel Johnson Can help me overcome this lust Only you inherit my love The fires of my loneliness, once filled my life with much distress; Start with a friendship I will meet you in Heaven and constantly they did suppress Then build on trust Because gravity does not apply to my every chance at happiness. No more one night stands me

In truth, I lost all zest for life, I’m searching for true love The Willow by Gregor Buck and every day was filled with strife; Countless relationships ruined You are my moon, my stars until, that is, the day you came Amends never being made the sun, the sea into my life and called my name. Awkward moments the very air I breathe. When we come face to face You are everything to me, With tenderness you gave to me, so vast and so deep my desire the strength to set my spirit free, En Apesanteur by Shawn through every day and then you showed me lovingly, Henderson through every lifetime you inspire. how wonderful my life could be. Je suis en apesanteur if but once you were mine Je suis en tête-à-tête avec un ange I would give you myself As our new friendship grew and and in your light would I shine... grew, Le pierre et le fer nous séparent a joyous feeling did ensue. Mais parmi votre cologne, je reste. 21

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Touch by Cynthia Quick While you continue unspoiled and Amber by Brandon Rushing To be in touch new. My eyes I long for such show me captured, A caress, here in this prison stress, Black Satin Development by glazed, frozen by mistake; I’m a mess, Reginold Hoover inside a prison of sweet sweet Under duress It’s impossible to camouflage that amber. More is less, genuine appeal, 9-7 for a casual hug striking like a viper in rage, creating Author’s Note: “For me, “Amber” is Because PREA is REAL!” an electromagnetic field, a love poem. Although a reader that attracts attention, destined to might see within its lines the trapping This aching desire starts to bug me elevate the pulse rate, of some wayward insect that has They might as well drug me gifted by nature, so fortunate to bear been drawn and captured inside the Because this torture is too much to what’s most precious to the likeness sun filled resin of tree sap, where it is bear… of mankind… bound by the hardening of that sap I feel the weight of your stare into an amber stone. For myself, it Even from way over there (Exquisite to the eye of the was the picture of how my wife was And I find myself missing superficial) your every single step is able to pull me into her world. How The inexperienced feel of your kiss carefully admired by the way you she allowed her beauty to seduce On my waiting lips walk, weighing all options, pros and me and in that seduction forever cons, bound us together. It is the story of You look up and smile at me, I propose to conjoin as one; I confide great romance and lust simplified Changing gravity with a glance that beauty goes deeper than the and obscured by the “we,” so that Even without my physical touch skin, every person that has been prey to I never knew before soulfully seductive to the touch, your the amber can relate.” That it could mean so much beauty is inevitable as it dwells from To be in touch. deep within, Wishing you Understood by causing an eruption of passion-fruit Derrick Lynn Bratcher No Comparison by Barry Taylor kisses and honey drops, Need courses through my veins for In similitude--the rose, to you to lace the sleek texture of your you. Appears trifling, indubitably pale; Black Satin Development… I breathe the cucumber-melon of As would the taste afforded your skin, By an unfermented ale. Let’s go to a place where we can Taste the sour-apple of your tongue; forget all existence, But long to drink from the deep wells The scarlet blush upon your cheeks until the coming of the sun, dripping of your heart, Conjures visions of ardent passion, wet, hand in hand, strolling the black To savor your thoughts like my last As the petals’ texture your skin sand, meal-- aspires in the utmost exotic edges of the to attain like softness...to cosmos, leaving no spectacle to the Wishing Rosetta could translate satisfaction. imagination. The hieroglyphs of my soul: (Exquisite to the eye of the My memories of you Your ruby lips outbid the flavor superficial) Sailing across the Atlantic of life, T’ward which the rose both strive; Lost in the heat of passion, Cramped in the quarters of my mind, As by exuding its fragrant aroma competing in a rhythmic flow of Longing for freedom… To best you it doth contrive. adrenaline For the Sahara’s heat, like a barrage of exotic dancers, until For the Congo’s touch, In stature its sole endeavor we peak into orbit, For the tom-tom’s dancing pulse. To usurp you is once more in vain, then slowly wind back down to earth, Surely you appear far superior where peaceful waters flow, Need courses through my dreams of When all be drenched with rain. I watch as the moonlight traces the you. contour of your sultry, I view heaven’s vista beneath your Nay--the rose holds not a candle Black Satin Development. hair, Nor prayer of the triumph over you; Feel love in the lava of your Its fleeting beauty expires more each embrace; morning 22

Prisoner Express – 127 Anabel Taylor Hall – Ithaca, NY 14853 But yearn to swim the cinnamon money with more phones, but they My Heart Belongs to You by seas of your eyes, choose not to...keeping us fighting Clinton Kennedy To rest in your trust like a bed of and forming factions over phones I burn for you my desire, clouds-- serves to keep us from uniting for yearning for you to set me on fire, better rights.” for you I will burn in flames. Wishing hummingbirds could carol Take me away from this world of The melodies of my soul: Imperfectly Perfect by Nahbeel darkness and pain. My memories of you Richardson I will release my soul into you at last, Moaning my blood-stained spirituals, You question, for it belongs to you, is yours to Pressed in the fields of my mind, As if your mind wanders have. Yearning for freedom… In different directions, Tear out my heart, bleeding in your For the Canadian chill, As if something did happen hands, For the midnight train, I would not tell you keep it with you always, For the church bell’s enchanting As if I don’t tell you everything take it with you to the grave, chime. I will be with you until our last days. You say Calling as a Fix by Taj Mahon-Haft You trust me Untitled by Brian Fuller Lockdown over, call I must You don’t believe To say goodbye to maybe 80-plus stags chase just three does I will hurt you To shed a tear for why Prison phone dash, jive, and queue But we are not perfect I can’t give up on crazy Clique and double-click avoidance And you’ve been hurt in the past I refuse to even try Like a China white in red light So what make me different Return to me in silence Amsterdam Your thoughts live always shared Gotta have it, daily shot of love You say I go again into the place Mainstream life mainlined, sting then You believe me Where once we used to share sigh When I tell you Avarice meanders slowly Nothing better here, even when the I love you and only you Capricious in its lust dope is bunk And that should be enough I’ve been lost again in folly I’ll give anything, go hungry thrice Since I don’t know Searching for that misplaced trust For just one hit of your smile voice What else to I can do If I ever get to handle ET-junkie, calling home or fading fast To prove my love Something precious as before Despite dangers of suited, zooted I’ll try hard to respect it gangs I understand And cherish all the more Your position So venture once again with me Author’s Note: “The chance to call, Your sacrifice I’ll never be apart from you especially my son and girlfriend, is Your pain My hope, my peace, my joy like a drug that I must have. But it’s Your love not that simple here. There are 86 Your devotion people vying for 3 phones (line 2) which is also a subtle reference to But please the term “bucking,” used have so Understand this often to describe any rebellion. Not only are there many people, it is a No I am not perfect challenge for this nerdy pacifist to get But I am perfect with you on because of the cliques and gangs Our love is perfect and people who wish to keep calling I do not look, want, or need (double-clicking) even when people For any other man are waiting. Those calls are always Because you are perfect heavenly, even though (like a needle to a vein) they always sting a bit and For me sometimes have tough content. The For us connection to real life keeps us Art by Charles Kusiak feeling human. Also, it should be noted, they could easily make more 23

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Compunctious by Edward Finley Kissing in the rain; people would You change the game when you Jr. always stare. claim His name Yemaja, the mother of all emotion, Did I care?...Nope, cause when I So lift your voice in praise. deity every human being exudes. held you He’ll give you wisdom Water within us is a controlled Near...your heart-beat, I could He’ll give you might potion, always hear. He saved you for a purpose the moon’s mystic hand dictates our God, it hurts so much, I wish I could He made you for this fight. mood. feed you He has you where you are today Plums and pear. You know he has the plan Forgive me, I’ve yet to learn to But....I guess what we had, is no So let your light shine extra bright escape, longer there. Soldier take your stand The unknown effects of my condition. Soldier are you ready Stay firm, no need to bend out of Religion To hear His battle plan? shape, Love your brother I’ll come into, upon my own volition. Love your sister Soldier’s Stand by Thomas Hill Love your God, Your behavior dictated my retort, Soldier are you ready? Soldier rise and stand. Some may say I relinquished power. To take a stand I pray we still have a good rapport, Soldier are you ready You’re not Alone by Larry Please pardon me, my elegant To show yourself a man? Anthony Harris flower. A man of God who’s not afraid So many people do not believe in To take a stand in Jesus’ name, The name Jesus Christ Fret not my dear, you’ll hear from me Standing firm upon God’s word It is because of all the troubles any day, With the shield of faith That have happened in their life The depths of my heart is where your And the spirit’s sword. love will stay. Soldier are you ready? There are some who believed in Him Have you taken time to pray? Who backslid and turned away Love Lost by Shand Nash Asking God to give you strength The bad things that happen in this Where art thou, when I need To stand your ground today life You so dearly. Cause everyday is a struggle Made them lose their faith to pray What we used to share was so Every day is a war Rare; You’ve got to know who’s in control Some speak to me words of defeat Tears silently flow down my cheeks And who you’re fighting for. During this storm I’m going through My dear You’re fighting for the one who’s lost I then reply with my head up high If I could turn back the hands of time, And hasn’t found the way That I have faith and you should too I promise to be a better man I swear; Praying he’ll see Jesus I know I said, “I’ll always be there.” In what you do and sy In this life I live I have struggled The streets took hold of me. Now I You’re standing with the loner I have seen so many rainy days have this burden to bear. Who has tried to stand alone There’s times I would have given up Deep in my heart, I know you still You’re standing for the hater But instead I cried and prayed Care. Whose life is dark as night I guess when you used to pay your Praying God will change their heart The devil whispers in my ear Bus fare: it hurt so bad, seeing me And they’ll find the light There’s no way I can go on looking You’re standing for your brother or Then it appears as I pray in tears Like a caged grizzly bear. sister That God has left me and is gone God sees and knows my heart, one Who’s been caught up in sin day Speaking truth with mercy I felt so convicted and ashamed I will leave this lair So God’s love can get back in For all the sins and wrong I’ve done That each and everyday I feel Do not be discouraged But I have faith that God will finish despair, You do not stand alone The works that He begun Wishing you were still there. He will not forsake you I reminisce how we were a happy Or leave you on your own So many people do not believe in pair, Be strong and full of courage The name of Jesus Christ Do not be ashamed Well I am a living witness 24

Prisoner Express – 127 Anabel Taylor Hall – Ithaca, NY 14853 That God can change your life I don’t know if he is really a he. Know where to find them. After all, I suspect he is you The first acid casualty , For every problem that I’ve had in life Just as much as he is me. Of the day, a teen- God has moved them all away Age boy, whimpers for Mommy. That is because instead of giving up What if by E. Andres Cole Denizens of an I choose to fight and pray If heaven was only Alternate reality A mile away Have followed him home: God has never let me down Would I give up Stray cats that refuse to leave. And run that way Dipping penises, I Meet a Stranger Every Morning Or would I stand here and fight Shards of glass buried beneath by Rob Becker Just one more day Layers of dog shit, I meet a stranger every morning, Would I go there and ask God Infected splinters: We sit cross-legged with eyes closed To wipe away my tears some of the collateral And stare at each other for an hour Or would I silently continue my Damages of the Summer or so. journey Of Love, in the year I can’t exactly describe this presence Swallowing my fears Nineteen and sixty-seven, With whom I have a regular I really don’t know ‘Frisco-by-the-bay. appointment What I’d do II Before sunrise each day. What I’d say The fuzz found “Super Spade” at Although I discern our intimate If I were the find that heaven The base of a cliff, assembly, Real heaven Guessed that a drug deal had gone I’ve never really seen him. Was only one mile away south, or he tried to Fly behind some of the bad I meet a stranger every morning. Acid goin’ ‘round. World View He can be prompt or tardy, insistent Old “Chocolate George” T-boned a or sluggish. Car, and two hundred Our non-verbal exchanges are Angels lowered his casket, provocative Pissed on his grave, and And profound beyond words. Laid joints among the flowers. Often repetitive and monotonous, The “Diggers,” streetwise Other times so original and Con artists of ill-repute-- stimulating “Big Apple” hustlers-- That I fight the urge to jot down Brought their game three thousand notes. miles Yet, I’ve never heard his voice. To strong-arm the cowed Local grocers to “donate” I meet a stranger every morning. Food, or else: you hip? Sometimes he pisses me off. Hey man, like dig the free meal The shit he slings and the At the Panhandle Dust he stirs up can make me squirm Every day at five, on us! inside. III I have learned to patiently abide Up on “Hippie Hill,” His tirades, tantrums and Junior high is in summer tantalizations. Session. Charlie Manson When I allow these to quiet down, Art by Kelley Fredricksen Was voted class president. There is a vacancy in the space of Peace and love was his our meeting. A Cynical Elegy for the “Summer Mantra: love conquers all, man. of Love” on its 50th Anniversary Then he decamped to I meet a stranger every morning. by Burl Corbett L.A., and went off message. His silent and intuitive presence I Like, the grooviness Is capable of carrying me Morning at the Haight Soon ended, and now to sensational highs of Street Medical Clinic: Two the “Love Street” junkies Loving connection with all of Fifteen-year-olds who And amphetamine monsters creation. Lost their periods and don’t Rule a ravaged sovereignty. 25

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Facing such oppression. The Life Downstream by Will Van Author’s Note: “This poem is based She has wept a thousand years Sant upon my experiences during that A burden of my obsession. The river flows, its course unknown legendary summer. With a friend, I A broken heart and soulless envy To those who have not yet been drove my 1950 Chevy from A morbid winter’s dream. shown Birdsboro Pennsylvania to San I thought I may relieve some stress What lies beyond the river’s bend. Francisco. We arrived in Haight- And released a demonic scream. Past verdant banks oft overgrown Ashbury on July 6, and found a $60 A raven flew from the dusty knoll a month furnished (barely--2 sofas) Erecting such a passion. The stream impartial shan’t amend room at the corner of Octavia and I doubt that I will ever submit Itself to either foe or friend. Haight Streets. For three months, I To another painless ration. Its rapids rough and waters still sold “underground” hippie Kudos to you, the girl with the face Are random. They will ne’er depend newspapers to gullible tourists in That is painted in my third eye. Chinatown, picked tomatoes with Truth be told and truth be kept On wish or whim or force of will migrant Mexican workers, and did I much rather wish I’d died Of those who venture to fulfill my part to keep the ‘60s “swingin.’” But here I sit beneath the tree Some vision that they would impose At the age of 20 I was a veteran of Oh it speaks so many lies On how life’s waters splash and the Greenwich Village hipster scene, All the trust I put in thee spill. a wannabe beatnik who got to New My broken soul replies. York City too late for the dance, and I So I pluck upon this broken harp Yet even as the river flows had my eyes wide open. But in San My notes lost in the wind, There have been chapters when I Francisco that summer, the streets The raven landed upon a branch chose were clogged with 13 to 17 year old And another life begins. To drop an anchor and remain children, most of them high on I dream of days, overcast and dark A-wallow in some transient woes anything they could scrounge. I ran And blood rain upon my skin. into Charles Manson in Golden Gate A life is lost, a child forgotten Because I ne’er believed the pain Park when I was on my first and only And another life begins. Was passing and would quickly LSD trip. He caught my eye, offered And another life begins... wane me a box of cookies but drove me If to the current I would yield away with his bad vibes. Two years Time Machine by Martin Savage And find the joy that I might gain. later, I saw his photo on TV and Time flows, seconds atom-sized, knew why I had fled his evil Particulate infinitesimal, For in their time the wounds are ambience. Strange, but true!)” Immeasurable moments of healed Joy, pain, sadness, fear, And many secrets are revealed The Kite by Jack Dyson And hope, and love, and hate, By lessons life would have us learn. Late at night, while the moon is Coruscate across the portholes And by these waters we’re annealed High and shining, I fly a kite, the Of this time machine. String pulled taut, to me it is And better able to discern Whining, “freedom, freedom, please On it runs-walks-jumps, The glory of each twist and turn Set me free,” the kite keeps Crawls-tumble-slides, The river offers as it goes Moaning, it just won’t let me be. It Scarred out-and-inside Through waters calm and those that Continues groaning, til it starts to By mistakes of navigation. churn. Shriek, it’s too much; too loud, so I It tears, it bleeds, it heals, cut the string and watch it streak, It thrums, and shapes exhaust The beauty that the trip bestows Destined for the clouds, but fallen Into communication. Is measured not as I suppose. At my feet. For surely life will e’er disclose Destination some time yet to be, Its myst’ries as the river flows. A Morbid Winter’s Dream by Cory Unthought-of until reached, Lambing yet a pointillist mosaic of all Dwell Upon a bleak December That it has seen and has recorded Shatterings of yore. Traveling not through time I pluck upon a half strung harp But with it, bearing its weight A tainted devil’s score. ‘Til it can carry no more. Thrice I left and thrice I came 26

Prisoner Express – 127 Anabel Taylor Hall – Ithaca, NY 14853 Whidbey Island by Jason Adkins ...given by Broken hopes, broken dreams, Dominated by the Pacific Ocean ...the Puget Sound The cries of dreams never dreamt. Protected by the cascade mountains Fury burning, yearning to be heard. Lives a quiet island Not Quite Oz by Michael Griffis Her calculating look as deadly to the Only a ferry boat ride away Lions and tigers and bears senses, Loosed from their cages and lairs As her unforgiving soul never bends. From crossing puget on the This ain’t Dr. Seuss Unyielding in her path to an end. Cathulumet These beasts on A cold blizzard inside her head, To driving the dangers of deception the loose Frozen visions of a place with no pass The back of my neck standing hairs prospects, you’ll find no busy streets As she gasps lives too blind to the No chain stores, strip malls or cheap It seems that a man quite insane depths of their human souls. hotels Did shoot himself once in the brain She’s frozen to the precious touch of But first he set free life, Bed and breakfast inns are what The beasts we now Her mind failing to reason their very you’ll find here see humanity. With quality family owned Running in street, road and lane Lonely and hurt, restaurants And unexplained pain with nowhere And oh, how I miss those It’s now nine-one-one folks are to turn. Little island cafes that offer calling Something freed, ...warm With stories of fear quite appalling Something treasured, welcomes Cats that are growling Then chained. ...free coffee And bears that are Waiting for stone walls to fall, ...and croissants prowling Let her give way to the freed It was at such a place early one And monkey who’s touching and Spirits who play... morning mauling I happened to see a doe walk slowly Dear PE Participants, Down the road, no worries The neighborhood now like a zoo We had thousands of poems These communities are old you see The chaos like storm simply grew submitted, and we read them all and ...and hold Confusion then panic chose these. We are still collecting fast The size quite poems and expect to publish Volume ...to their old titanic 19 in late spring 2018. Please keep ...island ways I had to throw in slain and slew sending in your submissions. .We will There’s European-style cobblestone leave you with a 3 poignant quotes paths Cause all of the critters were shot from Carl Jung, one of the creators of To help you get around these island The kitten, the poodle and lot modern depth psychology, which seeks to facilitate a conversation with towns Pretty it weren’t the unconscious energies which move Oh, no need for a car And nothing was through each of us. For all the best places come by feet learnt A topic that’s still rather hot! ”One does not become enlightened by To and fro the old cobblestone paths imagining figures of light but by making I take Freed Spirits by Francisco the darkness conscious.” While exploring an ancient market Gonzales place She walked away into the deep “I am not what happened to me, I am “Hello,” a lady says shadows of the night. what I choose to become.” A light wind whispers about her face The sound of her footsteps echoing through “Your visions will become clear only Forever caught in a seashell, sound The empty halls. when you can look into your own of waves The piercing sounds of a never heart. Who looks outside, dreams; who Briny smell of sea riding in the ending future, looks inside, awakes. breeze And a future never ending. Bringing ocean mist in Hallowed shrieks of hell in a Standing together for a better Another memorable moment paradise, tomorrow,--Gary ...in my life Where her cold heart dwells. 27

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Prisoner Express Poetry Anthology Volume 18

Cherrie Bomb CHCF 8/16/17