"inmates" poems
Do you remember
when the dragon saved the princess
from that awful knight
because I can remember it clearer than most
the knight, a greedy *******
who's foul lips
wrapped around a glass bottle
who's foul lips
sought the bottle
and nothing more
and remember when he hit the princess that first time
remember when he grabbed her hair
remember when he shoved her down
put away the scars
the scratches
the bruises
treated it as
'oh, he's just showing his love'
and remember
remember that one night
when she finally called his bluff
she said 'no, you don't love me'
remember when he hit her with the bottle
the knight, what a **** bag
but after that,
came the dragon
with his tattoos and heavy beard
on his motorcycle
and beat the knight away
****** him to hell
or at least prison
and a lot of angry inmates
and the princess and the dragon
set away
to have a nice little life together
with the night safely locked and gone
in a far away tower.
Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 12:20 AM UTC
When the dust swirls in the March wind
the forlorn noon is thick with flames of the forest
and the meadow sighs in gold yellow sun
my eyes seek Krishna in that aching void.
She grazed the cows from morn till twilight
and though eldest among the siblings
she was schooled only in the blazing days
learning to pull her herd to greener pasture
venturing into marshes none would dare tread.
Not one groom could be found for her
bypassed she was for her fairer sisters
that went to school grew up were married
and ushered new inmates to the world.
Then a few summers past
when I had almost forgotten her
I saw her forehead smeared with vermilion.
But why she had to come back
playing once again the shepherd girl
gathering them for home at dusk
crooning aaaaaa….oooooo…..
I don’t know if Krishna went back to her husband
for after a few days she wasn’t seen again.
Only the winds howled in the forlorn noon
and the little shepherd girls who came after her
whispered she had at the in-laws
hung herself from a tree.
Mar 1, 2015
Mar 1, 2015 at 8:04 AM UTC
typewriter rhythm
clacking away new beats
tempo exchanges
computer lab concerto
fair-weather phonetics
hunt and peck symphony
symbolic of the system
poking at inmates
pecking at the enforcers
attempting to gain an education --
floating above the ruckus
offering research aid
I sit at the desk seeking only to enlighten
service work for those
suffering servitude
serfdom
post-modern slavery
complete with subsidies
scamming the con-men --
white house looks best
through prison barred windows
Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 5:59 PM UTC
in our
besieged republic
snipers are
popping up
everywhere
taking ***
shots
ending lives
with a well placed
head shot
active shooters
star in
world premier
events
jokers
rise like
dark knights
casting large
looming shadows
on real 3D cinemax
multiplexed screens
sprinkling overpriced
buckets of popcorn
with generous
dollops of blood
others
head back to
school
still ******
about missing
recess and
excessive
sentences
to detention
halls where
bullies tortured
scrawny inmates
with wedgies
and painful
***** twisters
they’ve
come back
to even the score
leaving
bullet hole
pockmarks on
Sharpie smudged
smart boards
declaring endless
summer vacations
for classrooms
of children
who don’t
give wedgies
and only dream
of soft *****
these
urban guerillas
are now working
to liberate airports
from the tyranny
of TSA agents
fulfilling
PATRIOT ACT
duties for
10 bucks
an hour
and
last night
the latest
active shooter
showed up at
the Garden
State Plaza,
-my hometown
mall of america-
mumbling about his
Grand Theft Auto
score, strung out
and crashing
from an unfilled
pharma addiction
script
he grew
up as a
Highwayman
in Teaneck
a former
classmate
working
at Nordstroms
said he was
a really good kid
he was,
one of the good ones,
he could have shot
some people
but the only
person he
shot in the head
was himself
legions of
police officers
surrounding the mall
stood down
grateful for overtime
milling about
in the flashing
red strobes
inhaling the heady
blue fumes
rising to commend
Bergen County
Blue Laws and
next Sunday’s
time and a half
active shooter
training day
Jimi Hendrix:
Machine Gun
Oakland
11/5/13
jbm
Nov 5, 2013
Nov 5, 2013 at 1:12 PM UTC
heartbreaks like bad breaks
make bad days feel like fate
heartbreaks like new wounds
for more hope to heal soon
heartbreaks like inmates
that do time for mistakes
heartbreaks like small snakes
with fear there but it's fake
heartbreaks like brown dirt
with brown eyes and more hurt
heartbreaks like old men
with old lessons and new men
heartbreaks like better days
that move on in better ways
Sep 14, 2015
Sep 14, 2015 at 12:59 AM UTC
second sight alternate mind
sliding down the slippery slope
chasing a rabbit into fantasyland
the world is the same but changed
this drink is full of laughter
this drink makes everything strange
and why am I here you may ask
as I refill my already refilled glass
to find myself of course
I've looked everywhere else
and this is the only place I exist
at the bottom of a bottle
recycling the abyss
I am alive tingling inside
and I know he is waiting
on the hangover side, but
I'll let him deal with it **** it up
while I just crawl away to Hyde
until he is again enticed
to walk away from his Jekyllite life
we're all inmates so what's your poison
prisoners here in alcoholism
Jan 16, 2022
Jan 16, 2022 at 8:47 AM UTC
strawberry frenchfries dipped in chocolate fondue.
cry me an 8 oz cup of water when i step on you with my giant blue shoe.
dance through the forest with gnomes stapled to your shoulders.
hide your foil gum wrappers in manila folders.
left and right. front to back,
oxygen in the atmosphere may lack.
pluto and jupiter intertwine when night falls.
orange and green leather sewn to your ragdoll.
licking the excess frito crumbs from under your fingernails,
eyes pealed to the scenery of wacky inmates in jail.
selfish yellow and blue fish yelling at dr. seuss,
reading books in sunrooms drinking orange juice.
camera flashes and ripped dollar bills,
making chocolate pancakes on top of cherry hills.
hazy eyes drowning into a dream,
winter nights as cold as ben&jerrys; ice cream.
red hand chasing numbers on a clock,
movement of legs turns muscles into rock.
acid drops from black heart clouds falling onto driveways.
little kids on scooters munching on happy meals while saddened by the loss of sunrays.
23 degrees celsius and shine forcing itself through.
ice cream trucks and roadraged humans trying to get through.
bumble bee roads with lines and street signs,
teens boredum, smoking dope, drinking ***** getting fines.
police on the prowl everyday, every night, seeing through lies,
keeping their sight wide-open like a mouth in surprise.
fettuchini alfredo at fancy restaurants.
ice cold water knocked over on a ladys lap.
words missing letters, conversations missing sound.
apples and basketballs losing shape and sense of round.
flat chested skinny ******* slipping through cracks in wooden floors,
obese transexuals getting stuck in between doors.
puzzle pieces glued to the top of a bald head,
veins appear blue but blood is red.
blowing kisses, blowing out candles
cats,dogs,birds wearing sandals.
Feb 19, 2011
Feb 19, 2011 at 5:27 PM UTC
She knows she’s in
the sepia photograph
but doesn’t remember why
or who the others are
or why she dressed
as she did back then
or why there was a dog there
at the front
she keeps the photograph
tucked between
the pages
of the black Bible
some clergy gave her
and a dark secret
she was forbidden to tell
and sometimes
that short woman
with the Mongolian features
steals it to gawk at
then she has to go get it back
sometimes violently
which brings the nurses running
with their rough hands
and strait jackets
or that skinny woman
who always stares
takes hold of it
and stares at it
pointing to the various faces
of the males and females
and at the dog
and smiles and wets herself
and then laughs loudly
which causes
the other inmates
to bellow or laugh
or cry or scream
bringing the nurses trotting
with their what’s going on?
or what’s all this then?
she holds the photograph
to her ***** when she can
or tries to remember
who they all are
staring back at her
including herself
and when the quacks
question her
about the photo
as to who is who
or why she has kept it
she doesn’t have a clue
and one said
she ought not to have it
as it disturbed her
but a nice nurse
(and there were some) said
o no doctor she needs that
there will be hell to pay
if she doesn’t have it
tucked between the pages
of the Good Book
she kisses herself some days
talks to one or two
of the others there
but who they were
or to whom she speaks
she doesn’t know
and on cold wintery days
she looks toward the sun
for a message
or a warming glow.
Feb 16, 2013
Feb 16, 2013 at 5:09 AM UTC
Whether it's an eight/twelve hours or more shift.
I SALUTE all men and women that daily places their life in danger.
Behind walls of correctional institution enhancing rules and regulation to inmates.
Of course you find that familiar one professing like it's an honor to be called convict.
Over phases of offender or inmate.
Unlike those street enforcers with weapons.
The only one you have is your vocal tones to control.
A prayer said daily, if you are of faith to calm your day.
Hold truth that any second, minute anything might happen.
While many families failed to comprehend you didn't make their child apart of the correctional system.
That was their child decision.
It takes strength and fearlessness to operate behind fences.
To be that honest officer following the rules.
For even some co-workers eventually ends up behind these same various walls.
RESPECT is an earned trade and trait.
Like your word is your bond.
But in a place that operates twenty four seven.
Your work is never done.
So to all correctional officers I SALUTE YOU!
Jul 1, 2017
Jul 1, 2017 at 6:36 PM UTC
1167
Alone and in a Circumstance
Reluctant to be told
A spider on my reticence
Assiduously crawled
And so much more at Home than I
Immediately grew
I felt myself a visitor
And hurriedly withdrew
Revisiting my late abode
With articles of claim
I found it quietly assumed
As a Gymnasium
Where Tax asleep and Title off
The inmates of the Air
Perpetual presumption took
As each were special Heir—
If any strike me on the street
I can return the Blow—
If any take my property
According to the Law
The Statute is my Learned friend
But what redress can be
For an offense nor here nor there
So not in Equity—
That Larceny of time and mind
The marrow of the Day
By spider, or forbid it Lord
That I should specify.
2.5k
They say its for our future
They say its for the better
They say its meant to set us right
But do they realize,
That were putting up a fight?
The building is the jail
The classrooms are our cells
And we,
Are the criminals
But of what crime?
Is youth our punishment
If so,
Could we meet death?
Forget this hell
In which the flames are sharp
With every word they speak
These devils make us weak
The inmates beside us
All tough and cruel
Or only do they seem
Behind their masks
Are their broken tears
With the pain of this hell
Which we hoped wasn't real
And then they say
This is for you my dear
With lies they fill up our ears
Yet,
One day i hope
That i can be set free
Either by my time
Or by a friend i have longed to greet
Death, my dear
Set me free
Before they take me away
And refine me
Into one of them
Who have no sense of individuality
For they have gone through this jail
Which they call reality
But for us,
It always is,
And always will be
The prison of a youth
Jan 15, 2014
Jan 15, 2014 at 12:04 AM UTC
Yes, I was in Thailand prison for many several months for visa overstay
Then deported, my plans were thwarted to teach school to help dek dek (Thai word for children)
What the hell heck?
Why the penalty? I'm not the enemy!
The weird thing I saw was the nicest guys were in prison camp too, what bad did they do?
All the inmates were good to each other; an odd array of global brothers
It was fun to play bamboo broom guitar like I was the jail house rock star
"Play some more rock-n-roll for us!" they would shout.
Felt young, no mirror to see my wild un-flattered looks
Wrote my best songs on empty pages in old tattered books
The Thai warden was nice to me, gave me coconut cookies for free
(He had no front teeth!)
I made each man jump and work out... Kids age 16 to amputee
All cheered for my creativity...
The day I was released, they all rushed to cry to say our farewells and goodbyes
I had more fun in Thailand prison then now that I am back in USA, funny huh?
Camaraderie is a true commodity!
God bless Thai children who told me they loved me, while USA kids throw rocks at me!
True story
D. Clare
I love Bangkok #1
Am Dop Nueng!
Sep 23, 2015
Sep 23, 2015 at 9:56 PM UTC
Were you alive when the
bricks began to crumble
beneath our hand-held, picket line
across the parking lot in front of some
school that no one bothered to name?
Our exhaustion-mumbled whispers
skipping across lips dropping to the street
that tapered ladders on gargantuan gadflies as the summer heat
etched the tear lines into mud tracks against
our ruddied faces.
Cohorts torn into flip stands
layered toward standing political sores --
tell me how to cross my t’s and fill in scantron circles before
the suits step over brown-bag lunches
to stretch the yawning yellow tape over the students’ lockers.
We were strung up the flag pole, almost posted as decapitated heads for the public.
The political analysts call this “The biggest school closing in decades.”
Under teeming hammer-strikes :
glasses shred to paper-splinters
before a young boy’s diploma
crying white chalk bricks
from university’s doors instead on to
prison yard orange jumpsuits.
Can we call this a school improvement project
or can we call this the Same Salem Witch Hunt
As unwashed teachers and students alike deck the sidewalks like
Either Christmas decorations on Michigan Avenue or
Inmates on the gallows platform
I’m completely unable to read the television marquee that told the neighborhood that City Hall was too stuffed with paperwork to defend the mothers and invisible fathers.
I’m completely unable to write out of respect for these children’s already-carved in stone pathway to the gutter, graveyard, and/or prisons.
In the first wink of dawn
We will all scatter
To our respective positions
Carved out in concrete before the
barricades fall
to flood the street.
Dec 18, 2014
Dec 18, 2014 at 3:52 AM UTC
A Presidential pardon for all inmates and the expulsion of every American's arrest and incarceration record. Change the lives of forty million people and see the economy roar the Lion's head.
What could be more, Christian?
Dec 30, 2018
Dec 30, 2018 at 3:50 PM UTC
These whitewashed walls scream out my discontent,
The faces of inmates line the corridors, impassive and unimpressed,
I bang on steel locker doors, but I hardly make a dent,
My words are not replied to, and my screams go answered,
It doesn't matter though, they are silent screams of aid,
They resound through these hallways like the echoes of a gale,
The cold of locker steel is an ever foreboding constant.
They line the hallways, like the vigilant sentinels of a jail,
And I can help but think, how familiar the two seem to be,
And how in one a perfect illusion is created, of being free,
These whitewashed walls are filled to the brim,
With students and inmates, angels and demons alike,
Teachers and wardens stalk these halls, hidden behind their hollow faces,
Bullies and inmates swarm these halls, hidden behind unfamiliar faces,
In these whitewashed walls, there are blackened souls and empty holes,
Holes where hearts used to be, and coal where souls used to be,
These whitewashed walls are alive, and they bear witness to it all,
And here these whitewashed walls remain, through our rise and our fall.
Jul 28, 2015
Jul 28, 2015 at 7:46 PM UTC
Violence in our hearts
Ignorant vice of our plans
Praising
What we read
What we see
What we hear
Acquiring knowledge we seek
Enriching others' minds
You can't always enlist
Minds are being allocated
Oppressive struggle nurtures servitude
What is your brain being allocated for?
What kind of freedom are you looking for?
Can't be one of us
If you're another capitalist appropriation
Poster child, a temporary venture
Falling in line to become another
Worker or bourgeois hypocrite slave
Isn't that why you study for?
What kind of life are you looking for?
There's no saving your soul
When your freedom depends
On chains of other men's hopes
Fighting to keep yourself, your family
Future generations being born out of you
Out of the venom of oppression and pain
Living life without concern or consciousness
Just the same as living in a prison cell
America, how many inmates do you host?
Security, don't you want a guarantee?
Your family may now have peace
But when you're no longer here, there's no guarantee
Can't be one of us
If you don't join in the struggles of our brethren
Because our security is not guaranteed until they're all free
Jan 15, 2013
Jan 15, 2013 at 9:51 PM UTC
Saved myself with realm coin
Went for the long con with put options
Eschewed sold short term gain
Let them railroad me with true colors
Finessed my coalition willingly
Painted a big picture expressed scope
With mass appeal diverse production means
Bred loyalty from salt of earth devotees
Ends justified by all’s fair politics
Power brokers stole my ideas for venal exploits
Then claimed execution on midgets’ shoulders
Made low hanging fruit that much more demanding
High bar gymnastics twisted words blanched of meaning
Model workers did lords’ bidding beyond expectations
Barely rewarded with subsistence’s mounting debt to society
Paid on inmates’ backs embroiled in endless energy wars
Oct 3, 2013
Oct 3, 2013 at 10:58 PM UTC
Perhaps they had tried to escape,
or else done some petty crime.
These three would not be gassed or shot-
The rope would serve just fine.
Two men, one boy with nooses fixed-
condemned but never tried.
The nooses tightened on their necks
as they kicked the air and died.
Except the boy, he was too light
He lingered when they died
“Where is God?” one man muttered
“Where is He?” others cried.
They made us all march past the place
Where those three in judgment fell
The boy in his slow agony
still endured his private Hell.
The path we walked was ash and bone
Of former inmates made
Those gassed and buried in the air
These were their sole remains.
“Where is God? Where is He now?”
Some muttered as they passed.
I thought- if He’s not hanging here
More than likely He’s been gassed.
( based on an entry in a Auschwitz survivor’s memoir)
Jan 10, 2012
Jan 10, 2012 at 11:00 PM UTC
Dispensing Keys
by Hafiz aka Hafez
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The imbecile
constructs cages
for everyone he knows,
while the sage
(who has to duck his head
whenever the moon glows)
keeps dispensing keys
all night long
to the beautiful, rowdy,
prison gang.
Keywords/Tags: Hafiz, Hafez, translation, imbecile, cages, sage, duck, head, moon, keys, night, prison, gang, prisoners, inmates, felons
Apr 1, 2020
Apr 1, 2020 at 2:33 AM UTC
there was an old temple of Thai
whose monks just wanted to get high
so they got hooked on meths
but were exposed through their breaths
so they all bid their temple good-bye
now off they all went to rehab
to cure them of the sniff and the jab
but their bright robes and habit
of the monks and their abbot
made the inmates think they'd gone mad
"we're seeing orange" they said to the quack,
who put down his bottle of Jack,
said he, rather tight,
"i think you are right,
but the bottle is better than crack".
Nov 30, 2022
Nov 30, 2022 at 7:09 AM UTC
Matter Hill
is what your mind
with your blood and flesh
and your spirit and eternity
and your ideas and vibrations
show you
and tell you to go, you say
So is that Hill
Matter Hill
is that where you want to go?
You want to crawl there
you want to creep and climb there?
Is that Matter Hill
is that where you are headed?
some say there’s life
some say there’s death
and there’s even a guide book to get you there;
and some say the trees burn there
and demand you cast a finger for each tongue of flame
some voice calls
some mystery beckons, you say;
you heard some hideous scream
in the smooth wet of your night
and a prophecy who must go to the Hill
to Matter Hill
O is that Hill
Matter Hill
is there where you must
no matter what, you must go?
Because you heard a voice tell you so:
*Go to Matter Hill
no matter what*
And you heard the inmates
of the Soul Sanatorium
saying:
*There lies a Gorgon there
she will turn you into stone*
And you said to them:
*Do not look into my eyes
for I will turn you into ash*
But what does your heart say?
What does your mind say
in spite of all the claims
and the declamations and revelations?
O is Matter Hill
is that where you want to go
with your wild eyes
and blood-erect fire-smoothed hair?
Is that where your sweetheart lives?
on Matter Hill?
does she whisper **** tales?
does she hover like a Mystical Being
and beckon you
in fog and mist and in moonlight
and also in the darkest of nights?
is that Hill
Matter Hill
that ****** blood painted hill
is that where
no matter what
is that where
you want to go?
Oct 14, 2010
Oct 14, 2010 at 2:01 AM UTC
Perhaps they had tried to escape,
or else done some petty crime.
These three would not be gassed or shot-
The rope would serve just fine.
Two men, one boy with nooses fixed-
condemned but never tried.
The nooses tightened on their necks
as they kicked the air and died.
Except the boy, he was too light
He lingered when they died
“Where is God? ” one man muttered
“Where is He? ” others cried.
They made us all march past the place
Where those three in judgment fell
The boy in his slow agony
still endured his private Hell.
The path we walked was ash and bone
Of former inmates made
Those gassed and buried in the air
These were their sole remains.
“Where is God? Where is He now? ”
Some muttered as they passed.
I thought- if He’s not hanging here
More than likely He’s been gassed.
Sep 20, 2013
Sep 20, 2013 at 9:12 AM UTC
Oh me oh my
such tall tale lies
upstream and down
by this Political Clown,
***** made of brass?!! My ***
Washing Brains with numbskullish hate
this pathetic excuse of a man with reality
his base does not relate, Whether near or far
those believing his words it is garbage they do eat
allowing many behaviors and nicknaming mistreats.
oh me oh my
a sad tear to be cried days and nights so dim as he is,
It will take years upon years to fix the damage done
& finally after 5 dead including an officer of the Law!
This smug poor loser ordered this result and now admits
his time is over, it's time to quit this nitwit says adios
and hello prison mates, I will make all the inmates love me,
You will see as I bend over backward to gain your gratitudes
all my prison base friends will share the same attitude
but please don't get me wrong! You will Love me long live
this master debater let's make a deal, okay we will talk later.
Farewell...So Long... it's been a great run.
Jan 7, 2021
Jan 7, 2021 at 10:50 PM UTC
What if I told you
I had all the answers.
Would you accommodate my allegations
Or assume my observations are obsolete?
Let's see.
What if I told you
There are approximately five abandoned houses
For every so called vagabond in America.
Let's pretend some simple addition could remedy this situation
And a few sets of steady hands plus a plethora of dry wall
Could dramatically increase the living conditions in these residences
And decrease the number of five year olds
Who consider dreaming on concrete comfortable.
Would you lend a hand?
What if I told you
That minorities make up the vast majority of inmates in America
While corporate crooks who believe distributing the wealth
Means purchasing penthouses in every time zone
From Ponzi Scheme paychecks
Receive bailouts rather than handcuffs.
As if felons in white collars are invisible to proper punishment.
Would you take the stand?
What if I told you
Believing in Buddha and his blessings
Or the New Testament teachings
Is not reason enough to persecute anyone
Based on their personal beliefs.
Because believe it or not
We were all blessed with the ability
To show compassion for others regardless of religious indifference.
Would you make amends?
What if I told you
I had none of the answers.
That my words were merely that- words.
That my call requires actions
And answers mean actually acting on abstractions
That most people keep inside mental concepts.
Would you hear me?
Would you help me?
What if I told you nothing?
Would you listen then?
Aug 26, 2013
Aug 26, 2013 at 7:43 PM UTC