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Best Jail Poems

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Details | Jail Poem | |

Hard Times

When hard times come they sit a spell, Like kin folk come to stay A-packin' troubles, pets an' kids That always get ‘n your way. It's drought an' flood, an' flood an' drought, There ain't much in-between. You work like hell to make ’em good, But still they’re sorta lean. The ranch went under late last year, The drought got mighty tough. The boss held-out a long, long time, But finally said, "enough!" So here I am dispatchin’ cops An’ watchin’ felons sleep, In Junction, at the county jail, A job I’ll prob’ly keep. The wife, she works at Leisure Lodge, Where older people stay, A-makin’ beds an’ moppin’ floors To earn some ‘extra’ pay. Though “extra pay‘s” the term I used, It goes to payin’ rent, An’ after all the bills are paid, We wonder where it went. We hocked my saddle, guns an' chaps, An' then our weddin' rings; Then when we couldn't pay the loan, They sold the 'dad-blamed' things. We felt real bad a day or two But then we let it go, Cause it got Christmas for the kids When money got real slow. When hard times come they sit a spell, Don't matter who you are; They'll cost ya things you've set aside, An' clean your cookie jar. You'll loose some sleep an' worry some, Won't pay to moan an' groan; But hang on to your happiness, They'll finally leave ya 'lone.

Details | Jail Poem | |

Sweet Sugar Cookies and Peanut Butter Bars

"I dream of Candy!"

Sweet cakes and peanut butter squares 
A living diabetic's nightmare
My heart sings to the beat under the Newton stars 
Sweet sugar cookies and peanut butter bars

Taunting whoopers, 
Dancing dum dum's, 
The sweetest shadow silhouette in my room
Dreamy, Creamy Cupcakes in the afternoon
Cinnamon Cheerios cascade on my spoon
Sweeter than my sweet tooth
Now and later - a forever honeymoon

Jiggling my jelly belly boo berry butt-erfinger delight
I'm in love, licking icee icing all night 
Extra freshness once I pop a top off of a mountain dew pop
My eyes sparkle like diamond dazzle razzles in the sky
I live to fabricate my own personal sugar extract R.E.M. Sleep
Savoring the sound of water lingering in my mouth
This night, ovulated buds, await to feast
Enjoying a delicious dulce music sleepy symphony

I'm here to brag and embrace a pinata pillow escapade
Enchanted by a cotton candy crave -calling my name

Lalaloopsy licorice and lemonade, tea
The best wet dream I'll ever see
Marshmallows of solitude dulcify every single fresh fantasy
Imbibing a bright slushy skittles daydream freeze

One fat sunny bowl of mix cereals and cane
Crackerjack jail and chocolate chip swirls, 
Caramel lumps constipate the brain
Sizing up -peanuts and candy, popcorn party payday
Wild winter fresh, Wrigley's Spearmint Breath parade
Gummy bear Dessert, Fruit Ninja hair 
Watermelon Taffy stuck on the top of my gums
Swallowing and indulging the witness of a whistle pop bar

Super bubble sweet tarts embedded deep down in my heart
Bubblicious, mint twist, Sunkist the best Twizzler breakfast
Yummy in my twinkie tummy, drooling over frosted pop tarts 
One more strawberry smoothie 44 oz cup   
Counting each and every Pez popping up
Goodnight my friends,
It's time to get lost under a midnight moon pie sky
SELFLY- Hugging and snuggling to a new sugar rush high

By:PD

Details | Jail Poem | |

Best Man

It has been 9 months since your sudden disappearance.

That Hallowed night when your 5’11” nerd aura
Handed me my early birthday gift
A cold shoulder wrapped in a velvet bow
Made in Sri Lanka, sold exclusively at the Dollar Store

That was your appraised value.

But, today, revival’s whisper enters my gently waxed earlobes.

Candy coated revelations
For my allergic blood

“I said yes!”, as she flashed Cracker Jack ring
Filled with Monopoly dollar signs and “Go directly to Jail” Chance cards

I almost applauded, my hands sarcastically never connected
While my eyeballs rolled in epileptic banter

We scream in misguided nerd joy 
As if we witnessed Monty Python & Darth Vader having a make-out session

Sudden urges to watch movies about Traveling Pants & Sisterhood
And PSing my I Love You
While we eat Dark Chocolate Klondike bars and Chipwich Ice Cream Cookies
My ovaries were bursting with INSANITY’S JOY!

But, WAIT, I quickly realized I didn’t have such parts!

It was then, reality crashed
As if Spider Man ran out of web during mid-air leap

My essence now halts at crossroads’ throat.

To my left, “celebration”
To my right, “other”

I chose to be a human this night.

Current time- 9:15pm
Current location- Reception Hall

A 5 course meal,
Including dinosaur shaped chicken nuggets
Smiley face French fries
And 3 glasses of Tang
Surrounded my space on the dinner table

Heavenly echoes of forks & glass,
Ringing in ignorant unison,
Give birth to Tinnitus in my drums

In their 9 months of togetherness,
They kiss with forcible ease,
Frogs refusing to show their true form

It is then, ignoring listless stares from guests,
I stood up holding my half-empty Tang glass
Which MIGHT have contained a smidge of Grey Goose

At the TOP of my LUNGS,
I whispered.

“Friend, I should be so proud of you. I would. I could. You never responded to my open-hearted palm. You left my vulnerabilities dangling at half-mast, as if I lost our final game of Hang Man. But, TONIGHT, it is I & this delicious Dinosaur nugget that will HAVE a final say! You are impeccably flawed, like I. But, I still wanted you to be a part of my tomorrows. Yet, you turned me into a muted yesterday. So, I will wish congratulations on your new slav…um, husband, Pouring this glass of yummy Tang onto this stapled dance floor in a straight line Each drop will be a symbol of how many tears he will shed, before that line is crossed.”
As silence slapped each other in its face Across candle flame blanketed, marble dance hall, With children pointing & laughing hysterically, “Security” enters the room As I hold hands with Cuban female rent-a-cop, her head warming my shoulder, “Thank you for these 9 months. For now, I have given birth to a new me. The Best Man that you will never hold again.” ©Drake J. Eszes

Details | Jail Poem | |

the PLAGUE

as the PROPHETS of profits, WE lead and WE’re fair
while WE’re living the life of the poor BILLIONAIRE
– silver yachts, pearly castles, cash (plenty to spare) –
with the world on OUR backs... ah! the burdens WE bear!

being HAVES (not the have-nots) as nature decrees
means WE’re certainly the better (they’re vermin on sleaze).
if they pray for a lift in their dark fantasies,
WE just kick ’em downstairs, get ’em off of their knees.

yes, WE offer great jobs (much too busy OURSELVES!)
for maintaining the toilets, restacking the shelves,
and WE teach ’em to fear god and play with the elves,
thus dispelling ideas where the dark demon delves.

though they build mighty bridges, twin towers and more,
peddle pizzas and popcorn, sell guns door-to-door,
still they gotta have BOSSES to tell ’em the score
else WE’d never be needed, WE’d thrive nevermore.

when OUR profits are plunging, they do their part too
for they dine on the dole! yes, no hullabaloo!
soon OUR fortunes  redouble, rebound and accrue –
since WE fare well without ’em, WE bid ’em adieu.

’stead of wishing for welfare and standing in queues
or parading with pickets (look! holes in their shoes!),
they’d be better off scabbing to save union dues
... while WE whistle and warble, they’re singing the blues.

whether heros or hoboes, like spiders and lice
they just crawl all around us in life’s paradise,
but WE’re patient, big hearted and oft sacrifice,
spewing charity, kindness (though each has its price).

if they’re beaten or punctured or suffer assault,
are unhealthy or crippled or walk with a halt,
or retarded or helpless, it’s all their own fault – 
just like US they should worship the DOLLAR exalt!

protesters and loud mouths, you’ll find ’em aplenty
some older, some younger, the worst not yet twenty.
they’re shameless and brazen (unwashed, soiled and scenty)
impugning the prestige of brave COGNOSCENTI.

if they’ve got clashing colors  (or shades in between)
or opposing beliefs in the hidden unseen, 
well, WE’ll always exploit it, deflecting their spleen,
for with god on each side, would WE dare intervene?

WE promote many methods to keep ’em in chains –
daily rags and the tube spin OUR circus campaigns
“to pretend you’ve a voice”, an announcement explains,
“you can vote and decide on which ONE of US reigns”.

OUR policemen protect US, they stay on the ball
(they arrest ’em, no questions per law’s protocol,
and then jam ’em in jail with their backs to the wall) –
if you’ve lucre for lawyers there’s justice for all.

down the ROYAL road of justice WE march all alone 
– WE condemn their defiance, set ways to atone –
since WE’re sinless, unsullied, WE cast the first stone
(while WE cloak REGAL fetor with eau de cologne).

politicians, bald bankers, grand idols galore,
attend meetings, fete banquets in which they explore
how to rid US of rodents (the weak and the poor) –
well, just round up the riff-raff, dispatch ’em to war!

ah! OUR wars are.... well, just...... just a thing of the past
........... and the present............... and future... WE sure make them last!
if they frown as they gaze (armageddon!) aghast,
then WE smile back with pleasure, OUR treasures amassed.

useless ranting and raving (in rags, when they’re clad),
leads to losing their teeth (my! their gums are... egad!).
WE’re unselfish, indulgent, WE’d never be mad
if they drowned in the sounds of themselves feeling sad.

as the paupers are princes in midnight’s domain,
they have pipe dreams to lose, certainly nothing to gain
if they’re hoping OUR fortunes will wither and wane –
for “WE’re here by god’s will” as WE often explain.

yes, they wish to be US, with OUR wisdom and grace,
keeping up with ol’ CROESUS, maintaining the pace.   
but perverseness or rancor? they’ll see not a trace –
for WE hold ’em at bay with a fist in the face.

WE’re la CRÈME de la CRÈME, yes! the proud UPPER CRUST,
and OUR clothes are the finest, OUR hair never mussed –
WE imbue ’em with piety, duty and trust 
and they’re fed bread and water (if feed ’em WE must).

but they’re thieving, aggrieved, want a piece of OUR PIE
and request WE endure ’em, see EYE to black eye.
since they live in OUR land where OUR strict rules apply,
they must feast on the crumbs that may fall from the sky.

though OUR largesse and bounty WE don’t mean to flaunt,
yet the pittance WE pay ’em they surely can vaunt –
salty peanuts and pretzels (what more could they want?)
thereby keeping their kiddies so healthily gaunt.

yes, there’s room for the rabble (the back of the bus)
’cause WE treat ’em like equals, so what’s all the fuss?
all can rise to the top (yes! it’s always been thus),
to the suites in OUR penthouse (to sweep up and dust).

while OUR CHILDREN have tutors, the finest of schools
(being bred for the forefront, THEY’re nobody’s fools),
the ol’ school of hard knocks teaches: “follow the rules”,
building brawn ’stead of brains and broad backs strong as mules’.

and to keep ’em in line (to ensure WE prevail)
WE now monitor phone calls and read all their mail
(civil rights? what a notion! at best a detail!)
and if worse comes to worst...... well...... guantanamo jail!

WE’ve OUR quandaries and questions and headaches full blown
(like deciding design and decor of OUR thrones...
whether diamonds or rubies... to ivory WE’re prone) –
when WE deign to appease ’em, WE chuck ’em some bones.

now you know all OUR problems, OUR pains and travails,
– like preparing foreclosures, evictions  and sales –
but WE’ve no need for worries or gnawed fingernails,
’cause WE’re sailing OUR yachts through tempestuous gales
(with them bailing OUR banks when OUR stock market fails)
sipping daiquiri sours, champagne, ginger ales...


Details | Jail Poem | |

The Maid of Orleans

Reflecting in her garden sits a winsome little maid;
She holds a purple flower like the circlet that she made
And wrapped about her braids to grace her forehead like a crown;
Her thick and shining braids that are the shade of chestnut brown.
A soft and dreamy smile lifts her lips of cherry rose
As she so elegantly lifts the flower to her nose
To smell the rich and heady fragrance rising from its soul-
Upon this day in early May, her heart with joy is full.
But look! The heavens open wide, and joy is changed to fear,
For Michael the Archangel in the garden does appear,
And with him stand Saint Margaret and Saint Catharine, sent to seek
This girl of twelve, and in her frightened youthful ears to speak
Words form the Lord, of how someday, somehow, she'll have to save
Her native land, her land of France, from lying in the grave.
When in their bright angelic garb these saints to heav'n returned,
She knew they had been sent from God, her heart within her burned
With strong desire, with heaven's fire, to do her Father's will;
Her heart beats hard, while all around is silent, calm and still.

The years pass by, now seventeen, her hour is fully come,
And what is now but distant fancy, dull and throbbing hum
Will be her life, her joy, her pain; her darkness or her light:
For God and country, king and freedom, must, she must needs fight.
The chains of England must be broken, young prince Charles crowned:
A source of hope, of inspiration must for France be found;
For civil war rakes raging claws through weary, hopeless men,
Who fight and die, and sacrifice, and lose their homes again;
Their gardens, flocks and herds, and treasures, all are swept away:
With nothing left but life itself, and naught to do but pray.

God heard their prayer and sent her there for their deliverance,
To lead them on to victory through every circumstance
Of treachery or deviltry that loomed on every side.
Urged on by all the saints above and martyrs who had died,
She bound her armor to her body, helmet to her head;
A troop of eager soldiers to the Orleans siege she led.
Without a fear she faced the battle, banner held up high;
It filled each fainting heart with spirit, waving in the sky:
Unfailing, never falling, always standing at the fore,
And filling every weary soul with courage to the core.
Though wounded by an arrow striking close beside her heart,
She still pressed on to victory, she played her vital part.
The Maid of Orleans did her best, she held back not at all,
But risked her life at every turn to heed her heav'nly call;
She fought and bled and braved the beast until her king was crowned,
And even then she carried on, she traveled all around:
Each city gained broke off the chains of power-hungry kings,
Who killed to gain another's land, his citizens and things.

Alas! She met her fate at hands that should have helped her cause;
The countrymen she battled sold her to be judged by laws
And men that all disfavored her, yet still she firmly stood,
Proud head held high, two gleaming eyes; she answered best she could
Each twisted question meant to trap her clear but simple mind:
With wit and art she answered each; they really could not find
A cause for death, but death must be for such an enemy
The fate; who sees such visions full of vile heresy,
Of saints and angels revelating mortals with God's plan.
They also charged her with the sin of dressing like a man,
But it was of necessity she donned a soldier's guise;
For all throughout the war-torn realm roamed pairs of hateful eyes
Who did not heed a woman's cries, but did what pleased them best:
They killed or maimed or stained for life from eastern France to west.

So thus it is, not twenty years, they chain her to a stake-
The final chain that no amount of bravery can break.
Within her dress, hugged to her chest, she tucks a wooden cross;
The symbol of the Son of God, who faced such early loss
Of life, and like her was betrayed and mocked and led to die
Without a cause, without a crime, without a reason why.
Ten thousand people press around; she feels the burning heat,
As flames grow hotter, ever hotter- licking at her feet:
But on one thing and one thing only both her eyes are fixed;
Upon the figure held before her- on the crucifix.
And she is thinking of a time that seems so long ago,
When as a girl she used to sit and watch her garden grow;
She'd pick the purple petaled flowers, braid them in her hair;
Her life was simple, pure, and sweet, she hadn't any care
Until Saint Michael gave her calling to her way back then.
But if she had another life, she'd do it all again,
For God and country, king and freedom she could die this death;
And so it was that thus she died, and with her final breath
Her soul and body parted ways, and while her body burned,
Her soul went on to realms unknown, her soul to heav'n returned
Into the hands of He who made her, to the arms of Christ the Lord;
Who made for her a better body, more than just restored.
Here ends the troubles of this maiden, gone are jail cells dark:
Forever live the Maid of Orleans, known as Joan of Arc.



{Written by Isaiah Zerbst. For the first time published on October the 13th, 2014.}

Details | Jail Poem | |

*he MURDERED me*

   he murdered me

I am 21 years old.
I lay here with my body cold

I always gave him the best of me.
Begging for his love on my knee.

I never listened to nobody's advice.
Only to my husbands lies.

He told me that he loved me. 
Beating me till I could no longer see.
 
One day he took me by surprise.
Now everyone around me cries.

It's to late to see he was not the right guy.
It's to late to tell all my loved ones goodbye.

Now I'm in a place where he can't touch me.
In a box called a coffin, only I see..

While you stay and rot behind in jail..
God came and took me away from your hell.

By; P.D.

Details | Jail Poem | |

Goodbye, Saint Joseph's School -- Elton John

*Sung to the tune of Elton John’s “Goodbye Yellow Brick Road.”  Intended to be taken 
humorously.  


“When are you gonna grow up?
It is in jail you will land
You’ll have to stay after class
And I’ll be talking to your old man”


     “You know you can’t hold me forever
     The last school bus is now due
     You can’t rap my knuckles with your ruler now
     Stand in my way and I’ll just run through
     So nah, nah, nah…

     “So goodbye, St. Joseph’s School
     Where the ‘Sisters of Mercy’ were cruel
     The Catholic school’s finally closing
     The lunchroom’s stopped serving gruel

     “I’m taking that bus, might never get off
     Don’t want to face my Dad’s wrath
     Oh, I’ve finally decided to free myself
     And set out on my own path
     So nah, nah, nah…”


“How can you earn a living?
You can’t even spell your name
You’ll be required to take some remedial courses
And stop playing silly head games”


     “Maybe you’ll get a new convent
     I hear there’s some room in Brazil
     Students there might appreciate
     A no-nonsense sister with a voice shrill
     So nah, nah, nah…

     “So goodbye, St. Joseph’s School
     Where the ‘Sisters of Mercy’ were crude
     The altar boys have been set free
     The priests are no longer lewd

     “I’d like to stay, watch them raze it
     The site with torture imposed
     Where skeletons still hide in the closets
     Nevermore to be exposed
     So nah, nah, nah…”



*For John Heck’s “Dear John” contest.  
Those of us who attended St. Joseph’s just learned the school is being closed.  
Although a good education was provided, some students were beaten there repeatedly.  
I feel a good education was provided, but they went overboard with discipline.  

Details | Jail Poem | |

Tattoo of a Broken Heart

It’s raining in the corner
Stripes upon the floor
Bloody knife in a barroom door
Drinking whiskey
From a hollowed out gourd
Full of wasps
That rage in my core
Old man Mason
Got a smile upon his face
He knows the fire
And now I got a taste
Can’t stand up
Can’t lie down
Spinning room 
Going round and round
Lipstick so red and thick
Devils eyes are on my hip
Right hand of the devil
Is a handgun son
I’m shooting dice
I’m shooting everyone
Woke up in a Philippine jail
I’ll sail for Hong Kong
Once I make my bail
They’ll never find me
The only evidence to tell 
Is a tattoo of a broken heart
And a rusty nail

Details | Jail Poem | |

CONTEST BATTLES

CONTEST BATTLES I am a child in weaving poetry, trying and trying my arms of bravery. Hundreds, I posted to jail your eyes to cease a moment; raise your vives! Diving to swim in pools of poem challenges, I plunge to learn and thread the verses unafraid to anyone, competing from no one but myself! A rainbow topics curve to tickle my brain even sending triggers to unlock any gain. Contests' title to the extent blow my peace with the inspiration that afire my train. It ignites me to ink water and blood masterpieces though some of the rules crack my skull but yes! YES, still, I am all enthralled! A mile long smile I have if my poem bags the top podium place with my name only one on that rank as if I have done a slam dunk. This means I understood the rules and satisfied the judges' muse but if I plank and my name none at sight-- a little dismayed then later I'm alright Those honorable mentions, those N/A's, no place even, that I don't really care!!! Bleh! (smile with tongue out! lol!) THOSE ENCOURAGED ME ANYWAY: to write and write! to inspire others! to free my thoughts! to soar on places! to paint in words! Never quitting 'til I gain some points, adding and adding tons of vibrant hues to slowly, slowly relish a life breathing write with a hope that soon-- kindles again a good fight! ©O. E. Guillermo 01:00 pm, December 26, 2014 Sponsor: Jerry T Curtis Contest Name: The Contest Placed 1st

Details | Jail Poem | |

"Black Bird" (spread your wing's)

Spread, your wings and soar on high, stretch forth beyond the particle's in
the sky. Rest on a large branch, look down at the creature's of blacks and
white's. Blackbird ain't its enough to make you cry. Crime soaring high, WHY-
why Blackbird why? No one knows, no-one dare steps forth his best. NOoooo
Black bird they're to busy pointing finger's, they rather listen to the voice of
the confused "stranger". A voice that tells them, take prayers away from school's,
take away their happiness, now the grave yards are full of young one's, some
in jail, to never see success. Soar on Blackbird, fly high and don't dare sit to long.
You see blackbird, the black's doesn't know the song and the whites want's to be
left along.
Spread your wings-my fowls of the air we all must share, as you fly blackbird, as
you are trying to accept the lost and the found, spread your wings Blackbird, we're
not all bad people's. Its just that we're too busy trying to tare each other down.

Details | Jail Poem | |

Riding for Independence

We have been riding for ever so long;
Now our search for our freedom seems to be gone.
We only took; of that which we need;
And we had no tricks; hidden there up our sleeve.

For me it began when the banker came round;
And my daddy's ranch; was burned to the ground.
We were all wanted, with a price on our heads;
And we hoped if they found us, we’d fight till we're dead.

We lived life as outlaws, with weapons at hand;
And if time comes for hanging, we'll die like a man.
But we’re not alone, there are others around;
They're not hard to notice, they’re wearing a frown.

So they're building our gallows, nail by nail;
And we think hard about it, here in this jail.
But we made our choices; and then we got caught;
Yet we lived life as free men, never owned never bought.

From the view out the window, it's people I see;
They're tipping their hats; and smiling at me.
We may be convicted, but we're not disgraced;
And you won't see a tear, running down from our face.
.
So they plan to kill us, but our kind will not end;
There's cowboy’s now out there; who'll ride once again.
Me and the boys, we ran out of time;
But there will be others that come down the line.

So To all of you worms; who crawl in the dung;
You'll never stop hearing, the songs that we've sung.
You're hoping to change us, or get rid of us all;
But if we all ride as free men, perhaps you will fall.

Details | Jail Poem | |

Eve

Woo the woman
Love the lady
Mellow the maiden
Manage the maid
Garnish the girl
Dazzle the damsel
Bar the bimbo
Latch the lass
Silence the siren
Moor the mermaid
Net the nymph
Madden the madam
Tame the tart
Court the courtesan
Nudge the nurse
Null the nun
Shun the spinster
Strap the stewardess
Venerate the virgin
Vex the vixen
Vacate the vamp
Curb the coquette
Con the concubine
Whack the whore
Whip the wench
Pooh-pooh the prostitute
Slam the slut
Harem the harlot
Screw the shrew
Eschew the enchantress
Wallop the witch
Garb Godiva
Jail Jezebel
Dump Delilah
Gore the Gorgons
Harness Hecuba
Xpunge xanthippe
Wed the widow!


~Abdul Malik

Details | Jail Poem | |

One in Four Women

Terror seizes you, and it isn't kind. 
 You try to go somewhere peaceful in your mind.
But the pain rips you right back to here and now.
 Not wanting to give him the satisfaction of even saying "ow."

You try to be strong, but he tears from you, a scream.
 Oh God, please let this be a terrible, terrible dream.
I thought he was supposed to be a friend of mine?
 As the tears grow down my face like vine.
 
He tells me I wanted it, even though I screamed no.
 He says my attitude and outfit told him so.
In the same breath, he threatens me never to tell.
 If they ask why the tears, you better say you fell.

As I got out of the car he pulled me to him and hugged me tight.
 He kissed my forehead and said Don't worry you'll be all right.
Just remember, if you open your mouth, no one will believe a dirty whore.
 Now go inside before I take you for another ride and give you some more.

Into the house and straight into the shower.
 I was in there for what felt like hours and hours.
My grandmother knew right from the start.
 Please don't tell, it would break Daddy's heart.

Please, Grandma he's not worth Daddy going to jail.
 For my sake and his, you can never, ever tell.
She kept her promise and never uttered a word.
 At night, she told me, my cries she heard.

For six weeks I kept my secret and told not another soul.
 For six weeks I sunk deeper and deeper into a hole.
Not until I heard that he raped a fourteen year old girl.
 Knowing I could have prevented it, shattered my world.

I finally told my horror story to the cops and to my Dad.
 I don't think I'd ever seen him so violently mad.
Mike was arrested, but in jail he would not stay.
 He lived around the corner and we had to move away.

He got probation, but not for me, his word against mine.
 I was sixteen, of legal age to consent, so for me he'd get no time.
His punishment, probation for only a couple of years.
 Me and his other victim were left with our fears.

Would he find us and take revenge for what he said was a lie?
 Would my father hunt him down, and go to prison for a rapist to die?
He got away, pretty much scot-free for his deplorable crime.
 His victims were the ones who were serving the time.








This IS a true story, my story, but not my story alone. After 8 years and raping several
other women Mike was sentenced to 35 years in prison. As he pleaded his innocence, we were
all in some way vindicated. He never did a day for brutally raping me, NOT ONE DAMN DAY.
But he's doing plenty now. I hope he gets ALL that he deserves.

Details | Jail Poem | |

Comments Poetry Contest

part one:
i was new and i wasn't sure what to expect i was here to mend. 
before i submitted anything i thought i would get a lay of the land.
 finally i dove in. head first. yikes!
in the shallow end. double yikes!

part two:
 dear reader after that tumultuous beginning of this harrowing tale 
we continue with part two. (scary movie music plays to no avail)
boy oh boy this is really scary stuff
back to the story, though a little rough 

(as an aside did i mention i have big feet their long fellows)

part three:
the time had come. 
this is no time to be dumb.
had a poem to submit. one with a lot of wit
"roses are red 
violets are blue
some poems rhyme
some poems don't"
i couldn't enter this poem it  was written by Shakespeare and that would be 
plagiarism 
(note to self look up the meaning of that big word i just wrote. it is a big word like 
marmalade)

 part eight:
so there i was reading my first comment. i couldn't believe what i was reading.

the words were kind and helpful
could this be true
i had expected something brittle
i grabbed a tissue

tears were streaming down my face
i thought this is a fantastic place
the poets here are quite amazing
talk about baffling and confusing 

this was a lot better than
the time i had spent in jail
in the country of iran
a small room and a pail

do you know what that comment said
"i read this while lying in my bed
i thought it was quite romantic 
actually even really poetic"

part twenty:
Fini

(in my own defense the rules said use any style. this is a form the french call 
poetry of the absurd...or not!)

Maurice Yvonne
Comment Poetry Contest
August 25 2014

Details | Jail Poem | |

Harsh My Mellow

Everyone is so uptight.
I just came to drink and they all wanna fight.
Some sixfoot seven pissed off dude.
Just blacked my eye.
Cause his girlfriend just happened to be in the mood.

Got thrown in jail after I eat some special brownies
and decided to go to the library naked to read othello.
Cops tazed me twice.
Why does everyone have to harsh my mellow.

They wont let me return to the local bar.
Just cause last week I crashed into it with my car.
Everybody thinks I should hang it up but Im no quitter.
Just cause I misplaced a couple of kids.
In my last foray as beng a babysitter.


I swear to tell the truth eventhough Im a liar.
How was I to know the gas grill in the living room
would catch the house on fire.

Im a crook a drunk and a liar but other than that im a
nice fellow.
Just cause i enjoy a few cocktails while driving the school bus.
Why does everyone think they gotta 
harsh my mellow

Details | Jail Poem | |

Sawney Bean, legend of a cannibal - written in broad Scots dialect

Thar was nae richt ae laddie sair
wha heft a cave 'side Galloway,
wi' nae jaiken he griftit dare
as he was nae tae lippen tae.

Ill-naitur'd  fishwife he haud in wi',
the twa 'greed tae gang the'gither.
She haud her tryst, an' haud her wheesht,
his ill-duin vext her wi' nae dither.

Wi' dirk in hand at howe o' nicht
in fu' ambush thay lay waitin',
skilt o' fecht an' breukin' neck
grantin' flesh for desecratin'.

Than brochten hame an' ne'er spill
tae weil wi' kale an' roastit wean,
for Clootie's gut,  ae meal an' yill
'afore wan cotchit Sawney Bean.

King James the fourth heard o't a'
an' sent oot four hunner men
tae scour the Heid an' gaither a'
o' Sawney's unco clan.

Tae Tolbooth Gaol, than aff tae Leith
whar nae mercy wad be seen
wi' sic brutality tae bequeath
at the quarterin' o' Sawney Bean.




Rough translation, not nearly as poetic!:

There was a crazy, angry man
who inhabited a cave near Galloway
with no skilled trade he dared to grift
and he was not to be trusted.

An ill-natured fishwife he gained in favor
and the two agreed to marry.
She kept her word and held her tongue,
his ill-doing did not bother her.

With dirk in hand at midnight
in full ambush they lay waiting,
skilled at fighting and breaking necks,
granted them flesh for desecration.

They brought it home with nothing wasted,
to mix with kale and roasted child.
For the devils gut, a meal and ale,
before the capture of Sawney Bean.

King James the fourth heard of it all
and sent out four hundred men
to scour the Head and gather all
of Sawney's notorious clan

To Tolbooth Jail, then off to Leith
Where no mercy would be seen
with such brutality to bequeath
at the quartering of Sawney Bean



GLOSSARY:

nae richt- mentally unbalanced (literally 'not right')
heft- to settle or establish a dwelling place
nae jaiken- without a skilled trade or craft
griftit-to use dishonest or illegal methods for personal gain 
nae tae lippen tae-  not trustworthy
haud in wi'- obtained favor from
gang the'gither- unite as in marriage (literally 'go together')
haud her tryst- kept her word
haud her wheesht- kept her silence
ill-duin- wrong, perverse or ill-behavior (literally 'ill-doing')
howe o' nicht- midnight
Clootie- the Devil
ae meal an' yill-a traditional dish, served with whisky or ale, consumed at celebrations
wan-one
unco- strange, notorious, extraordinary
quarterin'-  punishment by severing the hands and feet (and usually genitals) resulting in a fatal loss of blood.

Details | Jail Poem | |

A Ghost's Testimony Co-written with Jack Horne

*NOTE:  Jack and I wonder how many of you have heard of the Zona Shue case – 
an American murder victim who had revenge in Virginia in the late 1800s.
Zona was killed by her husband, Edward Shue, who then took elaborate steps to 
cover his crime.  In an attempt to disguise Zona’s broken neck, Edward dressed her 
corpse in a scarf and high necked dress, stuffed her coffin with pillows (to support 
her vertebrae) and refused to allow even the doctor near the body. 

     However, Zona appeared to her mother and revealed the truth. Following 
exhumation and an autopsy, Edward was found guilty of murder.  It was the only 
case in American history where information provided by a ghostly apparition was 
admitted as evidence for consideration by jurors.

     Jack and I are co-sponsoring a contest on ghost poems.  Our co-write "A Ghost's 
Testimony" below will give you an idea what we're seeking in entries.


"A Ghost's Testimony"

"She must have fallen down the stairs:
A tragic accident," he said.
"I've washed her body, laid her out -
Oh, Doctor Knapp, my Zona's dead!"
 
       "No accident!  Shue broke my neck.
       Mother, please hear my ghostly plea.
       Take him to court and make him pay;
       It's murder in the first degree."
 
“I’ve dressed her in her high necked frock…
Thought pillows by her neck looked fine…
 She’d want to wear this scarf,” he wept.
“But no one touch the corpse - she’s mine!”
 
       "Thanks, Mom, for bringing this to court.
       The autopsy was not done right!
       With malice Shue cut my life short.
       Exhume my body; shed some light."
 
“Her mother wants to see me hang,
But she can’t prove my guilt,” he fumed.
“She claims the body sheet turned red, 
And wants to have my wife exhumed.”
 
       "The judge disagreed and allowed
       My spirit world testimony.
       Shue, my killer, was not so proud;
       A death in jail for this phony!"

Details | Jail Poem | |

The Uninvited Guest

2009 and the expenses scandal
Made Gordon Brown, the Prime Minister, lament
So John Bercow, was appointed new ‘Speaker’
To be ‘The Commons’ new broom, was his intent

But he was faced, with an unlikely challenge
In his efforts to clean up ‘the house’
For running loose, in his official residence
Was a small, grey, furry, wily mouse

‘The Speaker’s’ efforts to entrap his visitor
All failed, with equal measure 
So Sally, his wife, used her ‘Twitter’ account
To seek help on catching the creature

“Eeek, we have a mouse!” she did post
“And under the dish washer it’s run,
It’s Sunday, and the ‘mouse-catcher’s’ day off
Can someone tell me – what can be done?”

“My husband’s been ever so manly
But all of his efforts have failed,
Please can someone come up with a plan
To put this small rodent in jail?”

Suggestions came from near and far,
But all of them failed to succeed
The mouse still evaded the Bercow’s grasp
This led Labour MP, Gordon Prentice, to plead

To ‘The Commons’, “Why not have a resident cat
To rid ‘The House’ of the mouse population?”
But the members said, “No – that’s inhumane
We prefer control over eradication 

This ‘House’ has stood for centuries, and,
There’s always been a problem with mice
But to bring in a cat, to kill them all
Well, the voters wouldn’t consider that, nice!

That’s why Parliament employs the ‘mouse-catcher’
To monitor and control the pests
So, until he can catch the Bercow’s mouse,
They’ll just have to live with their uninvited guest!”

Details | Jail Poem | |

Punished

                            ~ Punished~
                        
One evening with her dad she met this man at a bar very
handsome well mannered visiting from England.
After a few visits she started feeling him approaching her 
with nice compliments.

His attention made her fall In love with him
For months he took her out running to the beach 
shouting out loud I love your body i love your eyes
you’ll never belong to nobody but me.
 
On a moonlight night he was holding her so tight 
kissing her lips caressing her tits expressing his 
desire to light up the fire that was burning in their
entire body and soul.

As he was her first this is what she thought at the 
beginning she was very reserved yet she liked the 
fire she was feeling they were new to her his kissing 
was sensuous he smelled lovely he was caressing her
hair while sitting on the sand she was so taken by her
thoughts suddenly she heard.

Oh my darling let me love you my way let me make you 
my woman without any delay I beg you to give up and 
stop the fight I am promising at the same time to marry 
you very soon I will ask your dad that you will become my 
wife next Sunday at soon.

She wanted to believe him her head was spinning her heart
was beating to the sounds of his powerful movements
she was reaching the sky so quickly sensations of ecstasy 
she was feeling with his compliments whispering his love 
to her out loud while she was dreaming of the marriage 
as being lifted up on a carriage listening to the horses 
tapping on the course to the hotel room where they will 
spend their honeymoon as she will become that bride 
at noon.

Before even her dreams were over she felt him suddenly 
role over and ran away with no delay she could not understand
why ? Why? Did he leave with no good-bye.

Not realizing she was undressed hurried to get dressed ran to look 
from side to side asking herself why did he hide he promised me 
to be his bride? even if she was yet a child.

She sat where they loved each other looking at the ocean maybe
he will come back he must he told her he is in love.

Already it was dark in a low voice having no choice she ran 
home straight to her room wiping her running tears and fears
covering her feet to feel some heat and fell asleep not to see
her dad as maybe tomorrow he will come back with an 
explanation to his act. 

Hoping not to be deceived and very soon to be relieved
when he ‘ll knock on their door and swipe her off her feet 
tell her dad to fix their marriage.

She waited for days and days but that day never came 
she knew then it was only a game and she`ll never see 
him again and will never be the same.
                          
That early morning she woke up before her dad to cheer up 
herself for him not to doubt she had maybe made a huge 
mistake.
Having her coffee she pulled the newspaper and screamed
Oh Oh the man she loved was an addicted rapist being 
searched from the Interpol in England, he had convinced 
everybody doctors and nurses that he was cured.

Continuing to read she read his history that he was battling 
addiction of raping teenagers for the past twenty years. Lived
most of the time in jail.
She cried and cried she was raped by an addicted rapist who
was never cured.
                             
She could not eat or drink not knowing what to think 
while running to the sink that’s when she found out 
but couldn’t shout that she was carrying a rapist child. 

Where are you? She thought you were honest
But you were only an ordinary man still battling
your addiction.

Forgive me Oh My God! Her dad
forgave her out of love to his innocent daughter.

She had to keep her child and trusted herself
to bring him up not like his father.
And she did her son became an international lawyer.

   Therese Bacha
      27/5/2013
Contest for PD....Any Poem Goes.

Details | Jail Poem | |

Taxed to the Hilt

My hero is Henry David Thoreau
Rather than pay taxes, to jail he’d go
     With Uncle Sam’s hand out
     Thoreau turned up his snout
Refused the poll tax, voting he’d forego

An elderly woman across the street
High property taxes she could not meet
     Her house went to foreclosure
     Homeless, died of exposure
While the politicians live on High Street

Jonah dwelt in the belly of a whale
No taxes on such a home did prevail
      But as soon as he got out
     Jonah faced taxes no doubt
Moby Dick's "inner condo" is for sale



Entry for the Taxing Times contest

Details | Jail Poem | |

Laughter The Best Medicine

Forty years of married life, the couple set out to celebrate
Fine dining beautiful wine, and a waltz with stumbling gait
Turning to her husband she demands for him to remember details
Quickly he answers, “Yes darling, your beautiful dress, my hat and tails.”

He walked beside her hand in hand she notices a tear drop that falls
Thinking he’s sentimental she demands to know what he does recall
Sighing wistfully looking at the stars he tells her, it was before they did wed
Your father had a shotgun, he said if I didn’t turn up I'd wish I was dead.

“Why do you remember that, is there nothing more romantic you can say?”
The virago of a wife demands more memories of the wedding day…
The husband sighs “He said he would send me to jail for forty years at the very least“ 
I just had a thought, if I hadn’t married you, tomorrow would be my day of release……


© 28/11/2012~GG~ 

Entry for Laughter The Best Medicine sponsored by Vie

Details | Jail Poem | |

Its Christmas Time in Dodge City

(To the tune of Silver Bells) Wooden sidewalks, and the shop fronts, Dressed in wild western style In the jail there’s a feeling of Christmas Cattle mooing, cowboys shooting Riding mile after mile And down at the Long Branch you hear Silver spurs, silver spurs It’s Christmas time in Dodge City Jing-a-ling, saloon girls sing Soon it will be Christmas day. Mobs in street fights try to stay polite While they bleed red and scream As the towns folk rush home To take cover Hear the jaws crunch See the kids bunch It’s Matt Dillon’s big scene As he catches the rustlers you’ll hear Silver spurs, silver spurs It’s Christmas time in Dodge City Jing-a-ling, saloon girls sing Soon it will be Christmas day. Silver spurs, silver spurs Soon it will be Christmas day. Soon it will be Christmas day.
When we travel in the car we sing to the radio. The other night, Silver Bells came on and I sang Dodge City to make my wife laugh.

Details | Jail Poem | |

Patradoot or The Messenger 29 /Many


Patradoot or The Messenger29 /Many 
  
English version by  Ravindra K Kapoor 
Originally written in Hindi by my 
Late father Dr. Amar Nath Kapoor


These young boys and girls,  were brought up,  
By their parents, with great love and affection, 
Now they are mad, in love for their motherland,
To show the splendors of their youthful energy.

They are ready even to sacrifice their heads,
What to say of body pains and tortures inflicted on them, 
By seeing such fearlessness and energy of their youth,
Even the enemy gets ashamed of, dear letter.

Triloki was one of these young boys, 
Who happily took bullets on his chest, dear letter,
And kept on moving ahead without withdrawing,
Keeping the dignity of our nation and Satyagraha.

DESCRIPTION OF MY CITY ALLAHABAD

You will find my beautiful city Allahabad,* 
In an ecstasy and full of rapture, flowing in it’s air,
When you will move on its roads and streets,
Along with the Postman, dear letter.

Ravindra

Kanpur India 12th August 2010                        to continue in 30

Clarifications:

* Allahabad		Also know as Prayag or Triveni is the most ancient city
                                    of India, where river Ganga and Yamuna now meets at
                                    the holy place called Sangam.


Protected as per Poetry Soup’s copy write protections 

Note:
If any reader who is not a member of Poetry soup
Has any question or queries, they can 
Send me an email on kapoor_skk@yahoo.com

Patradoot in Hindi was originally written by my late father 
Dr. Amar Nath Kapoor around  1932, who was a freedom fighter.

He wrote Patradoot in Hindi, when he was kept in Faizabad Jail for quite
a long time. The Epic was written as a gift for my mother and it was
sent to her secretly from Faizabad Jail. He was imprisoned
by the British, as he was fighting for India's freedom 
under the leadership of Mahatma Gandhi. He was imprisoned 
many times during 1920 to 1947. After India’s
independence as a true follower of Gandhi Dr. Amar Nath 
Kapoor left active politics and devoted rest of his life in 
writing easy mass literature and wrote many Dramas, 
Poetry books, epics. All his other literary 
works were mainly written from 1955 to 1990. 
He left this mortal world in 1994. 















  




Details | Jail Poem | |

Rarely Spoken Words

Rarely Spoken Words 

Rarely Spoken Words
 
"Please forgive me, I was wrong" -- 
" when I thought I was right "....
 
If you ever hear those
rarely spoken words keep
them near your soul... 
 
If the person that spoke them without
coercing-stood strong against their ego- 
Liken to a rare jewel ,they are.
You can trust them to shine;

They have the fortitude of integrity
Which is the thread of friendship's lifeline
as they will be most unlikely to
deceive you in relationship's.
 
Those who be sprinkling fairy dust on their 
mistakes, are not really sorry,they will
wound you all over before you are-
recuperated they will injure you again. 
 
You need stay clear. 
 
Remove them like a dart in your heart.
 
From most you will never hear those 
 
"Rarely Spoken Words" 
 
I apologize"my fault- 
 
"My bad" - "You are right".

Unless spoken from a jail cell.

Details | Jail Poem | |

Winter Blues

Old winter's bite has bruised my cheek
like parchment my thin skin crackles.  
Indoors I hide, my bones creak,
my fragile form in cold shackles. 
Unwanted guest please desist, oh leave,
return the warmth of sunny skies
and springtime's gentle flowery weave.
Be gone, go, this aged maiden cries.
For I've no use for your howling,
your ice lakes or snowy trees;
there's no sense in all your growling
jail key's which rattle don't appease. 
So, leave me now, go softly, go
silently, sweetly, take the snow.


Date: 1/26/13