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Prison Son Poems | Prison Poems About Son

These Prison Son poems are examples of Prison poems about Son. These are the best examples of Prison Son poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | ABC |

My Life, My Choice

    As I sit here all alone, nothing on t.v. and nobody on
the phone. 

    As crazy as it may sound, my heartbeat is the only
noise around.

    While living here in town, I should just enjoy the 
peace. I often hear in the distance, the sirens of police.

    One man down, the other takes flight. This is the ruins
of another senseless fight.

    A child loses a father, a mother loses a son, all to a
coward who chose to use a gun.

    A void in their hearts no one can fill. Only in time, their
pain will heal.

   As this coward sits to unwind, he's haunted by his past. It's
fresh in his mind.

    As he ponders on the choice he has made, this is one 
memory that will never fade.

    All he could think of was his family and what he's done. His
child loses a father, his mother loses a son...All behind his
choice to use a gun

Copyright © Anissa Turner | Year Posted 2015

Details | Verse |

Through A Prison Glass

You came unexpectedly, and i was surprised,
you smiled and placed your hand on the glass and cried.
I leaned my head against the glass and told you i am sorry,
i whisper through the phone line, ill start a new story.

You knew i was innocent but you still didn't believe me,
the only person i thought that would stay by my side but you couldn't be. 
Mom standing by your side and not wanting to talk,
i got really upset that you came at all cause i didn't want to see you walk. 

I needed you, when i was in need,
i was there for you when ever you didn't want to bleed.
I loved you and i cherished you with all my heart,
but before you left your words hit me like a really sharp dart.

You said i failed you,
you cried to me and i knew it was true.
But i needed you to understand me,
but you went your way and upset me.

The glass is now empty and i cant find you even with the fact that I'm out,
i tell you i love you but all you do is shout. 
I've lost you for good this time, 
so i think i have to do one more crime. 

Copyright © Roman Chebukin | Year Posted 2012

Details | Rhyme |

Arrested for selling Weed

I got in trouble because of my greed.
I was arrested because I sold weed.
I thought I was being smart, I thought that my Grass was well hid.
But the Police found it and I was made to pay the price for what I did.

After I was arrested, my house and land were confiscated.
My family had lived there for generations, I was devastated.
For two centuries, that land was handed down from father to son.
But because of my stupidity, it will no longer be handed to anyone.

When I went to jail, my son went to live with his Aunt.
He no longer looks me in the eyes and I'm ashamed because he can't.
Please don't make the same mistake that I made.
I broke the law and because of what I did, I paid.

(Even though this is a fictional poem, it is a very bad idea to sell Marijuana or other drugs.)

Copyright © randy johnson | Year Posted 2014

Details | Lyric |

Tie One On

My Daddy was a good man
Son of a preacher man
When I looked at Paw, I often saw
A Bible in his hands

Well, he lived a good example
Bless his heart, he's dead and gone
I wasn't walking in his shoes
When I learned to tie one on

Lots of whiskey overcame
The clean living I had learned
To the demon in the bottle
'Seems like overnight I turned

My daddy raised me better
He taught me right from wrong
I wasn't walking in his shoes
When I learned to tie one on

When they hauled me off to prison
I thought they threw away the key
Bars and painted women
Turned to bars of steel for me

Last night I dreamed an angel
Spoke my name in solemn tones
He said...Here's your daddy's shoes.... boy
Learn to tie one on

Now it's back to the roots
Of an upright family tree
Back to the example
My daddy was to me

I've walked through the darkness
But now I see the dawn
I wasn't walking in his shoes
When I learned to tie one on 

His shoes are a little big
But I've learned to tie one on!

Written by Chuck Melugin

Copyright © Chuck Melugin | Year Posted 2017

Details | Rhyme |


I'm holding in my anger 
Knowing I'd die to be the strangler
Of his sour-little coward-brittle throat 
I'm just mad not literal
But when your dad's a criminal
There's a  minimal amount of father hope
It doesn't bother me no, 
But it keeps haunting me so
I will keep wandering not knowing where to go
No Padre in my home
What an odd-way to be grown
I guess God made me to be alone.
While you and your dad are sittin fishin 
I'm visitin my dad in prison 
My only mission is too inform you what you're not missin 
Because while your parents are laughing and kissin 
I'm starin havin to listen to my dad share his caring "wisdom"

Copyright © Cam Mac | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse |

Little Old Me

I could still hear the dogs
When I got to the water.
They were close by.
Sniffing, Searching
All this fuss
Just to find little old me.

I'm a nobody.
I'm not important.
At least that's what I was told each night
When my father would read me a drunken bedtime story
And then "love" me until I bled.
We didn't talk about those things in our small town.

So I lived with my secret.
I let it boil inside me like hot water
Until one day, when that pot of water overflowed,
The day my father put his hands on my mother.
When I saw him swing, I blacked out,
And when I came to, he was bleeding, and I was holding the knife.

I ran away from home, all the way to the river,
And I jumped off the bridge.
When I hit the water, I realized what I had done.
Gasping for air, thrashing my arms.
Praying for forgiveness,
Promising to go back to church.

That's what it felt like the night I escaped.
I jumped in the water,
Colder than ice, and I couldn't touch.
The current was too strong.
It swept me under and I couldn't breathe.
So I held my breath and found the shore.

And now I'm here,
Where everything started,
In my old bedroom, same Superman sheets
Same soccer trophies on the dresser.
And you. Are you the same?
My mother, the one who turned me in.

You did it again, didn't you?
You called the police.
After all I've done for you? 
After I saved your life?
I'm sorry it had to come to this.
Be still mother, you won't feel a thing.

Copyright © Carson Searcy | Year Posted 2016

Details | ABC |

Prison Song/Love Prison

Hands and feet shackled
You are traped and can't get out
Doing time away from me and our son 

Love, god,and our son is making you strong
You are in place you don't want to be
I miss you like crazy 

The life we was going to have we will have in time
You are sick of that place 
You have to keep a low profile
How can we deal with this 

I'm not going to cry because I can't anymore 
I am going to be strong for you and our son
I feel like my hands and feet are shackled too but not in that way

I am in love with you and in the love prison
Think about a special place and me 
We can be in the love prison together

We will be together in time in the love prison
I can't wait til you get out of the other prison
I still love you 
I have your back til the day I die
I am not going to leave you
I am never going to leave  this love prison that we are in
Prison Song/Love Prison

Vanessa Brown-Woodberry

For my Husband Antwan Woodberry I love you Baby

Copyright © Vanessa Brown | Year Posted 2007

Details | Ballade |

RECIPE: Poulet Roti French Style -Le Chant Royal - Instalment 4

RECIPE: "Poulet Roti" French Style - Le Chant Royal (Instalment 4)

(Note: Rhyme scheme of “Le Chant Royal” where capital “E“stands for refrain, thus – Stanza: ababccddedE, Envoi: ddedE)

The idea's to pluck the chicken naked dead
But to keep it alive so long as there's fun
Stick pins and needles all the time on its head
So that when the COQ crows you know the bird's done
Was Marquis de Sade Torquemada's agent
The Socialist Mayor now out on tangent
Wishing spindle glass tower turns ivory
To keep him in power sans democracy
Get henchmen to preach comeuppance damnation 
Tighten screws on chicken spit sans clemency
Now that lame bird can't fly away sans nation

          Vain Socialist pique harks back to idiocy
          Lax morals sport with intellect's papacy
          Skinned and spiked chicken calls for condemnation
          Do Napoléons fear Waterloo or Holy See
          Now that lame bird can't fly away sans nation

(c) T. Wignesan - Paris, 2017

Copyright © T Wignesan | Year Posted 2017