Best Jailers Poems
My hands hold the bars
I’m a good prisoner
Hoping to be let out for good behaviour
Head down
not meeting my jailers eyes
At night when the lights are off
When the moon is in the sky
When men cough and moan in the darkness
I reach through the bars towards the stars
My finger traces that golden orb
My mind explores pin pricks of silver
Traveling light years in mere seconds
no longer held by concrete and steel
When my jailers look at me
They don’t realize that I am a free man
Only my body is held in this place
Where a man’s thoughts travel
there resides his soul
Men are held in many prisons
Expectations
Past traumas
Loveless marriages
Addictions
Regrets
They think
“If I hold onto the bars
keep my head down
Perhaps I’ll get out early for good behaviour?”
All the while not realizing that when they face a mirror
they are looking into their jailer’s eyes.
I was inspired to write this poem because of the true nature of this brave Holy man, St Valentine. It tells the story of courage, compassion and resilience in the face of adversity but above all it is a love story. Love is eternal, it extends beyond this realm and in the end love was his salvation.
St Valentine was executed in Rome on the 14th February in the third century AD.
Saint Valentine was a priest who lived in the third century AD.
He was sentenced to death but no criminal was he.
The emperor of Rome, Claudius was his name, forbid his soldiers to marry throughout his reign. He feared a wife would make his men weak, their prospects for victory on the battle field bleak. These were his predictions for a soldier who is wed, to be laying in the dirt wounded or dead.
Saint Valentine was a man with a higher vocation to heal the souls of men, from every station. In secret the couples he did wed, allowing soldiers to take a wife to their bed. Claudius was angry and he took his revenge, Valentine was to be executed and his life was to end.
Imprisoned Valentine love he did find, his jailers daughter was both beautiful and kind, and what should have been his darkest of days turned out to be his happiest in so many ways. History tells us that when the day came for his life to end, an urgent letter to his girl he did send. This letter of true love he then did sign.
From your Valentine.
I walk in a busy street, happy faces everywhere
Coats buttoned tight against the cold,
Stomachs full, warm shoes on their feet.
They don't know.
My grandparents limped through the streets
Cold, starving, wearing tattered coats.
Barefoot in Germany in winter, for a crime of birth
Convicted by fear, jealousy and hate.
It is autumn, and all around me the colors explode
As if a giant splattered paint from his brush
On the landscape, his canvass, until sated.
He didn't know.
My family endured colorless years
The only hue the yellow stars they were forced to wear
To mark each as something less than a person,
Exempt from even the most basic human rights.
There's a chill in the air this time of year
Smoke billows from the chimneys of dozens of homes
And bonfires litter the neighborhood like cinders
They don't know
My mother can't see a chimney without crying
Reminders of the chimneys at the camp
Where her friends, relatives and nameless Jews
Were released as grey smoke to hover and signal release.
Everyday I see people covered in tattoos.
Tattoo shops pop up offering expensive artwork
Anywhere on the body, some covering every inch.
They don't know.
My mother had a tattoo way before they were popular.
She did not choose it -- it was forced upon her by her jailers.
A number tattooed in black on the inside of her arm
Her only hope of being identified if she survived.
The children born today have choices,
And must never allow a "Holocaust" again;
Choices to wear, eat, watch, think, and love what and who they want.
Make sure they know.
Each time I raise my gaze to the night sky,
A million stars stare back, shedding happy tears of light.
And I cannot but stare back in delight,
Wondering which one of them holds your great soul.
Tell me, Old Nelson, do they--these stars--still shine upon
you?
Heaven should grant that they do,
For like them your example still shines upon us, pointing
to us the true north of life--
And, oh yes, this one great lesson: that life's struggles will
endure our stumbles but never our mumbles.
Yes! Our hopes may fall and our fortunes dip, but on their
feet our voices must keep.
Twenty-seven years did rough chains bind your feet,
And twenty-seven years did they girdle your breast,
But not once--never--did they bind your voice.
"Only free men can negotiate," you scoffed at your jailers,
scorning to barter your ideals for your freedom;
And to that crooked Boer court: "A free South Africa is the
great ideal for which I live, and if need be it is the one ideal
for which I will die."
Then to a bleeding, seething nation: "Let's break with the past."
From the flesh of these words a new nation was carved for
white, brown, and black alike.
Twinkle for twinkle it matches the skies,
And in its bosom you now rest forever: quiet, contented,
victorious!
Send the convicts to the jails -
Local jails! -
What a world of confinement as their court case fails
Hear the jingle, jingle, jingle
Of the handcuffs as they walk
Now with men they only mingle
They may as well be single
Doing time, time, time,
For a thoughtless bungled crime
As their ratting, pigeon, stoolie partners send them with their tales
To the jails, jails, jails, jails,
Jails, jails, jails -
To the friendly and the cleanly local jails
Send the felons to the jails -
Fed'ral jails!
What a world of isolation as the judge prevails!
Hear the hammer, hammer, hammer,
In the dead and dark of night
As they're locked into the slammer!
All the other inmates clamor
To the jailers delight
Doing time, time, time,
For a botched "ruinic" crime
Which not admitted but committed and their last appeal fails
While in jails, jails, jails, jails,
jails, jails, jails -
While in insufficient and deficient jails
Unbearable thoughts barreling through my head
Decaying in this silent chamber...
Where I desperately cry for help
Words come out useless...I have no capability to yelp
They haven't collapsed in the hands of the unforgiving jail-keeper
This pain grows in my bones...making me weaker
No one bothers to consider me
Circulated by envious glory
That snicker at my carrion body as it drops in dripping failures
Dragged by the sickening thought of living with jailers
As if i had no outlook to life...
I'm still placed in this cold-heartened chamber
Because I'm drenched in silence...
haunted by the deafening atmosphere
sensing a load of terrorized fear
Shame embraced me, never leaving my presence
Cautious of the hovering thoughts,
transforming itself into my dreadful, panicky past
This hopelessness doesn't seem to matter
In this chamber of deceitfulness
Someday...hopefully Someday...
This silent chamber will shatter
For now, I'll abide in this loathsome,
silent chamber
Until God, My Savior, will shatter this wretched place
Into smithereens
when I heard
Miss Piggy laugh,
on those days ?
I would be OK
between the oceans
of pain, we had paddled
to meet
plastic bags of magic
hanging from fishing poles
wheeled in, by flying nuns
with blessings
of water and love,
we divined ways to forget,
the moments in minutes
when agony pushes through
to shave another piece off
our shared sheer will,
and eating the pieces
were the demons
we all harbor,
unwilling jailers
of repeat offenders
spot our roll-call
barf jokes became
our Da Vinci Code,
and when one of us
started losing ground
it was you who brought
us back around,
the eternal clown
no frowns allowed
rest in Elysian fields
my darling,
in the wee hours
eternity crept from eyes
and misted with disbelief,
from the oceans we traveled
we drink a drop
to you our funny love,
and damn all sorrow
to another day
Red hue adorns the western sky
As the blazing sun descends
Tears fall freely from my eyes
Prayers stifled, as daylight ends
Frightened and alone, in this cell
Sleep would bring welcome relief
From the fear, beginning to swell
Testing my will, testing my belief
Judas Iscariot, was my betrayer
Jealousy and greed, sinful traits
A single kiss delivered his savior
Choosing death, sealing his fate
The jailers adorn me with a crown
My body is beaten and bruised
In their sins they have drowned
Proclaiming me, King of the Jews
A faithful son, obeying his father
Accepting, my preordained ending
From his will I would never falter
My love for humankind is unending
Hands opened, exposing the palms
Screaming, as metal pierces the skin
Tearfully reciting my favorite psalm
Sacrificial lamb, for imagined sin
My father watching from above
As out of control my life careens
Ignoring the prayers from the dove
Turning away, refusing to intervene
I was preordained for crucifixion
For the Gentiles and Jews alike
Freely offering eternity in heaven
Ask forgiveness, receive salvation
A true advantage
Is to be angry with your head
And not your heart.
This is how good men win wars,
And smart women win arguments.
And this is the story
Of how I finally learned the difference.
Darkness lit by bright green bulbs
Reveals a thousand mouths,
Taped and caged.
And while bound, I still walk free
And so decide to tempt my torture,
Procured by bright green tape.
I slip the cat my tongue to eat
Though uneasy, I smile.
Yes, I rebelled.
I plotted and protested all on my own,
Stood strong as stone
As the jokers, they taunted
And the mud at me flew.
Punish me for it if you must.
Hang me from the gallows at high noon,
Make me walk the plank.
Make me stand on the scaffold like
Hester Prynne,
With the letter T for treason sewn
To my breast.
A dunce cap does not make one a fool,
And shaming me will not make me ashamed.
But I was wrong, I was wrong.
I had it out for the jailers,
Who weren't jailers after all.
Just tell them all I'm sorry,
Tell those wide-eyed kids I'm sorry.
Tell those taped mouths and
Their skeletons
Me poenitet
To the bridge I said, "Don't kill me"
As I struck and threw the match
Now if he would please
Excuse me
As I step off his back
And would someone remind me that
What I did, I thought was best
The worst flames, it is said,
Are the ones that you begin
I let apologies cast down like rain,
White blossoms as white flags
To cool the singed portions
Of the bridge.
Inhale the smoke like I deserve
Then clear my lungs
And journey on.
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
PRAISE ELISHA'S GOD IN HEAVEN!
"Go dip in the Jordon", he said;
The prophet who must surely be mislead,
But after travelling to Israel,
I will test this cure though it fail.
ONE
I dipped myself in that dirty trickle
Laughing to think God's favour so fickle,
As to above the rivers of Assyria choose
This little wilderness ooze.
TWO
I went in for my second dip,
with a curl of scorn upon my lip:
"Told you this Jordon trick was no good,"
Teach me to believe an Israelite this would!
THREE
As for the third time I dived under,
I had a tiny hope it would work a wonder;
If this was going to bring me some ease,
I should have seen lessening of the disease.
FOUR
As up from my fourth dip I came,
Looking, feeling and smelling the same:
I threw myself down upon the bank,
For my heart was turning rank.
FIVE
Five washes and I began to ponder Elisha's word.
Why set the Captain of Assyria a mime so absurd?
Didn't he know I could drag him off with jailers,
Sentenced for impudence and sorcery failures?
SIX
If I could feel the cold I would shiver,
Six times I have dipped myself in this river,
Across my form the illness still loomed,
To be a leper, it seemed I was doomed.
SEVEN
I am cold and my head is all aspin,
Now the water tingles against my skin;
If I didn't know any better,
I would say I was no longer a leper!
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
PRAISE ELISHA'S GOD IN HEAVEN!
I was an ignorant fool,
To despise this little pool;
Now in loud song,
I acknowledge I was wrong!
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
PRAISE ELISHA'S GOD IN HEAVEN
Cecelia Hopkins
She'll be rather willing to be burnt
on the stakes forgotten
than sleep and wake in the jailers chains
watching her purpose gather up dust.
Rake her charred remains
heap upon heap among others
that died trying
She'll smile till the last, pleased.
Call her weak and wait but a week for a shocker to be hatched up her sleeves
Her make up is as good as war paint
In the battlefield of her mind
She'll smile - you'll think the sun is tucked in her mouth.
Strong woman walking carelessly over weighed rules
drunk with queenly demand as she staggers
you'll hear the music her feet makes crushing beneath her feet old
paintings of black woman.
Piece by piece where the moon
is absent to grace the nightsky
She'll complete the puzzle
of the woman in her dreams.
The wildest panthers are not odds enough to stop her
Conquest drums
drums hard in her chest that they'll flee cowardly.
She has stopped feeding her past with her precious tears
She can hear destiny clearer now
Time now whispers than weep
Imploring, beckoning
She'll blow a kiss to heaven from her bed
giving a million reasons
like arms of jealous lovers to keep her unexplored.
Her generation groans
She hears them from the future
They cry for water
They cry for fire
For a worthy one who has gone through them
She is on her way
with the strides of a big cat.
There is no need to believe in her
where grace flows ceaselessly
to reassure her.
Adore her sores
Not weep ruefully
Its for the shore Beulah.
Through your telescope you will watch her
Sit on the brightest of stars with teary eyes still caught looking up to God.
We peep through grated beams in the dark confines,
Kept in chains by the tyranny of audacious jailers,
unending cynosure of profligates and imposters:
ruining the destinies of million wearied sufferers.
criminals fit for the gallows,
morons from the days of the colony.
dictators in military attires.
and simpletons kept in power for temporary ease.
our heirloom forced from us by old monsters.
cabals of criminals, greedy goons, men untutored in reputation.
Felons and rapscallion from the military barracks,
too old for modern ideas.
we are burdened along by colonial tyranny,
in a country where destinies are suspended in the gale,
and youths are forced into their own crimes of stealing.
we could not speak our sentiment freely.
we are fettered and riveted by their guns.
The sword above us, tyranny of archaic mind.
dreamy theorist acting as lords over multitudes of docile lots.
men made to cringe and fawn bowing and stooping to the
threatening of their guns.
They armed assassins and sufferers alike,
paid a trifling sum from the proceeds of corruption,
to keep the masses away from them as old baron loot the treasury,
this open prison of fancied freedom,
where marauders employed by the states with a gun to kill,
trans versing the south with AK47/.
terrorist renamed bandits by religious sympathizers.
from the porous borders of North,
comradely of Fanatics and bigots of the sword sect.
Clandestinely overrunning the land.
Freedom is a crime to fools.
those who dares becomes enemy of states.
assaulted by “operation python” dance.
or raided by Lawless DSS.
This is but a Jihad disguised as government.
The road is a trap of death,
we sleep as watchers waiting for the sword.
we starve amidst multitudinous resources,
they Lend to keep us in Bondage.
The crude in the south.
and all the resources are carted away to the North
to pay terrorist.
A state crimes condoned.
we groan,
we dare not speak as their armed assassin are
ready to silence the Voice of Truth.
one more Truth for the Jailer from the North.
to the tune of Home on the Range
In the woods, in the gloam
There’s a muttering gnome
Like his mind, he’s wandered away
And he should be interred
Yes, the thought has occurred
But the jailers would not last a day
Big daddy’s deranged
He’s losing it more every day
He makes up strange words
And it all sounds absurd
But the kids do not care anyway
—————
Some of the many happy verses Vivian
was subjected to singing and walking in the woods.
Against attentiveness,all arrived at alarming an agreement,
But best before,big brothers begun bathing behind bordered basement,
Could cane caution correctly,creating common checks?
Don't disturb determiners destroying developed dretch,
Even enemies embedded eminence encloses earth,
For five fowls flying frankly felt first,
Greatness granted ghosts gurging goals,
Holy,holy,...harlots hidden homes,
Intimidation is icing in itchiness,
Just jelt Jailers jaunting jowls,
Kindly keep kings keenly,
Letting little liars like long life,
Men modeled me mainly,
Naming new nations noteably,
Only options open old oracles,
Proving professionalism pertained,
Queens queued quickly quackles,
Rectifying rules rendered raptly,
So shall souls see salvation secured,
Than thinking tomorrow tells the truth,
Unknown ultraroyalists understand universal uglesome,
Virtually vitalizing viewers vexed,
When we win wonderfully without wickedness,
X-country xianity xenagogue,
Yes,y'all yielders yeans,
Zealously zeroizing zoetic zones...zones!
Stow away the congeries of aches
overtly attenuating the life-force
Joints grinding bones as growing muscles waked
Oft, stomping like an apoplectic horse...
Under strained newness, a glum disposition
reeked nervousness, clamping a chest distraught
No diversity, glared their position
Such eyes that stabbed, could snap a breath taut...
Of schooling, what silent complacency!
Jailers with fingertip-busting dusters
or canes that cracked and smacked decency
Umber-burned bruises on smartened clusters...
Raking nails scratch to assuage a mind
New migraines need compulsory unwinds…
(4/23/21 For 'Aches Prompt' contest hosted by Constance La France)