Best Prison Poems | Poetry
Below are the all-time best Prison poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of prison poems written by PoetrySoup members
Search for Prison poems, articles about Prison poems, poetry blogs, or anything else Prison poem related using the PoetrySoup search engine at the top of the page.
New Prison Poems
Don't stop! The most popular and best Prison poems are below this new poems list.
My chest is my prison
by Lyrewing, Serge
CAUGHT UP INSIDE THIS PRISON CELL Yet On the Outside Someone Still Prays--
by Lee Sr., James Edward
Andersonville Prison, 1864
by Zak, Steve
THE ONLY 'SIR' HE DESERVED SHOULD HAVE BEEN SERVING TIME IN PRISON
by ALLISON, JAN
Prison Of Time
by Behm, Kurt Philip
A prison inside my bedroom walls
by walker, echo
by hoffman, cheryl
I'm in Prison
by POET, Drencho
Being in a prison
by Josephie, Amelia
by Lee Sr., James Edward
View all new Prison Poems
The Best Prison Poems
-Quarantine of the Soul-
Tranquil pills fall deep like the night
A sweet fangless course
Bites with no remorse
Your eyes struggle to read my ageless soul
You open a heart under Quarantine
Stand in the way of what was and never will be
A contagious disease
I call "LOVE!"
(Past-- you came)
Somewhere deep inside --with you--
The Arriving Vessel of Light
I separated myself from the world
--to be with you--
I polished a new diamond night
With pleasures of meeting where our hearts began
Deep like the night, you woke my sleepless soul
Removing it from the safe harbor of the sea
-Isolated from all to see
No risk or chance, of smiling endlessly
(Present-- you set)
Tonight you fell from Mandalay
You spoke in a way that Cut my throat with truth
You detained my ego clouding the auspices sky
Allowing a smile
A tender peek into your heart
It spread in ways -- I wanted more
I kept deep until you found your way past the door
In search of eternity
Tonight lets learn to live again
With no fear, I remove all labels
Making the moon and sun rise together
My love, my life now depends on you
(Future-- you left)
With no explanation
The age of Quarantine will forever set
You came to me
Set me free
Just to leave
Now you are a virus --- Just like them!!!
Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2015
The ugly prison was dark and dank.
Solitary cells lined up on each side.
I paced up and down the corridor
Saw each prisoner his face hide.
I knew them all, for I put them there,
Uncle John who stole half my earnings,
My teacher who failed me just to spite me,
My neighbour reported me with warnings.
A writer who jealously always blocked me,
My lawyer whom I caught on me spying
A woman who sent me many insulting messages,
Even my cheating wife was there crying.
Where is this prison you might well ask?
Why it’s locked up within my heavy heart.
And the worst of it all, there’s no way out,
What could I do to erase all and my life restart?
Only one way to rid the heaviness of my heart.
To learn the true way to forgive all sins,
Truly forget all useless wishes of revenge
Then perhaps with the Lord’s help a new life begins.
Your best rhyming poem-2
Sponsored by: John Hamilton
4 August 2016
POTD for 7 August 2016
Copyright © Victor Buhagiar | Year Posted 2016
Elytte and Miranda Barbour murdered a man just to get a thrill.
It is always very stupid and senseless when people kill.
They said they killed him because they wanted to kill someone together.
If you're wondering when they'll get out of prison, the answer is never.
They pled guilty to Second Degree Murder and other charges and got life.
Elytte will never be able to kill another person and neither will his wife.
When Troy LaFerrara answered the Barbours Craigslist ad, he didn't know he was in danger.
While in court, LaFerrara's loved ones were very furious and they expressed their anger.
The Barbours are only 22 and 19, they're young enough to be my kids.
If they were my children, I wouldn't forgive them for what they did.
(This is a true story about Elytte and Miranda Barbour who murdered Troy LaFerrara.)
Copyright © randy johnson | Year Posted 2014
Sitting there alone in class
they said it wasn't cool.
He should not bring his bible
to read while he's in school.
The gave him detention
and they took his book away.
While he watched through the window
when the rest went out to play.
Then one day at home, at play
he was out collecting bugs.
He saw in the shed out back
his daddy doing drugs.
Mom and dad went their own ways
his life was filled with hurts.
Over time as time went on
he turned his back on church.
So many things that he would face
with so little understanding.
Life for him it seems to me
had become just too demanding.
New friends made no games are played
he turned his life to crime.
Until the day the law got him
and now he's doing time.
Other prisoners come and go
each going their own way.
But they gave him a bible
now he reads it every day.
Why is it that we never learn
until our chance is gone?
To give our children hope they need
while it's still early on?
Copyright © Edwin Hofert | Year Posted 2015
Charlotte Jade Puddifoot Controversial Poetry Contest, DATED 10 September 2015
He tells me he loves me
And I believe him.
I pick the petals.
They fall to the ground
one by one
in a slow motion, wavering sound.
Tilting back and forth
not sure where they will fall.
“It’s Autumn now!”
He loves me!
He loves me not.
He loves me. Phew!
He loves me not, Shit!
He love me. Yes!
It’s just that he doesn't know it yet.
I didn't see him coming
And I love him…I really do this time
It's for real, honestly, I can tell.
I believe him when he tells me
The bedroom door snaps in the frame.
I feel the room bulge yet again
the air pressure resets
And I become normal again
He’s left me now
He’s left a piece of him inside.
And I am in pieces.
When I should be at peace.
He came back to seduce me yet again
and tell me more
And boy did he stuff.
His weapon of choice.
His pleasure, my pain
Thrusting his sword
while I tried to stay sane.
I feel the room’s pressure bulge yet again.
But this time it’s over so quick.
A human time bomb on a dynamite stick.
He looks down on me.
I look down, up at him.
I tell him about the bit inside,
but all he wants is to run and hide.
and now hell and heaven
started to collide.
What have you done?
I watched the moon block out the sun.
When I woke up
He was dead on the bed
His sword on his chest
A blood stained vest
It's winter now
The prison door snaps in the frame
I feel the room bulge yet again
the air pressure resets
And I become normal again
The breakers clunk
The guard shouts “lights out”
The moon once again blots out the setting sun
And now, "Oh my god!"
"I'm six months gone."
Copyright © Tony Kirk | Year Posted 2015
Gun shots rang out but no one hears.
A life comes to an end but no one fears.
A casual habit now a sin that in prisons the soul.
Another life settling for less than their predestined goal.
How can a child once filled with love grow into a person filled with so much hate?
Taking as one pleases because earning it means to wait.
By not having someone of worth to follow darkness fills the mind
Until greed, lust, and violence are the only things found to occupy their time.
Even when brick walls and locked doors to cells is all the eyes see
The mind still wanders back to life in the streets.
Where a gun and a cold heart is all that is left of your life
And the only things for which you are remembered is struggle and strife.
Copyright © Christina Hons | Year Posted 2015
This is something other than unsure laced with heavy heart.
I'd love to change my mind, is this where you take charge?
When our play begins, the starring role I'm begging you to take.
Open your eyes, I won't sit around and wait.
Would you instantly be swooned if I could be your tin foil dream?
Would you cook me in a spoon, shoot me right through your blood stream?
A rush that lasts longer than fifteen seconds, a force that beckons for all of your attention.
I want to illuminate the dark corners, where you hide the secrets that border,
The hurt that you and I refuse to admit, the shit that resides far beneath the surface,
Those things that just never quite seem fit and yet we both allow them to exist.
Between a cut and a hole, is there really a difference at all?
Knowing what I know, why do I keep interest in something I cannot control?
She's got what you need and she's got you by the balls,
I have nothing that can compare to her thralls.
But this is just an embellishment of events as seen in my head.
This is my heart written on paper that cannot be read. Maybe if I do it like this, it will make more sense.
I hope you'll let me find solace in you because I know I can do better but I don't want to believe it is true.
This where I lose rhythm and ask you to lie and tell me you'll do anything, but darling don't take the time to try.
Copyright © Briana Baker | Year Posted 2015
From my self made
I look outside
And see the sun
The ocean breeze
I see the seagulls
These hard and cold
Stone cell walls
Close around me
Cut my thoughts
Fear a feel
It's like a prison
Halting my dreams
I wanna fly
High in the sky
Like those seagulls
Without a fright
To reach beyond
This self made walls
To expand and become
More than my thoughts
I'll take a leap
Based on faith
I'll break those chains
And fly away
December 18, 2016
Copyright © Claudia Polydoro | Year Posted 2016
The spine of prison rattles
Chomp on the bars and the bones
Of his hope
He is lost
Dreams and fears confirm his tears
Time is gone
Drizzle down his swollen cheeks
“God, I’m yours. . .
Lift my eyes
For your light is my way to
Shame my foes. . .
My clothes droop
My body slumped against death
This soul swells. . .
I need her. . .
If only you knew how much
I miss her. . .
I need You
For You have stayed here with me
Patiently. . .”
The sun peeks
His sad eyes take in the warmth
His heart melts
We are free
The sky is open to you
Now Stay Strong
Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2015
You stood in the dock when the guilty verdict was read out …
Just a spotty youth with a cocky look in your eyes
Now sentenced to five years in prison, I hope you rot in hell!
The defence team tried to make out that YOU were the victim
You had drug and alcohol issues, which catapulted you into a life of crime
I had to sit there and hear about your past
Was I supposed to feel sorry for you?
What about me, the real victim…
You’d entered my house, hell bent on stealing what little I had
I handed over my widow's pension but you weren’t satisfied
Demanding more, you began shouting obscenities at me
You started trashing my house trying to find my jewellery
High on drugs - you were like a wild animal
Your fists rained down like bullets … you beat me senseless
My daughter found me unconscious, lying in a pool of blood
I spent weeks in hospital
Now I’m terrified of being on my own and have moved in with my daughter
I couldn’t go back into the house I so loved
You will be out of prison in a few years…
I have a life sentence
Through their eyes 2 – Sponsored by Shadow Hamilton
Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2016
Did you know that weed is illegal because Nixon wanted to win a war?
Along with Henry Kissinger, who thrusted behind him, making his bum sore.
These two idiots once ran the country, with their troglodyte brains,
Using bombs and chemicals sprayed in skies to make Asia rain.
They torched a country, split it in two, in their petty game of chess,
And controlled how the media portrayed it with their control of the press.
Yes, the CIA manipulated and manipulates the very news you watch,
On fifty-two inch flatscreen TVs while rubbing your untouched crotch.
We lost the war not because our military couldn't carpet bomb Vietnam's rug,
But because of protesting students who saw that war is wrong while on some drugs.
And did you know that the Cambodian Genocide was paid for by all of us?
The United States who destabilized the region for reasons superfluous.
Despite these war crimes perpetrated by the Nixon regime,
Ninety percent of Americans are jailed for drug war schemes.
This is not America, where wars are fought in foreign lands,
While on our very soils we're taught to fear the government's hands.
Drugs are but a reaction to the wicked society crafted by politics,
And to use them is to escape from what is wrong and should be fixed.
We have the highest incarceration rate in the world, we're simply a third-world nation,
Trapped in a feudal war of petty crimes created by those who rule this social degradation.
All we need is a little weed and you who arrest us for using it,
Are acting like a piece of what starts with "S" and rhymes with sit.
Copyright © Brendan J. Simons | Year Posted 2017
BY PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR
I know what the caged bird feels, alas!
When the sun is bright on the upland slopes;
When the wind stirs soft through the springing grass,
And the river flows like a stream of glass;
When the first bird sings and the first bud opes,
And the faint perfume from its chalice steals—
I know what the caged bird feels!
I know why the caged bird beats his wing
Till its blood is red on the cruel bars;
For he must fly back to his perch and cling
When he fain would be on the bough a-swing;
And a pain still throbs in the old, old scars
And they pulse again with a keener sting—
I know why he beats his wing!
I know why the caged bird sings, ah me,
When his wing is bruised and his bosom sore,—
When he beats his bars and he would be free;
It is not a carol of joy or glee,
But a prayer that he sends from his heart’s deep core,
But a plea, that upward to Heaven he flings—
I know why the caged bird sings!
Why Do I Write?
You ask me why I sing?
You ask me why I write?
You ask me why I bleed?
What choice have I besides?
I long to fly, to run away
To some safe haven just to play
To see the light of blessed day
And give my longing heart full sway
I want to grasp the star and moon
And live my life; t'will end too soon
And kiss the clouds up in the sky
But here am I, what choice have I?
Why do I sing?
Why do I cry?
Why write of pain
What choice have I?
I want with zeal to be adored
And I want Fame there at my door
I want IT ALL and so much more
Tell me, is anything for sure?
Why so I beat my wing?
I was born to soar…
Eileen Manassian Ghali
Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2014
I Love my Mother in law.
Fabulous fun footles competition.
Sponsored by Jan Allison
Copyright © Roy Pett | Year Posted 2017
When Rhyme was a crime:
I send all my kites in metaphorical rhyme,
So the screws can't decipher them in time.
I hang low compared to all the other inmates,
Passing my time until I walk through the gates.
Guilty as charged for being a lowly old poet,
Serving five to eight years, wouldn't you know it.
While I spend my time etching on the wall,
The hours pass slowly waiting for my muse to call.
I received a kite from the cell next door,
It said, "keep your head low there'll be a gang war."
This prison full of poets from all walks of life,
For the pen is mightier than the deadliest knife.
We only get released for one hour a day,
Talking in the yard in our own poetic way.
But don't let the screws catch you speaking in verse,
Or else you're likely to leave in a long black hearse.
(The letters prisoners send each other are called kites)
(And screws are guards)
For Unshackle my verse contest
Sponsored by: Kim Rodrigues.
Copyright © White Wolf | Year Posted 2017
Push on through
The world is a scary place and there is nowhere left to hide;
The nightmares are hunting us down and they are crawling inside.
Run from your life, they are coming to get you;
Keep on going, push on through.
Do not allow yourself to become boxed in;
Caged inside a nightmare of a life, with no sight of a key.
Set yourself free from their bonds of security,
That keeps you trapped in debt without any hope of release.
Push on through to the other side of the night
And in dawns breaking light, you will save a life.
Save yourself from your home made evil;
Fight away the beast and search for all the beautiful people.
Go forth and multiply; this is the spell we are under.
Instincts so old, they are humanities goal
And they drive us into the arms of our lover.
Without a love to hold, this world would only kill those who do;
But with love we can make a change and push on through.
(C)2016 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Copyright © Aa Harvey | Year Posted 2016
Four men standing in a row and then one laid across,
Just sticks of time and marks upon the wall,
A measurement of attitude, of loneliness and pain,
But others see it as a lot of scrawl.
Sticks of time, a calendar of wasted days and years,
Just scratches of a life that's gone to waste,
While taking time to tell a tale of life behind these bars,
With years ahead there's never any haste.
Four men standing in a row and then one laid across,
It's now a crowd that stands upon the wall,
As five men turn to twenty-five, then eighteen thousand strong,
With fifty years of scratching on the wall.
Fifty years, an army strong, the witnesses of death,
Accusers to be first to cast a stone,
Such ridicule and torment is a thing that I accept,
For there is not a way I can atone.
Four men standing in a row and then one laid across,
Just four men and the one who holds them tight,
Which binds me in this prison for a life and then a day,
And nothing I can do will make it right.
Copyright © David Pekrul | Year Posted 2017
Hate is like prison that holds you against the outside world
In your cage you’re held back from experiencing something new
Your life stays in the constraints of living a normal life you know
The guards are those who enforce hate thus are prisoners themselves
They bring in the new inmates daily through preaching hate to all
For some it is life or death for the guards will not let you leave
They don't let anyone in for they might allow people to escape....
To show them a world that they never knew....without violence or hate
The warden makes sure the inmates are confide and guards working
Those who escape might not make it but there are attempts...
Redemption for those who are free to make their own decisions....
Freedom to go anywhere and try anything to appease themselves
And not live in a closed world that gives us nothing new to behold
As people we were meant to see the whole world and not just part
The inmates grasp the bars of ignorance as they get used to the prison
We should show pity not hate towards our brothers and sisters
Or we begin our prison sentence....
For we are free and they are not
Copyright © Ralston Rhoden | Year Posted 2017
Written: by Tom Wright
The joys of my past are asleep,
Yet I’ve become a prisoner to departed days,
And they resist my flight.
While today shrouds me in pain.
I’m constantly prompted to remember,
That forever remains before me.
Copyright © Tom Wright | Year Posted 2017
Wrapped up in my web of lies
There is nothing I truly trust
Corrupted by what I despise
This heart has turned to dust
I am lost within myself
Trapped in this labyrinth of lies
Blind and numb to who I am
Too long I'd cower and hide
What path remains unbroken
Which door can set me free
From deep within this labyrinth
This labyrinth within me
Copyright © Edward Schmitz | Year Posted 2017
Temple of the Gods
Within the realities, unseen deified admits a parallel preen
A shielded smokescreen for their succus is made unclean
In the matriarchal machine a throne tallat for the Queen
A calumnious convene in illusions that dered and demean
The fallen Angels level in their banishing bedaubed bedevil
In ruins ravaging, they revel a tenacious tenet of their temple
For their mendacious meddle we are the reifier of our vessel
We wilfully wrestle and retire in our denned deceived nestle
We are the many among the few evitative as we quietly ensue
For we must rise and renew all sexes seduced within their skew
Time to be trusted and true him or her who sees the veils thru
Constructs that construe dimensional drifts solos in the goo.
A Palindrome is a word or phrase which reads the same backwards as forwards, such as madam
deified – past tense of "to deify", meaning to consider as a god
succus – any of various liquids excreted by animals or plants
dered – past tense of "to dere", an archaic word meaning to harm
level – various common meanings
tenet – a belief or principle
reifier – someone who reifies (considers an abstract concept to be real)
denned – past tense of to den, meaning to live in a den
evitative – a grammatical case indicating fear or aversion.
sexes – plural of sex
sees – third-person present tense of ‘to see’
solos – plural of solo
Sponsored by: Joseph May
Copyright © Winged Warrior | Year Posted 2018
I met a fabulous beast today,
I met him in a zoo.
I was looking at a tiger,
And he was looking too.
Such strength and dreadful power
He carried with such grace,
And there he was behind the glass
And we were face to face.
A beast of such nobility
A king was what I saw,
So full of menacing presence
I felt rooted to the floor.
He fixed his eyes upon me
With a cold and murderous stare.
I'm glad that I was over here,
And he was over there.
Once he was the ruler,
The lord of all was he.
And now he's here, trapped in this pen.
A prisoner, is what I see.
EARLY APRIL 2018 PREMIERE CONTEST ,
ANY FORM OR NONE,ANY THEME,
UP TO A MAX OF 20 lines - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Brian Strand. Placed 6th.
Copyright © Gary Smith | Year Posted 2018
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Shoes. Clicking against the tiles.
Cling. Cling. Cling.
Keys. Jingling against each other.
Clink. Clink. Clink.
Cuffs. Clanking against the bars.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
Water. Smacking against the floor.
Whack. Whack. Whack.
A whip. Lashing against my skin.
One more day to go.
Just wrote this out in a couple of minutes with my mind on the topic word of "prison". Enjoy!
Copyright © Euphonious Elysium | Year Posted 2015
They are so good
Some may even say
The L.A. Kings
We’re up by 2?
Maybe they are beatable
Invincible, Incredible, Impeccable
Quick with the glove save
Doughty with a goal
So I’ll say it
one more god forsaken time
Copyright © Hufferfish Blob | Year Posted 2016
The only thing that is in my bong
is my gift of poetry and song.
Drugs are for thugs
that's hell in a nutshell.
I don't smoke
and I've never done coke.
I know that I don't always tell thruth
and that I like to lie.
There has been enough brains fried.
Poet till I die.
Dedicated To All The Victims Of Addiction.
Copyright © Blake Holland | Year Posted 2016
She was a kleptomaniac,
His wife of thirty years.
The risks she took for stuff of little value
Had all but driven him to tears.
She had such low regard for the risk;
Always said, “If I’m caught, I’ll pay.”
“But what if they’re not satisfied?” he’d ask.
She just smiled and said, “That’ll be the day.”
When first they met, he thought her just young and wild;
And, after all, it really did no one any harm.
It was fun to watch her be so sneaky,
Kind of a sexy part of her appealing charm.
The stuff she stole was so petty,
But she seemed to have such fun.
After all, it wasn’t for the stuff she stole,
But for the thrill of what she’d done.
As time had passed, he had finally realized
It was a sickness, not just a game to play.
She’d steal something almost everywhere she went,
And she went somewhere almost every day.
So, it had gotten old and tiresome, completely out of hand.
His pleas of “Get some help.” she would ignore;
Tho’ she might have thought better of it
If she had known what was in store.
While grocery shopping, she tried to steal a can of peaches.
They caught her, called the cops, sent her off to jail.
She called her embarrassed and disgusted husband,
Who resentfully made arrangements for her bail.
When her court date came, he went along;
And when her case came up, he was by her side.
As the judge reviewed her charges, it seemed to him
That the judge’s patience was being sorely tried.
“Madam" the judge said angrily, "…a single can of peaches?
It’s obvious you have no desperate financial need.
You are wasting my court’s time with such farce.
So, Madam...how do you plead?"
She feigned regret. She bowed her head.
Surely such a ploy might change his attitude.
“Guilty, your Honor. I am so sorry.”
He growled, “Save your platitudes.”
Then he asked, “How many peaches were in the can?”
“Your Honor, I believe that there were ten."
“Madam, I intend to teach you a lesson this day.
You’ll think twice before you steal again.
You’ll serve three days in county jail for each peach in that can.”
Her husband saw his chance. He said, “Your Honor, if you please,
Before you pass her final sentence, you should know….
She also stole a can of peas!"
Copyright © Robert Candler | Year Posted 2014