Long Convict Poems
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There were several women nearby who were crying and wailing over this condemned
man. The convicted man turned slowly towards them and that was the first time Simon heard
him speak.
Breathlessly, the convict stopped and quietly spoke to these lamenting women. Simon
stopped with him under the weight of the beam. Simon never understood these words at that
time, .. but he never forgot them. This blood soaked, ravaged dirty half dead man turned to
the women and rasped ,…
“Daughters of Jerusalem, do not weep for Me …but weep for yourselves and your
children.“ He caught his breath, wiped the dust and blood from his eyes with the ragged
sleeve of his torn robe and continued…“For indeed the days are coming in which
they will say, “Blessed are the barren, wombs that never bore, and breasts which never
nursed!”
The crowd had already become silent to hear what the accused was saying, because this
kind of talk was unheard of in a time when bearing children and mother hood was considered
extremely holy and a gift directly from God Himself. It was proof that he must have been
possessed!
He continued , blood dripping from swollen lips, “Then they will begin to say to the
mountains, “Fall on us!!” and to the hills, “Cover us!!” …“For if they do these things While I
am with you,…what will they do when I am gone?” …… The sound of a lash slapped across his
torn bloody back and he shuffled forward but not before looking directly into Simon’s eyes..
The crowd again took up their noisy, morbid mission.
Simon grunted under the weight of the beam and thought they all sounded like a pack of
hungry jackals. He was certainly confused and inexplicably terrified.
After that gruesome unholy nightmare ended and for the rest of his life while walking the
hills, he kept hearing and was haunted by this man’s words over and over and wondered
what on earth they could mean.
“ Do not weep for Me…but weep for yourselves and your children…for indeed the days
are coming in which they will say, “Blessed are the barren, wombs that never bore, and
breasts which never nursed!!”......
This, to the people of his time was impossible! Children were a holy gift from God himself.
Blessed are the wombs that never bore...and breasts that never nursed?! What could he
have meant?
So many trials seem to be filled up with so much fear
So many ask, “Oh Dear Lord, what am I doing here”?
So many questions that I have come to know
If we just plant a seed, with water it will grow
I have a natural green thumb that now is wasting away
Along with a mind that does love to go out and play
Times I still ask, “How did this all came to be”
What was it that my wife was able to see in me?
She says that my heart was the most beautiful around
It still blows me away, for I clearly remember the sound
Her voice was so soft, her tone was so sweet
I was nothing less than pure evil upon two feet
Had been years since anything had took me by surprise
Ice cold is what the rest of the world had seen in my eyes
I looked at her smiled and laughed in my cold convict way
She smiled and said, “Why you want to be mean anyway”
I told her, “I reckon we are all born to just what we are”
She said, “So why are you a dope cook instead of a star”
That question stopped me right there dead in my tracks
I thought, “This girl is a looker but God she is whacked”
Last night her and I sat out underneath the moon
Two very blessed souls swinging in our sliver spoon
Just a little swing we built together out in our back yard
Place to just sit back and rest after a day long and hard
I once again ask her, how in the world could you ever know?
“My Grandmother was preacher, I could see her in you soul”
Which led me to speak out my truth for I learned to not lie
"My grandmother was also in yours, answering the entire “Why”
Grandmothers we respected and held above all others
Brought each of us together in the land born of lovers
Two Grandmother Spirits full of pure heavenly delight
Led their grandchildren into the valley born of the light
Now here we sit holding each other, each other high above
Because we share in the blessing of our Grandmothers love
----------------------------------------------------------------
Toni and I had lost our Grandmothers before we had ever met
though I knew of hers because she was a very powerful lady
and a down home speak in tongues Pentecostal Preacher that
had great respect up in these parts. After all these years we
confided in each other that we could see our grandmothers in
each others eyes. Thank you and God Bless, MJ
The perfect convict, without a name, without thoughts, destined to obey in a universe that weighs my mortal soul on the scale of immortality, I was born to die at the silent demand of my parents who wished to live their future by passing on to me genes that have no future.
The signatory by absence, I question the duty to be born in a simulacrum world, where no one chooses but is merely chosen.
Granting me the role of a colorful character through a manifesto-oracle that signs as fate and solidifies the dogma of a foolish fanaticism of believing in a world that appears differently, I was forced to assimilate the excess from the Absolute because the merciless fate was written with a quill right on my skin that holds the bones of a scoundrel.
Brought into a world that wants me to parade as a good individual in a collective that leaves at the entrance a ticket where death, nonchalantly imitating an accountant, signs with legible, firm handwriting under our date of death, I was not given the strength to fight, so I am heading towards a disaster disguised in a concept that tries to give life value and meaning, simulating the death of a body destined to return to the earth.
A curtain rises, I choose a little chair and look at the screen that presents me as an banal, a good-for-nothing, a child born in an era where men hide in their own bodies. In a surreal play with landscapes from a world that has no truth, I am the actor without a name, without a country, without a shred of future, because the drama playing on the floating screen seems to be that… I am an impostor.
The film hasn't even started well when a procession of servants, stepping imperiously on the carpet, announces to me that death has chosen my day to die and urges me, without shame, to go out into the corridor.
Resigned, I carry my being towards the corridor where death awaits me with the actor's ticket and shows me the short path to the floating paradise where I am again awaited to be part of this horrifying cycle: to be born against my will, without clothes, without eyes, in a world where life has lost its purpose, on the day when it sent the first man to death.
I have a horrible secret my 13-year-old best friend confided to me one day at school.
We were between class, and we had two minutes to sprint to our next class, as per the rule.
In opposite directions off course.
I did not hear anything the teacher said that day,
I had wanted to hear my friend, not hear him drool, or look at his hair of fuzz.
He called on me once, and everyone laughed. I had no idea what the question was.
Leukemia? Cancer? My mind was in overdrive.
After school I caught up with her right before she dove into her mother’s car.
What is it? I demanded, eyes big and wide. “Not here,” she told me. “Maybe inside.”
I tried again after I climbed in the car, but she shook her head ‘no’, hushing me.
My mind was going haywire, with the things it could be. Drugs? Her? Could not be.
I telephoned her the second I got inside my house.
What is it? I hollered. “Are you okay?” I was thinking thief, convict, killer, by now.
My imagination was going absolutely a hundred percent berserk as only it knows how.
“I’m a…..”
I pressed my ear harder to the phone. A what?
“A sleepwalker,” she whispered.
I thought I had heard wrong.
A what?
“A sleepwalker,” she hissed.
And I began to laugh.
Sleepwalking is so common in my family, we thought we had invented it.
We sometimes bump heads in our family before we wake up, and I told her this too.
“Sleep walking is nothing,” I shared. “Wait until you have what I have, then you can really boo hoo.
I’m a sleep fighter.”
Ever since I was little if anyone tried to pick me up and carry me to bed,
I would come up swinging fists, straight toward their head.
My dad got a black eye once, when I was about eight,
Because he tried to pick me up in full sleep mode.
Mom tried to signal him, give him a code.
But by the time he caught on, he had a shiner from me.
I have been sleep fighting since the age of three.
We began laughing hysterically, my friend and I.
Sleepwalking is nothing when you are a sleep fighter.
If you do not believe me, you should give it a try.
Written July 19, 2018
Entered Sleepwalking Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: John Hamilton
Jesus is My Superhero!
Ever since I was a little kid he was there
He would remove all of the monsters beneath my bed
And help me count the stars from my bedroom window
Ever since I could remember he was leading me on the straight and narrow
Keeping my head on straight too
One day I contemplated killing a frog and he was there to convict me
He said to me, “No! That frog is my friend! How would you feel if I did that to
you?”
He was right again, always keeping me on the straight and narrow
He was even with me during years of child abuse
Comforting me as I was stowed away in a cold musty basement
He comforted me with an incredible imagination
I never had a single nightmare
As I slept in that cold dark room with no furniture
No, not a single nightmare!
He would bring me dreams of flying and killing dinosaurs all through the night
He was my Lord and Savior and he knew exactly what to do for me
He entertained me in so many ways
Then it was time to go to kindergarten and mom couldn’t hide me any longer
It was out of the basement and into a single room with a single mattress
The entire world was now beginning to open up to me
Here I was now 5 years old and rescued by my grandmother
She was then allowed to pick me up every Sunday for Sunday school
Oh she was my knight in shining armor sent by Jesus
She brought me to a place where I received unconditional love
She became the most important person in my life from that point on
She always pointed me back to my super hero—that was JESUS!
Now that I am older and have three kids of my own
My superhero is still right beside me
Guiding, instructing, and entertaining my creativity
He is all I have ever needed all along
He is my heart’s song!
He is my Jesus!
So if you also want a super hero in your life allow me to give you some great
advice
Call upon the name of Jesus and he will see you through anything
He is the reason for my hope
He is the reason for my existence
He is the jump in my rope
He is my Lord!
Written for Super Hero Contest
My personal testimony of my super hero
Nothing is impossible for my God!
Gwendolen Rix
8-7-14
She thought I loved her for the texture of her hair
Yes, but I also loved her for her flair
We thought that our love will always float in the air
We were sure, and for this we stood foursquare
She thought I loved her for the cocoa brown color of her skin
I could care less because that’s not the reason for our love’s tailspin
Our souls were joined at some point in passion like a Siamese twin
Long before our popular love turned into a devotion that had-been
Perhaps we expected our actions to always be so circumspect
Love is conditional, relationships need an emotional architect
So, she thought I loved her for the velvet cavity betwixt her thighs
I don’t apologize, she is a powerful woman, or else please advise
She thought I am a man-shaped drug the detox to which is painful
Till I remembered that many of her devotional phrases were so guileful
Saying that she has been in a hole for so long that it started feeling like home
Saying that she has been watering a dead flower and every flaw was a syndrome
Saying that she has justified to many scars by loving a person who’s holding a knife
Saying that she would rather be in a relationship that is full of love and life
Saying that she has her boundaries pushed, her thing inside has been awakened
You might wonder whether her hitting-the-freeway had already been preordained
From the oceans of love, our feelings have been invited ashore
The absences of which each of us can barely account for
Perhaps we expected ourselves to be as perfect
Little did we know that in this prison of letdown we’re a convict
But should every slip-up we confect be checked?
Every box of that which doesn’t connect us be ticked?
We dwell with the denizens of the deep - our ship’s wrecked
We both know that we don’t need a restraining order
To come to the grips of it that it is over
Lips that taste the tears, they say are the best for kissing
I pray that you save the kissing for your engagement ring
So, then I can be happy that I dried my tears to see the stars
When the sun was gone and that only memories will remain ours
Here we are, there we go
here i am, there you are
how can we be the cause of each others pain still
"Everytime i think about you i dont know its either im happy or sad
hoping not just to play you, but hey you try to do the same thing
im sorry if i seem weak or if i try too hard
my heart hurts to see an old friend when she looks at me with her head down
oh i dont know tomorrow i might go to jail
all in one night i jeapordized my freedom
cause im so hotheaded, hotblooded passion that pulls up, with your hair pulled back
then you let it fall down and then i get out this mess im in, you know i will, u know i will
i know with me everyday its something else,
im always trying to be good but i always end up doin bad things i know im mean to you in a bad way. i guess im not right in the head becuz all i see is a vision of a man when i lay down, except last night when i talked to you , you looked so worn out stressed out, why would you be with him when you could be with the man that u love still, its okay whatever you want its your choice, just please consider how much hangs in the balance, i dont even know if its talent, if im talented, or just sick of these lame conversations that people have with me, talking about all their troubles,but i have so many i cant even think straight
but i concentrate on the solution and i usually dont treat you with the love i feel becuz i dont love you if you dont love me, im sorry im a playa, im a crook, convict con-artist, tryin to find a way in your heart just so i can hurt him, i flip and turn words twist and bend the truth, make up *****just to send to u, becuz im trying to break down the fortress of your heart, count my attempts add em up, cross another day out on my calender, there goes another month, cross another month off my calender, and we collide so different then what we use to be, use this use them but dont try to use me or put me in their group girl, no enemy can stop me, even when men set the net, let their own foot be caught, slip and slide away, not trying to be slick with, or run game on you, so dont try to run game on me,
Dear Citizens,
Our justice system is founded on the principle that every individual, regardless of wealth or status, deserves fair representation in a court of law.
This principle is enshrined in the Sixth Amendment of our Constitution, which guarantees the right to legal counsel. However, for many who cannot afford private attorneys, this right would be meaningless without the dedicated service of public defenders.
Public defenders are the backbone of our criminal justice system, ensuring that justice is not reserved solely for those with financial means.
Every day, they stand in courtrooms across our nation, defending individuals who might otherwise be voiceless against the immense power of the state.
Their work is not only essential but often heroic, as they take on heavy caseloads, navigate complex legal issues, and advocate for fairness in a system that can be overwhelming for the unrepresented.
The preparation required for effective defense is immense.
Public defenders must thoroughly investigate cases, analyze evidence, and develop legal strategies that ensure their clients receive a fair trial.
They interview witnesses, scrutinize police reports, and challenge prosecutorial claims to safeguard against wrongful convictions. Additionally, they provide critical counsel to their clients, helping them understand their rights and options while navigating an unfamiliar legal system.
Despite the long hours and limited resources, public defenders remain steadfast in their mission.
Their commitment to justice helps to balance a system that could otherwise disproportionately punish the poor and marginalized.
To uphold the integrity of our democracy, we must ensure that these defenders of justice receive the support and respect they deserve.
The strength of our legal system is not measured by its ability to convict but by its dedication to fairness.
Public defenders are indispensable in that pursuit, and their work is a testament to our nation's enduring commitment to justice for all.
Sincerely,
James McLain
DESTROYING the KID
It’s about time you came around.
I have waited long with my pants dropped down.
Did you say, “CHICKEN!" Mmm, I love chicken.
My favorite comes in white meat.
My fingers I'm still licking.
I read your slam it had no defeat.
My little Poet Destroyer friend, you called me.
I am not the one with the Kidster name.
You play this gambling game so well.
Like a convict, you will be the first to bail.
Giving you pleasure, making your slam sound so innocent.
You make the Kidster name band from hell.
Hitting you with a slam, that makes your tear drop like hail.
Stick to nice poetry, your slamming just got stale.
In the middle of your so call slam.
I felt you tried so hard you broke a nail.
In the meantime, this is what I expect.
The freedom so you can speak nice to me.
Like Kid Rock, the real red neck.
You also cannot slam what you cannot see.
Do not destroy what can't be destroyed.
I am always one-step, on top of this deck.
Kidster you’re hot just got watered down to mild.
You have a short hand when it comes to a slam style.
Flip me over and yell, "This Jokers Wild!"
Kidster I lightly slam the cards you dealt me.
This Destroyer is going to slam you back.
Like a trip with tricks and treats.
A slam so hard you will not be able to stand on your feet
Come back when you are ready to get up off your knees
For you I'm rolling up my sleeves, I will not stop until you retreat.
What about my mama?
I thought we were on the same team.
You slam just like my grandma.
Wait! I take that back, she always slams my grandpa mean.
Hey Kidster do me a favor, put your head on a DONKEY.
Show every one there is two sides to you.
By the way, Kidster just with your name I can have fun.
I do hope they let you read this in day care.
I hope you were not expecting a nursery rhyme.
You know better we grownups do not play fair.
Hey, Kidster after this you may need to change your diaper!
This has all been fun and games.
Billy the Kidster if you are up for tag 2.
I will come back as JESSE JAMES.
Making you a fool..
By; PD
He was a rugged looking fellow, black hair cropped a little shorter than most under his
dirty skull cap. His hair graying a little at the sideburns of his beard, betraying his unknown
age. No matter how many times he walked these hills Simon was always awed by their
beauty. This occasion coming back from helping his brother's family in the hill country of
Cyrene with their herd of sheep, was no different. It was usually a quiet and peaceful walk,
accompanied by the sounds of nature and the occasional distant sounds of bells tingling from
the necks of wayward sheep.
This time as he neared the city, it was different. There was noise and lots of it. A crowd
of people slowly making their way up a worn dusty trail , disturbing the usual peace with
jeering, crying , cursing and drunken yelling. He could hear it echoing across the rock strewn
hills. This certainly had a feeling of impending doom about it. His curiosity peaking, he
veered his course in that direction and broke his way through the chaos of the crowd to see
what it was all about.
It was as he feared...an execution…Roman style. The man bent in travail under the
heavy cross beam was a bloody mess. They must have really hated this one! It was hard to
imagine what he could have done to deserve this. His clothes were torn and bloody. You
couldn’t see the features of his face because of too much blood oozing from the basket
looking mesh of thorns jabbed into his skull and tangled in his hair.
Apparently this poor culprit couldn’t take it any more and fell.. hard ..into the dust and
rocks of the path with the cross beam pinning him down. Simon was struck dumb with all the
hate and sorrow concentrated here so close to the holy city. He turned quickly in disgust to
leave this man made hell when an armored guard poked the handle of a spear into his ribs
and yelled at him to help the convict! He hurriedly picked up the beam allowing the poor man
to get to his feet and continue with the morbid procession.
----- continued in part 2