Long Felon Poems
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Soul of Beauty
Through the dirt and grime of centuries
Bloody carnage of hate and fickle fate
In mediocre destinies
With shattered and reviled dreams
It came creeping
From the tears of lovers
Left to weep with graves
From the stories and legends
Of hearts bitter revenge
Struggling to rise
Floating in the carbon toxic
And the filth of monoxide stench
Rallying with the scream of cinder burnt
Atomic rising sun wastelands
Ever straining
Cringing and cowering by pilloried hands
Slapped back to the slavery
The chains of abuse still hanging
Bare and bleeding their spiritual noose
It lifted up
In wretched and ravaged cries of torture
The prostituted life of raped soul
In the stinking and festering pits
In concrete caves of darkest eyes
A quiet cry
With misguided faith
And fear filled thoughts
With the drudgery of time
And its wasted philosophies come to nought
To be recognised
All terror and anguish
Delivered to a single inescapable point
Of useless and overburdened hope
To heavens repentant angel of death
And be free
Trammelled by its own steel shod hypocrisy
Flayed by its lies and deceit
Whipped to the post of progress
And entertainments release
At last released
With a felon grin
And wrenching sadness
Pleading eyes
And with wistful smiles
It came creeping
Struggling to rise
Ever straining
It lifted up
A quiet cry
To be recognised
And be free
At last released
The soul of beauty
The heart of mankind
The spirit of love
In Skagway town, eighteen ninety-eight
Lived a young man, Elliot McKay.
He worked with his father selling dry goods,
To the miners heading Klondike-way,
They made some good coin in a day.
Elliot he, like most younger men,
Had an eye for womanly curves.
His favorite worked in a house downtown,
With dark hair done up in curls,
A woman who’d ‘broadened’ his world.
At first it was cold, but that all changed quick,
And they soon were a regular thing.
She taught him skills a man needs to know,
Really took the boy under her wing,
And knew how to make his heart sing.
But his father said “Boy, don’t fool yourself,
That damned girl wants nothing but cash.
And many a man has found himself broke,
Chasing after a professional lass,
You better get over her fast!”
But Elliot continued, and went when he could
For weeks this went on, as before.
Until one day she asked to meet his kin,
Not the act of some common whore.
She must have loved him like never before!
They went to his house outside of town,
His lady fidgeting and tense,
Elliot knew she must be nervous,
To be meet disapproving parents,
He prayed that his dad would relent.
She entered the home and father went cold,
His face truly taken aback.
His jaw dropped and he said aloud,”Clarice!”
Then she shouted outside,”It’s Mack!”
A new figure stormed in from out back.
A man appeared, a gun in his hand,
Pushing before him Elliot’s mother.
Elliot had seen his likeness before,
It was the felon Bloody Jack Carruthers,
He knew it could be no other.
Jack said,”Now, now, we meet again,
McKay, the man who survived,
When our gang fell down in Monterey,
Shot up back in seventy-five!
Our loot you had on your ride!”
“And now I see how you spent it all,
And made it pay out in droves,
While I rotted away in sweltering cells
Far down south in old Mexico,
Imagining how this would all go!”
“You see this girl here, she is in my pay,
Since I heard that your son took a shine.
She played the damn fool, acted in love,
Until he’d bought into her lies.
And she led me here where I did find…”
“That a dirty skunk, yellow as can be
Built his home on the blood of my friends!
And all because this pretty young girl,
Your stupid, young son could bend.
Now then, prepare for your end…”
CONCLUDES IN PART II.
III.
The following day Carmen sat with her mom,
learning how to cook the books and more,
when suddenly there came a thundering {smash,
that ripped right through the main office door.
In came a SWAT team, four dozen-large,
fanning out as cold panic set in,
one went to Fileena, gun covering her,
said,”Puts your hands up or we start shooting!”
Fileena was stunned, and threw up her palms,
said,”I-Impossible, how did you find us?”
Carmen then said,”Mom, it wasn’t that hard,
I told them all they would need for this bust.
"It wasn't that hard, cameras can be so small,
small enough to disguise as a broach,
the kind that I've worm since I was a girl,
all that I saw yesterday, they now know."
Fileena looked over to her daughter,
said,”But why would you do this to me?!”
Carmen’s stare darkened as she replied:
“Well mother, you made it very easy.
“Did you really think that I would forget
those seventeen years that transpired,
where you decided not to be my mother
so you could go build a damn drug empire?!
“Did you really think I would just accept
a life living as criminal scum?
That I wouldn’t see my future in a jail cell,
dressed in orange, under a guard’s gun?
“If dad had told me, back when I was a kid,
I would not have believed it to be the truth,
but now that I’ve met you, it’s become clear,
he did the right thing hiding me from you.
“Do all of your riches excuse all this,
the great damage that your ‘product’ inflicts?
Does dressing it up like some legit firm
save the life of those miserable addicts?
“You know damn well that your drugs will kill,
that they fuel nothing but violence and crime,
and yet you still do it, feel no remorse,
for that you deserve endless hard time!”
“You ungrateful *****!”Fileena did scream,
as two cops wrestled her to the ground.
“After all that I did to rescue you…
I regret that I ever pushed you out!”
Carmen shook her head at the whole scene,
said,”You think you were helping me here?
making me a felon, a filthy drug lord,
forced to spend my whole live spreading fear?
“You may have given me my brains and looks,
at least that’s what dad always use to say,
but as for my morals, my conscience, my soul…
Those are fine gifts that my father gave."
Lisa comes into my room and flops on the bed. The day had been uncompromisingly gray, windy and cold. The night sky was a snowy, blowing darkness, an absolute void that absorbed the campus lights and reflected nothing back. “I’m missing Spring Break,” Lisa she says.
“It doesn’t even seem like Spring Break happened,” I say. “Most Yalies went to Puerto Rico this year, I think, from my sampling.”
“RIGHT?” Lisa said, “EVERYONE says that - we’re in sync. But *I* enjoyed Paris,” Lisa continued, “I liked your family - no - I LOVED your family,” she amends.
“THAT’s a strong take,” I say, chuckling.
“I watched basketball with your uncle (Rémi) and cousins and helped your grandma cook,” she explains, “I felt like a part of your family.”
“Aww,” I say, “You ARE part of my family now - you’re TRAPPED,” and we laughed.
They invented spring break because after several months, the student mind starts to notice a harsh reality - how much their dorm room resembles a cinder-block jail cell - and starts to wonder how a lifetime of study and stress over grades has gotten them no further in life than the average felon.
We’re at lunch. Lisa says, “Ok, what’s new with you?” Keep in mind we see each other ten times a day.
“Well,” I say, I’ve decided that “The Beatles are for spring.” Lisa laughs. “Stop!” I demand, “I’m going deep. Today’s song is Julia,” I say, “It’s John Lennon’s song to his mom who was run over by a car when he was a child.” “I love that song,” Lisa says.
“Ok, what about you?” I ask.
“My song right now is “Move like a Boss,” Lisa says, “When I’m walking across campus, with my air pods on - I’m intense, don’t get in my way - I’m dangerous, I’ll Will Smith you - I scare me.”
“Good to Know,” I say, wishing I’d gotten a lemon brownie.
Then add, “I’ve got this presentation on Monday that I haven’t even had time to *look* at yet. If I don’t get on it by this weekend it’ll be a nuclear-level disaster. I started on it yesterday and the Internet went down for 20 minutes. It was stressful - of course, you don’t know how long the outage is going to be when you’re IN it - and I had THINGS to do - is that convoluted? ”
“No,” Lisa says, nodding in agreement, “losing the Interweb’s traumatic.”
by Mark Miller © 03/19/2014
Waiting beside the seaside absent who never arrives after graven payment-
Standing by Stan's shadow of ascent looks for loners promise repents,
Sullen watch golden sold feelings lost upon darken silhouette in trusted innocence
Filling pockets of soothing felon who battles lonesome fear
Shadows sun drifts waves bye cold ice through body's prickly pears -
Tweekers forsaken memory our hole moments lost in years of chemical romance
Lies come, lies go, lies become no where shown
Lighthouse shines pattern in sky open of holes beckons my fall
with our backs to the wall, our backs to the wall, fighting for places against the wall
Fade away stray's away tomorrow never stays against grains of yesterdays pain,
with our backs against the wall, our backs to the wall, fist pounds against the wall
Cyclical lows follow spiral highs prance lunatics folly dance
Through irons bars I travel the minds labyrinth highway boundless soundless
Anger fueled adrenaline courses towards heart's of absence play lost under-ground
Stagger by strangers of mechanical anguish ways in wasted days abound
Lies come, lies go, lies become where none shown
Lighthouse shines pattern sky's open holes beckons my fall
with our backs to the wall, our backs to the wall, fighting for places against the wall
Fade away fades away tomorrow never stays against grains of yesterdays pain,
with our backs against the wall, our backs to the wall, fist pounds against the wall
Voluntary death whose to choose as hollow soul turns foul drink soured fruits
Greeting back and forth harvester sewing panic mistaken grief in quiet relief
Lie to me plead with me fly in me hope lest loss haven't got belief
Sigh to please me be me dye me in sorrow's gray pain receiver
Bury my burden beside child inside minds secret lie
Lies come, lies go, lies become where none shown
Lighthouse shines patterns sky open holes beckons my fall
with our backs to the wall, our backs to the wall, fighting for places against the wall
Fade away fades away tomorrow never stays against grains of yesterdays pain,
with our backs against the wall, our backs to the wall, fist pounds against the wall
Written: December 26, 2023, For Robert James Liguori Contest
__________________________________________
Poem Inspired by Joe Bonamassa song: Cradle Rock
If I were a crib, would you allow me to rock?
In the soothing embrace of a lullaby talk.
Do you vow to watch out for me with care?
If I sway erratically through the air,
If I were an anchor, I'd secure your ship.
Sustaining you and not allowing you to dip.
Even when it storms, I'll hold you tight.
An unshakeable anchor built for the night.
If I turned an atom, I'd glide through the trees.
Could you view me? Could you hear my pleas?
Would you be struck by the facets of life's chart?
Could I potentially be inconspicuous amid my art?
If my mobile phone fails yet, I am outside.
Will you allow your dogs to lead me and guide?
Would you save me with a howl and a growl?
Do you zealously guard my desire and soul?
Should I be a baby? Could you let me fall?
Or will your hands wrap me and assist my crawl?
Would you tenderly supervise my first step?
And protect me from the chaotic misstep.
If I'm a felon, will you aim for my caught?
Or will you be able to set me free, fraught?
With caring eyes, could you sense my pain?
Allow me to gain relief by cutting this chain.
If I were a tiger, would you have me in a cage?
Or will you let me roam, wild and uncaged?
Will you accept my chaos and my savage desire?
Then will I ignite with ravenous zeal and fire?
Don't let the euphoria be the sole escape.
There's plenty else in life to relish and shape.
Discover your purpose and your drive.
And turn your ambitions and hobbies alive.
Yet if you are surrounded by fumes and haze,
You'll skip all the vibrant hues life displays.
Explore the world as if it were a white slate.
So much you may miss as you're at a fete.
Will you allow me to view if I am a night light?
Let your soul shine, and darkness will be bright.
Offering guidance while casting a soft glow.
An inspiration, no matter where you show.
Ideally yours truly prefers
a she/her who never got prosecuted for a felon,
yet who most deaf fin knit lee
possesses sound blinding killer instincts
think miracle worker Anne Sullivan
signifying rendering phenomenal success
with one female named re: amazing Helen
exhibiting discerning admirable qualities
constituting intelligent witty male
despite his/him sports haunch size of a melon.
I gently beckon inspiration
for dalliance with mother tongue
English Language, each
singular lettered manifestation
familiar to yours truly symbolized
by panoply, sans twenty six letters,
whereby this patient wordsmith
luxuriates, when writer's block
yields sudden gush,
nee burst of creativity
dissolving impenetrable wall
mental log jammed impasse,
discourages literary ambitions
dashed exerted forcefulness
'pon cerebral terra incognita
counterproductive grip locks
figurative drawbridge begetting
utmost frustration allowing egress
and ingress constituting obstructed surge
temporarily disabling free and clear
transmission between damned fount
barricading abundant bajillion ideas
silent at loggerheads clangor and din
analogous between unswerving enemies
prepared to fight till the death,
exhausting mental energy expended
attempting armistice with futile results,
hence quixotic oft repeated
time tested metaphor
i.e. deliberate pressure foisted
upon seat of aging cerebral matter
inadvertently coloring fist sized organ
at least fifty shades of gray,
versus unexpurgated brainstorming
linkedin with unfettered restraint
breeds favorable prodigious ideas
jotted/ typed stream of consciousness fashion
modus operandi favorable to engender
receptive access, asper (gas) excellent see
i.e. entrance untrammeled leeway
with minimal clash of opposing
titanic invisible entities
thus, aye abandon battering ram
to experience positive outcome
giving good n plenti profuse flood
unstoppable geyser spewing
plethora of appealing material
to arrange into cogent affinity,
energy, magnanimity and synchronicity!
They arrested my anger:
my fingertips, they ink painted
These defiant ebony eyes
were given a sideway rearview
racial profile
A police photo shoot,
criminal style
I became a most colorful, unwanted poster child
for the rabid redneck white crowd,
who were firing their burning blue metal barrels
hatefully loud —
Colt-45 liquid anger
white lightning moonshine proud
Waving their patriotic hostility —
raging river flag moving the mob
At their Wild West campfire pow-wow,
they were bomb fuse sparking
a tar baby effigy of me
Putting a viral vex on their personal celly-ies
and cyber telly-ies
Got several death threats from the skin heads
Aryan Nation neo-Nazis
How is it that my anger got arrested,
while their’s got out of jail free?
The blue devils cuffed me
for non-violently speaking,
not bending a Wounded Knee
Or giving a whipped-dog look slave master bow
This earned me my prison stripes
room-and-board free
Got a felon record for simply
giving the fascist police a ghetto hardship scowl
Now labeled a rebel convict:
I can’t get no cotton-picking union job,
or no southern hospitality northen beans welfare
Living on the cliff ledge is hard, when you can’t blend in
Yellow tin badge hollow justice
gave me a white-hot iron brand hex on my charcoal skin
Then they bum wrapped me in a cement bubble
And an old enamel kangaroo in a long black lynx robe
said I was white rabbit lucky
I didn’t receive a volley of bullets for my trouble
But, I got a swollen-face good break, I was told
Tell my mama this cancer piss pack of hard spit sympathy lies
She died on the inside that awful sentencing day,
and my papa’s fears aged dog years in a bad way
They both knelt stone cold six-feet under,
while I was hell-roasting
in a 20-by-20 windowless solitary bunker
There were no encouraging letters sent from the grave
I’m sure my arrested anger
is gonna get released also, one calm and serene day
But a pardon ain’t forthcoming
any time soon
for these brooding hairs fading in penitentiary gray
For a relatively brief period in their lives,
they touched base with luxuries that they could
ill afford; with culture unallowed by both desire
and time. Their days were spent committing crimes
that fed their addiction to drugs. But at a rehab
center, they were reintroduced to some of the finer
things of life.
Teachings of Christ were at the heart and center of their
belief system and the hallmark of their program. Moreover,
there were other venues of culture that greatly aided in
their success. Among them was The Zoo.
Into their lives came the Museum of Science and Industry.
There, they could experience being connected to a reality
that improved rather than destroyed civilization. There,
perhaps they would connect to a challenge, a vision that
could assist in changing their lives. Such visits by them
must have been amazingly interesting and arresting;
enabling them to capture a fresh view of human ingenuity.
A new and broader view of the real world was also presented
to them by way of the Planetarium. Awesome observations of
the vast universe so unlike the average American city that
had limited their drug-infested lives. There was so much 'out
there' yet to be explored; so much 'in them' yet to be tapped.
The Zoo was another favorite place to go. Was it simply
a place to observe animals, or was there so much more
to be discovered? There was a golden opportunity to
reevaluate the use of cages, fences, barriers, and
partitions. Perhaps an ex-felon would conclude that
crime does not pay and that freedom is priceless.
I cannot be certain, but I suspect that the men
taken to such venues, especially the zoo, came
away with a greater appreciation for the good life.
One cannot help but realize the value of having
the wild in captivity, and at the same time acknowledge
that every living creature deserves and demands freedom.
051223PSCtest. Constance La France
Writing Challenge - 'Z' Words
Word Choice: Zoo
Our Shame,
"PRESIDENT" & "LEADERS"
Full grown men,
old,
devoid of vision,
Lacking in wisdom,
wicked weaklings
protected by paltry paid gun men
great grandfathers,
unwilling to train Younger Leaders.
Untrained themselves in morals & reputation,
Liars,
Tired & fickle in frame,
feeble. opaque, lacking imagination,
These exalted clowns,
drawn from rickety defeated military,
All but a weak one from the creek.
Gangsters,
Elevated as Presidents,
or Governors and Leaders,
We are Trapped,
fooled by cynosure of degenerate,
immoral men, destinies robbers,
watching the drowning of a once rich Giant.
confined felon,
demented through age
rogues as Presidents, Senators, Governors,
Protected by corrupt Police
and a demystified compromised Army,
Oppressive DSS, Abusive servants of the masses,
robbing the future of unborn kids,
denying all in the midst of Plenty,
shaming us all.
We have no Leaders Yet.
None since 1960.
Profligate band of men,
overtaken by fraud & moral turpitude,
A merry-go-round by failures,
sixty Plus years after Muzungu,
Illiterates still in charge of our destinies,
Despised in Ghana
scorned in Zambia
Overtaken by Ethiopians
locked out by Botswana
Denied by Rwanda
disgraced in Libya
Mocked in South Africa
Bared in sane countries
where corruption is an indelible blot,
incarcerating the guilty away from sane men.
These crooked Old recycled Failures,
Destroyed, ruined and damaged destroying still.
unwilling to retire in their dishonour,
Killing, abusing and incarcerating Young men who dares tyranny.
A former Giant,
Now a Crawling Giant of Africa,
Beggarly borrowing amidst plenty.
Over two hundred million divided mass,
waiting for “godot” .
procrastinating liberty for fear and docility
A country of Countries Ruined by Military men
masquerading as democrats through tyranny
A Cancer in Africa.