Long Jail cell Poems
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In the night the wolves howl in the distance,
As the spring lambs bay, with the first stirrings of life,
Close lies the pack of humanity, those for whom hunger for the
Fresh taste of the blooding’s first strike, at the throats of innocence
Most pure!
Have they gone suddenly silent, these yearlings tender lambs,
In the stilled quiet amongst the melting snows of winter,
The mountain fields run crimson, and an eerie stench oozing
Upon the winds of distain!
The cannibal lies within the forest of the towered halls,
In the giant fortresses of mankind, he does stalk amongst his own brethren,
No wolfed bite of treachery could leave such a mark of
Terror, as he the beast, whom would feast upon the raw flesh
Of his kindred kind!
A gentlemen chamleon blending amongst the tailcoats
Of learned men, sheathed within the amour of intelligence's,
A humanistic wolf moves flawlessly, within the herds of the
Meek and mild, to pick his victims of the city flock
At his leisure of desires pleasure!
Underneath the outstretched wings of the red dragon,
The bubbling caldron pot of truest evil, does runneth over,
With the gravy’s leavening's of the corruption and violence,
Welcoming this creature of the demonic to the dinning
Table of the unrighteous and wicked!
Black sheep, black sheep, do you have any wool,
The whittend lamb does ask, nay but in the woods
Therein, lies many go within the wolves din and take
What you like at your own risk of course, my innocent
Friend, but beneath the blackened skinned wool the
Wolf does smile, with a sheepish grinning!
In an extravagant restaurant a well-mannered gentlemen,
Orders the specialty of the house to go, later he adds
He adds his special ingredients, spiced to the taste
Buds of the cook himself, it sizzles with an unusual
Oromia of well-cooked human flesh, the cannibal
Smiles with delight at his culinary masterpiece,
As the police knock at his door, with a missing
Persons report!
In the jail cell of the lost souls, he the cannibal known
As Hannibal Lector has no regrets, except say one,
The meal he never got to finish!
In the night the wolves howl in the distance,
As the spring lambs bay, with the first stirrings of life,
Close lies the pack of humanity, those for whom hunger for the
Fresh taste of the blooding’s first strike, at the throats of innocence
Most pure!
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
GHOST MIRRORS
Ghostly images captured within the prism of reflected light,
Ethereal waves rippling against reality’s framed surface
Of the translucent, as phantom hands press, slamming at
The fragile glass of dualities deadened zone of existence!
A sudden shimmering, in the beguiling mirror of illusions,
As in the icy eerie chill of this frozen man made pool of
Optical delusions, something within shifted and moved!
Disembodiment's outcasts to incisions resistance, cut at
The bitter edge of the graves stone marker, are these
Silhouette shadow beings, trapped within clarities maze
Of solid crystal!
Black sheets haunted, hidden behind the spiritual mirrors
Of religion, encasement's prison of soulless mists, a vaporous
Cage without iron bars, nor steels reinforcement, these are
The lost or damnation's cursed unto the light of salvation!
What skeletal keys can unlock these dimensional doorway,
And just where is the keyhole to fit, this illusionary anomaly?
At the shutters sudden flash, in ethereal creature slides
Across the screen of realities review mirror, a dark
Hauntings presence that alluding the neck eyes detection!
A dead man’s situation lies exposed, by the elemental
Reflection of lights retraction, hidden beneath the graveyards
Bones of the unsolved murder!
Within the winds of the whistling breeze, hear the unruffled
Cries of fates lost children, crying out for justices guiding
Light to save them, from the disembodied hands of their
Tormentors!
Running children of the ethereal night, whom rage in
Vengeance, against the glass prism of shattered light,
Weeping in devastation's despair, for their loss of life eternal!
At the flashing neon point of no return, the devils forsaken
Sake at the tempered glass of realism, clamoring to be
Recognized for once existing!
Within the four squared frame of reality, dwells the
Infinite pool of the ethereal realm, and in its rippling
Waves, phantom faces are shone in the tormented poises
Of the after life’s jail cell, without the possibility of
Paroles final tender mercy!
Ghostly images captured within the prism of reflected light,
Ethereal waves rippling against reality’s framed surface
Of the translucent, as phantom hands press, slamming at
The fragile glass of dualities deadened zone of existence!
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
BEWARE THE MONTH OF HALLOWEEN IS COMING
I've been doin' time, sittin in this jail cell for too long.
Yea, I made mistakes because I was headstrong
when I killed Isabelle, but it's what she deserved.
She ran off with my coke and money. That was wrong.
I want outta prison. Enough years have been served.
She was sent to New Orleans just to shut me down.
I ruled like I was a king, a legend in my hometown.
But that greedy French chick stole from me and fled
to New York. Did she think I was clowning around?
I knew I'd find her there, and soon she'd end up dead.
That's where Moon Knight found me to make a deal.
He was lookin for my contact, but I wouldn't squeal.
I got the best of him and knocked him into the river
after overpowering him with my muscles of steel.
He wanted my contact information, but I didn't deliver.
I found Isabelle and kept her doped up for five days,
Shot her up with drugs until her mind was in a haze.
She told me what she'd done with my coke and money,
then I stabbed her until she was dead, her eyes agaze.
That was payback, but that woman was smooth as honey.
I dumped her body on the Westside and felt no pity.
I was in a hurry to get back home to Mardi Gras in the city.
The plan was to make raids when people were at parades.
While the cops were busy, I'd get down to the nitty-gritty
then high tail it outta town and hide out in the Everglades.
But Moon Knight and his pal Frenchie, were on my trail.
They wanted to capture me before my tracks got stale,
and found me at the Fair Grounds, betting on a horse.
Tearing up a losing ticket I'd bet on a nag of a bangtail.
I fought them off and got away using strength and force.
I took shelter in a warehouse a block from Jackson Square
but there was no escaping again when they found me there.
I wasn't gonna go down easy and had my ice pick ready.
Moon Knight broke my jaw, throwing a punch with fanfare.
It brought me to my knees when my legs became unsteady.
When I'm outta this hell hole, I swear I'm gonna get even.
Been shut up in jail too long and tired of all the grievin.'
Moon Knight hasn't seen the last of Cajun Creed. Not yet.
Vengeance has kept me sane, because it's what I believe in.
You can put a C note down on that promise. Make that bet!
11/1/2022 ~ Moon Knight Friend or Foe Contest
Sponsored by Robert James Liguori
Zooming out, I take it all in- the big picture
Is this what you thought it’d look like from the outside after everything was said and done?
A flawed image of our wasted youth
I pan in; seeing the fine lines of your words scribbled across the page
Did you mean them, or did you mean to just fill the empty spaces of my heart with false
intentions?
I crop it, making it seem perfect to everyone else except me
I’m the only one who knows the truth- cutting off all your lies to make you appear infallible,
isn’t that what you thought you wanted me to do?
Preserve your precious reputation?
I can’t be sure of you, but I can’t read your mind.
I feel cornered in your intoxicating atmosphere which swirls about with deception and greed
I breathe it in and it burns in my lungs
I’m becoming something I always swore I’d never be
This air smothers the flames of my inner most thoughts, swaying me into believing your
every word
I am under your spell as you swear you have me tucked under your wing
How did we begin to soar, even when I knew we were bound to skim on the sea of disaster?
I’ve become a jealous conniving monster
Hungry with desire for something that only temporarily satisfies; your love
It seeps into my soul and wrecks the film of memories taken by my mind
The perfect image of you is gone forever
In its place a gaping hole
I’m at the bottom of it, waiting for the bucket to carry me up from the failure of this lost
wishing well
I call but no one answers
I may drown in my own apathy before you come and save me and help me remember how
to feel anything at all
It’s a cycle, I know
But I can’t help but continue to trust in your saving grace- you save me from the darkest
demons alive in my heart tonight
A more threatening force than you could ever pray to be
Who should I let hold me hostage?
The jail cell in my mind?
Or a place in your arms?
Is one more costly than the other?
I will never be sure, but I know I will always be indebted to you
My greatest joy
My biggest downfall
And my best mistake
You knocked the wind out of my sails, and sank my ship
I now drown in your love
Calling out your name to save me from myself
I feel my last breath escape from my lungs
I am now your corpse, floating lifelessly in your shallow pond of pride
Form:
"Nicholas Street Jail is a real place"
The building is imposing, massive and fearful,
built in 1862 as a jail and gallows for criminals;
the conditions were inhumane and appalling,
on the top floor was death row with only one way out.
It closed in 1972 (hangings had not been done in years,)
renovating was done but the creepiness remained;
one hundred and fifty unmarked graves were found,
deemed a heritage building it was turned into a hostel.
It is said to be haunted by the men executed there,
the dark cells can be rented on that top death floor;
small cells with tiny barred windows the only light,
some have seen ghosts standing at the end of their cots.
There are creaking cell gates and heavy footsteps heard,
wailing and weeping and praying all the night long;
on a dare- I rented a top floor cell with bars,
and was told the gallows still remained down the hall.
I went to my bunk not really believing the stories,
but in the night hands were reaching, pulling me;
I screamed but no one was there,
restless, I started walking a dark narrow hall.
There was a man walking also and I wanted to talk,
hello, sir, I called but he did not stop as I followed;
he opened a door and went through, I hesitated a moment,
then, I opened the door, it was the gallows . . .
His was hanging, his neck broken, his eyes staring,
I tried to scream but no sound came as hands pulled me;
decomposed dead were reaching and all had broken necks,
I was screaming when my body dropped into an empty void.
Found in the morning, crumpled and weeping,
talking hysterically about being hanged by decomposed men;
muttering about being dead, dead, dead,
and from the dark side of my mind I cannot escape . . . ever
The mental hospital where I reside is like a jail cell,
where ghosts hang me each night in the gallows,
where I fall into that empty vast void,
screaming, screaming, screaming . . . in the silence.
______________________________
September 25, 2022 (edit from September 19, 2016)
Poetry/Verse/One From the Dark Side of My Poetry
Copyright Protected, ID 09-1490-294-25
All Rights Reserved, 2022, Constance La France
Submitted into the contest, From The Dark Side
sponsor, John Lawless, Judged 10/04/2022
Ninth Place
I want to walk without looking over my shoulder.
I want to eat without looking over my shoulder.
I want to drive without looking over my shoulder.
For, when I look over my shoulder.
My first reflection is the trembling I have when I see a deputy.
My first inquiry.
Will the officer think my cell phone is a gun?
Will the civil servant judge me while I am eating a simple meal?
Will the badge pull me over for looking suspicious?
Will I have to go on social media to safeguard my human race?
Let the universe know my every footstep.
For privacy went out the door when they pull the trigger on my brother fourteen times in the back in front of the coffee shop.
For privacy went out the door when they put a chokehold on my brother for selling cigarettes.
Killing him on the sidewalk.
For privacy went out the door when my brother has his hands up and a minimum of six shots.
Took his life!
For privacy went out the door when my sister was only seven when her soul was taken in her sleep over a raid.
For privacy went out the door when bluecoat killed my brother over a busted taillight.
Killed in front of his four-year-old daughter.
For privacy went out the door when my brother only twelve couldn’t play outside with his toy gun.
Why?
They did what they do best.
They murder him!
For privacy went out the door when my sister was pulled over for a minor traffic violation and later hung in her jail cell.
For privacy went out the door when my young sister was put to death for a warrant ten miles away from her home.
For privacy went out the door when my brother was slaughter.
With a knee on his neck.
Screaming (I can’t breathe)!
While other cops watched for 8:46.
For privacy went out the door when my people are being hung in the tree.
Like my ancestor!
For privacy went out the door when I had to learn
I was not walking anymore.
I was marching.
I had to master my footsteps.
I needed to make sure my freedom was first.
Everywhere I went my security was first.
Running from the police without seeing the police.
Where the footsteps I was waking now!
just moments ago, a dawning realization
arose within this sol son begat
from ma late mother
and octogenarian widower father,
oh..no nothing cat
tuss strophic, boot merely the revelation,
how fist bumping dee clocks hour hand ahead
remembered by dat
dog gone refrain spring ahead, and fall back,
this unemployed chap doth down play eclat
attests that his quotidian schedule minimally effected
holed up here in Highland Manor named flat
roomy enough for thyself, the Missus,
and buzzfeed ding fruit flies
each approximately the size of a gnat
a minor nuisance, though tolerable
within this appealing habitat
where minor inconvenience experienced
by this Schwenksville, Pennsylvania resident
cuz as a recipient of social security disability
(social anxiety) this psyche didst get rent
which fixed (unearned) income budgeted
and predominantly costs of living money spent
hence no need to arise bright tailed and bushy eyed,
a freedom akin to folks camped out in a tent,
which exemption immunizes
this doodle ling middle aged
muddle brained chap subject ranting
early morning drivers,
who angrily, frenetically,
and splenetically rant and vent
thus, the tendency, piquancy, and lunacy
to twitter (for the Yardbirds),
and keep company with night owls, who went
a hooting for all the world wide web
to hear, whence dawgs Bach
the exact number of hours, yer oblivious
to the tight rigorous mortised schedule
manned by Mister Clock,
essentially foisting on Bread Winners,
an abstract artificial construct spurring
madcap commuters to scurry in the rat race,
lest tardiness could cost
more than paycheck
(to ap pier with permanent dock
hue ment aye shun),
an unwonted blot add hoc
king worry about getting canned -
i.e. on permanent furlough,
perhaps forced into a life of crime,
yet if caught...
wasting away in a jail cell
as warden turns the lock
one redeeming factor,
would offer opportunity to mock
management, and more pertinently
mandate to rock
and roll to the incessant muted,
yet devastatingly loud tick tock.
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.”
You took me so far from myself, that I forgot who I was
A stranger looked back at me in my own mirror
I heard a little girl crying inside, but yet I couldn’t see her
What was that shadow under my dress?
Daddy’s little girl, singing a song, “You ought to been there when the Lord saved me.”
I sang well, yet I was still waiting to be saved…
Don’t you all see me, drowning in hurt being strangled by darkness?
What was that shadow under my dress?
Daddy, daddy, daddy… But you’re my daddy
Fathers sell not your daughters as whores, for if you do your nation will be turned to
Whoredom…
Daddy, daddy, daddy… But you’re my daddy
What was that shadow under my dress?
Being led around by darkness bound by the invisible leash of my innocence
Nothing was the name that he gave me…
If you love me you won’t tell, was the silence of that song he played for me…
What was that shadow under my dress?
Reaching around in my world of darkness trying to find something, anything to hold on
to…
Beyond the point of feeling blue…
Each day, molestation was nothing new…
What was that shadow under my dress?
Asking what more do I have to take before being left alone…
Confusion choked me…
Why?, Was the only food I could eat…
Why didn’t anyone help me? Why was I left alone?
What was that shadow under my dress?
Taking a bath was like bathing in the lake of fire…
Red raw rashes, whips and lashes where the clothes that he gave me…
It was actually a relief when he only beat me by a tree…
What was that shadow under my dress?
Cursed from the day I was born, being taught before I could walk how to pose for
****…
My panties pink with flowers, being pulled off of my body every midnight hour…
Sexual deviance being sown into my DNA
Innocents told me, that’s just the way Daddy’s like to play
What was that shadow under my dress?
Time has passed and Daddy’s gone to and been released from Jail…
Over 22 years he was locked up a sexually violent predator civilly committed never
supposed to sleep outside of a jail cell…
Throughout my life those who have heard my story considered me blessed…
Yet I still struggle and pray one day I can truly understand what that shadow was
under my dress…
Form: