Poetry From Prison: The Walls of Jericho
Submitted by Larry,Ā an inmate on Death Row in Pennsylvania fighting for his exoneration.
Prison Artwork: Missy (Melissa) and Rick by Robert Davis
Pencil sketch from a photo (~1973), by inmate Robert Davis in TDCJ
Poetry From Prison: The Woman
This is our first post from Larry, an inmate on Death Row in Pennsylvania fighting for his exoneration. Watch forĀ more of his work here on our blog.
The Woman
Her mysterious strength within
carries an aura
of sea water
whispers not dreams.
Upon her face
are two glowing candies
illuminating a romantic vision
and her hands
harness a shower
of twinkling stars.
She smiles
like the crescent
and her thoughts travel
like the scent
of botanical gardens.
First a princess
then a queen
but always an angel.
Her beauty
is the nest
of our eggs.
The counter part
of life …
The Woman.
Letters From Prison: Integrate Now!
We’re working to match up veterans (or active duty) on the outside, with veterans on the inside. This comes from Zion, a veteran serving time in a California prison.
I am a US Navy veteran and would like to see a program specifically geared towards ex-servicemen that would place us in a separate environment from mainline incorrigibles that would focus on rehabilitation, avoiding prison mentalities and re-entry preparation. Service people have a Ā life-long fraternity, an unbreakable bond that aids in encouragement to change. Many county jail programs are now offered for vets. I think it would really go a very long way in helping those of us in the state penitentiary.
Most of the programs in my prison are inmate-run, thus the quality is generally nil. Programs facilitated by free-staff and experts from the outside provide much better curriculum and offer greater hope.
College programs at the Bachelor’s or Graduate level would be of greatest help in making this time productive. Not every inmate fits into a “vocational training” category. Higher education would increase my chance of staying out of prison, guaranteed!
Lastly, but of incredible importance would be the ending of forced segregation in state prisons. Housing white inmates only with other whites, blacks only with blacks, etc., is a terrible holdover from bygone days that only serves to make divisions deeper, prison more dangerous, and re-adjustment to the real world that much more difficult. It effectively stifles the social development of every inmate subjected to it. INTEGRATEĀ NOW!
What Keeps Me Going
What keeps me going is knowing that I’ll be able to talk to my fiancee by phone everyday. Prior to coming to prison, I didn’t value the simple pleasure of communicating with someone about daily routine activities, our thoughts, concerns, and everything in between–until now. I feel complete, appreciated, and important after our conversations because this woman has deemed it important enough to take time out of her busy schedule to answer my call and share her life with me.
What keeps me going is knowing I have a strong support system in my family and friends who love me and assist me in things I need. As many of you know, we in prison don’t have access to the Internet or many other technological luxuries, so to know I can count on people in the world to research things, post blogs for me, and navigate cyber space on my behalf is immeasurable. Furthermore, after spending over seventeen years in prison, the technology I will be faced with upon my release will undoubtedly be my biggest obstacle, so knowing I have people who will help me acclimate to this ever-changing world is invaluable.
What keeps me going is receiving letters. Humans have a basic need of connecting with other people and this, I believe, becomes even more intensified–or made obvious–when we come to prison and are isolated from society. A letter–a simple letter–can and does have an enormous impact on one’s psyche, self esteem, and motivation. I cannot explain how much it means to me to know there are people out there who think I am important enough to take time out of their day to write me a letter and show me I matter. Their letters take me from this dreaded place and put me in a whole other world–even if only for a few moments. Among other things, these are what keep me going.
Letters From Prison: I Just Live Here Now
Q: Age
A: 42 years
Q: How long have you been in prison?Ā
A: Since April 30th, 1997. (19 years)
Q: What is your sentence?
A: Life without parole.
Q: Do you feel your time in prison has benefited you?Ā
A: Sure, I was out of control, I was unable to function as a part of society. I came to prison and lost my freedom, but found myself. I am free on the inside, the fact that I am in prison means relatively little. I enjoy life, I just live in here now.
Q: Have you made friends on the inside that you will keep after you or they have been released?
A: I am not getting released, and although I’ve had many friends who have gotten out, none have kept in touch more than a letter or two.
Q: Do you have a job? If so, what is it? Wage?
A: Yes. Houseman. Wage = $0. Inmates in Florida do not get paid for working like in Ā most other states.
I make these friendship bracelets. They tie on and unite easily. The nice, even uniform side goes up. Let me know if you would like more.
Thank you so very much. I am interested to see what happens now.
Letters From Prison: Mercy Precedes Healing
Submission to: The Campaign for the Fair Sentencing of Youth
Pride precedes destruction, and so every teenager dwells on the doorstep of disaster. I lived it; I was 16, an honor-roll student with loving parents and no criminal record. But I had serious emotional problems – maybe even PTSD – from abuse I suffered as a boy, and I refused to face it. I told myself i was fine, indestructible. I was wrong.
In February of 1996, I killed my mom, step-dad, and younger brother. I didn’t know I was going to hurt anyone. I didn’t want to, but I did – because I denied my problems. Because I thought I was infallible, I wrecked my community, devastated my family, and killed the three best people I have ever known.
I was saved by acceptance into a prison that offered both college and therapy. Through five years of therapy sessions, I learned about how stunted my emotions were and how to open up to people in healthy ways. In college I not only got an education, I was also exposed to new ideas and to our society’s many needs for community service. From that, I gained direction in my life.
Now, I have committed myself to two missions – starting the Susan Rae Foundation, a charity I’ll name in honor of my mom, and working to develop better community systems for recognizing and assisting at-risk youth. I want other kids in danger to get help before it’s too late. I mean “too late” for everyone; not only the victims, but the kids themselves.
Right now, a kid who commits a crime like mine is done in life. I have 90 years. Many similar kids get life without parole or huge numbers like mine. I’m an author, I serve as a facilitator in the Alternatives to Violence Project here at the prison, and I’m always seeking opportunities to reach out to and aid the community. I do it because it feels good to help, and for my mom. I don’t do it because I hope it will pay dividends; when it looks like you’ll never leave prison, you need hope, but not too much of it.
That is my wish for all the children who are entering prison – hope. Coming here at 13-17 years old and knowing you’ll never see the world again is crushing. Young people who might be saved by a realistic sentence and education are lost to drugs, gangs, and despair because they see nothing in front of them. Pride precedes destruction, but mercy precedes healing. If we save our children, even when they err, we save ourselves as well.
I personally know two men who received life sentences as teens, but they both got an education and therapy, and received sentence relief in court. One now owns to software firms and the other appeared in Forbes magazine. How many more stories like this could there be? We will only know if we show our children mercy.
Letters From Prison: Hope is a Scarce Commodity
An excerpt of a letter from Rick in February of 2014, when he was still in county jail, and about six months before he was moved to prison. He writes about his idea to start Adopt an Inmate.
I feel as though I am the most well-taken-care-of inmate in Del Valle. Having friends and family who have professed faith in my innocence and pledged support through cards, letters and books is a blessing more valuable than can be conveyed or repaid. It has allowed me to maintain my sanity. Without these blessings I believe I would have fallen into a bottomless pit of despair. This belief and the eye-opening real-life stories revealed to me by fellow inmates drives me to make some difference here. Now and in the future. For a good while I have been contemplating a non-profit I have tentatively dubbed āAdopt-an-inmate.ā
The organization would seek to provide the blessings I have received as well as other services possibly required for those caught up in the system without local resources to help them.
While I suspect it is by design, there is no solid proof of a conspiracy to deprive an inmate the means to defend himself. Conspiracy or not, a confluence of jail conditions can prevent the incarcerated from effectively participating in his own defense. It is this predicament that Iād most like to eradicate. Hope is a scarce commodity in jail. Those who provide it to us are Godās own angels.
Poetry From Prison: Unconditional Love
Taj from Virginia, pictured below, with the inspirationĀ for his beautifully touching ode.
Unconditional Love
(Godmother)
She rises before dawn on Sunday
just to catch an early Southbound train.
She makes 800-mile round-trip
just a single day
for a mere three hours together
then says, after the initial squeeze,
‘It’s already worth it.’
She hires a driver from the station
just to avoid getting lost, getting late
pays him to idle the visitation hours
watching Southern asphalt bake in August swamp simmer.
She shirks off thanks
looks deep in my eyes
dusts the backs of my hands
(that she won’t let go)
with tender kisses that seed tomorrows
into my pores.
She comes
simply shows
to visit at Greensville
(mid-70’s-Soviet-chic, turreted hell)
just to co-mingle our talk with presence and affection.
She cares little about frisks,
even less about growling coyotes
posturing in uniforms and scowls
flashing teeth and gnashing bad ‘tudes,
and not one bit about the sharp summer glare
reflecting off surround-sound razor-wire, cuffs, and chains.
She enthusiastically proclaims
over the thrill of posing
just for a standard prison photo op
despite the full senior-prom-phony grins
and my state-issued, elastic-waisted attire.
Review of The Other Wes Moore
This book was enjoyable from multiple standpoints. It was engaging and personable. It was compelling and sad. In short, it evoked a range of emotions that made it a memorable read.
The author, Wes Moore, keeps his readers engrossed by juxtaposing his story–beginning in childhood and culminating in his success as a serviceman and politician–alongside his not-so-fortunate counterpart (also named Wes Moore), who ends up in prison for life.
What I found most interesting was how two young men’s lives, who, coincidentally were given the same name at birth, could live mere blocks away from each other and yet end up in polar opposite circumstances in their adult lives. Wes Moore also noted this throughout his book, using it to underscore the importance of community resources, adult intervention, and positive steps that can be taken to change one’s outcome in life.