The Model Prisoner
He showers each day,
and he takes out the trash.
He works in the garden at times.
Mostly he sits in his cell and he reads.
He has never admitted his crime.
He seldom gets visitors
and hasn’t made many friends.
He sits by himself at mealtimes.
He serves a life sentence-no hope of parole
Until death he’ll remain here inside.
Conjugal visits? It’s been several years.
Since last she was seen by his side.
At lights out, sometimes,
you can hear gentle sobbing
as a little bit more of him dies.
poem by John F. McCullagh
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A Man Called Anders
He sits in his cell, not allowed to read newspapers
or watch TV. The centre of his mind is the coldest
place on earth…. He gives, for now, no ground for
other thoughts, say, that he might have committed
an unspeakable crime. His mother has forsaken him
his father wishes he will have the sense to take his
own life. His cell is frosty blue, those who feed him
avoid eye contact. No hand reaches out to touch him,
and his former friends tell us he was a big nobody.
He cannot hear this he will not hear, he is the king of
his own mind and mustn’t stray from his chosen path.
Cosmic loneliness, if he, one day, wakes up from his
slumber of self delusion and sees how grotesque he is
there will be no one to embrace him and give succor.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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A Forest-killburn Nat'l Version
Again i hear a voice
Her voice calling my name
Write the song and call in the beach
And you hear her call
A rose some call it
And watch the sun come up from the edge of the deep green sea
She called my name
And faith
Saying
The stone white clown still laughing after all these years
Some people i'd like to meet
Everytime you take the way to bring me a smile
Never look away from you
In everyway i take the way that you smile
And never look away from you
There's only a picture of her
Fuschia rests inside my heart
Just with a picture of her
Just with a picture of her
And write a letter to elise
And you know she'll never write back in a a hundred years
Can't touch the idol
The siamese twins of fire
Figurehead girl
It all sits inside of me
Just sits inside of me
Just sits inside of me
A place we can go
There's a place we can go
There's a place we can go
There's a place we can go
There's a place we can go
Take me there
Take me there
Take me there
Take me there
Take me there.
song performed by by Cure
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Love Is A Crime
Oooh Yeah
Chicago
If love is a crime baby
I'd do my time
Whether it's wrong or right
You can sentence me to life
If love is a crime baby
I'd do my time
Whether it's wrong or right
You can sentence me
Sentence me to life
Some might say I'm guilty of loving the first degree
If the jury wants to lock me up and throw away the key
There's no greater punishment than what I face inside
Won't tamper with the evidence cause there's nothing to hide
(He lives inside my heart)
(I'm in the middle too)
I'm in the middle too
(You never had a clue)
Unless you felt it too
(If love is a crime) baby
I'd do my time
(Whether it's wrong or right)
(You can) sentence me
Sentence me to life
(If love is a crime) baby
I'd do my time
(Whether it's wrong or right)
You can sentence me
Sentence me to life
Better tell the truth, just let me plead my case
The thief who stole my heart from me I couldn't let escape
He's my only alibi, but I won't drop a dime
So how can I give up to you, my partner in crime
(He lives inside) my heart
(I'm in the middle too)
Ooh yeah yeah
(You never had a clue)
Unless you felt it too
(If love is a crime) baby
I'd do my time
Whether it's wrong or right
You can sentence me
Sentence me to life
(If love is a crime) baby
I'd do my time
Whether it's wrong or right
You can sentence me
(Sentence me to life)
You can take away my freedom
But you can't take my love from me
I won't die a lonely prisoner
'Cause my heart will set me free
Oooh ooh yeah
Whooh!
Chicago
-acapo
song performed by by Anastacia
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Strength of Jesus
The strength of Jesus
Ties their hearts;
She sits by the gates of Heaven;
She sits by the weak and the lost;
She sits by her Jesus
Who is the lonely little boy,
And she visits the needy.
The strength of Jesus ties their hearts!
She sits by her because
Jesus shines
within the gates
of the city
Mar 25,2012
poem by TerriJo James
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The long term prisoner
He got a life sentence
been in now thirty years
his once ruddy features
now grey and ashen.
His wife long gone
married his friend
hasn't heard from his
son in years.
Spent a long time
in solitary confinement,
killed another prisoner
forgot what it was about.
His mind full of knowledge
read thousands of books
the complete works of Shakespeare.
Outside he was somebody
now just another number
old before his time.
Told he will never get out
he will die in prison,
but he says he's been dead for years.
The lifer died in his sleep
as he was being buried
another lifer moved into his cell.
poem by Kevin Halls
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Pompous Parole Boards
Why are they released after doing two thirds of their time?
Means a substantial reduction in a court sentence for a crime,
And the bureaucratic Parole Board believe that this is great,
Proud politicians are not interested in this debate.
Because they know that our parole system is obviously flawed,
Though they behave as though they were obeying the word of god,
While criminals are released and their sentences are reduced,
And the politically correct public is once again seduced.
Just another example of our complete lack of referendums,
Then add death with dignity to that dreary memorandum,
Then add plebiscites and proportional representation,
Then add a list of released prisoners on Parole-Board vacation.
poem by James Bredin
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Pompous Parole Boards
Why are they released after doing two thirds of their time?
Means a substantial reduction in a court sentence for a crime,
And the bureaucratic Parole Board believe that this is great,
Proud politicians are not interested in this debate.
Because they know that our parole system is obviously flawed,
Though they behave as though they were obeying the word of god,
While criminals are released and their sentences are reduced,
And the politically correct public is once again seduced.
Just another example of our complete lack of referendums,
Then add death with dignity to that dreary memorandum,
Then add plebiscites and proportional representation,
Then add a list of released prisoners on Parole-Board vacation.
poem by James Bredin
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Father And Daughter
on a chair father sits
and daughter sits on his lap
mother is away
and father whistles a song
it was a long time
and mother dies earlier
than father
the daughter sets on a sail
far away
no one knows where
but everyone remembers
the talk becomes the official story
of the town
pretending to be happy just like any other
town in our history
the father dies and daughter
comes back
bringing the flowers
she lights a candle
she sheds no tears
poem by Suki Nakamura
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Respect the doer of mean works
Respect them who do works
That demand no respects
More than them who do works
That command reverence.
Not prepared for such works
That are held low or mean,
You must at least respect
Them who do men works to you.
As a doctor serves you
A barber too serves you.
As a teacher serves you
A sweeper too serves you.
06.02.2012
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Soft Canadian Justice System
Eligible for parole in three weeks though he got twenty years,
Pre sentence time and enough paper work to bring you to tears,
Between soft appointed judges and the Parole Board; it’s a laugh,
Then add Trudeau’s Charter of Rights and it’s all on his behalf.
Decisions made by the Parole Board and what do you expect?
And the media says very little because it was politically correct,
But there’s something far wrong with this justice system left-wing fling,
And politicians are reluctant to touch it or change a thing.
And most of this goes on, hidden behind locked-tight closed doors,
Only sanctimonious left wing parole boards might know the scores,
No one ever questions or asks, why do we need parole boards?
Is their stuff published or kept secret or do they keep records?
Jan 16th,2011
poem by James Bredin
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No Regret For Anna
SHE WAS with the red movement before
raging in four storms
HER BOYFRIEND Dave faced the bullets squarely
defenseless against a rusty ideology
Many, many years, everything seems to be forgotten
Like death, like the pursuit of what is ideal
SHE MOVES to another place, but come December
IT is time for reminisces,
SHE VISITS a place where death once took away love,
Faces it with head high and steady arms
Lights a candle, lay the flowers beside a river
The song of the river makes her cry
EVERYTHING is sad here, and all the people do not remember him
Or her,
ONCE death claimed life, and life surrendered,
Death had taken away from her, her future, she does not complain,
THERE IS one thing though that must remain
INSIDE her heart, true love for the man who died not for her
BUT for country, for the masses
For the Filipino people.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Sobering Tale.
Sometimes he sits, sometimes he thinks.
At other times combines the two
More frequently he sits and drinks.
Because he cannot bear the view.
The only view that he can see
through pain filled eyes awash with tears.
He can remember vividly.
The promise of his early years.
When he was young and full of hope.
He had the whole world by the tail
But later found he could not cope,
although he tried to no avail.
Discovering that a drink or two
helped to alleviate the stress
A sorry story nothing new
His life became a complete mess.
He lost his job it had to come.
His drinking led to a divorce.
His wife then claimed the family home.
His life sped on it’s downwards course.
A friend became his enemy
because he let it take control.
It took him over completely.
Dependent now on alcohol.
No longer does he drink from choice
That luxury is now denied.
He drinks to still the nagging voice
which urges him to suicide.
Today he’s just a drunken bum
with nothing to look forward to.
Bar cheap red wine to make him numb
albeit temporarily.
Sometimes he sits, sometimes he thinks
sometimes he can combine the two.
More often though he sits and drinks
There’s nothing he would rather do.
10/10/2009
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Class Act
When I think of the term class act,
There's no one larger than Mr. T.
From the south side of Chicago,
When the streets were awfully mean.
He works with sick children everywhere.
And he gives to others in need.
Doing it without fanfare,
Each day are many good deeds.
He gives credit to the father,
The One Who sits on the throne.
It's only in movies he's angry,
As he hasn't a selfish bone.
If kids today need a hero,
He will never turn one away.
For he's a friend to all who need one,
He treats everyone this same way.
poem by Robert Edgar Burns
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Old man
Old man sits on a bench
His life surrounded by a cyclone fence
Remembers times from way back when
As he sits beside his best friend Ken
Relives the old times again and again
He was married to his late wife Jen
The love of his life from back then
He says his sorrow will never mend
Pulls out a card he never did send
Tries to be tough but he can`t pretend
He says Jen was his very best friend
Was very sad when her life did end
Tells ken that you never know when
The time you have will come to an end
Send your love as soon as you can
Don`t delay for another day
Sometimes god will take her away
Here on the bench the old man stays
Day after day he sits and prays
A tear from his eyes as they start to glaze
With love in his heart that never strays
Even after they have parted ways
poem by Joseph Whelan
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Muse on the visits
The land that you own and things in hand
Have come to you to stay as guests,
For a snap or sleep and would slip soon
From you against your wish and acts.
It’s not gentle for you to deny
The guests their freedom of movements.
What you own, be it land, things or friends,
Are your visitors, not prisioners.
You don’t get them; instead to you they come.
Their visits are joy and exits, sorrow.
The sorrow is the merit of the joy got.
Muse on their visits, not on their exits.
29.10.2008
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Friends
Friends are those who never
run away when times start getting tough.
They remain constantly at your side,
holding your hand
until the danger has long passed.
They never look the other way
when you need them most of all,
but remain always at your side
caring and sharing their all.
Friends like these are treasures
worth more than money can afford,
for there is no price you can put
on friends like these.
They come along
when you need them most
and remain with you forever more.
poem by David Harris
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Dead Boys Poem
The child sits and weeps,
How could this be all that matters,
Why did this have to hurt so deep,
How could this be life?
The child sits with the pain inside,
He sits with his heart in his chest,
‘How could I have died? ’
Is all he thinks, he forgets the rest.
The child’s eyes closed so tight,
His fists clenched so strong
He feels the night,
He knows everything that happened was wrong.
The child stands and looks into the houses light
He stares at not the window,
Not at the sight,
Yet only for the weeping widow.
The child stands holding the gun,
The gun he died holding,
As he remembers his father killing him, his only son
He remembers his father scolding.
He knows he took a life,
Yet he knows his father took his,
He remembers not the taking of his father’s life,
Only the pain of his father stealing his.
His eyes so dark,
His mind so lost,
His hand tracing deaths mark,
As he remembers it’s cost.
He remembers the scene, the time,
He remembers the look in his father’s face,
He remembers doing the crime,
He remembers seeing the pain in his father’s face.
But then his memory stops,
And reality takes place,
For this is when he dropped,
This is when life left his face.
He walks past,
To eternity; to roam
Of all his memories this shall be his last
For this is the dead boy’s poem.
poem by Bethany Maxwell
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A Breath of Heaven
*~*
Every now and then,
when the world sits just right ~
a gentle breath of heaven
fills my soul with delight,
and I sigh,
as the sun brings its morning,
its gift of warmth to chase the chill ~
from the crook of night's arms
arising o'er that far hill,
and I know,
heaven smiles,
and I smile, too,
for life can be hard
while the dreams are few.
Yet, every now and then,
when the world sits just right ~
that gentle breath of heaven
fills my soul with delight,
and I see,
a turning of a leaf
dancing in the autumn's sun,
and a brilliant shade of crimson
glowing when the day is done,
and I sigh,
as the rose that stands alone,
thrives where no others thrive.
A rare bouquet of one ~
still strong, still alive,
and I know,
that even in the shadows
heaven catches, unaware,
those blinded by visions
of hatred and despair,
and I see,
a promise of tomorrow
in that wind around the bend,
as it carries a dream of hope ~
with no hate or pain to tend,
and I pray,
as every now and then,
when this world sits just right ~
that gentle breath of heaven
fills my soul with delight,
and I smile...I smile.
*~*
poem by Hazelmarie Elliott
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The Man with the Thousand Yard Stare
He sits with a stoic's resistance,
his son in the casket lies there.
No line of a tear mars his visage-
the man with the Thousand yard stare.
He sits in the front row of mourners,
His dear sobbing wife by his side
in silence he keeps his sad vigil
and stares up at Christ crucified.
The mourners pass by him in silence,
touch his hand or say meaningless words,
for his part he stares straight on through them
as if nothings felt, nothings heard.
The Parson commands us to silence
and struggles to lead us in prayer-
but half of the room has forgotten the words
like the man with the thousand yard stare
Death is my race's core competence
dealing with life, we're but fair,
but none living today keeps sorrow at bay
not the man with the thousand yard stare.
poem by John F. McCullagh
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OLD McPFIZER HAD A PHARM
Old McPfizer had a pharm
Ee eye ee eye oh
On that pharm he made some drugs
Ee eye ee eye oh
With Prozac here and Ambien there
Here a drug, there a drug
Everywhere a drug-drug
Old McPfizer made big bucks
Ee eye ee eye oh
Old McPfizer sold his drugs
Ee eye ee eye oh
With no regard for “Side effects”
Ee eye ee eye oh
With depression here and suicide there
Here a death, there a death
Everywhere was death-death
Old McPfizer killed with drugs
Ee eye ee eye oh
Old McPfizer paid big fines
Ee eye ee eye oh
Then he stood trial and went to jail
Ee eye ee eye oh
With a crime here and crime there
Here a crime there a crime
Everywhere a crime-crime
Old McPfizer did some time
Ee eye ee eye oh
ROTMS
http: //www.pharmacytechs.net/blog/8-pharmaceuticals-wi th-worse-side-effects
poem by Ray Lucero
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