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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Related quotes
The Lifer
The Lifer
Eye feel so sorry for someone that cares for only work and cannot have a little fun it seems so sad to me they cannot use the world to live or love but robot only seems to me a fate as worse as any death has come to those in work zones he looked for all the world a sad sad man when he said there is only work related things allowed on his bulletin board in the work zone land. He has helped me many times but now he told me with his eyes that eye am just a cipher in his life he died when he signed up for cash a lifer stuck upon the number given him when job was given name a number in the zone a lifeless thing a lifer come to stay how many gentle readers have the number or the name just like the lifer man the game is god the thing is done now no new information in the lifer zone allowed. No Soul.
poem by Charles Hice
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My Next Thirty Years
(track 12 - time 3:37)
(phil vassar)
I think Ill take a moment, celebrate my age
The ending of an era and the turning of a page
Now its time to focus in on where I go from here
Lord have mercy on my next thirty years
Hey my next thirty years Im gonna have some fun
Try to forget about all the crazy things Ive done
Maybe now Ive conquered all my adolescent fears
And Ill do it better in my next thirty years
My next thirty years Im gonna settle all the scores
Cry a little less, laugh a little more
Find a world of happiness without the hate and fear
Figure out just what Im doing here
In my next thirty years
Oh my next thirty years, Im gonna watch my weight
Eat a few more salads and not stay up so late
Drink a little lemonade and not so many beers
Maybe Ill remember my next thirty years
My next thirty years will be the best years of my life
Raise a little family and hang out with my wife
Spend precious moments with the ones that I hold dear
Make up for lost time here, in my next thirty years
In my next thirty years
song performed by by Tim McGraw
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In Loving Memory
A long time ago,1976 to be exact
a friend said I should go along
to a writing class he had joined.
Therefore, I did and met someone,
who was to change my life.
However, I did not know it at the time.
For the first couple of years he was simply my tutor.
However, as the years rolled on,
he became my mentor,
and most of all my friend.
For every year, we knew one another
the friendship grew stronger than before.
Before I met Maurice,
he had published four novels
and I have every one.
He started with A City Called Holy,
next came The Splendour and the Havoc,
and then The World and the Flesh,
and finally Across the Frontier.
He also wrote plays,
produced, directed and acted
in them with his wife Peggy.
When I met him his books
were out of print,
but through the years,
I found them one by one.
After a friendship that lasted
over seventeen years Maurice died.
However just before he passed away,
he told me how his local library
had approached him, wanting to know
if he had any copies of his books,
as they only had one left.
He did not and felt sadly about that.
As he told me, I made a promise to myself.
Not matter how long it took,
or how much it would cost,
his local library would have,
those books of his they did not have.
More than ten years passed from the time of his death,
until I was finally able to fulfil my promise.
I collected through the years
the books the library was missing.
In January 2006, I presented them to his local library.
It was a way of saluting a special friend,
helping keep his name alive.
I did it because of the special gifts,
through the years he gave me.
His friendship, his knowledge and help
with my writing no one had ever given before.
Therefore, any success
that I may ever achieve
can be contributed to him.
A gentleman of words,
my tutor, my mentor,
and lastly a very kind and special friend.
(For the late Maurice Callard)
poem by David Harris
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Nellie Clark
I was only eight years old;
And before I grew up and knew what it meant
I had no words for it, except
That I was frightened and told my Mother;
And that my Father got a pistol
And would have killed Charlie, who was a big boy,
Fifteen years old, except for his Mother.
Nevertheless the story clung to me.
But the man who married me, a widower of thirty-five,
Was a newcomer and never heard it
Till two years after we were married.
Then he considered himself cheated,
And the village agreed that I was not really a virgin.
Well, he deserted me, and I died
The following winter.
poem by Edgar Lee Masters
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Solitary confinement
He paces up and down his cell
as he has done so many times before
a human eye peers through his spyhole
watching his every movement.
The prisoner does press ups on the floor
shadow boxes an imaginary opponent
then falls exhausted on to his bed
noticing a fly on the grey ceiling.
He is aware of the eye in the door
but he continues observing the fly
also the tiny spider in the corner
he ignores the watching eye
then falls into a deep sleep.
He dreams of Green verdant fields
long golden sands and crashing ocean waves
holding hands with a beautiful woman
but reality hits him as he wakes in his cell.
Long tedious days of solitary confinement
for killing a fellow prisoner in a fight
but it was a situation of kill or be killed
the law of the jungle inside the dark walls.
Each day the same as the previous one
each year the same as the previous one
this is the life of the solitary prisoner.
poem by Kevin Halls
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No Neck-Tie Party
A prisoner speaks:
Majority of twenty-three,
I face the Judge with joy and glee;
For am I not a lucky chap -
No more hanging, no more cap;
A "lifer," yes, but well I know
In fifteen years they'll let me go;
For I'll be pious in my prison,
Sing with gusto: Christ Is Risen;
Serve the hymn-books out on Sunday,
Sweep the chapel clean on Monday:
Such a model lag I'll be
In fifteen years they'll set me free.
Majority of twenty three,
You've helped me cheat the gallows tree.
I'm twenty now, at thirty-five
How I will laugh to be alive!
To leap into the world again
And bless the fools miscalled "humane,"
Who say the gibbet's wrong and so
At thirty-five they let me go,
Tat I may sail the across the sea
A killer unsuspect and free,
To change my name, to darkly thrive
By hook or crook at thirty-five.
O silent dark and beastly wood
Where with my bloodied hands I stood!
O piteous child I raped and slew!
Had she been yours, would you and you
Have pardoned me and set me free,
Majority of twenty-three?
Yet by your solemn vote you willed
I shall not die though I have killed;
Although I did no mercy show,
In mercy you will let me go. . . .
That he who kills and does not pay
May live to kill another day.
*By a majority of twenty-three the House of Commons
voted the abolition of the death penalty.
poem by Robert William Service
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Faery Song
Sung by the people of Faery over Diarmuid and Grania, in their bridal sleep under a Cromlech.
We who are old, old and gay,
O so old!
Thousands of years, thousands of years,
If all were told:
Give to these children, new from the world,
Silence and love;
And the long dew-dropping hours of the night,
And the stars above:
Gie to these children, new from the world,
Rest far from men.
Is anything better, anything better?
Tell us it then:
Us who are old, old and gay,
O so old!
Thousands of years, thousands of years,
If all were told.
poem by William Butler Yeats
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The Day Old Shep Died
it's been thirty years,
that he's been gone,
the day he died, brought tears,
all day, i played his song.
for nine long years,
i loved him and he loved me,
the day he died, broght tears,
toward the end, he could barely see.
when he died, i was seventeen years,
my child hood died that day,
the day he died, brought tears,
during his youth, we were always at play.
him and i was, so close in years,
when i got shep he was five and i eight,
the day he died brought tears,
he always ate his meals, off our plate.
he died at eighty-four in human years,
he lived to a ripe old age,
the day he died brought tears,
for this poem, he set the stage.
i can't believe, its been so many years,
i think about him, all the time,
the day he died, brought tears,
but old shep, was all mind.
of all these many years,
no dog has taken the place of old shep,
the day he died, brought tears,
i'll always remember, that dog with pep
in memory of old shep 1946-1960 written june 21,1990
A Faery Song
i{Sung by the people of Faery over Diarmuid and Grania,}
i{in their bridal sleep under a Cromlech.}
WE who are old, old and gay,
O so old!
Thousands of years, thousands of years,
If all were told:
Give to these children, new from the world,
Silence and love;
And the long dew-dropping hours of the night,
And the stars above:
Give to these children, new from the world,
Rest far from men.
Is anything better, anything better?
Tell us it then:
Us who are old, old and gay,
O so old!
Thousands of years, thousands of years,
If all were told.
poem by William Butler Yeats
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Prisoner Number 1416111981
I am a prisoner and my Cell Number is 1416111981,
I am a prisoner of love and i am now trappedon this river of love;
But, trying to escape from this prison on two occassions failled.
I am a prisoner and my Cell Number is 1416111981,
So do visit me at this river of love;
There you will see the red gate which trapped me on two occassions.
This prison had been my home for many years and,
This love is around my neck like the love of an apple;
But, one day i will be free at last.
Come to Cell Number 1416111981 to hear my story,
For this river of love was all that took me there.
I am Prisoner Number 1416111981,
And two attempts to escape from this prison had failled me;
But one day i will be free at last after serving my terms.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Ten Grey hairs and a silver one
I discovered my first grey hair
when I was Seventeen years old
It had to do with broken up my first relationship
I discovered my second grey hair
when I was Twenty years old
It had to do with the quarrels at home
I discovered my third grey hair
when I was Twenty-one years old
It had to do with searching for work
I discovered my fourth grey hair
when I was Twenty-three years old
It had to do with loosing my job
I discovered my fifth grey hair
when I was Twenty-five years old
It had to do with giving up my unborn child
I discovered my sixth grey hair
When I was Twenty-eight years old
It had to do with opening my pub
I discovered my seventh grey hair
When I was thirty years old
It had to do with giving birth to my daughter
I discovered my eight grey hair
When I was thirty –two years old
It had to do with the first day at the kinder garden school
I discovered my ninth grey hair
When I was thirty-four years old
It had to do with to find out that some thing was missing
I discovered my tenth grey hair
When I was thirty-five years old
It had to do with the fights between my sisters and mum
My one Silver hair I discovered lately
Has to do with you
Because I miss you so hard …
poem by Pascale Ost
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Time To Live
Let me see the sunshine
Let me feel the rain
Let me go where I wanna go
I wanna smell the flowers
See the dawn again
Find those friends I used to know
Well, I spent twenty long years
In a dirty old prison cell
I never saw the light of day
If you could understand
Oh, that kind of living hell
Thats the price I have to pay
Thats the price I have to pay
They say I killed a man
But I never told them why
So you can guess
What Ive been through
So for twenty long years
Ive been thinking of that other guy
And what I saw him do to you
What I saw him do to you
Listen here
So if tomorrow comes
And I walk outside that door
Try to understand the strain
But if you smile that smile
I know I couldnt ask for more
I know Id do it all again
Yes, I would
I know Id do it all again
song performed by by Uriah Heep
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Wake Up (Set Your Sights)
Let me see the sunshine. Let me feel the rain.
Let me go where I wanna go.
Well I want to smell the flowers, see the dawn again.
Find those friends I used to know.
Find those friends I used to know.
Well I spent twenty long years in a dirty old prison cell.
I never saw the light of day.
If you could understand, oh that kind of living hell.
That's the price I had to pay. Oh yeah!
That's the price I had to pay.
They say I killed a man, but I never told 'em why.
So you can guess what I've been through.
And so for twenty long years I've been thinking of that other guy
and what I saw him do to you.
What I saw him do to you.
Listen. So when tomorrow comes and I walk outside that door,
try to understand the strain.
But if you smile that smile I know I couldn't ask for more.
I know I'd do it all again. Yes I would.
I know I'd do it all again.
song performed by by Uriah Heep
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Public Animal #9
Me and G.B.
We ain't never gonna confess
We cheated at the math test
We carved some dirty words in our desk
Well now it's time for recess
Old man waitin by the monkey bars
Tradin all his ball cards
And they promised him a gold star
And they told him he could go far
Hey Mr. Bluelegs
Where are you takin me?
I'm like a lifer
In the state penitentiary
If I keep my nose clean
I won't get my eyes shined
But I'm proud to be
Public Animal Number Nine
License plates are runnin
Out of my ears
I'd give a month of cigarettes
For just a couple of lousy beers
Or even a bottle of
Real cheap wi-hine
But that's the price you pay to be
Public Animal Number Nine, Number Nine
Hey Mrs. Cranston
Where are you takin me?
I feel like a lifer
In the state penitentiary
She wanted an Einstein
But she got a Frankenstein
Yeah, I'm proud to be
Public Animal Number Niiiirrrrrgh
Public Animal Number Nine
Public Animal Number Nine
Public Animal Number Nine Nine
Public Animal Number Nine Number Nine
Number Nine Number Nine
Number, Number Nine Animal Number Nine
Public Animal Number Nine Nine
Public Animal Numbergh Niiiirrrrrgh
Public Animal Nurrrgh Nirrrgh
Errrrrrrrrrrrgh
Public Animal Number Ni-yine
Public Animal Number Ni-yine
Public Animal Number Number Nine Nine
Public Animal Naaaaaaaagh
song performed by by Alice Cooper
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I'm a lifer, yeah... I can honestly say I'm a lifer.
To Mrs. Thrale on Her Completing Her Thirty-fifth Year
Oft in danger, yet alive,
We are come to thirty-five;
Long may better years arrive,
Better years than thirty-five.
Could philosophers contrive
Life to stop at thirty-five,
Time his hours should never drive
O'er the bounds of thirty-five
High to soar, and deep to dive,
Nature gives at thirty-five.
Ladies, stop and tend your hive,
Trifle not at thirty-five;
For, howe'er we boast and strive,
Life declines from thirty-five:
He that ever hopes to thrive
Must begin by thirty-five:
And all who wisely wish to wive
Must look on Thrale at thirty-five.
poem by Samuel Johnson
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27 Years! ! ! ! !
27 years of my life-
I lived like a wife,
waiting for my husband kiss;
Which i always missed.
27 years of my life -
Waited all the nights,
To share my happiness and sadness;
And i felt it was madness.
27 years of my life-
I spent with unknown husband,
Who has time to work;
And I felt like a jerk.
27 years of my life-
I spent with boredom,
And being a loyal wife;
I lost my freedom.
After 27 years of my life-
I still feel something missing,
I still keep looking;
And still waiting.
And the next 27 years will pass by:
Without my husband near by.
poem by Anju Addanki
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A hole in the roof
The old prison cell and there's no ceiling
And a hole in the roof.
The person in confinement
Who sees the night sky.
No changes at all
The old stars and the Moon as earlier.
The North star seems very old
And the bachelor thinks of the next-door widow Violet and her whereabouts.
And he's not seen his old friend Jack Daniel's smile since a long time.
Someone says the President's Birthday comes soon and there will be an amnesty for prisoners?
He's sentenced for ten years and the half of the term almost gone.
* To my poet friend George.Murdock in gratitude.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Don't Ever Call Here Again
Why did I call?
You have been on my mind.
You are there most of the time,
With thoughts of wishes
I hope you are fine.
Why is it you?
Doesn't my call to you provide a clue?
Perhaps one day,
Out of the 'blue'...
You will call me too!
Instead of seeming to be annoyed.
And giving me attitude!
'Yeah...
But you've called me five times in ten minutes.
You have the wrong number!
How long has it been since you have spoken to your mother? '
Mom I know this is you!
I apologize for not calling in twenty years.
I have fallen on hard times...
And I need your assistance.
'That's unfortunate, young man.
The only son I had told me to mind my business.
He moved out over twenty five years ago!
And I know that could not be you...
Because the last time I called 'him'
He told me where to go!
I went!
And my life has been wonderful ever since!
I would give you his number...
But I have forgotten his name!
I have forgotten I have had any children at all.
And I bet 'if' you were in my shoes,
You would do the same.
When you find your mama...
Give her a hug for me, baby!
And as for you...
Don't ever call here again.'
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Old Man's Saddest Story
We sat about the fireplace listening to the old man's tales
Of the youthful years of life he spent in lovely Alder Vale
He told some happy stories but he told some sad one's too
And the saddest story that he told I will relate to you.
'Twas the story of young Joaney Ryan who died whilst in her prime
When the fruits were ripe for picking in September's harvest time
She died at twenty three years old the valley beauty queen
And a fairer maid since her time the old man has not seen.
She was the most beautiful maid the old man ever knew
With sheeny hair of raven black and sparkling eyes of blue
Yet for all of her splendid beauty she did not show conceit
A better mannered girl than her no man could wish to meet.
Beauty it can take a woman quite a long, long way
But beauty quickly withers like the flowers that bloom in May,
You cannot judge a woman by her beauty or her dress
You can only judge a woman by the manner she possess.
He must have loved this lovely maid he must have loved her so
Who died in September forty six years ago
For as he told her story a tear showed in each eye
And it seemed quite clear to all of us that he was near to cry.
She died in a hospital this lady like woman
From Leuchaemia a disease that greatly curtail life's span
On the tenth day of September her remains were put to earth
Twenty three years and thirty six days from the day of her birth.
In each human's life story there is some share of woe
And the old man's saddest thoughts are of a maid he used to know
Who died of Leuchaemia whilst only in her prime
When the fruits were ripe for picking in September's harvest time.
poem by Francis Duggan
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