39021-007

By LC

39021-007
That is my number till I pass away to heaven
It belongs to me
the thirty-nine thousand twenty-first man
to be sentenced and sent away from D.C.
Never mind my name
I now go by that number
Lost in a dreamless federal slumber
And even when I wake
and walk back through those penitentiary gates
that number will remain
never to be given to another man again
It belongs to me
and as long as I wear it I’ll never be free

Her Name Is Streets

By AG

Why the old cry when the young die?
And when the young die
A newborn opens their eyes for the first time

Crime is programmed
To the mind of the young boy who is searching for love and shelter
Streets, she’s always the quickest helper

What you need money, drugs, violence?
Stop being silent
I love you, young boy

Streets whispers, “I’ve made people rich
I’ve made people poor
I’m that love you can’t ignore

Also I have 3 best friends named
Prison, Overdose, and Death
I’m going to be here for you when no one’s left

I’m Streets, the woman who softly caresses your chest
I grow no flowers, I’m concrete
A hard downfall for whoever falls on me
In case you don’t know my name is Streets.”

Jail Bird

By AB

A bird once flew over a prison and sat on the bars of a window sill
The prisoner fed the bird crackers and the bird ate to his fill
The prisoner put water in a top for the bird to wet his beak
The prisoner done a good deed before he went to sleep

The bird didn’t leave–
He became a jail bird that didn’t know he was free

Fire and Ice

By AW

Never shall I die in prison as my dad
died in 1999
Fire and wind of the sky
Fire and ice of my soul
Stirring within my heart the
love of life needed to grasp heaven within
A tale of sorrow, abandonment, and enslavement
Survival of the fittest
The sole survivor, souls survive
Though I may die a thousand times
In a thousand different little ways
Never shall I die in prison as my dad
died in 1999

I fly,
fire and wind
I sing,
fire and ice
Never shall I die in anybody’s cage.

“I will not be counted among the broken men.”  - George Jackson

Penitentiary’s Soul

By AG

Penitentiary’s therapy
Thriller of the cage;
Or is it rage?
An emaciated man
covered in a crimson crown,
head unbowed.
Stall-fed verifier
Subsisting on other’s tears
Or is it fear?
Herculean beastly forearm.
Crisscrossed with scars;
Each slice a clash
With weakness.
IN the center of your pain.
IN the center of your fear.
Penance or punishment,
Heaven or hell
Monastery or grace?

You, alone decide.