Category Archives: Poetry

Letters from prisoners, Poetry, Violence by inmates

“Fuck All da Drip and da Money”

Jamal Lundy
Feb 22, 2019
From tha $treet$
2 da chain gang
2 tiny 2 trap da mind$
Da bodys only. Da mind is sky high.
Look up every day and say bless da sky with ya heads high. My brotha$.
2 free tha mind is the limits of da sky. It’s bigger than this earth. Out dis world!
Look up high brothas and sistas in these set traps of prison even da c-o-s who help save lives of inmates cause this set trap could be only a burnin fire.
Look! 2! Da! Sky! With my head 2 da sky there is no down no upper no more.
It’s up so don’t stay up 2 my whoas dats part of it.
Look up high on this day of time and feel da bleedin of our season.
And! Say! Stop! Da! Killin!
And start a new drip 2 da kids all over da world.
Atl. Chi-Town. New Orleans. MDA. Cali. NY.
East. West. North. South.
(Help some one b4 ya hurt dem)

Letters from prisoners, Poetry, Prison conditions

What I Know

I know how cold steel feels when the handcuffs are so tight you loose all feeling in your hands
I know how it feels to have no friends, to be surrounded by prisoners who will pretend
I know how it feels to have a pigs boot in your back, to write letters and never get non back
I know how it feels to be hungry at night, because the shit they feeding us just isn’t right
I know how it feels to be locked in a cell 24-7 for years at a time, how it feels to need love but in this place there’s never none around
I know how it feels to want to kill the oppressor, but these doors are their protectors
I know how it feels to be abandoned and neglected, to be dehumanized and disrespected to be reactionary and reckless
I know how to tell the time by the sounds around me, the screeching of the wheels on the food cart means its time to eat, the jingle of the keys means the pigs are trying to creep
I know how it feels to wait on mail call all day and when its time the pig passes you right by, and you tell yourself you’ll get some next time, but you know that’s a lie
But I don’t know how my daughters voice sounds, I’ve been deprived of my phone calls for years at a time
I don’t know how a hug feels, because I’m confined or the color of my mama’s eyes because I’ve been gone for a long time
I don’t know the name of my sister’s kids, we lost contact a long time ago, nor do I know if my brother is back in prison, my mom dont write to tell me so
I don’t know how freedom feels cause I have none, nor do I know my father so I’m a bastard just like my son
I don’t know what’s right when all I’m surrounded by is wrong or what family is when all mine are gone
I don’t know the smell of spring when the foul smell of solitary confinement is all I smell, I don’t know if there is a heaven but I know there is a hell. Because I live there. 
Dare to Struggle Dare To Win
Shine White 

Letters from prisoners, Poetry, Prison conditions

Buried Alive

By: Frederick Radford
Wickedness, inside an iron fence.
That’s tailor made with razor blades.
Stuck inside a twilight zone
with herds of beast, that lurk for thrones.
I live within an episode of Frankenstein…
But I’m divine.
This origin of goons and goblins,
indexed in volumes,
who’s seen as numbers, instead of names. 
These cell’s are hell, so let them burn…
Like a book of matches, as I turn to ashes.
Without a flame.
Who’s to blame?
The judicial system,  that’s designed to keep us oppressed.
Lose your case, then lose your life,
whether you’re wrong or right.
The judge don’t lose no rest.
While he holds his wife,
I’m dressed in stripes. 
Stand up for count I don’t get no rest.
Life in prison as I discern, is a living hell!
The dead are buried in caskets.
The lifer casket is my cell.

Black liberation, Georgia, Letters from prisoners, Poetry, Social commentary

Still Standing on My Toes

By: Jamal Lundy
AKA Don Mall

I done lost every thing and still I stand 
I done lost every one yet still I stand
I done lost hope before but still I stand
I done been through it all and I’m still standing.
The judge sentenced me to life without
But still I stand and I fight cause I know one day I will stand on my 10 toes
back on the west side zone 1 Bankhead where my roots are for a better reason.
To help others not go down my footsteps cause the streets don’t love no one and violence ain’t the way of life 
It only takes life.
Black lives.
And why we help knock our beautiful race off with black on black crimes.
90% of guys lock up for doing some to there own race!
Today I stand on my 10 to be a leader and help make a change for black lives. 

Gangs, Letters from prisoners, Poetry, Social commentary

Change Today

The government is pimpin’ the  Blaqman, Illuminati runs the world, so fuk pimpin’ my pen. I’d rather help my community, Lil’ Chico looks up to me. Disappointed with myself of how I abandoned the streets… Blinded by greed returned me back to slavery; it’s more than a G-thang. It’s bigger than you & me. We need our cribs in our names; boss up our economical game, I hated to slang crack cocaine. I witnessed Momdukes lose everythang; plus I never gang-banged… What if I made 1 person smile today? I’ll set the trend here; because I’m told FAITH is contagious. It takes more muscles to frown, so I’ll smile away. I can’t predict tomorrow but I can save today. Give us back our country; not Amerika but the one you stole from me. Wanna kno’ what I hate more than cops? A thief…   

I’ve studied the history and FREEDOM is owed to me. I just keep it BLAQ like we’s supposed to be… Shot outs to Lupe, Wale  and Nasir Jones. Larry Hoover, Tookie Williams and James Brown. B.O.B., Big K.R.I.T. and Killer Mike. Kaepernick, Stacey Abrams, Condoleezza Rice. King Coe; and I’m prepping Amerika for her future. Our brothers are on the way and they gone be remembered like Malcolm and Luther…   

Why expose brains when I can expose truths! The proof is right between the pages of this book, young dude. I can’t believe I said no to school, rebelled and broke the rules. Smoked weed, cut class or even fought in school. But it’s what I was taught to do…     

Please become someone, become MORE than the average dude. Don’t get blinded by REALITY T.V. like most people do, and DYING is not worth putting our mom’s thru. And killing ain’t really worth living our lives like fools… By O.G. King Coe

Black liberation, Letters from prisoners, Poetry

PREVA1L: Poetry from Behind Enemy Lines

 September 17, 2018
“PREVA1L”
Daily and nightly I’m warring to reach the other level!
Whereas I’m trapped serving within a war where a lot of individual don’t love each other!
Due to the fact, a lot of individuals don’t love each other they telling on one another!
However, the hating, snitching, and telling won’t even stop the dirt!
I was born with some ancestors that didn’t make it and some of us in pain from putting in work!
Nonetheless, from the lies, blood, deceits, and misery I can’t escape!
At the end of the night and day our decisions can end us locked down 24 hours in a cell!
Some of us experience so much dirt or betrayal; especially from some that has sworn not to tell but violate and tell!
In which minority of the individual in this war are African Americans, and a lot of African Americans are under the divide and conquer spell!
Because a lot of African Americans are under the divide and conquer liberation with majority has failed!
Being that liberation with majority has failed; a lot of individuals are scared to rebel!
Then because liberation with a lot of African Americans have failed; some individuals are serving until their dying day or dying night in jail or prison cell!
Is there any secret how must we as brothers and sisters of the strong struggle “PREVA1L!”
Letters from prisoners, Poetry, Social commentary

“Hard Living Easy Struggle”

“Hard Living Easy Struggle”
Today i realized that its hard to Live and so easy to struggle. Sometimes i cry from stress of struggle. Over time i felt a need for speed to live, but the hurt an pain of struggle showed me reality is real. Reality showed me there are two things guaranteed for us to bare, thats pain and suffering and life an death. You can never run from what is destined to be, So much Karma i pray God allow my soul to be at peace. We as people are dying to live. But we are so blinded by our souls that we are simply living to die. I was also taught that people were put in this world for one reason/(a purpose). But then at times that confuses me, I don’t know i guess this is who i was destined to be. Only God can show me who i am or who i am to be. Never be afraid to cry. Be afraid to cry inside. Showing a teaful smile filled with Disappointment of failures on the road of doing right. God knows i weigh sins of forgiveness, walked in so much darkness only you can be my witness. When we’re in the dark you see who’s really with you, but to blinded to see God is always with you. Honestly i hope my pain is felt, Cause each day gone is another day left. Soon it will be time to breathe, I just pray that the struggle allows me to be free. No one is perfect an never will be, Love an learn from mistakes an understanding experiences make you see who you are chosen to be. Love what you have an be grateful, for what you don’t. I thank God forgiving me wisdom, for waking me up everyday an for every meal, also for the understanding of struggle and the will to live.
By: Wayne Roberson (St8 Shot)
I also want to give a shout out to Willie (King Coe) Coe, he was lockdown for standing for our rights against the police. If you read this S.L.P for life My Brother
Letters from prisoners, Poetry, Political commentary, Social commentary

AmeriKKKa: Poetry from behind enemy lines

AmeriKKKa
By: Robert Jones
AKA Universal “Da Flauq”
The color of my skin won’t contradict this proclamation / Until our eyes visualize the end of segregation / America is bias and don’t seek justification / It makes you wonder who’s the head of the United Nation / And will they help us with the racist and discrimination / They’ll rather orchestrate the violence of the TV station / Wildfires, school shooting, police brutalization / What’s crazy they is not the only one, dating / Once we sit down start having subconscious meditation / You’ll believe in socialism just like that Queen Stacey Abrams / We need more people like her politics they should persuaded / They hate the revolution but the world it needs some changing / Kids think it’s cool selling drugs and walking round with banger / They Hood celebrities can’t say that’s not the same as famous / To live in peace what I’ve been waiting for no longer patients To see somebody hit that seat ain’t Klan or a Mason /
Letters from prisoners, Poetry, Prison conditions, Social commentary

“Why Doesn’t The Sun Shine On Me” collection by prison poet Exile

“Why Doesn’t The Sun Shine On Me”
By: Exile
It’s a lonely day and the sun isn’t shining on me as I sit behind these bars. No one seem to have compassion or humility toward the incarcerated. So many forget about me, leaving me in this darkness that consume my presence. It seem that prison is contagious because no one wants to assist a brother in need. It’s hard to feel warmth and sun rays from this cell I call my home. As an outcast my heart is crush by I refuse to lose hope. Because whatever is waiting on me just as the sun rises the next day. Faith is in my corner, truth is guarding its place. Hope has made me face each day. I know truly someone out there wishes for me to see the sun shine. But today isn’t that day, I won’t lose hope so as this falls upon your lap, give me some thought. This is just a reminder because we move so fast and miss so much. Yes, the sun isn’t shine on me but in the future, it will be.
“Can You Hear The Walls Cry”
By: Exile
Imagine you can feel the pain that comes from behind these walls. Silent are some if these walls could talk, emotions are stall. So intense is the distress that can be felt from the floors. Groans from the poor soul that has lost focus and control. Left to handle the stress which caress my heart at the door. And everyday the guards inflict more wounds to my core. Loss to this weary world, can you hear the cries from my walls. No one cares, I am a distant memory that all. So with poem I hope it open your eyes to let me in your arms.
“Truest Thought”
By: Exile
My truest thought was held inside of this cell, definition of pain written on my heart scroll, silent cries emerge from my tattered tortured soul, misery invaded and stole my loved residing place, it caused my entire to suffer and ache, loved ones abandoned me when I need them most. Envy could’ve been my company but pain was more close. Pain has truly given my life an overdose. No mercy dwells in trials and tribulations, constantly dealing with incarceration while time keeps me conseal in its shadows. Allowing me to appreciate life, love, and freedom to the fullest and also to see who really was sincere in my time of need, hated, despised neglected, mostly forgotten was things I received. With few choices and not many options, hurt encraved deep in the depths inside of me. A maze of misery with no map, guide, or light to remove this darkness I see. Long gone are the thoughts I cherish so much, in their absence is this cell which has bind so many of us. 
“In Life”
By: Exile
Some things in life can’t be tested by time 
Even inside of this cell I can speak my mind 
Because so few blossom like the fruit of earth
Yet behind these bars you fail to know your worth
So many left to rot on the vine. So many left to rot on the vine. 
But in their absence I call you mine. 
Yes the labor of the harvest outweighs worth, because I paid attention only to lust. 
You are reason I can awake and trust
Hot so your value, it exceeds degrees, even though you feel far away I feel your touch.
In this life I live I only have so much.
“Jungle”
By: Exile
This jungle that has me trap, with no way to escape.
I am force to suffer and humble my state. 
So many hard lesson that have confused my common senses.
I refuse to let these bars steal my confidence.
Beyond this cell I can be a person of interest.
Yet I let so many small things pull me in a ditch.
Every time I seem to gain some ground a distraction causes me to relent.
In this jungle call prison I have to be cautious or be forced to commit. All thru this jungle it seems I go thru stages like this. The only thing that will bring joy is being on the other side of the fence.
Hays State Prison, Letters from prisoners, Poetry, Social commentary

Bound by Chains

Bound by chains, trapped inside this script called prison where the story never end. Where so many turn their backs on you and even forget the word friend. This is not hatred flowing through my pen, it’s truth that so many bend. Trying to rephrase words into what you want to stand. But hold on be easy I come in peace! I want you to comprehend. Don’t confuse my words because I am behind this fence. I’m loyal, dedicated, honest, and entitled to at least on matters that exist. Let me be the one to say I am ashame of my friends presence because of what most of them represent. Still bound by chains but respect goes to the stranger who listen to this.

By Exile

Imagine that you could conjure anything in your mind or cell. Would be a book, freedom, a woman, or money to help you stay in confine. With a book you only read it so many times. Freedom is priceless and precious but it starts in the mind. Money is a key factor however in prison, it’s a stressor that make you blind. How about a woman, a helpmate, someone you can relate to or express your mind. All of these sound good but one definite choice down the line. So as I close and bid you goodbye I’ll leave you this thought on why.

Charles Allen 1105887-D-1-231

Hays State Prison