Tag Archives: Tower St.

I'm Laughing

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These words may lack coherence, because I'm laughing while I write
Laughing at the silly folks who celebrate my plight
Laughing at their claim that I can now no longer bite
Laughing as God forgave me cause I was broken and contrite.

Laughing at politicians who make promises galore
Laughing at voters opening silly ears to hear more.
Laughing while they rid uptown of every street whore,
They prostitute our resources through the door.

Laughing at our prisons where they don't rehabilitate
Laughing at the warders with their big guns at the gate
Laughing at them trying to entice our visiting wives on a date
Laughing, as some will never find themselves until its too late

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Prison Teaches Me

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Prison teaches me the depth of criminality and tries to keep me out of touch with reality.

Prison teaches me that it is not like home away from home
Where you get tender care instead of fear

Prison teaches me wickedness, bitterness, madness, badness, sadness, selfishness, idleness, laziness, craziness and all kinds of ness that placed me in a mess.

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An Open Grave

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(Inspired by the Trafigura incident)

Buried six feet under; they hope to be discreet
But now the stench has surfaced from beneath
They thought it was over, but others have exhumed,
The body of corruption which they thought was consumed.

Since corruption isn't flammable–it cannot be burned
So they buried it for a while, but the tables have turned.
Now wide open is the sepulcher which covered the box
As extinct becomes their laughter and they cannot relax.

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Penitentiary Entry

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meon Shepherd -GP- Penitentiary entry No job creation
no room for a little hustling,
surely is a penitentiary entry.

Economical stress,
poverty is not at rest,
inflation puff its ugly chest,
another sure room for penitentiary entry.

Heads of government!
There is a lot of room for improvement,
please stop this penitentiary entry.

Gun in hand,
man look a food fin yam,
Youngman please understand,
dat route is not for you man!!
Although poverty ridden,
money stricken,
don't go killing across the country,
that's a penitentiary entry.

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Thank God You are Healed

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(Editor's Note: The following letter was one of several written by inmates after a woman called in to Kevin's program, “Unchained”, with the story of her rape and subsequent grief and healing. We do not know who her rapist is.)

Thank God you are healed again
Thank God you are clean again
Thank God you are not thinking mean again
Thank God you are the essence of forgiveness
Thank God you are no more a slave to unforgiveness
Thank God you have found it in your heart
to forgive the man who violated your body,
the man who bruised your soul and almost
destroyed your mind.
Thank God your forgiveness towards a man
who was possessed
has started your healing process
In my book you are a princess. Continue reading →

Wrong are they!

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A poem to: Miss Marsha

Wrong are they! Wrong are they! Wrong are they who says “it is something good when someone dies” and that we should dance and not weep instead.

How can I dance when my precious aunt is now dead? The same aunt to who I went and said, isn’t it true that if I continue to be one of the good guys that I will obtain everything this song I'll sing said I should? Then I began and with all the melody I had (Good guys get all the girls! Good guys get all the fame!! Good guys get a little sunshine in their world, and my life is gone be the same!) Then I stand in front her looking head high to the direction of the sun.

My height was just below your belly.

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Human Cage

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A caged bird cannot pick blossom from the tree nor catch worms from the soil.

I am a human being who is like a caged bird.

I am locked behind steel bars in a prison cell where I am forced against my will to live in subhuman bondage.

The only belongings I have in my possession in this five by ten prison cell are: a little pisspot, a small enamel mug full of chips, a bar of carbolic soap, a broken toothbrush, a teethless comb, a pinch of salt that I use as toothpaste, an old worn out pair of slippers, some torn magazines, and a stick of crayon that I use to draw and colour portraits of faces and various places that I see in my vision.

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