Showing posts with label Prisoners. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Prisoners. Show all posts

Friday, December 10, 2021

Offenders - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com 

https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

Offenders

 

to St. Jude – a petition for prisoners

 

In the system they’re called offenders

No one knows why; the offenses are over

Concrete dorms, three-high bunks, white uniforms

And overhead the sting of fluorescents

 

I’m not going all Pollyanna here

All of them know the poisonous passions of meth

The stench of blood, the sting of fluorescents

In fearing eyes in a gas station at night

 

The stench of cells, the sting of fluorescents

In glaring eyes in the booking area at night

Humiliations, transports, stripped and searched

Form a straight line with hands behind your backs

 

But still, a man’s a man

 

The difference between a man inside the wire

And a man outside the wire

Is often only that one man is inside the wire

And the other man is outside the wire

 

“For all have sinned…”

 

Christmas is coming

 

Will there be a letter from home?

 

St. Jude, help all of us to be better men

 

In spite of ourselves

Friday, February 5, 2021

Prayer Group in a Cinder-Block Room - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

Prayer Group in a Cinder-Block Room

 

A Prisoner's Voice:


We’re all here for all sorts of different crimes

I made it for about three years last time

Built my business back up, rented a house

Married my baby-momma and started being a dad

 

And I was feeling good about everything

My old customers came back and trusted me

I was sure grateful to them; went back to church

My wife and kids and mom were proud of me

 

I got cocky; I thought I had it all whipped

I’m back in this white suit for another ten

Wednesday, September 4, 2019

The School-to-Jail Pickup Truck Ride - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

County Prisoners

In the back of a county pickup truck
Odd jobs in lifting this and shifting that
And clearing the other – work gloves, chain saws
A rake, some shovels, water in the cooler

He wipes hot sweat with his zebra-stripe shirt:
“Better than the cells, Mr. H, much better
Sun and fresh air; it ain’t so bad, you know
A little hard work never hurt nobody

It was that old devil dope; I couldn’t say no…”

“Enough of that now, boys; we got to go.”