Art From Within

writings and visual art from our comrades inside

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In Memory of Douglas “Doug” J.A. Hook

By Robert Jonge Vos aka J.vd.M/Johan van der Mol

To my life long friend, Mr. Douglas “Doug” J.A. Hook, who I’ve personally known since 1978, and who I suspect was one of the first people on this yard (Huachuca Unit, Kingman, Arizona) to have died of untreated symptoms, related to the Covid-19 Virus, in the early morning hours of 06/01/2020, … in his bunk right next to mine!?

This person must never be forgotten, since he basically dedicated almost two decades of his life in prison, helping others. Especially to his tireless efforts as one of the most knowledgeable “Legal Beagles” I’ve ever had the pleasure of working with, who helped literally hundreds (of [incarcerated people]), less fortunate than himself… behind these walls.

“The Bearded Wonder” (Part One)

By Johan van der Mol

1.)  Here lies, on the first of June,

a splendid husk and silent cocoon.

Of family, father and friend,

having gone far too soon.

2.  He was a skilled, consistent writer,

a diviner of the law.

With practical, surgical decision,

attacking silently like a hawk.


3.)  Believe me when I tell you,

he produced no science fiction,

only life changing diction,

with single-font precision.

4.)  As protector of the fallen,

and reaper of sweet delights.

A chocolatier of the highest order,

with knighthood still out of sight.


5.)  With a bedraggled beard,

and silver, frizzed-out hair.

He stubbornly smoked tobacco,

without so much a single care.


6.)  When hope had run its final course,

he always cut the gloom.

And, left you standing, like … 

… the most important person in the room.

7.)  As a sleepless captain of his cot,

a Hebrew prophet he was not.

Like a restless chrysalis in waiting

he humbly unfurled before his God.


8.)  Once, when stage and spotlight,

had seriously compelled us.

Of fame and fortune, 

he quickly warned us.


9.)  He was a carefree easy rider,

a nonchalant and kind provider.

A music lover undivided

who never let a song go out of style.

10.) His generosity was unbroken,

and his conviction was bespoken.

With an outraged sense of righteousness,

that ultimately, set him free.

© J.vd.M. 06/01/2020

“The Bearded Wonder” (Part 2)

By Johan van der Mol

1.)  A casual smile, a sudden smirk,

and other missed connections.

I soo carelessly regarded,

those rare and subtle signals.

Those swift and valued notes,

that were often left for granted.


2.  He slowly and methodically,

started to plan his final dance.

But I was blinded by the times,

that clearly spelled all the signs.

And sometimes I could even smell,

that sneaky, grim reaper man.


3.)  Then, one summer dawn,

I woke up deeply shocked,

to find my stone cold neighbor

curled up and wrapped in breathless blue.

My friend was far beyond revival,

completely void of breath and pulse.

His precious life had finally come,

to the sadly end, he had alluded to.


4.)  Although his aura strongly lingers

after years have passed anon.

I can still smell the nasty nicotine,

that darkened his trembling fingers.

And still see the brown tobacco stains,

leaving us like shadows on a wall.


5.)  He wore out untold #Two pencils,

right down to the soft inner marrow.

As his Big pen’s ink flowed onward,

over heavy reams of legal writ.

He selflessly aimed his sleepless arrow,

piercing many moonless morning hours.


6.)  Over many years and trying times,

our friendship rarely soured.

Once merged from separate continents

our fun times were more constant than.

But our late night Portland ventures,

still remains the source of many legends.


7.)  He was a master at the line,

shattering realities by and by.

A true scholar and a teacher,

whispering quiet erudition.

But, he never assumed a court’s permission,

just forged his will with sharper supposition.


8.)  He’s left a durable impression,

like frozen ripples on an Arctic pond.

I tried to skate between the circles,

but, left me reckless and confound.

I still miss his scrupulous suggestions,

often right, but rubbed me wrong, …

… cause they never were, …

… my very own!? …


© J.vd.M. 08/01/2021


“Lying down and waking up a slave in Texas”

By Pariah

It’s poetic…

In Texas, we’re trapped in Pits with small windows.

Inside these cells, we’re funding our own imprisonment;

the chains are encrypted inside the chips and soup sales.

We’re inside of an identity crisis believing our souls out of favors,

So we accept the chains;

believing a greater change will come save us …

Can you dig that?!?!

I guess the Willie Lynch Syndrome dies hard in some places.

Since I’m older now,

In these younger guys I see my own reflection.

It seems as if the hate for ourselves is baked in.

Perhaps it takes breaking one down,

in order to build one up and to make a man.

I used to beat up on myself!

The whipping took away my strength …

Then I killed my bad habits and drug em to a ditch!

I changed from a threat to a promise;

but in Texas I’ll always be a number.

Everyday its’ the same old song …

In doubt: Our systematic-scars found a home.

In Texas: It’s death before parole.

In unity: We can overcome!

But we won’t …

Because by the threat we’re holding our resolve under the water.

Christians and Muslims accept this torture.

The trauma cemented the bangers in a corner;

Set-tripping, cooking drink and getting stoned.

I envision us standing up for ourselves,

and not being exploited with little to no health care.

But tomorrow we’ll be back in the

“Field,” —

Under a sun giving off heat like hell!

There ain’t a night i don’t look beyond these walls with cataract

eyes, and pull in the stars.

Todays a blessing …

Every good one I’ll record them.

Tomorrow I’ll wake up a slave behind these

bars.

Dear Corona

By Pariah/Robert

It was January 20, on a warm and windy day that Shelia sat on the living room floor watching the Presidential Inauguration along with her parents.

Shelia didn't want to be there, but her parents thought it would be educational, and a great memory for her to have by witnessing history being made; seeing the first Black lady inaugurated as Vice President of the United States of America.

Shelia understood her parent's desire, but part of her wanted to be in her room Face-timing with her friends, James, and Brittney, about attending social distancing school classes tomorrow, and sharing the excitement with them. And to Shelia, that excitement was history being made after being trapped inside the house for nine months due to a pandemic.

At one point during the speech, Shelia dozed off and was awakened by popcorn bouncing from her forehead while her mom smiled, and her dad stared seriously at the tv. and pretended as if he had nothing to do with it.

"Darling, You are going to miss history," her dad said with a smirk on his face.

As Shelia refocused her attention back to the television screen with a look of indifference, there appeared a young lady with a hairstyle similar to hers approaching the podium.

"Who is she?" Shelia thought, as the young lady began to speak in a rhythmic and passionate tone that made her want to listen.

Shelia's parents noticed the curiosity in Shelia and it made them both proud and happy that there was something that might affect her in a positive way.

Once the inaugural speech was over, Shelia turned to her parents and said, "Now, that's who i want to be like!"

Her dad turned to Shelia's mom with a wide smile on his face and said, "Honey, i think we have found our next Vice President."

"So Shelia, do you want to be the Next Kamala ?" her mom asked.

"No, I want to be the Next Amanda Gorman," Shelia replied.

"Amanda Gorman!" Her dad blurted out with a confused expression on his face.

"Yes! I want to speak truth to power, and power to truth, and all that good stuff!" Shelia said while heading off to her room.

It was a unifying joy for Shelia and her friends to see each other again inside a school house setting. There was a whole lot of catching up to do for as learning goes, but plenty to laugh and talk about, too.

Unfortunately, being at school today presented a great opportunity to console one another and give face-to-face condolences to those whom had lost a family member or other loved ones to Covid-19 as well. These moments were the saddest for Shelia.

For the most part, every class felt like a happy family reunion. In English class, Miss Mary announced that there would be a pandemic talent show inside the school gym on Friday, and if anyone wanted to participate, they could sign up at the principal's office.

Shelia thought nothing of the talent show announcement, but her friends Brittney and James couldn't hide their excitement. They both thought this would be a perfect time for Shelia to show off one of her love poems, or the poem about the duck chasing the dog's tail.

Reluctantly, Shelia gave into their wishes and signed up.

When Shelia finally made it home from school, she found her mom in the kitchen cooking her

favorite meal; fish, hushpuppies, and macaroni and cheese.

Her mom greeted her with a big hug as usual, but today she had a stern look on her face.

"What's wrong, mom?" Shelia asked.

"Well, darling," her mom replied. "Your dad is at the hospital with our neighbor, Mr. Jackson, who has Covid-19 and might be going on a ventilator."

Shelia liked Mr. Jackson. It was he who gave Shelia her first turtle and dog, too. So, the news of him being sick was heart-breaking.

At dinner, Shelia and her parents said a prayer for Mr. Jackson, Shelia got chills hearing her dad's voice crack when mentioning his friend's name.

Before going to bed that night, Shelia told her parents about the talent show. She wanted them both to be there if they could. They agreed and were happy that she had entered.

"Daddy, don't you and mom worry. Our friend, Mr. Jackson, is going to be okay. God has his back, Shelia said in a reassuring tone.

"Yes, he does," they both replied in unison.

Shelia hugged and kissed them both.

In bed that night, Shelia tried but struggled to find sleep. She couldn't help but to think about her friends, their families, her own family, and poor Mr. Jackson's situation.

Then she thought about the poem she needed to write for the talent show and that young lady at the Inauguration which she had imagined reciting it like. So, with inspiration, she threw back the covers and grabbed her pen and pad, then began to let her thoughts take form on paper.

Friday had finally come and news of the talent show brought out many people masked up in masses. People Shelia had never seen before were there. Her parents were there gladly. Brittney and James were there in attendance probably hoping to hear the duck and dog poem. The only one person missing was Mr. Jackson, but fortunately he was off the ventilator and doing well.

Surprisingly, Shelia managed to keep what she had prepared to perform a secret.

She didn't know herself in what order the contestants would be announced. She pretended to be calm when her name was called first, and nervously, so nervously she stood.

As Shelia was making her way toward the stage with butterflies in her stomach, she thought back to the presidential inauguration speech and how might Amanda may have felt looking into a crowd of people, and not being sure of how they would accept what she had to say, or if she could speak it passionately enough for them to appreciate it. Shelia thought again that surely this audience could relate to loss and the fear of things not ever being normal again.

Surely they wanted their voices back to shout, sing, and laugh in the park.

Surely they all shared the courage to fight through this pandemic together and speak truth to power like she was about to attempt to do as she inhaled, exhaled, then spoke ...

"Dear Corona"

You mystic unpredicted stranger

holding hostage my every move;

You were so far away,

O' how you've crossed so many shores.

You were just a myth;

A fragment of imagination,

Not worthy of debate

Nor casual conversation.

Then you became this perfect storm

too strong to hold in place;

From north, south, east, and west displacing

a whole nation.

How dare you show up unannounced

trying to dictate to free people!

I want you gone tomorrow,

that's my definition of social distancing...

And not being isolated from those I call my

friends;

I have family to hug and kiss,

and birthday parties to attend.

No! You're not a myth

dancing in my peripheral vision;

but that pandemic I envisioned no longer a

“threat to the living!"

The auditorium exploded with applause, and Shelia was brought to joyful tears.

Because of Shelia taking the time out on that special historical day to listen, and seizing this opportunity to use her talent and voice to uplift others, she'll always be remembered as a joy and inspiration that has no ending.

THE END

Continue to Exist

By Michael Coley


There are too many people that will die while incarcerated without anyone to mourn their loss.

Those individuals who’ve been sentenced to Life in prison, not only lose their right of Freedom but will also lose Family members during their sentence.

Those individuals that die while incarcerated Exist only as memories in the minds of people that have been impacted by them whether positively or negatively, until they to eventually cease to exist.

Even though their physical bodies may have been cremated or buried, their remains are left on this earth or in the earth, decomposing and becoming one with the earth from which we came.

The Earth is breeding new life, in the form of plants that insects, animals and humans consume or in the form of trees or other vegetation that helps regulate the earth’s temperature, or carbon emissions, etc. Helping the Earth to Exist.

So Energy is recycling … Existing.

This is true for all life forms, even Prisoners whom some consider and or treat as less than human or the lowest form of Civilized Society.

Whether we are given the opportunity to return or reacclimate back into society, we are all human …

We are valuable to the earth …

We are valuable to our family

We are valuable to Society

We are even valuable to a Prison System that profits off incarceration to Exist

God has given me the opportunity to be released in 2024, and I’ve not taken that release date for granted.

While incarcerated I’ve written and have sent one novella to The Library of Congress to get my registered copyright.

The title is Evading Destiny Written By Michael Coley.

So even after my physical body is returned to the earth from which I came, the energy of my thoughts and imagination that I’ve turned into tangible written pages and hopefully a physical book will remain and continue to Exist.

POWER THAT UNLEASHES THE EVIL IN YOU 

A THESIS BY JOHN W. BANOS 

It took me about three months of intellectual searching, to discover a title for this dominate writing, that will enable it to captivate the essential & intriguing diabolic-factual aspects of it. So on 8/15/2007 I was finally able to discover it. 

When I was a lad, due to a lack of knowledge & understanding a very well created false illusion was implanted into my subconscious mind by T.V., and as a result of this sinister agenda, I would vehemently defend my government whenever someone would accuse my said government of being corrupt. 

But then circumstances would find me worthy and gave me a crash course in reality, and so, I want to extend and offer my utmost and truthful appreciation and thanks to all TDCJ-CID employees and specifically I want to thank all CO's and Supervisors, Wardens, Regional Directors, Directors & Executive Directors for shattering the false illusion & Vision that has been created in my mind, and shined a light to expose the dark & vile truths about my said state government here in the Lone Star State of Texas. 

For y'all have taught me, that not only is my government corrupt and evil than the one that the Continental Congress declared war against in 1776!!!! 

Initially, I had wrongfully concluded that the said above state government employees had decided to abuse and mistreat prisoners as a means of making them pay for the crimes that they committed, but as I progressed on my intellectual journey, through the concealed land of state government corruption, I came to realize that I had made a very gross and incorrect assessment of y'alls characteristics and motives, so I beg that you forgive me for judging your diabolic intents incorrectly. 

But now me as an individual, like for example, those who worship Satan, then most assuredly, I will not copycat any aspect of their diabolic behavior and conduct, because I detest them. 

So now, if the said State Government Employees really detested criminals, and if they had a simple scintillating of moral values and integrity, then naturally you wouldn't commit any crime and you would be a 100% law abiding citizen, and under no circumstances whatsoever would you "COPY CAT" the convicted felons’ behavior and conduct, because the ends never justify the means. 

But also, there is another relevant and interesting subject matter to consider, that is an important factor to this and that is pursuant to the TEXAS CODE OF CRIMINAL PROCEDURE whenever you commit a crime, whether it is a misdemeanor or felony, then you have committed a crime against the peace and dignity of the State of Texas. 

So see, you don't dislike criminals at all whatsoever, because the galaxy of facts and evidence proves beyond a preponderance of the case that you are criminals, but that simply who are employee criminals of the corrupt criminal State Government of Texas. 

So it was in my study of history that I discovered a tomb of factual truth that provided me with the clues that enabled me to comprehend and understand the nature of you ones, o'le sinister ones. 

Now initially, the training that you prison guards received by TDCJ-CID skill fully picked the rusty lock with masterly skill that had encased in your heart, but it also ignited a cold ember of diabolic desire in you that leaped so high that it touched the stars of heaven and it spread so fast throughout your body that it left you breathless and dazed and now you was able to unleash your diabolic hunger and greed, so as to gratify the evil longing and burning that resides in your heart that was unable to be set free at a much earlier time, due to the secured prison of circumstances that you found yourself in, but once you knew that it was A'OK to harass prisoners (spitting on them) and to lie on them (write a bogues case) and when you perceived that the prisoners were vulnerable and defenseless against your malicious evil, OH MY, the evil that inhabits your diabolic heart, it leaped for joy and let out screams and shouts that sounded like a chorus of demons that were screaming and shouting with sinister bliss as it was on the day that Yahshua was crucified on Calvary !!!! 

I just did a tour of duty in AD.SEG. for ten years, so I was kind of secluded from being able to experience and observe the psychological criminal actions committed by the above said scum bag criminals on a broader level, but now that I have been formerly on the Allan B. Polunsky Unit in Polk County, Texas from 8/2005 to 2010 in population that I was able to observe it and study it and analyze it under a magnifying glass of intellectual honesty, so as to learn about the parasite criminals at a more in-depth level. 

Though honestly, I have a confession to make to everyone, that is of significant and intriguing value to this story of vile truths. But I do find it immensely and very much amusing, because there are innocent men here in the TDCJ-CID system, and nationwide over 2,745 prisoners have been exonerated by DNA evidence who are innocent, and yet, you sinister prison guards every single day of the year are committing criminal offenses, as if it comes very natural to y'all just like breathing does, and in TDCJ the guards have been committing every crime there is, from child molesting, rape, petty theft, murder, dealing in narcotics, cell phones, tobacco, falsifying state government documents, etc.. 

Now this next intellectual-gratifying and stimulating truth I will describe, I find it even more amusing, than my previous delightful one, before mentioned herein, and that is, that I have noticed how emotionally agitated y'all get when an innocent man, specifically (yours truly) has the courage to expose you for the crimes that you commit. I picture your gray sharks faces turning beet red, and you are clinching your hands into a fist and you stomp your foot on the ground, and you scream loudly, "How dare that criminal expose us for the criminals that we are!" 

Ha, ha, ha. Oh that, is such a very foul and drastically bad deed that I have committed. 

In studying the history of my Caucasian ancestors in Britain who were kings, lords. earls, barons, etc., I took specific notice that once they obtained power over the peasants and upon them perceiving that the peasants were vulnerable and defenseless it unlocked the evil that was imprisoned in their heart, and so once it was set free, the peasants were murdered, or tortured, had their property stolen, and had their rulers lying on them at court before the judge or king, and they did it so as to gratify their fiendish thirst and hunger, even if it meant disobeying their own laws, and their honor and integrity. 

The state government employees are running an organized criminal operation that is under the guise of criminal justice, that is the Texas prison system, and right now TDCJ-CID is 16 BILLION DOLLARS IN DEBT, because they have been stealing tax payers money, and so basically what we have going on, is that tax payers are paying the TDCJ-CID employee criminals to keep locked up the innocent and guilty John P. Quick citizens on the false pretense of keeping society safe from criminals, while the government criminals are stealing the tax payers money, etc., so one group of criminals are being paid to watch over another group of criminals???? 

CLARIFICATION

I do realize of course that some of your state employees, judges, prosecutors, police officers, politicians & TDCJ-CID employees have not abused their official authority, and that they are decent people who are simply caught up in the sinister web that has been spun by the master criminals in the government. So my comments are not directed at you directly or indirectly. 

* I also want to extend my very deepest appreciation to all of you evil and sinister judges, prosecutors & police, and of course you corrupt politicians. And those in government agencies like the Texas Forensic Science Commission. I have learned a lot from Satan’s children. I hope Yahweh executes judgment on all of you very soon. 

** All potential TDCJ employees are given the following Catch 22 proposal: 

"If you are walking down the run with your co-worker, and he walks up to an [someone’s] cell and starts cursing him out, and spits on him, and then writes a disciplinary case on him, will you lie for your co-worker?

This is a prerequisite that the employee must meet to be qualified to work for TDCJ-CID and anyone who doesn't agree to lie for their co-worker is automatically disqualified from working here. A fellow [incarcerated person’s] spouse applied for a job here, and was given that Catch 22 proposal by a sergeant, and because she is a Christian, she and four others told the sergeant that they wouldn't lie, so none of them work for TDCJ-CID. I have left out her name so as to protect her. 

© 2007 JOHN W. BANOS 

August 21, 2007 revised 6/12/2022 third time. 

Voice of Truth, Mr. John W. Banos #545431 

3060 FM 3514 Beaumont, Tx. 77705-7635

Silent Conversations

By Jerry Blair

I’ve been known to drop the ball every now & then, but this time I really fumbled & let it get away.

When I look back it’s like a crossroad, where I should of kept the lane.

Instead I took a left, never looked the other way. I’m not sayin’ it’s the wrong thing, I think about it every day.

I can only hope you know it, that it came across without a word. That I said it with my actions, if never in the verse, silent conversations, never meant to hurt.

Now I’m outta time to tell you, what’s been on my mind, the minutes slipped away, while I had you on the line.

So much I had to tell you, so many things we planned, nothing so important, I could of said it out of hand.

These simple things get by you, when your livin’ day to day, you hope they know what’s kept inside you, never think there will be a final day:

I can only hope you know it. That it came across without a word, that I said it with my actions if never in the verse. Silent conversations were never meant to hurt.


By Jerry Blair #132644

Po Box 600

Canon City Colorado

81215

Or e-mail JPay.com

SITTING DUCKS 

By Bobby Delgado 

Sitting Ducks, wading through water underneath the dorms leaking roofs, waiting to get hit with the Coronavirus, is exactly what prisoners housed in old, debilitating jails, state, and federal prisons are. There is no escaping the virus. The Marshall Project has counted as of October 27, 2020, 161,349 Covid-19 positive tests and 1,017 deaths among prisoners around the country. According to a report by the Lyndon B. Johnson School of Public Affairs at the University of Texas, more Texas jail and prison inmates and staff have been infected and killed by Covid-19, than in any other state Criminal Justice System. 

TDCJ response to the alarming report was to remove the daily death count and infections from its website - deliberately setting on a course to keep the prisoner's families in the dark. The website is TDCJ's propaganda tool. In 2017, when Hurricane Harvey struck, and prisoners were evacuated, the website showed prisoners being housed in nice warehouses with double-bunks equipped with all necessities, that is, until a journalist exposed that the video had been taken years before Hurricane Harvey hit. 

Texas is a mess. The issue of overcrowding didn't just start with Covid, but Covid has made overcrowding more starker. Prison overcrowding set the stage for contagion. Before the pandemic, Texas health care system was understaffed and underfunded. If the state's health care system is understaffed and underfunded imagine how TDCJ prison health care system must be. There was no testing. No ventilators. No anti-malarial and anti-bacterial drugs to combat the virus. The only thing the medical staff had in abundance were aspirins, but the demand was so great that they even ran out of them! The nurse’s medical advice was, "Buy them out of commissary." But even that was a problem for most prisoners when Texas doesn't pay prisoners for their labor. To compound the problem, families during quarantine periods couldn't make ecom purchases for their loved ones.

Texas ranks number one in locking up, and in executing its own citizens more than California, New York, and any other state in the nation. So how did Texas get to this point? History shows us. It all started in 1849, when Texas built its first prison, the Walls Unit. 171 years later that old, broken-down prison is still open! In 1854; Texas had 69 convicts. The rate of incarceration crept up at a snail's pace: In 1949; there were 5,098 prisoners, in 1961; 11,463, and in 1987; The Texas inmate population was 38,821, while the U.S. prison population was 584,435. 

Under Democratic Governor, Ann Richards, and her Republican successors, Governors George Bush and Rick Perry, 93 of Texas 112 prisons were built between 1990 and 2008, at a time when crime was decreasing. The prison building craze had nothing to do with increasing crime, but with profits. The state and federal Criminal Justice System had become industrial complexes. At the federal level in 1994, Congress passed former President Bill Clinton's crime bill and in 1995, Congress passed the Prison Litigation Reform Act (PLRA) that Clinton signed that made it nearly impossible for prisoners to sue prison officials over the violations of their Constitutional Rights. The Antiterrorism and Effective Death Penalty Act (AEDPA) was signed by Clinton into law on April 24, 1996, limiting the time to file a habeas corpus to one-year. 

Prison growth requires victims: The taxpayers that are going to pay for it, and the prisoners that are going to maintain it. It was a national conspiracy at the federal and state level to incarcerate more of its nation's citizens. But to accomplish that end, legislators would have to get creative in creating new laws, and abolishing old ones, to fill-up the new prisons they were having built. In California, under the new three-strikes law, a third conviction, for even a non-violent crime, was life.

In Mississippi, under the new enhanced, or habitual sentencing laws, prisoners were sentenced to life without the possibility of parole for simple possession of marijuana and shoplifting charges. And in Texas, under the new 1994, "aggravated law" excessive prison sentences were handed out for simply scaring someone during the commission of a crime. 

Prisons were initially built for violent, dangerous people, but under Texas enhancement laws, stealing a 65¢ snicker bar from a convenience store earned a man a 16 year prison sentence, stealing a roll of toilet paper from a courthouse restroom earned a woman an 8 year prison sentence, and stealing a $12 fajita meat pack from the supermarket earned a man a life sentence! The U.S. Supreme Court's opinion on the case ruled that the sentence was not "cruel and unusual" punishment.

To top it all off, lawmakers abolished the “good time" law. The earned good time that appears on a prisoner's timesheet today is meaningless when good time no longer shortens a prisoner's sentence, not even by a day. Laws were also changed that made it easier to send back to prison parolees on minor technical parole violations. All these changes and more, contributed to the overcrowding problem.

Prisons today are not for hardened criminals, but mainly for soft criminals that belong in a hospice facility, a drug rehab, or a psyche ward. But since it pays to fill up empty prison beds, the blind, the legless, the wrongfully convicted, the physically and mentally disabled, are all welcomed at the prison's back gate! 

Every department in the Criminal Justice System that has something to gain from mass incarceration plays a role in this national conspiracy. For instance, the governor's appointed parole board members are playing the ratio numbers game. Even the most deserving prisoners eligible for parole won't be paroled if there are beds available. The concept was, you just built the prisons, and we will pass the laws to keep them filled. By 2008, the Texas inmate population had skyrocketed to 160,080 prisoners, while the U.S. Prison population ballooned to 2,319,258. 

king the laws, mainly politicians that profess Christianity as their religion. were in defiance to the laws God established for mankind to live by. "If the thief be found, let him pay double, Exodus 22:7. God's punishment was not imprisonment, but restitution to the victim. In other words, the thief that stole a 65¢ snicker bar would have gone free once he settled his debt of $1.30 with the convenience store owner, or worked out his debt doing a chore for the store owner. God said nothing about imprisoning a thief.

Texas "aggravated law" is also in defiance to God's laws. You rob someone by deceiving him that your toy gun is real, or by extending a finger underneath your shirt pretending you have a pistol and the simple robbery charge is upgraded to an aggravated offense - not all prisoners serving excessive, aggravated sentences are dangerous. Nowhere in God's laws does it permit a crime to be punished more severely because the victim was scared out of his money! Should Halloween be prohibited because people are scared into handing over their candy to children? Our nation's laws disregard God's law's. 

And when we disregard God's laws there are consequences. When state budget crunches hit, as they did during the 2007-09, Great Recession, prisons across the country closed. (In 2010, Texas prison officials, to make-up for a budget shortage of $2.8 million, cut the allotment for meals by replacing milk with powdered milk, and feeding only two meals on weekends at certain units). A 2016, RAND study found 31 states had closed prisons between 2007, and 2012, because of budget restraints. But the RAND study also found that some states after closing prisons, crammed more prisoners into the remaining ones - warehousing prisoners into already overcrowded prisons! 

Texas prisons sit on thousands of acres of land but their prisoners are packed into tiny plots of land no larger than a couple of acres. Prisons, like those around Houston built in flood zones are evacuated every time that a hurricane threatens Texas counties in its path - costing taxpayers millions

But today evacuating prisoners in cramped buses, in the midst of a pandemic, as it happened several times in 2020, when a record-breaking number of hurricanes struck the Texas coast, posed yet another kind of threat - the spread of the Coronavirus even deeper into the prison system

Overcrowded prisons threaten everybody's health. Before the Covid-19 crisis hit, inmate janitors were provided with only two cleaning agents in, insufficient amounts. Overcrowding had also badly overloaded the water system, hot water that is necessary for cleaning, was unavailable at peak shower-times and in the housing areas. Though health experts during the pandemic emphasized washing, prison officials did the opposite. Prisoners on quarantine are only allowed to shower once every 3rd day, and often had to go without a clean change of outer clothing for a week. The pre-pandemic outbreaks of staph infections, noroviruses, scabies, rashes, and cysts, are directly connected to uncleanness and overcrowding.

Health experts even before the worldwide Covid-19 pandemic had warned that building cramped quarters and unhygienic living conditions could make prisons hot zones for contagion. But in overcrowding lawsuits, federal judges weren't listening to the health experts, but listening to the paid whores that prison officials would call to the witness stand to rubber stamp their shortcomings! The American Correctional Association (ACA) to accommodate already built and cramped American prisons, decreased its own 50 square footage recommendation per inmate in cells holding multiple prisoners to 25 square feet in 2012. The ACA reversal of its 1984, recommended 50 square footage, saved prison officials from having to close prisons already built with 25 square footage cells.

To house the elderly, the sick, and the handicap prison population, dormitory prisons were built. To save money, the dormitory prisons have no chapels, and the contact visitation rooms are small. Visitors that have traveled hundreds of miles, often have to wait outside until room becomes available. The nearly one-thousand men dormitory prisons offer the cheapest way to warehouse prisoners. Each unit has sixteen, 53-men dorms. Each dorm's bathroom has 9-sinks, 4-urinals, and 4-commodes built virtually shoulder-to-shoulder. 

Dayroom space was converted to bed space. No partition separates the two dayrooms from the living area. The dayrooms combined have a total of seven, 4-men benches and two, 4-men tables. Do your math. The combined maximum dayroom capacity was built for 36 prisoners, which means that 21-men in the 53-men dorms don't fit in. And TDCJ policy forbids inmates from sitting on the floor or standing in the dayrooms.

 Each cubicle is separated by four waist-high thin metal walls. On two sides of the walls prisoners live six-inches apart, and prisoners going to and fro on the walkway are separated only by inches. The overcrowding problem is exacerbated by improperly housing disabled, wheelchair bound prisoners, in dorms not built to accommodate their special needs. The dorms resemble slave ships with their human cargo living scarcely inches between them, making social distancing impossible, and mask wearing useless and ineffective.

The early breakouts of viruses like the norovirus served as an early warning to prison heads that they were not equipped to handle a pandemic. They saw it coming and when it got here most of the prison heads largely ignored it. Texas has a population of 29 million and a relatively low Covid-19 infection rate! However it was due to having the lowest testing rate in the nation! As of April 30, 2020, Texas had tested only 1% of its population. Prison employees were not required to wear masks or social distance. There were no employee temperature checks done at the entrance gate, and no testing for the virus. On March 14, 2020, visitation was stopped. But profits took precedence over inmate safety. Work in the factories continued. Prisoners were threatened with disciplinary cases if they refused to work. 

The biggest threat to those taking precautions not to catch the virus were the inmates and staff members who downplayed the seriousness of the virus. Prisoners who fashioned masks from their own personal clothing had them taken away by ranking officers. Texas prison guards weren't mandated to wear masks until April 6. On April 13, prisoners with underlying medical issues were given one layer, prison made, cloth masks to wear. A week later, everybody was given a prison made mask to wear. The guards weren't social distancing, and several of them were lowering their masks down to their chins to talk. 

At the Powledge Unit, a dormitory prison, no safety measures were taken beyond closing the barber shop, bleaching the walls and floors, and suspending the practice of guards pat searching prisoners. The staff made a show of social distancing the prisoners when they stepped out of their cramped living quarters into the main hallway, but it made no sense when they lived together in cramped dorms! No inmate was tested until June 9. Guards without any medical training conducted the test. Amazingly all of the test results came back negative on June 13.

By early August more than 15,000 Texas prisoners and 3,200 staff employees throughout the system had tested positive for Covid-19. 181 prisoners, and 18 staff employees were listed as Coronavirus deaths. There was nothing to celebrate for many of those recovering, when 52% had lost an organ, or a body part, or suffering with bouts of extreme fatigue, memory loss, low sperm count, mental duress or suicidal thoughts. While incarceration alone is depressing, the cancellation of visits, library, and other activities added to the stress. 

The lockdowns only increased stress. During quarantine periods TVs were left on but nobody was allowed into the dayrooms - watching the TVs from a distance was like watching a silent movie with no sound. TV channels like TNT, USA, and TBS show nothing but reruns - at the very least new TV channels could have been introduced to keep the prisoner's minds occupied. Phone use was limited to one fifteen-minute call daily. Cold bagged Johnnies with frozen sandwiches replaced hot meals. Even recreation was canceled. It was boredom extreme.

 During the pandemic lockdowns there was an increase in domestic violence cases among people living beyond the prison fence and an increase in suicide, though they had the luxury to move around the house, talk on the phone, watch TV, and more, that those on lockdown inside the prison didn't have. In Texas, Deputy Inspector General Buttitta's office investigates all prison deaths said, "He'd seen a slight uptick in suicides amid the pandemic”. One inmate in an East Texas prison jumped off the walkway outside his 3rd tier floor cell to his death after learning he had tested positive for Covid-19. 

At the Clements Unit in Amarillo, Comelius Harper, who had a history of severe mental problems, and of trying to kill himself, was hearing voices and refusing to take his psyche meds. Harper's cellmate had nothing to fear from the invisible enemy. It was Harper, serving life without the possibility of parole for killing three people, he was concerned about. Harper killed the 26 year old Silvino Nunez, his cellmate. The awful smell went unnoticed, presumably because the guards wore mask that masked the awful smell. It wasn't until Harper asked a guard to check on his cellmate, that they found he had been dead for 3 days. He had been choked and badly beaten.

 The world has gotten a small taste of what prisoners who have been single-celled, have tasted for decades in isolation! Now imagine how solitary confinement, that's more restrictive, must have been: A completely dark, bare cell, a full meal only on every third day, and absolutely no luxuries. It's baffling to someone like myself that spent nearly a decade in Ad. Seg. and years in solitary confinement to see these tough talking politicians, that created Ad. Seg. and solitary confinement for "others," complain about their constitutional rights being violated! They protest “their” lockdown that is for their own safety! My God, what wimps! They expect others to spend years in lockdown, but they themselves can't even do fifteen days in lockdown without throwing a temper tantrum and filing a lawsuit! 

Prisons are largely made of concrete and steel which absorb the summer heat. Because of this, temperatures inside prisons well after sundown can exceed outdoor temperatures. Due to Covid, respite areas where prisoners could go to escape the heat, were closed. Each dorm has four large fans blowing hot air around. The main hallway has another ten large fans. In late August at the Powledge Unit when temperatures reached 100 degrees, prison officials made two, big stupid mistakes. The first mistake was when pat-down searches resumed to train a dozen new recruits, and the second mistake was made when the dorm across from ours was turned into a quarantine dorm. Guards wearing blue plastic protective gowns would exit the quarantine dorm, and to cool off, stand right in front of a hallway fan! With the large fans blowing hot air everywhere and with feverish, coughing Covid-19 patients across from us, we knew we were sitting ducks

On September 4, when the unit inmate population was tested a second time, the results were different. Hundreds of the Covid-19 test results came back positive. A quarantine unit lockdown followed. The young and the elderly, and the healthy and unhealthy, and those serving small, non-violent sentences were not sentenced to death, but some would die because of the prison officials’ stupid mistakes, and slow response, to the spread of Covid-19 in the Criminal Justice System. 

However, the lion's share of the blame for the Covid-related deaths in jails and prisons go back several decades, when governors and lawmakers appropriated money for the construction of overcrowded squalor communal prisons! They then added to the problem by not appropriating any money to adequately staff the prisons they had built! For a century the prisons have been understaffed! Prior to 1983, the prisons had been illegally staffed with inmate-guards, and prior to the pandemic there was a shortage of 4,500 guards. During the pandemic there were more than 5,000 Vacancies out of 26,000 positions. The agency is short of an additional 1,000 correctional officers due to quarantine. Practically, all of the guards are working 16 to 20 hours a day. There are no surveillance security cameras. And because of extreme guard shortages, incompetent guards that would have never been considered for a ranking position, now qualify. Security and safety have been compromised.

Governor Greg Abbott that's responsible for the "safety and well-being” of the prisoners knows - like Silvino Nunez family found out, that he cannot guarantee the prisoner's safety when there is, and always has been, a guard shortage. And neither can the governor guarantee that the safety measures in place will protect the healthy prisoner from catching Covid-19, nor can he guarantee that prisoners infected with the virus will receive the proper medical care! The only sensible option was to release prisoners. But the brain-dead governor did the opposite. Even as the numbers of infections continued to steadily climb systemwide, the Governor, and the parole board he appointed, ignored the thousands of calls and protest to release over 15,000 healthy prisoners, who had been approved for release before the pandemic struck! Releasing them for their own safety, would have also eased overcrowding, lowering the risk of prisoner's contracting the virus.

Governor Abbott's reckless insanity to instead lock all the doors to the burning house, leaving behind grandfathers, grandmothers, fathers, mothers, sons and daughters to fend for themselves, was the governor's ultimate dereliction of duty to preserve life. Just as Jews were wood for Auschwitz ovens, so were prisoners the wood that would fuel the fires in the communal hot zones. All that the prisoners were waiting for was that one untested Covid-19 carrier to walk through the prison front gates that would ignite the wood and set the place ablaze! 

Texas Lieutenant Governor, Dan Patrick gives us insight into the elitist mentality. Patrick on Fox News outraged some people when he said, “Senior citizens should be willing to risk a painful death of intubation and fluid-filled lungs in order to get America back to work!" The livelihood of businesses, like his, were of more value than the lives of senior citizens. 

At the highest risk for contracting Covid-19 are the senior citizens. And those who are in the highest category for successfully completing their paroles without re-offending again, are the senior citizens. Parole data shows that 98% of the senior citizens released who served at least ten years in prison went on to live as law-abiding citizens. But for career politicians like Governor Abbott that don't want to appear soft on crime, he chose to keep the door to the burning house locked to even the senior citizens! The end result for some, was death. 

The white privilege class of wealthy, famous, and powerful prisoners in federal VIP, five-star luxury prisons (that are not overcrowded) were being paroled before TV cameras for their safety - the expendables: the poor and powerless in overcrowded prisons were largely ignored. According to the University of California, Los Angeles law, Behind Bars Data Project, more than 16,000 inmates released, or diverted, from local jails and state and federal prisons amounted to less than 1% of the 2.2 million people behind bars in the United States. 

The U.S. Supreme Court is no innocent bystander in the Covid-19 related deaths, but a willing accomplice, who for decades systematically dismissed prisoner's lawsuits challenging prison overcrowding, understaffing, and unhygienic living conditions. Most recently, Texas prison officials, after being ordered by federal District Judge Keith P. Ellison, to provide testing, masks, soap, and sanitizer to prisoners at the Pack One Unit, where over 20 inmates had died, appealed. The prisoners weren't asking to be released, but only asking for the tools necessary to protect themselves. In November, the Republican majority of 5th Circuit Court Justices declined to order state officials to beef up safety measures. That the daily increase of infections and Covid related deaths would continue to rise, were as foreseeable as they were preventable. 

In December, Texas surpassed the million mark for Covid-19 infections and surpassed 25,226 confirmed Covid-19 deaths - the 2nd highest death count overall in the U.S., trailing only New York, according to researchers from John Hopkins University.

 On December 10, when temperatures dipped down to 30°, forty-one Covid-19 sick prisoners of all ages at the Powerledge Unit, were moved to the cold gym and placed under quarantine. The unit is dangerously overcrowded, so the men are sleeping on mattresses placed on the floor. The men suffering from symptoms, like diarrhea, share one commode and three urinals. Mistakes previously made keep repeating themselves, and with the head warden on quarantine, most of the unit went on lockdown again on December 31. As one guard put it, “There's only one guard for every 200 prisoners, because everybody is dropping off like flies!" Isn't this evidence of "cruel and unusual" punishment? Proof that if the high court and newly elected politicians don't change the direction in which the wind is blowing, that the next pandemic will prove to be even more deadly? 

Because of the recession and severe budget restraints prisons have closed nationally. TDCJ has now for the first time dropped below 100 prisons. TDCJ can still safely close another forty prisons and reduce the inmate population by another 55,000. As of this writing 220 Texas prisoners and 36 TDCJ employees have died and another 22,000 have been infected with Covid-19. Thousands that have recovered will never be the same. Due to pre-existing guard and nurse shortages, overcrowding, and unsanitary living conditions in Texas prisons, will the number of infections and Covid related deaths, daily continue to rise in the Criminal Justice System if the wind keeps blowing in the same direction. 

Artwork by:

Carol Young

MOURNING MY LOSSES

By B.E. The Truth 

The abundant number of men and women whom have lost their lives serving time in State Prison is CATASTROPHIC. Thus, I pay tribute, to honor my condolences for all our fallen Brothers and Sisters that were incarcerated with excessive time; only to pay with their lives. 

Tuesday, March 5th, 2022, Ray-Ray, 71 years of age died from a heart attack caused by questionable medications. In 2021, James Vick, passed away from a heart attack at 68 years of age. In 2019, Mr. Goodlow, 74 years of age died from respiratory complications, in the same year Levi passed. These elder gentlemen among countless others whom lost their lives doing time were all considered too be a threat to public safety, WHILE ENDURING IN THEIR GOLDEN YEARS. 

Before COVID, here in San Quentin 2018, EIGHTEEN MEN DIED FROM CANCER ALONE! And no investigation was sought. In 2014, Tony, a Mexican comrade of mine when showering collapsed. The alarm was activated, however, the response from medical and correctional staff was approximately ten minutes. Tony was DOA, he suffered a heart attack. In 2007, at Solano State Prison, I watched a good friend Dominguez, age 44 suffer with hepatitis-C, which he contracted working inside PIA laundry. I witnessed his yellowish eyes, and him crying for help. Rather than expedite Tony to a HOSPICE CENTER to allow his family to be with him. He was left to die upon his rack in the dorm. For all of these men above, my Comrades, REST IN PEACE. 

The overall conditions within West Block unit are DEPLORABLE, ATROCICUS, FILTHY, and remains without outside air circulation. The year, 2020, a sergeant ordered maintenance too remove the outside toilet and urinals form the upper yard. The result, prisoners within the unit utilized the garbage cans as toilets; because they couldn't get access into their cells until hourly unlocks, (NO EXCEPTIONS). 

Overcrowding is the norm inside West Block, there are 450 six by nine RECTANGULAR CORRIDOR (hallway) CELLS, that holds two men per cell. The so-called door are actually bars; where dust and other toxic particles accumulates, and freely enter the cells. Many men here today are over the age of 60, and CONSTRAINED TO WHEELCHAIRS, WALKERS, OR MOBILITY IMPAIRED, anxiously waiting freedom. And for those men who anticipated a release date but denied, resulted in their unfortunate SUICIDE. 

In closing, hundreds of elder men here in San Quentin Prison, having underlying conditions are FAR OVERDUE FOR RELEASE. Thank you. 

March 12, 2022

PERILOUS SHACKLES 

By B.E. The Truth 


I never intended to take away an innocent life, that I deeply regret. I didn't mean to cause such pain, to make people ridicule my name. I am a first term felon who doesn't have a violent history! But I'm tossed into a box suffering grief and misery. I haven't displayed emotional outburst leading towards anger. Nor have I engaged in physical altercations to place anyone’s life in danger. I haven't revealed threats, nor exhibited aggressions towards staff or my peers. Yet, I've been locked away now for 28 years. 

Another long day ends. Who, what, where lies a friend? Someone who understands what I convey. Someone who shows kind words when I am dismayed. I search for meaning, I strive on the path of truth. Periodically I hit a brick wall, Periodically I lose my roots. Oppressed! My heart bleeds, craving cahoots. Companionship-association, for days inside prison are not promised. Moments aren't exactly as they seem. My health is threatened by medical, foods are blemished, and there are corrosive products in hygiene. 

Hypertension, cancer, hepatitis-C, and diabetes are occurring patterns of ailments in the prison system that don't stop. I myself are proscribed generic medication to control blood pressure. But I suffer headaches, heartburn, plus I at times pass out. Unhealthy foods in the kitchen continually causes my appetite to drop. Must I continue to call upon my LORD JEHOVAH, when I encounter the menace, leading me to a permanent coma?

 I STROLL AROUND THE UNIT OF LIFELESS DRONES, SPIRIT SIPHONED OFF, LEAVES ME CONSUMED IN DRY BONES. Does letters make the situation any better? I can't tell, I rarely receive any mail. I constantly beat to drums of different beats. Desiring to remain honest; and then wanting to cheat. So I sleep, feeling bleak, withered from the correctional officers' overbearing heat. Declaring: "you're a waste, despised and will never get out!" Taunting me every day, enticing me to sway, this is the belly of the beast's diabolical way. 

Within this close proximity domicide I missed my PRECIOUS CHILD mature in her age. More flame too ignite rage! Entrapped inside this scanty cage. I can't control anything I'm doing time. I cannot control nothing, but retain peace of mind. But how must I regroup? Tirelessly combating TOTALITARIAN WITHDRAWALS, attempting to locate solace in a 15 minute interrupted phone call. As I listen to her voice, I have no choice, only to remain collective-receptive, yet beating to the drum of another beat. Why this mystique? Asking for financial assistance, feeling pressures of resistance. 

Now with COVID, there are higher fatalities at risk. Overcrowding within this infectious deplorable unit along with covid conditions is still disregarded like it doesn't exist. Political tyranny collects billions, and remains operative and tactful. But place's prisoners like myself and others in dire straits, chained daily to perilous shackles.

January 8th, 2022 

Written in Memory of Eddie Jones

The Carnival Uncle

By Rufus Lockett

When I was growing up;

To see you once a year wasn’t enough.

The bright lights, rides and comfort foods;

Those are the memories I have about you.

You were loved and missed during your

long absences;

But as family we accepted your distances.

May the carnival lights, rides and food

comfort you until we meet again.

Written in Memory of Arthur Beasley Jr.

By Arthur Wiggins

These two pieces are written for my dad, who was murdered in the Maryland Correctional Institution - Hagerstown. The official report reads that he died from a heart attack; however, the fact is that the police (correctional officers) sprayed him and two other inmates he was fighting, with pepper spray. Having already suffered a stroke his mid-forties, the pepper spray overwhelmed him. Instead of taking him to the hospital, they took him to the hole while unconscious, and allowed him to die there alone on that cold dirty floor alone. My dad’s name was Arthur Beasley, Jr. 

“Fire and Ice”


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

Laying on a bed
of thorns adorn
with sweet sounding
words I am told
In truth sweet lies

A red rose with
Black Blood that
flows through a
Black body laying
on a bed of thorns
in truth

Drugs from the
Doctor of the
streets brings a
bit of ease but
no peace from
the huge reality
since three ‘til
almost fifty I
suffered incessantly

Told the world owes
me nothing dad dies
at fifty-three
on a bed of
roses he died
in a correctional
institution that
reintroduced his
son, me, to that
reality of the

“A Blk Rose”

world owes me
nothing not even
protection from
rape, a child of
sixteen, surrounded
by racist CO’s
smiling and
singing: the little
n***** got what
he deserved

On a bed of
thorns
I discovered
in the face
of death the
truth of my
existence
in my own
smile as I
realized in
those moments
of great
suffering
that I was
a real
live
and
breathing
blk
rose
still

Charles Tooker

Artist Statement

“Greetings! My name is Charles Tooker. Arrested in 2016, I’m presently serving a 16-year sentence for attempted murder (non-premeditated). I suffer ‘serious mental disorders’, per DSM-MD, but they’re today managed more successfully than ever before, and certainly since my arrest. One significant factor in sustaining is my piety for creative expression, namely composing poetry, songwriting, and playing guitar. 

This being my first (and last) prison term, my 41 years prior were rather productive, if I may, my great passion for the fine arts ever present and influential: promising young visual artist, Bachelor of Fine Arts and Master of Arts degrees, museum curator, commercial gallerist, art consultant/dealer/collector, etc. My imprisonment, however, reignited my latent interests in creative writing (not to mention legal and academic), now brimming with little more than spare time, notable inspiration, critical self-analysis, pencils and paper. Moreover, the peculiar context, in which I’ve reluctantly become immersed (including 3 years of solitary confinement), has proffered subject matter at once compelling and insular, ripe for and demanding due regard ‘en masse’ – and defiant of America’s methodically self-defeating criminal justice system.”  

Charles Tooker, BF9504 

December 2021 

Poem 1

Ode to my first 3 years in solitary confinement; commissioned by founder of L.A.’s “Compassion Prison Project.”

“Untitled (Unexceptional and Unforgettable)” 

– Charles Tooker, 2021

“i’m going abroad now. please feed the fishes”; 

his last and lonely wishes. 

Scrawled red on the wall, but in no way violent; 

in forced solitude and deftly silent. 

Well-nigh a decade then, he’d lived next-door; 

plagued and poor, El Bay the Moor. 

Though we’d never met, we never let the other alone; 

brotherhood as weightless as a bird bone. 

As lighthouses and windmills trade signals at dawn; 

reflections for revolutions daily shared with a yawn. 

He’d say, “Don’t ever cave, rule your cave; the trick is to 

be brave, but not too brave.” 

No, we weren’t proud of our address, but we still had a name; 

be it a Moor’s, mine, or yours, we’re all one and the same. 

The forgotten, the disgraced, the one-night stands; 

figure 8s on broken skates in subterranean lands. 

I can’t fight back the tears that I’ll never cry; 

he was meant and made by them to die. 

They threw at once the rock, the paper, and the scissors; 

to bludgeon, to conceal, to carve mental fissures. 

They found a martyr on cold concrete that night; 

for them, it wasn’t too firm, rather just and right 

He chose to sleep, and it was hardly a choice; 

rendered lifeless since they first entombed his voice. 

Poem 2

Ode to a beautifully terrible suicide

“West of California”

– Charles Tooker, 2020

Stuck in California, but still need to push west 

Burning bridges to light the night 

Loneliness and void never smelled so sweet 

The Bay never shined so bright 

That holy water boiling, can’t shake the heat 

St. Elmo’s wonderstruck 

No, beauty isn’t always pretty, nor worthy of hate 

But always magnified by luck 

Her cold and urgent eyes couldn’t recognize defeat 

Nor ease her bloodshot mind 

Just laughed to keep from cryin’, livin’ from dyin’ 

And still left it all behind 

She woke to sleep and took her waking slow 

Washed the sand out of those eyes 

Stumbled heavy down the beach, naked and soiled 

To await one last sunrise 

Sea, meet moon; moon, meet sea

Now, away with that old disguise

Sea, meet moon; moon, meet sea

Now, let’s all say our last goodbyes

Poem 3

Ode to TBI (Traumatic Brain Injury): Death + Rebirth 

“The Fall”

– Charles Tooker, 2020

I didn’t ask to survive the fall 

They tell me I’m just human after all 

I can pretend that I’m not like them 

But I didn’t ask to survive the fall 

And I, I felt the earth tremble low 

But I still don’t know why 

I refused to let go 

‘cause I, I was saying goodbye 

It can’t wait till tomorrow

There’s no reason to try 

So please, please wait for me 

Weary, broken, and scarred 

By that sycamore tree 

I, now martyred and barred 

Stopped the world and let be 

And it wasn’t so hard 

I didn’t ask to survive the fall 

They tell me I’m just human after all 

I can pretend that I’m not like them 

But I didn’t ask to survive the fall 

Poem 4

Ode to mass incarceration.

“Appeals To the Bowerbirds” 

– Charles Tooker, 2020 

All of my friends are murderers, dear; 

But I welcome all the drama and polish the veneer. 

While Cain loved Abel, he was born to die; 

With promises of heaven – fly, bowerbirds, fly. 

Everybody wants to rule the world; 

With a borrowed crown and flags unfurled. 

Stuck between the devil and the deep blue sea; 

I lure a mermaid queen to take confession from me. 

Never had an inkling I’d end up in Sing Sing 

Scratchin’ these loose-leaves; what comfort they bring. 

And nature moves on like I was never there; 

At times touched by the wind, icy fingers through my hair. 

While suffragettes cry and mourn each day, 

Tears mixed with rain in April, dried up come May. 

Appeals to the bowerbirds, colored with song; 

Welcome June and July, days passed and forever gone. 

Alt. ending Verse 5: 

Alas, I find you there, asking me to come near. 

Hoping that I’d still care and relieve all former fear. 

I’m a new man now; I’ll never rule the world. 

But I’m sure to die a royal with you as my girl. 

INTERTWINED

WE HAVE CHOSEN EACH OTHER.

STANDING STRONG,

SHARING STABILITY,

FIRMLY FIGHTING FREEDOM'S FIGHT.

IF WE SHOULD LOSE,

WE WILL HEAL

OUR FIERY BLOOD WILL CONGEAL

UPON THIS SYSTEMATICALLY

DYSFUNCTIONAL PLANET.

SHOULD WE WIN,

WE WILL SHOW

UNITY,

COMMONALITY,

COMPASSION,

COMMUNAL COMBAT

CAN CHANGE CIRCUMSTANCE.

WE HAVE CHOSEN EACH OTHER.

WE ARE FOREVER INTERTWINED.

By Demetrice “DC” Crite

Digital drawing by Susie Bannon.

A Lovely Garden
By Arnoldo Juarez

His name was Chano Lopez.

He was a coarse man but he also was a kind person.

We became close friends, he called me sobrino (nephew) and I called him tio (uncle).

He would tell me war stories about prison life when he was younger.

When I would ask him about his grandchildren he enjoyed talking about them.

It seemed like he liked being called tio by me.

Chano was a slight surly man but he did have soft spots.

He would come by my office in the building and often wanted something that he saw.

I couldn’t give him everything he wanted so when I would so when I would say no to him it would upset him.

One day he was mad at me so to make him happy I made him a candy made with duplex cookies, Hershey’s and maple syrup; it made him so happy that he called me sobrino and pounded on his chest with a closed fist.

During the Covid breakout about 70 percent of the [people] in our yard got infected.

A medical worker was in front of Chano’s cell with a wheelchair one morning.

I was wondering what was going on so I walked from my office to see if Chano was alright; Chano was infected with Covid so the worker was trying to take him to the facility where all the Covid positives were, but my friend was just laying on his bed facing the wall.

He looked feeble and unhealthy so as I walked back to my office I whispered a prayer.

A few days later I got Covid myself so I was sent to the same facility where Chano was at.

But unfortunately when I got there I sadly found out that he had just passed away.

Death swallowed his life without me saying bye to my tio.

Hopefully Chano is in heaven tending a vibrant garden and remembering me by pounding on his chest and saying, “Mi sobrino!” (my nephew).

Painting of a prison picket shining a light on Coronaviruses covering the prison. A white ambulance waits outside the gates.

Chano Lopez painting by Arnoldo Juarez.

Human Dog Kennel

 by Horace Thomas

A lot of the men
Won’t leave their cell
It’s like a turtle’s armor
They hide in the shell…

Their spirits are broken
Like the snap of an arrow
It’s long since flown away
Swift is a sparrow…
Not much is left now
As this story is told
They’re dying mental death
From all the control…

The state built this bed
For a chosen few to sleep
A cutting-edge hell
Flames licking at your feet

Pelican bay state prison
Where the shortcomings begin
Inside the security housing unit
A situation that’s a no-win…

The exercise yard
Is a cement matchbox
Designed for those
From the school of the hard knock…

The human dog kennel,
Where even birds don’t fly
Through the screen and canopy
Is a picture to the sky…

It’s the end of the line
At a terrible cost
A checkpoint of sorts
Where life and death cross!

Marri “Marty” Joy Lehning

by Kwaneta Harris

My friend Marri Joy Lehning was in solitary confinement over 20 years when she finally was allowed to rejoin General Population. During this time her mental health declined and she had a hard time. In the past 2 weeks we were all told that she passed of cancer in Galveston, Texas.

Marri, who went by Marty’s biggest fear was dying in prison. she didn’t have any children nor family in Texas. We were her family. As families have disputes, we all do. Everyone has had their share of conflict with Marty. She was smart and only if she would have got help for her trauma related to domestic violence and we all believe she would still be here.

Marty became increasingly more paranoid the longer she remained in solitary confinement. What we really want her family (her brother) to know is she was a kind, empathetic person. I’m happy to have met her. And, she was a mother to many. Someone who told it how it is – even to the officers, even despite the consequences.

Unfortunately, many staff were celebratory. They didn’t know her like we did. Every day she mentioned her brother & sister-in-law. She loved him and was often regretful that she wasn’t a ‘big sister’ he could be proud of. He needs to know – she really loved him and her nephews.

Love,
Kwaneta

Disco

 by Michael Eggleston

In my orange uniform, I stand to the door.
My room is on the top I see Smurf lying on the floor.
It’s 12:00 the C.O.’s screaming, “Go to your room!”
Thirty minutes before count, I didn’t want to assume.
My heart got heavy and I started crying.
When the door was locked, Smurf on the floor dying.
He tried to get help earlier that day.
But medical rejected him with nothing to say.
As different people tried C.P.R.
His life faded from his body like a falling star.
People standing around without a clue.
George Floyd couldn’t breathe, Smurf couldn’t breathe too.
Seeing this happening as I sound the alarm.
I wonder why do people shackle a dead man’s arm.
The sadness get greater and greater
Why strap on handcuffs? After strapping on a defibrillator.
Someone have to change the way that S.C.D.C. treats a man.
Is death the overall master’s plan?
The silence is louder than the plug.
Is this another sinless death, swept under the rug.
Being a man in orange uniform, what he must do
We are at a crossroad, I can’t breathe too

Life with parole is the NEW DEATH ROW

By Michael Eggleston

What do it mean to receive life with parole?

Do it mean I die in prison or until I get old.

What is parole when the answer is already No.

If a person has been rehabilitated? The parole board don’t think so.

A Lifer can be around many people, but still be alone.

All the important people, people he knew are all gone.

When a man is alone for decades, he will begin to grow.

Life with parole is the new death row.

No income, no money coming in

ONE bad decision, how can a man make an amend.

The prison system treat Lifers like a sport.

Sell you dreams. And crushes your support.

Can you imagine getting your laundry back that is still dirty.

Twenty-eight years in prison feels like thirty,

Every two years going up for parole, feels like a physical blow.

Life with parole is the NEW DEATH ROW.

A man did 40 years in prison or may be more.
Not being able to breath it was Disco
Nobody really can clarify the scene.
To watch a man die why we are on quarantine.
Seeing this brings us all to a test.
I don’t want to die in prison I must confess.
It was his time to go, but not from here.
to watch his life leave his body was not clear.
The room holds mostly simple things.
The loudest voice on the yard as death sings.
What’s going on I can’t believe my eyes.
people leaving this earth dropping like flies.
When new people come to Hampton, he would say “Hey!”
He was a good brother and was very nice
Living this life in prison is like thin ice.
Disco I miss you, because I couldn’t say Bye.
Writing this poem makes me want to cry.
Life comes and life is gone for my friend
The stories need to be heard and shared to the end

What is the reason for parole?

By Michael Eggleston

What is the reason for Parole?

Is it to appease Society that a prisoner gets old.

Do people really believe they will let someone go?

This is an illusion and politics is a show.

Men are dying after decades of waiting on a chance.

The music is playing, but nobody is invited to the dance.

If you do right, leading the people for a great change.

We are builders of the next generation, does that seem strange.

If life was a movie, what is your role?

What is the reason for parole?

To clear it up and to remove the confusion.

Can a prisoner make it or in reality it's just an illusion?

Death is the way you pay for your crime.

The whole parole perspective is to pay with Time.

The gates are locked and that is AIl.

The Story COMES to An End when they make the call.

As the flags raised at half level on the pole.

What is the reason for parole?

I Can’t Breathe Too

 by Michael Eggleston

…We Knew

By James W.B. Jackson

When our brothers were one by one dying on us

In the early days of a then epidemic weeks late

In being declared a Pandemic, nobody told us why

But we knew.

When our brother were asking the officers for help only

To be disregarded until they were no longer breathing…

Well.. We knew

There were no mass gatherings on the rec-Yard with signs

And placards that read… “Prisoner Lives Matter,” or “I

“Can’t Breathe,” but like dogs in a kennel… “Come on boy,

[kiss kiss] let’s go, let’s go [kiss kiss whistle whistle]

No time to grieve, and no counsel but our own which

Turns out to be better than that which Professes to be

Professional.

The majority of us in this particular facility are a praying

Bunch, and our fallen brothers’ families, are our families

So we prayed for them, because… we knew.

If our hearts are broken then theirs is vaporized.

Medical administration didn’t say it [covid] but…

We knew.

They did say other things that we were familiar with as

Though these words would somehow be soothing... Like

“It’s Cancer... It's Diabetes… Not Covid… but We knew.

Moments of silence, memorials, prayer gatherings were

Instituted by the institutionalized… because… we

Knew

…We Knew (cont…)

Before it was a mandate we wore homemade masks

Because we knew

And somebody sad “that’s what they deserve, bunch of

Rapists and killers” …. While holding up a 30 day sobriety

Chip… like… “… but I’m not a drunken lush because I

Said I hadn’t had a drink in a month” but when your

Brothers, Mothers, Father, Sons, Daughters, Grandmas, and

Grandpas, Wives, Husbands, Neighbors, Friends, Strangers,

Humans were dying we prayed for you too… why? You

Might ask … because … We knew.

The T.V. come on at 7 am, but long before the nation

Concluded that Dr Fauci was clueless… We knew.

We stand up in front of the news, trade newspapers and

Get all sorts of information from our cell-mates Moms

And make informed decisions because even with a life

Without parole sentence we fight our cases while self

Rehabilitating because we don’t want to die in prison and

While all over the WORLD, prisons were letting people go

And abolishing Death Row, here parole was saying No

Nothing new… because We knew

Life is moving on and our brothers are still gone, yet

Their essence is in our presence whispering in our ears

That life is precious so guess what Texas… Guess

What world… We know that too.

When It Hurts Inside Of Your Soul: COVID-19 Inside Prison

By Bobby Bostic

The pain inside your body is not the worst pain, nothing is more painful than soul pain, it lingers on. It stays inside of you like COVID-19. I am one of millions of prisoners across the world that caught COVID-19. There is no way around it in an overcrowded prison environment. Already trapped inside of a prison cell, COVID-19 traps you inside of your body, when it is hard to breathe who can you call out to? You labor for breath all the while sweating buckets. Your body hurts with every breath. Inside of a cell you suffer alone, nobody feels your pain. Most of us prisoners don't know when, who or how we contracted COVID-19. Nevertheless once the COVID-19 hits you it takes over your world, COVID-19 imprisons you. A cell without bars, it locks your body down. It attacks your cells and organs.

The first sign that I had COVID-19 was when I caught the chills. The same night I started sweating profusely. The next morning I awoke to a high fever. This was the worst. My entire body ached. Medicine did not help nor relieve my pain. The only temporary relief was sleep. Sleep doesn't come easy in prison though. There are 5 custody counts that you must stand up for. Noise is everywhere. Movement is constant. Violence is ever present and always near. This isn't the place to try and sleep your pain away.

Medical staff are indifferent to the serious medical needs of prisoners. Dozens of prisoners around me with clear mild or even severe symptoms of COVID-19 do not report their symptoms to prison - medical staff. The majority of us just ride it out in our cells. Each of these prisoners show all of the symptoms of COVID-19. In the first few days I lost my smell. Then I lost my taste buds. I did not eat for days. I could not smell anything for more than a week. Fellow prisoners couldn't breathe.

Some sought medical assistance only to be taken to solitary confinement to be put on quarantine. As confirmed cases begin to rise at the prison, entire housing units were put on complete lockdown for two weeks. Ironically no sooner than they were released from quarantine many other prisoners in the same housing unit contracted the virus. Again these same housing units went into complete lockdown quarantine. Then a guard or nurse would bring the virus in again and back on quarantine the inmates go.

Hence as I write this the entire housing unit that I am in is on a two week quarantine lockdown. We only leave our cells for showers a few at a time. They haven't tested everybody. Medical staff does random tests here and there. If those inmates happen to test positive, then our lockdown will continue for two weeks and on and on it goes. This is clearly not solving the problem nor stopping the spread at this prison.

COVID-19 is a curse. It is a curse that haunts us inside of these prisons. NO matter how we or the state tries, there is no real way to social distance inside the confines of jails, prisons and detention centers. The very design and structure of these facilities are built for close contact. Places of confinement are meant to house as many bodies as possible in the smallest amount of space as possible. How can you practice social distance when every half of a foot from you is another body? We stand in line for breakfast, lunch, and dinner with another person standing in front and back of us less than a foot apart. It is the same way when we sit at the small tables to eat our meals.

In all honesty there is no 6 feet apart social distancing in these prisons. COVID-19 hit us and hit us hard. Along with the elders in the free world we are among the most vulnerable population. Medical care in the Department of Corrections is not known to be the best. In prison the worse tend to get even worse. So in here the curse (COVID-19) just spreads just like the misery that tends to blanket the air. Besides a vaccine we need another cure. We need a cure from mass incarceration. It is mass incarceration that contributes to COVID-19 spreading so rapidly in prisons, jails and detention centers.

More than just your body; COVID-19 inside prison hurts your soul. I know. Stuck in a hard steel bunk with nowhere to go. I dream of freedom, but with a 241 year sentence, that seems so far away. Even still, today I feel happy because I got my sense of smell and taste back. It is the small things that count. Your sense of smell and taste is part of your humanity and COVID-19 can strip you of that. COVID-19 overwhelms your body and it feels like you are drowning inside of yourself and the pain you cannot get out of your body. You go inside of your soul and hurts there too. This is what it is like.

I WAS HER SON

BY CARTER P. COOPER

MY QUIET PLACE, SILENCED THE CHAOTIC CHATTER; PROVIDING A SENSE OF STILL, AND A MUCH NEEDED PRESENCE OF PEACE. A STRONG- HOLD, SHIELDING EVERY ADVANCEMENT OF THE ADVERSARY. THE CORNERSTONE OF AN UNWAVERING FOUNDATION.

LOVING ARMS, LISTENING EARS, AND A WELL OF WISDOM, THAT SHONE LIKE A BEACON OF LIGHT; GIVING GUIDANCE ALONG MY JOURNEY. IF I VEERED OFF COURSE, OR FOUND MYSELF LOST & ASTRAY THAT SAME LIGHT BECKONED, CORRECTING ANY MISDIRECTION. A LUMINOUS LOVE, THAT CALMED EVERY RAGING WATER, GENTLY GUIDING ME HOME.

NO MATTER THE DISTANCE, IF I CALLED SHE'D COME. DESPITE THE ODDS, SHE STOOD TALL HEAD HIGH, AND PROUD THAT I WAS HER SON. MY MOTHERSHIP HAS SAILED, LEAVING ME BEHIND... ALONE... BY MYSELF... ANOTHER PRISONER OF TIME.

THIS ONE IS FOR YOU

BY CARTER P. COOPER

UNFORTUNATELY, I'VE BEEN INCARCERATED THE MAJORITY OF MY ADULTHOOD, IN AND OUT OF CORRECTIONAL FACILITIES SINCE THE TENDER AGE OF SEVENTEEN; MORE SO IN, RATHER THAN OUT. ALTHOUGH CONSIDERED A LATE BLOOMER WHEN COMPARED TO SOME OF MY FELONIOUS MEN, NONE-THE-LESS, HERE I AM, AN EQUALLY WELCOMED RECIDIVIST.

AS A YOUNG MAN, THE REVOLVING ‘IN'S AND OUTS’ NEVER AFFECTED ME, OR APPARENTLY I WAS TOO NAIVE TO REALIZE THE EFFECTS THAT WERE IN FACT TAKING PLACE. SO WHAT IF I LOST MY RIGHT TO VOTE, OWN A GUN OR LEAVE THE COUNTRY, I WAS IN THE STREETS AND JAIL AND PRISON WERE ALMOST A CERTAINTY, SORT OF AN OCCUPATIONAL HAZARD THAT CAME WITH THE LIFESTYLE.

NEVER ONCE DID I REALIZE THE EMOTIONAL AND PSYCHOLOGICAL TOLL THE CONTINUAL STINTS OF CONFINEMENT WERE TAKING. I'VE SPENT FROM TWO WEEKS IN JAIL - TO - THIRTEEN YEARS AND NINE MONTHS STRAIGHT IN PRISON, A TOTAL OF FIVE INDIVIDUAL TRIPS TO PRISON, AND I'M CURRENTLY SERVING A 7-9 YEAR SENTENCE. NOW I'M JUST LEARNING THE LESSON I SHOULD'VE GRASPED DECADES AGO.

THE CUMULATIVE AMOUNT OF TIME THAT I HAVE SPENT CHAINED, SHACKLED, AND CAGED SURROUNDED BY CONCRETE AND STEEL HAS COMPLETELY DESENSITIZED ME IN REGARDS TO COMMON HUMAN EMOTION. NO, I'M NOT PROFESSING TO BE SOME DERANGED PSYCHOTIC KILLER, BUT THINGS THAT ONCE MEANT SOMETHING HAVE LOST TREMENDOUS, IF NOT ALL, VALUE TO ME.

BIRTHDAYS DAYS HAVE BECOME JUST ANOTHER DAY, AND HOLIDAYS ARE THE WORST, MOST BORING AND SLOWEST TIMES OF THE YEAR. I DREAD TO SEE THEM, KNOWING THE EMOTIONS THEY ARE BOUND TO STIR; "BAH-HUMBUG!" THESE ARE ONLY A FRACTION OF THE LOSSES I'VE EXPERIENCED.

I'VE LOST FRIENDS AND FAMILY WHO WEREN'T MENTALLY READY OR MATURE ENOUGH TO "RIDE-A-BID" WITH ME, BUT I UNDERSTAND NOW, THAT IS AN EARNEST REQUEST. THE COMMITMENT AND DEDICATION REQUIRED TO STAND BY SOMEONE INCARCERATED CAN BE EMOTIONALLY TAXING, NOT TO MENTION SOMEONE WHO IS CONSTANTLY RETURNING.

WHILE PROCLAIMING MY NEW FOUND INSPIRATION FOR DOING THINGS THE RIGHT WAY - MY DAUGHTER - MY MOM SAND, "WELL SON, WHY CAN'T YOU JUST DO IT FOR YOURSELF? I UNDERSTAND YOU DOING IT FOR YOUR DAUGHTER, BUT YOU NEED TO DO IT FOR YOURSELF... STAY FREE FOR YOURSELF… LOVE YOURSELF.”

THE WORDS STRUCK A CHORD, NOT SIMPLY RESONATING, BUT FINDING ROOT IN MY MIND, HEART, AND SPIRIT.

IT WAS ONLY MONTHS LATER WHEN I FACED MY GREATEST FEAR-I LOST MY MOTHER WHILE INCARCERATED. I RECEIVED THE NEWS WHILE IN THE 'HOLE' AND ON MY FATHER'S BIRTHDAY. ADDING INSULT TO INJURY, I WASN'T ALLOWED TO ATTEND THE FUNERAL NOR A CLOSED VIEWING. NEVER GIVEN THE CHANCE TO SAY, "GOODBYE", "I LOVE YOU”, OR I'M SORRY.”

NO MATTER HOW CALLOUS I'VE BECOME THROUGH THE YEARS OF CONFINEMENT, THIS PAIN MANAGED TO PENETRATE MY CORE, MY SOUL, MY VERY BEING.

WHERE DO I NOW DRAW MY INSPIRATION TO ENDURE MY HARDSHIP OF INCARCERATION? FROM MY…

I'VE ALSO LOST FAMILY AND FRIENDS TO OLD AGE, ILL HEALTH, ACCIDENTS, AND TO THE SAME "STREET LIFE" THAT HAS STOLEN SO MUCH OF MY VERY OWN LIFE. NONE OF THIS HAVING AN EXCEEDING AFFECT, ALL JUST CASUALTIES ALONG THE WAY.

DURING ONE OF MY SHORT STINTS HOME, "ON THE STREETS", "FREE", I MANAGED TO CREATE A CHILD. BUT, JUST LIKE EVERY OTHER TIME, DADDY WAS HELL BENT ON RETURNING TO PRISON.

WHILE IN THE COUNTY JAIL, WITH THE MOTHER OF MY CHILD ALONE, NEEDY, AND MONTHS INTO HER PREGNANCY, I PLEDGED TO MY MOTHER ALL THE THINGS I PLANNED TO DO RIGHT IF ONLY GOD GAVE ME A CHANCE. I SWORE TO DO RIGHT BY MY LITTLE GIRL.

NOW, LET ME PREFACE THIS NEXT PART BY SAYING, I'M A BONAFIDE "MAMA'S BOY" AND PROUD OF IT. THERE'S NOTHING I LOVE MORE THAN MY MOTHER AND NOTHING I WOULDN'T DO FOR HER, BUT I JUST COULDN'T SEEM TO "KEEP MY BEHIND" OUT OF PRISON.

MY DAUGHTER, MY MOTHER, AND HER WORDS; "DO IT FOR YOURSELF, SON."

WHERE DO YOU DRAW YOURS?

"FOR I CONSIDER THAT THE SUFFERINGS OF THIS PRESENT TIME ARE NOT WORTHY TO BE COMPARED WITH THE GLORY WHICH SHALL BE REVEALED IN US.” - ROMANS 8:18 -

Cruelty Without Parole

By Christopher Santiago

Ben was one of the few convicts who had earned my trust. He and I were both in our early thirties, both from up north, and both serving life without parole at the same maximum-security prison in South Carolina.

One night, while walking the prison's upper tier, I spotted Ben heading my way with a smile on his face. As we neared each other, he reached out and embraced me with both arms.

"I love you, Santiago," he said.

The hug was as unexpected as it was unusual, and I did not reciprocate. I stood like a statue with my arms rigid at my sides. People don't just hug each other like this in prison, I thought.

"I... uh... love you, too, bro," I managed, pulling away.

It felt awkward. At a loss for what to say, I turned around and fast-walked in the opposite direction. I had no idea Ben was about to commit suicide.

* * *

Imagine spending the rest of your life locked inside a tiny prison cell the size of a parking space with no hope of ever being released. How long could you endure being trapped in a dungeon while simply waiting to die? That is what it means to serve a life-without-parole sentence, condemned to die on America's slow death row.

There are over 200,000 people serving life sentences in the United States, and despite declining crime rates, our number is growing. America locks up more people for life than any other country.

"I'm sorry, but, if I had a life sentence, I would just kill myself." Over the years, more people have said this to me than I can recall. I've heard it from prison guards and from my fellow inmates. I've even heard it from my own family. And every time I hear it, I think of Ben. I remember the decision he made. I lament the fact that I couldn't stop him from taking his own life. Couldn't even return his goodbye hug.

It's 5:45 a.m., and I'm lying on a thin piece of plastic-covered foam that I refuse to call a mattress. My back aches, and my right arm is stiff. Still in my orange prison uniform, I swing my legs over the side of my bunk and place my feet into a pair of tattered, white sneakers. Joints pop as I struggle to stand and stretch. What will "life" throw at me, today? I wonder.

I study my reflection in a slab of polished steel bolted to the concrete wall of my cell. Dark circles ring my tired eyes. My hair is thin and graying. I clip my prison ID card to the left collar of my uniform. In the ID photo, my hair doesn't look so gray. I'm almost dead, I tell myself. My ID card might as well be a toe tag identifying a walking corpse. Killing myself would be redundant.

* * *

Every day, I wake up and convince myself not to commit suicide. Not to give in to the same hopelessness and despair that crushed Ben's will to live. To find some meaning in the suffering. To live in a way that is sane. Every day, I wake up to attend my own funeral.

I acknowledge that what I did--the horrible crime I committed 18 years ago--was wrong. If I could go back in time and change what happened, I would. I cannot possibly regret what I did more than I already do. Just thinking about it makes me wish I had never been born.

But no matter how sorry I am, no matter how much guilt or remorse I feel, I remain labeled an irredeemable person. While other inmates can reduce the amount of time they spend in prison by earning time-credits for good behavior, work, and education, there is nothing I can do that could possibly reduce my life sentence. What incentive do I have to obey the prison rules? Why should I continue to pursue my education? I'll never sit for a job interview or be evaluated by a parole board. My sentence places me beyond redemption.

Not only is life without parole irreducible, it also cannot be extended. If I were to commit additional crimes, no more time could possibly be added to my sentence. Why should I live in accordance with the law? More importantly, why is our criminal justice system turning hundreds of thousands of Americans into an unpunishable class of hopeless convicts with nothing left to lose?

It's called a "life" sentence, but that's a misnomer. The truth is, life without parole is death by incarceration. It's death in slow motion. I am not "doing life"; I am simply going through the motions of being alive. Trying to piece something together from the wreckage of my life. I am lying in a casket, waiting for someone to close the lid.

What is the purpose of a life-without-parole sentence? Does locking people like Ben in prison with no prospect of release accomplish anything besides cruelty at the taxpayers' expense? What about lifers who are no longer dangerous? Don't they deserve a second chance? What about lifers who have "aged out" of criminal behavior and are no longer the same people they were decades earlier? Don't they deserve even the possibility of parole? These are questions we need to ask ourselves as a society.

Life-without-parole sentences are pointless and cruel. Nobody deserves to be punished to the end of their life. As a democratic society, we should recognize the inherent worth and dignity of all people. Human beings have the capacity for positive change and personal transformation, and if people can change, so, too, can their laws.

It's time for sentencing laws in America to change. Life-without-parole sentences serve no purpose except sadism and schadenfreude. There should be no place in a civilized society for this level of cruelty. Everyone deserves a second chance, and once an offender has served a reasonable sentence, our laws should afford him or her an opportunity to rejoin society. That's what Ben would have wanted. It's what he deserved.

It's time to end life imprisonment. For more information, visit Endlifeimprisonment.org.

Christopher Santiago is a writer serving life without parole in the South Carolina Department of Corrections.

Written By: Darrell Sharpe

Dedicated to the Memory of: My Fiance Marcia Miller Rest In Peace/Rest In Power My Queen

"When Tomorrow Starts Without Me"

When tomorrow starts without me And my physical presence isn't there for you to see At my wake, if the sun should rise And find all of you beautiful people in tears for me Wishing so much all of you wouldn't cry the way you're all doing today while thinking of so many things we didn't get to say. But I truly know just how much everyone loved me as much as I loved all of you. Broken hearted, smiling within my soul, while looking down and missing every one of you too. But please try to understand, A beautiful Angel came to me, and took this soul of mine by the hand And said, Your place is ready far, far away; Up Above. And I have to leave behind all of those who I clearly and dearly love. As I turned to walk away, a tear fell from my eye. Because all of my life, I just never wanted to die. Family, friends, loved ones, please don't continue to moan, Instead smile for me as I join the Heavenly Father and his Heavenly Throne. You see family, I never died, I just started to live. Where there's no more pain, no more worries, no more tears, no more sorrows. But everlasting everyday tomorrows. So please don't feel sad when tomorrow starts without me, Because my new home is full of love, peace, happiness, life's eternality. A moment of silence please, everyone cease your cries; Until you join me in Heaven, I'll now say all of my goodbyes, When tomorrow starts without me...

"Loss- What Will You Do With IT?" "How Will You Handle It?"

Everyone within this lifetime at some point has felt the true pain of loss. Whether it's the loss of a good job, prized possession, freedom, meaningful relationship, or the awful sting of death, adversity tests our faith, character and resolve. In our country today Unemployment is up nationally, forclosures, bankruptcies, personal and business, are rising causing homelessness suicides, crime, frustration and despair. Grassroots protest movements have spread like wildfire all over the country to challenge economic policies, including tax structure favoring the 1% wealthiest at the expense of the poor and middle class, and to decry questionable corporate practices. For my incarceration nation loss is perennial; an unavoidable enemy and a daily reminder of the consequences of bad decisions that were made. Mind you not all are guilty. No matter, death and its shadow lurks overhead like vultures. The Palmist said, "Yea though I walk thru the valley of the shadow of death I will fear no evil because You are with me." One of the most difficult obstacles to overcome is the loss of someone you truly love and care about. It's deep heartfelt, emotional and psychological pain at its core. Regardless, if the loved is a victim of murder, dies of a sickness or natural causes or even mother nature's wrath, all are affected with anguish of the soul. At present I am processing my own grief from the recent loss of my beloved Fiance. My prayers as well as my condolences are with all of those who are reeling and processing their personal grief from the loss of such a beautiful person. We all respond differently to a loss. Will you remain bitter, unforgiving, give up, seek vengeance, blame God, or allow your grief and anger to hold you captive or will you work toward forgiveness? Where you perceive injustice or inequality will you work to effect changes and hold leaders to accountability? Fyodor Dostoyevsky said, “Power concedes nothing without a demand." Sometimes in losing we gain.I It was the pain of losing countless lives to cancer, aids, and other virulent maladies and the long suffering of injustices that galvanized national campaigns to eradicate these dreadful diseases and change unjust policies. Regardless of who or even where you are, death and loss touch all those who are living. In my own dark nights of the soul That God has given me, I find prayer and viewing life through spiritual eyes and reading scripture of great importance and comfort, producing a great exchange. I give God my sorrow, fear, anxiety, doubt and despair and receive God's Joy, Courage, Faith, Hope and Grace. What we do and how we handle loss is our challenge on a daily basis. With God's grace He will help us come up with a viable answer and face whatever difficulties that may lay ahead on this journey of this thing called "Life”.

"When Tomorrow Never Comes"

If I knew that it would be the last time I'd talk to you on the phone before you went to sleep, I would have prayed the Lord, your soul to keep. If I knew that it would be the very last time I'd see you walk out the visiting room door, I would have given you an extra hug and kiss and called you back for more. If I knew that it would be the last time I'd hear your voice lifted up in praise, I would have taken many photos of us together on our visits, so I could open up my picture album to look at them day after day. If I knew that it would be the last time, I could spare an extra minute or two, to stop and say, "I Love You!", instead of assuming that you Know I do. If I knew that it would be the last time I would be there to share your day, Well I'm sure we will have many more, so I can just let this one slip away. For surely there's always tomorrow to make up for an oversight, and we always get a second chance to make everything right. There will always be another day to say our "I Love You's", and certainly there's another chance to say our "Anything I Can Do's?" But just in case I might be wrong and this day is all that I Get, I'd like to say just how much that I do love you and I hope you never forget, Tomorrow is not promised to anyone, young or old alike, and today may be the last chance that we get to hold those loved one's tight. So if you are waiting for tomorrow, Why not just do it today? For if tomorrow never comes, you'll surely regret the day that you didn't take that extra time for a smile, a hug, or a kiss and you were too busy to grant someone, what turned out to be their last wish. I am asking you to hold your loved one's real close today, express to them just how much you love them and that you'll always hold them dear, Take the time to say, I'm sorry, "Please forgive me", "Thank You”, OR "It's okay" And if tomorrow never comes, you'll have no regrets about today.

"Once Death Calls Your Name"

The warm summer Sun of life has truly disappeared below the horizon in the East; with the passing away of my beloved and beautiful Fiance. There is now only a lingering gloom and memories to be resurrected that have permanently tattooed on my thoughts and dreams. Ironically, the customary phrase used by well intentioned people that she is in a much better place because her suffering is over is merely spoken out of sympathy not knowing what else to say, and causes my grief-stricken self to cringe! There are no comforting words to diminish the storm of bereavement that rages like a Nor-Easter into Eternity. When death calls your name it's like a storm that has caused an Avalanche of loneliness that has buried me in my solitude with a suffocating silence and desolation that grips me like Bear Claws in an unyielding blizzard of heartbreak that rips and tears at both my mind and spirit! Reminiscing about happier times are shattered by images of suffering and death calling out her name that brings countless hours, and days of sorrowful tears to my eyes, that glisten in icy pools of my despair. Knowing that I will never again behold the living presence of my Fiance because her soul has been carried beyond Earthly Gates of Mortality by Pallbearers of The Eternal Rest. Angels in Heaven weep as they witness my daily battle against the diabolical forces of grief. The Celestial Winged Spirits understand that my sense of hopelessness is like trying to open the closed cover of a coffin, with my bare hands, that is buried deep under the mound of the frozen ground. Only God and Heaven's Angels know the true depths of human agony for the one left behind when the Sacred bond of a future Marriage has been served and deferred by death calling her name and saying, "Death Do Us Part”.

Dedicated to the Memory of: My Fiance Marcia Miller Rest In Peace/Rest In Power My Queen

Broken Windows

By Jesse Mocha Scroggins

Only faded spots from the pictures remain,

on the empty walls of my heart.

Painful reminders of me

having a happy Family,

Now only distant thoughts...

From the hollow inside,

I can hear the rain tapping

The thin roof of my soul,

blowing winds whistling

through the broken windows

It's cold!

Would someone please

help me light the fireplace,

Put the pictures back on the shelf.

Let me revisit old memories of Love,

While there's still time Left.

Peeping through the broken windows of time,

Searching for love in my sleep;

Only to realize dreams are like people

They often make promises they don't keep.

"Lonely Sparrow"

By Jesse Mocha Scroggins

Lonely is he who sits on the branch of eternal life and death not knowing which way to go, his life has nothing more left.

Days come when to spread his wings has even become a task, with his head hung low his time is soon to pass.

A song is playing in his head, singing "You are not Alone" with tears in his painful eyes all he can do is silently mourn..

Here ye, Here ye, is a voice heard from high and above.

Only if he believes in himself, "God" will express his desiring core.

Like “A rose that grew from Concrete" his life is twisted with thistles and thorns, with nowhere to go or anyone to turn to he feels all alone. Another day is gone with the memories left to bind his broken heart, encasing his light and making his spirit momentarily dark.

Today is the day that tomorrow will "never" change, if he just have a little faith "God" will erase his unwanted pain.

So to him who seems far and afraid and in the path to be hit by Cupid's Arrow, I thank "God" for I am no longer a lonely sparrow.

Writing My Wrongs, By Leo Cardez

HOPE - By Leo Cardez

Atrocities within this world emerge to only weaken human civility to further slip away.

Let us RISE ABOVE, let us UNDERSTAND distinctive unrighteousness isn't the promise path to undertake.

I Narrate a FAIRYTALE:

To endorse MEANINGFUL CONNECTION, to complete a journey towards seeking NEW BIRTH.

Jaunting along against entangled obstacles and snares together INVIGORATES TRUST, HEALING and WORTH.

RELIANCE upon WISDOM and INNER STRENGTH, quells any burdens. Because LOVE COMMANDS HIGHER AUTHORITY to DOMINATE for certain.

Through the fire, let us FOREVER PREVAIL! To reach out forward with the BEAUTIFUL CONCLUSION. Achieving HOPE inside a FAIRYTALE.

Mind F*ck The Rona

Art by Leo Cardez

AN ADORABLE MEMORY

By Leo Cardez

GOD's favor is incredible when a Man and Woman are willing to build an empire together to become one and inseparable.

He possessed a dream, recited a prayer to inhale a rose. A flower appealing, fragrant, and attainable to consolidate ENTHRALLMENT ignited his soul. His utmost desire to admire and forever hold.

DISTANCE oneness, caught up in a whirlwind apart. HE CLINCHES, gazes towards HOPE, for their INTIMATE SENERGY to manifest and start.

Caress DEVOTIONAL WORDS, that stimulate the mind. Receive: ATTENTION-AFFECTION-APPRECIATION and RESPECT arising fluidly and GRACIOUSLY KIND. With intentions to UNSELFISHLY SERVE HER without hesitation, at all times.

Sparks sindles flames! To PURIFY the deepest regions within their souls. TIMELESS ANTICIPATION COMPLEX strong hunger, too yearn RHAPSODY to unfold.

Sense vibrant ELECTRIC TOUCH. Embrace comfort against the chest. Linger mild SENSATIONS QUIVERING up and down along the spine, with soft blowing emulate breaths.

Arousing delicious delights met. New SERENITY BORN! Levitating upon CELESTIAL WINGS they enter paradise. Refining DIVINE SPLENDOR, vigorous and precise.

He onced possessed a dream, now he savors her ROSY AMBIANCE AS HIS QUEEN. New ENDEARMENT MORE EXHILARATING than golden harps in musical symphony. Both drift into the stars, holding dearly onto AN ADORABLE MEMORY.

GOD's favor is incredible. HIS SACRED BLESSINGS stand virtuously legit. When a Man and Woman become inseparable to reveal: AMOUR is BECOMING where you find it.

A Dark Ballad

by Arthur Wiggins aka Shaka N'Zinga

There in the dark he set

In the dark

Remembering his fear as a

child being sparked by the

Boogieman coming to him in

the darkness of his bedroom-

as his little brothers, both,

slept peacefully in the bed

they all shared.

In the darkness of his room,

a cell of sorts, a prison almost,

a child of six, he came to know

that the Boogieman was real,

Afraid not only for himself, he

feared for his little brothers, so

he made not a sound as the

Boogieman hurt him in the

ways he hurts the

child's mother.

In the darkness of his room

he learned to detach and

prepare for the darkness that

was to become A Dark Ballad

that was to be his life.

In the darkness is where

this Dark Ballad took shape

and up to the writing of it

Never before had it been

sung - being brought to the light of day.

No more fear of the dark

A Dark Ballad now being

sung to illuminate the way

to Better Days.