Supplement Runners-up
insidepoetry H
H
H H
H
Supplement Star poem H
H H
Congratulations to Kim Flintoft - HMP New Hall - who wins our £25 prize for ‘Star Poem of the Month’.
2 My name is not Fran Frances Turnbull - HMP Low Newton ....... 4 The Visit Mark Milne - HMP Holme House ............. 6 An Alternative Valentine Brian Lee Marsden - HMP Leeds .............
The Small Things Maria Arthur - HMP Eastwood Park Do you know my name? I think you don’t! You yell my surname Like a bitter taste It’s a small thing My name is EMMA Do you know my name? Would you even look? Number? You ask Like I’m an animal! It’s a small thing My name is MARIA
Feelings Kim Flintoft - HMP New Hall What are my feelings? I feel love not fear, Even when I’m down I don’t shed a tear. How do I live life if no feelings are there? I try to look inside me, I sit and I stare. I’m empty inside, that’s all I can feel, I want to have feelings but don’t know what’s real. Where are my feelings, what’s happened to me? I feel dead inside but no-one can see. My face is my mask that I’ve worn so long, No-one can touch me, my mask is too strong. I need someone to teach me how feelings should be, Someone who feels love, to take my walls down for me.
Clubbed to life AJ - HMP Wealstun Pulsing hearts in the light Strobe lights fill the dark DJ in the corner Makin’ music, leave a mark Escaping from the rat-race Hiding from the norm Sweat dripping from the ceilings Like we’re stuck inside a storm The strobe lights are our lightning Our thunder is the bass The power it creates Is charging up the place This is my happy zone A place to drift away Euphoria engulf me When the music starts to play
Has the post been? Have you checked? Wait till later! You are not important It’s a small thing A letter means the world to US
Within Jon Legrys - HMP Long Lartin The shadows on my wall Some are small, the others tall Fading light, beginning of night The sun’s orange glow The owl is in branches, low Through my windows I stare Metal bars are there My radio is on - my favourite song There’s whispering outside my door A spider runs across my floor Tomorrow’s just another day Not much to do, nothing to say Silence shatters – the shrill screech Get your water! The key in my metal door Locked away till the next day Still nothing to say Fists punching my pillow Heart filled with sorrow I try to sleep But I can only weep
The phone is broken Hello, the phone is broken Are you listening? Do you care? It’s a small thing A friendly voice means everything to US Yes we are in prison We have done wrong We are being punished We have names We are not just numbers We have needs too Small things to you BIG things to US
Dreams Michael Priestley - HMP Leeds I dream of windows that will let me see I dream of doors that open up for me I dream of gates that let me walk free And I dream your love you’ll keep safe for me
True stories Matthew Doyle - HMYOI Reading Keys rattle, doors slam, its life on remand You’ve got the top dogs, real rides, and the people that self harm Go suck ya mum are shank you up, are the calls from the door Some people can’t ride it, but I’ve heard it all before Hot water, razor blades, or soap in a sock Have a battle on the yard, then a spell down the block Then back to the wing no TV, no soash, the screws call it basic But with a radio, library books, it’s not hard let’s face it The screws have got no control, the systems full of power freaks But they’re only little boys preying on the weak The system needs to fix up or criminals will never change And crime rates will never drop so there’s lots to be gained
2
Poetry
insidetime
a voice for prisoners since 1990
If you would like to contribute to the Poetry section, please send your poems to ‘Poetry’, Inside Time, Botley Mills, Botley, Southampton, Hampshire SO30 2GB.
H
H
H H
H
Supplement Runner HUp
H H
Congratulations to Brian Lee Marsden - HMP Leeds - whose poem wins our £15 prize for ‘Supplement Runner Up’.
the national newspaper for prisoners published by Inside Time Limited, a wholly owned subsidiary of New Bridge, a charity founded in 1956 to create links between the offender and the community. A ‘not for profit’ publication
An Alternative Valentine Brian Lee Marsden - HMP Leeds
Registered Office: 27a Medway Street, London SW1P 2BD
* Inside Time, Botley Mills, Botley, Southampton, Hampshire SO30 2GB. ( 0844 335 6483 / 01489 795945 6 0844 335 6484 :
[email protected] ; www.insidetime.org
“Let’s talk of love” my counsellor says “Examples of love from your bygone days” But love is something I’ve never known Love is something I’ve never been shown “You must have known love, you have a bird” But love’s just a word I’ve spoken and heard A word that I’ve used as a means to an end To get what I want – you get me my friend? Does this mean I’m bad, am I out of order? Or is it a symptom of my mental disorder My counsellor says “I’m sorry for you, I think it’s sad” But how can I miss what I’ve never had?
If you wish to reproduce or publish any of the content from any issue of Inside Time, you should first contact us and obtain our written permission. Full terms & conditions can be found on www. insidetime.org
A bottle of booze Ben Jammin - HPM Lewes You, yeah you Look at you Feeling smug Standing on the table Plain and clear For all to see You are so easy To get picked up You’re passed around Till you are dropped Back on the table But now you’re empty All of a sudden You feel ignored You’ve been replaced! But you’re ok Coz you’ve been used So go and join Others like you You say hello You’re in the bank Talking parties With all your friends Oh what laughter When tales are told About the guests That you control The lorry comes Unloads you all To be recycled To fill you up Oh what joy, the life You lead Destroying organs Inside you bleed
Rats Jamie Fletcher - HMP Leyhill Sneaking through the streets when no one else is about Unwelcome by all who see them All they want to do is survive And like each and every one of us they didn’t ask to be put on this earth They scurry from place to place, inquisitive of any smell It might be rubbish to us but it’s a meal for them All they want to do is survive Traps, poison, a stick or a pellet Enemy of the rat, nemesis to so many They carry evil from place to place but unknowing of their wrong All they’re trying to do is survive Imagine being a rat for just one day Hated by all, hungry and scared Hiding in holes and jumping down drains Trying, trying so hard to survive Just a chance, a slight chance Understand the plight Every day is a struggle, they struggle every day Hoping that they will survive Can they be defeated so easily? For every one you erase another ten sit over your shoulder Waiting for their chance, waiting, waiting Surviving, surviving.
Insidetime June 2010 www.insidetime.org
Queen of the Lakes Andy Weldon - HMP Frankland I’m planning to walk One day, for a while Hour after hour Mile after mile Cross mountains and rivers Through valleys and streams And see things again I’ve kept in my dreams Through forests, on pathways And down to the lakes I’Il take off my boots Take a dip, soothe my aches In hamlets and townships Where people all meet The shops and the cafes All trampled by feet A pint sir, a meal sir That’s what they say But I try to avoid At least, till the end of the day I’d much rather be On the hilltops or woods Instead of the shops Where they peddle their goods In all kinds of weather From winter to spring I’m at one with nature And the pleasure it brings But summer is best When the sky is so blue Where no mist or cloud Can spoil the best view Of looking at Derwent The queen of the lakes Not long to go now And still my heart aches Dedicated to all keen fell walkers and those that dream of their favourite places
The return of the Parliament John Azopardi - HMP Maidstone It’s all quiet within the house MP’s silent as a mouse Duck house, moat and second homes Tree surgery, beams, and mortgage loans We didn’t break any laws they cry ‘C os we are the ones that made ‘em You are just angry with us all ‘C os you are the ones that paid ‘em All we want is fairness Cry Mp’s quangos, peers Just hope that Oliver Cromwell Sticks his fingers in his ears
Insidetime June 2010 www.insidetime.org
If you would like to contribute to the Poetry section, please send your poems to ‘Poetry’, Inside Time, Botley Mills, Botley, Southampton, Hampshire SO30 2GB.
Poetry
Please spare her a thought
My Mother
Rachel Gabbitas - HMP Newhall
P T - HMP Durham
There’s a girl on my landing who nobody likes Who will not wash or shave and is crawling with lice She smells like an onion all rotted with grot Her wild staring eyes says that she’s lost the plot
Make up applies just like a child Hair that’s such a mess Eyes are darting around the room Stains that mock her dress
Her hair is all matted with dirt and decay All the lasses jeer when she turns in their way Nobody will talk to or give her a chance And everyone’s sickened by the stain on her pants
My sister and I try and hide Because we don’t know what she’ll do Whether she’ll cut off our hair Or smack us with her shoe
She mooches in bins and picks smokes off the floor Her pong makes you nauseous when she creeps past your door Her life must be hell from a world full of pain But the girls laugh and scowl And tell her to go get a bath The screws, they ignore her as if she’s not there For certain people there’s “no duty or care” She can’t help herself and for her I feel bad What went wrong in her life, we will never know For the girl to live in such deep and dark sorrow I wish her luck for the help that she needs And pray that one day it won’t happen to me I pass her some smokes and a few friendly words And her eyes come to life like a spring songbird But her gaze quickly fades – back to the world of her own So please give her a break and leave her alone
Pad Move Craig Tattum - HMP Winchester You’re all but settled, as well as can be Your pad is set with home memories Pictures, belongings all set to stay Familiar surroundings, it’s just about ok Then opens the door “bag up your things” The cell move is about to begin Pack in a frenzy, wondering why Where am I heading and with what guy Bound to have left stuff, in the push New cell door opens … an awkward rush Swapping our lives, tales of our past Me bits ‘n’ bobs, scattered in my new digs Re-mint my pictures, of my wife and kids His routine unravels, an ease then appears Can’t help to think, what happened here It’s safe to say, my life’s not in my control Perhaps one day I’ll reach this, while taking a stroll And so it goes life never runs smooth It’ll happen again, another cell move
A letter to Brighton Beach Marc Smith - HMP Leicester Hello my dear old friend Tell me, how long has it been? Many faces you must have seen Over the years As I remember you through eyes drowned with tears I hear the pier has fallen, now like a broken tooth I’m looking for the truth So do tell me, how long has it been? How many faces have you seen? As I remember you through eyes drowned with tears Its been many years, since we were last acquainted For five, I’ve been incarcerated Now my only friend is the view of the sky As the walls are so high I long for your open space So maybe, I shall pay you a visit, when I leave this place
3
The ambulance pulls up outside They’re coming to take her away You can see the fear in her eyes This world is shades of grey She’s screaming like a banshee now As they’re breaking down the door She’s smashing up this unhappy home Then pissing on the floor They wrestle her to the floor An injection, then a groan She lies there like a broken doll Looking lost and so alone The tears run down our cheeks Where so many have run before Two heartbroken children Left alone once more
Helmand Battle
What’s happening?
C S Fisher - HMP Preston
‘MacNutty’ - HMP Peterhead
The sun rises over a foreign trench Warming the pew and that putrid stench Looking at my watch My heart is beating twice as fast as the second hand H- Hour commeth with shouts of command “fix bayonets” Suddenly the whistle screeches out loud Breaking up the troops that gather in crowds Up the loaders and over the top Dodging the bodies that never stop Falling, falling, slaughtered and slain Twisting contorting and writhing in pain Blood flowing, limbs missing and masses of flesh Brave soldiers crying like babies in a crèche Dash, down, crawl into cover, observe sights and return fire Looking for my enemy amongst the mire A flash, a hint of smoke then a rat-a-tat-tat There you are my quarry, get some, take that A-Team give covering fire, B-Team lets go Advancing in number we put on a show Smoke billowing and grenades burst into flame Showering the enemy with splinters of pain We jump into the enemies trench, confronting them We spray them with lead Finally they lay there, oozing death Extinguished; dead Trials, tribulations and tears from the sun The war is not over but the battle is won
I lie awake asking myself What’s beyond the wall? Standing over 10 foot tall What can I see? An industrial estate A choppy sea Lots of boats Not one of them afloat When I listen I hear Squawking A feeding frenzy to you and me Beeping A truck reversing Dragging and thumping Trucks unloading Goodness knows what The time is nearly three The best time for me Soon I’ll be free Able to see What’s going on? Beyond that wall Standing 10 foot tall
4 H
Poetry
H
H H
Supplement Runner Up
If you would like to contribute to the Poetry section, please send your poems to ‘Poetry’, Inside Time, Botley Mills, Botley, Southampton, Hampshire SO30 2GB.
H
Congratulations to Frances Turnbull - HMP Low Newton - whose poem wins our £15 prize for ‘Supplement Runner Up’.
My name is not Fran Frances Turnbull - HMP Low Newton What’s in a name, you say He changed my name to Fran He changed the way I saw myself He changed the things I wore And the way I did my hair He changed the moon to the sun He made me Fran, the girl who no-one likes The girl who wants to make everyone happy But just can’t The girl who does as she is told And knows the penalty if she doesn’t The girl who lost her life And doesn’t know how to find it again So, what’s in a name, you say I will tell you what’s in a name It’s your soul, your heart, your life, your love Everything that makes you who you are Your identity is fragile, so hold onto it But hey, don’t listen to me All I know is, my name is not Fran
Life Michael Kane - HMP Woodhill Life inside isn’t all that bad Yeah you miss all the things you once had Your car, your home, your mobile phone All your friends and family too But don’t forget they also miss you When you’re inside you have to adjust Try to find out who you can trust Try to find someone new That you can just talk to Play some pool or even cards Surely it’s not gonna be that hard I know there are listeners They’re good at what they do But there are also officers in here too Yes, you heard me right They’re also here day and night Sure they might get to go home And they’re also free to roam But if you think about it right They’re also doing life inside They’re people too, with similar woes And aspirations and dreams of hope They’re also here to help you out So don’t just stare at them and shout Ask them advice, for all their help too And maybe life inside will be better for you This poem was in my mind after three very good officers left our wing to do other jobs in the prison system.
Insidetime June 2010 www.insidetime.org
YP’S Gavin Short - HMP Altcourse On Beechers Green there’s a sight to see A strange phenomenon we call a YP You can spot a YP at the slightest glance He’ll be hanging around with his hands down his pants They really are an unlikely breed With brains blown out on coke and weed Their cells smell musty, dirty and dank Al they ever do is eat, sleep and w--k They stand at the console, give abuse to the screws Bodies adorned with schoolboy tattoos All of a sudden there’s a scream and a shout! Once again there’s a fight broken out All YP’s know how to fight Though very few know how to read and write This is the world of Beechers Green But on the out it’s a different scene… Graffiti, vandal, petty thief Causing worry, fear and grief From the roller rinks and burger bars Driving ‘round in stolen cars They roam the streets and swear and cuss Dodge their fares upon the bus Granny bashing, chucking bricks Taking drugs to get their kicks In twos and threes they’re oh so tough But on their own it’s all a bluff You can blame their parents or blame their schools But YP’s have their own set of rules When I started this poem, it was all in a jest A way of getting things off my chest Society demands they be locked away And this is how we earn our pay Perhaps one day they’ll all mature Could there be a miracle cure? So until then, we’ll babysit Mend their bogs and clean their shit.
Paroxysm Mark Chapman - HMP Peterborough I dread the night, when it comes It’s not the dark that frightens me Where there is peace and quiet A shadow of evil intent, stalks me I won’t undress tonight My clothes Wrapped about me Tight Beneath my covers I quake My clammy skin, oozing terror This night, is as long as the last And the screams, muffled by the pillow Are the only sign, pain has found me
Imagine Anthony Robinson Jr. - HMP Centinela USA Imagine peeling back the skin Of a fresh thought on Gods mind; You would probably die of shock, But it would feel like living for the first time Imagine the motivation revealed In a dopephines tracks; Imagine filling your life with Half of the motivation, What great monuments we could build… Imagine a saviour coming to the world In the form of a baby; Boy what a task it would be Cutting open egos sitting on top Of grown men’s minds like fruit bowls Balanced on the heads of African women Imagine being offered grace But being in love with your own humanity You wash your hands of mama’s scriptures And dry them off on a towel in your cell Made from the feathers of angels wings Imagine your life being summed up In a sentence that couldn’t be Written on your tombstone because The period began before the words were revealed You turned in your life Before knowing what you were born for… Imagine holding a vision of the world That has grown weary in your heart Like old paint being picked at By children searching for something They can’t articulate Einstein said “imagination is more Important than knowledge” I understand what he meant Imagination allows us to set up The board in a chess match against God And pull up a chair Imagine a black child walking To school carrying that faith in her backpack Imagine the lessons she would come home with That would help her raise her parents To be the role models walking in her heart… Imagine staring at the chessboards Knowing it was your move?
Insidetime June 2010 www.insidetime.org
If you would like to contribute to the Poetry section, please send your poems to ‘Poetry’, Inside Time, Botley Mills, Botley, Southampton, Hampshire SO30 2GB.
The corridors of Hell
Copies are available at a special discount price of £7.50 for Inside Time readers, family and friends.
La
st re few m ai co ni pi ng es
Inside Time, P.O.Box 251, Hedge End, Hampshire SO30 4XJ. Telephone: 0844 335 6483 ISBN 978-0-9562855-0-8
5
Meds queue Laura Coghlin - HMP Eastwood Park
Gerald Smith HMP Sudbury Yes it’s all going on Just outside Guys on the landing With doors open wide But I don’t fit in Too old I guess I could join in the fun Just have to say yes But I’m tired of the life I’m sick of the fools All ego and hype And bullshit rules Time to step back Take a look at the scene Mean what I say Then say what I mean Wise up quick And grow up fast Never look back The past is the past Get back in the saddle Take my life for a ride Behind closed doors Leave the fools outside Shoulder the burden Face out my fears Not playing this song For the next twenty years I’m going back home And that’s where I’m staying Leave the boys outside Laughing and playing Deaf dumb and blind To the dangers that wait In the big bad world Outside them gates A big bad world They knew nothing about When their turn comes around Will they want to get out? Shed the cocoon That they’ve woven so well On the prison streets The corridors of hell
Poetry
Why? Jo Hale - HMP Eastwood Park Why does the grass make my feet wet as I walk in the morn just begun? And why is it green, not blue, or pink, or golden, like the sun? Why do the waves on the ocean make patterns as they flow? And why do swans float against the tide, when the other ways easier to go? What makes a squirrel climb a tree and why do birds learn to fly? And why do crabs walk sideways and don’t get sand in their eyes? Why do fish swim together instead of swimming alone? And why don’t they bump one another - why don’t they use a phone? What makes the sea salty? Whats makes the sun so bright? And what makes it shine for me today? And the moon come out tonight? Why do the stars twinkle and what makes a baby smile? And why, oh why, must I keep asking why all the while?!
A simple phone call from a complicated place Neil Worthington - HMP Ranby I spoke to her before on the phone All she did was cry and say “I just want you home” I had to keep my emotions in check because everyone else was around playin’ pool The last thing I need is to look like a fool, tears in my eyes and a mouth full of drool So I inhaled a deep lung full through my nose It calmed and relaxed me - I don’t know how - It helped slow things down a little I suppose Lines of concentration and frustration creased my forehead “Trust me babe, I just wanna be home too” I said Each second between our words seemed to slow frame by frame It didn’t help me, that we both knew who was to blame It didn’t help us that we’d have to carry this stigma on our backs like a rucksack of shame, “listen, I love ya babe, but I gotta go” I just wanted to be swallowed by the floor I just wanted to reach down those little holes, travel down the wire, and touch her soft skin God, I love her completely and miss her so much it feels like a sin And as I cradled the phone, I swear, I’d never felt so alone My hands were shakin’ and I noticed my knuckles were white to the bone And I avoided everyone’s gaze As I clung onto the sweetness of her I felt the wetness upon my cheek I wiped it away so harshly so as not to appear weak And as I walked away, purposely, my head down, I prepared myself for yet another week Thinking of my wife and the next time we’d speak.
Go get your meds From the face behind the hatch Queue and queue forever more Before you are despatched Some nurses so stoney No time for a smile We should be the unhappy ones We’ve been queuing for a while Some of em are cheerful Remembering my name Some of em emotionless And treat us all the same A face like a wet weekend NAME AND NUMBER NOW!! Treat us all like robots No wonder there’s a row We are human beings too With feelings just like you So, why are you so moody? You aint been in the queue People pushing, shoving To get the daily fix Starting rows and pushing in Is how some get their kicks But me, I try to be polite It’s not always worth my time Another day, another face Another f**king line I really think when I get out With me and O.C.D I’ll see a queue and get in line It’s where I’m meant to be But no I must acknowledge Some of you do care You treat us individually And seem to be quite fair You sometimes cheer me up When you smile and say hello So, for those of you who are uptight You need to be mellow Or maybe write yourself a script Some valium should do it Will put a smile upon your face And you’ll just sail through it.
Smile Inside Raymond Wall - HMP Wymott Love makes you feel all cuddly and warm Love makes your tongue get all tied It makes you go wobbly And weak at the knees And all sort of smiley inside
6 H
Poetry
H
H H
Supplement Runner Up
If you would like to contribute to the Poetry section, please send your poems to ‘Poetry’, Inside Time, Botley Mills, Botley, Southampton, Hampshire SO30 2GB.
Insidetime June 2010 www.insidetime.org
Prison & Me
H
Congratulations to Mark Milne - HMP Holme House whose poem wins our £15 prize for ‘Supplement Runner Up’.
Katie Lane - HMP Foston Hall
The Visit
Prison is Rapunzel locked in a tower She’s trying to get out, but she has no power
Mark Milne - HMP Holme House
Prison is Cinderella without her glass slipper She’s not humble, just really bitter
She looked gorgeous all done up her lips so red I don’t feel the same she said Things have changed since you’ve been away The dreaded words you heard her say It’s just not the same But there’s no one else she did claim It’s me not you When you’re stuck in jail what can you do You’ll be alright you’ll meet someone new What does she know she hasn’t a clue There’s plenty more fish in the sea Who’s she kidding I’m doing IPP It’s over.
My Pain Arizona Watterson - Isle of Man Prison Look at other people’s faces What do you see? I see painful memories all of me I can’t get away from the grief I’ve inflicted So many lies many have been contradicted I feel like I can’t breathe A pain in my chest that won’t leave I feel bitter like nothing will change Someone come along and take this pain I may smile but it’s all a front I’m shivering, scared inside But it’s something I feel I have to hide Hide from the deep dark world outside I want someone to take me in Their arms and rock me slowly Rock away all the pain And make me feel less lonely I feel so tired, so worn out So angry I want to scream and shout “This was not my fault” over and over again Take this fear and take this pain My hearts been wrenched it hurts so much To lose you forever to lose your touch I still can’t say goodbye All I can do is ask why But I will never get the answer All I’ll ever get is blame
Prison is a depressed lonely Juliet Because she hasn’t met her Romeo yet Prison is Macbeth starting to stagger Why on earth did he pick up that dagger? Prison is Martin Luther King Sometimes he would protest, sometimes he would sing Prison is a segregated Rosa Parks Sitting on a bus that never parks
The Painter Tim Walters - HMP Risley A cleaner I’d been for three months or more I remember the brush that made my back sore A change of job means that brush has gone I’ve changed it for a much smaller one I now hold a paintbrush nice and small Vertical surfaces – I paint them all My hands are a blur as I paint like mad When I’ve finished the day, I am really glad All over the place it says ‘Paint is wet!’ Many will ignore, of that I would bet The number of signs may seem a bit much But they won’t come down ‘til its dry to the touch Whilst doing the cells with the silver paint Trying to cover the slightest of taint It puts my head in the weirdest of spin ‘Cos I’ve neglected to read what it says on the tin Doing this job makes me really chilled I don’t even mind when the paint gets spilled Then comes the comment from some annoying twit Who points at the wall saying “I’ve missed a bit!”
In parody to “Psalm 23” Fazil Sorbat - HMP Garth The queen is my landlord and I pay no rent She makes me lie down freely in clean laundered sheets She leadeth me further into waters of great stress The governors and probation enforce discipline on me Thou preparedst a reduction for my reoffending In the presence of my accusers Thou anointest my sentence with thinking skills programmes My sentence runs over my release date And I will dwell in this jail of Her Majesty forever.
Prison is a cold war in itself It’s not done loudly, it’s done in stealth Prison is a blockade, a way of holding back life Like a serving soldier, away from his wife Prison is the tale of Arabian Nights Wuthering around the Moorland heights Prison is Cathy and Heathcliffe dreaming of freedom They did not know where their life would lead them I am Rapunzel locked in a tower Trying to get out but I have no power I am Cinderella without my glass slipper I am not humble, just really bitter I am a depressed lonely Juliet I haven’t met my Romeo yet I am Macbeth, I’m starting to stagger I wish I never picked up that dagger I am Martin Luther King Sometimes I protest, sometime I sing I am a segregated Rosa Parks Sitting, waiting on a bus that never parks I am a war within myself I don’t do it loudly, I do it in stealth I am a blockade, holding back my life Like a serving soldier, away from his wife I am the 1001 tales of the Arabian Nights Wuthering around the prison heights I am like Cathy and Heathcliffe, dreaming of freedom I do not know where my life will lead me I am all these things but not yet one As my life has only just begun
Insidetime June 2010 www.insidetime.org
If you would like to contribute to the Poetry section, please send your poems to ‘Poetry’, Inside Time, Botley Mills, Botley, Southampton, Hampshire SO30 2GB.
Poetry
Loneliness
Mr Brown
You’re just a bug!
Craig Curran - HMP & YOI Parc
Craig Moor - HMP Everthorpe
Glenn Magic Anderson HMP Kennet
Loneliness seems like a part of the soul The monster, the part you can’t control Love and pain are the same emotional tone My heart screams when I lie asleep Thinking of being an important person to the world Why do I repulse every female with taste? By not lusting above or below the waist Ugliness is only a heartbeat away The feeling of losing control becomes susceptible The soul in my heart, the heart in my soul No one will ever be able, or want to know What really exists beyond the doors of my soul They can gaze through the windows, but never access the doors Behind every locked door are secrets well hidden Not even the devil sleeping could gain permission Why would I ever hand my heart out For her to eat, drink, smoke or stab it I’m a freak, I can admit it But, what’s a normal personality anyway? Counting the days, till I can be a person again If the moon had eyes, what colour would they be? If we had animal senses, how loud would the screams from the graves be? If my heart had tears what colour would my blood be? Everyone wears a mask from time to time Some choose to admit it, and others choose to deny Loneliness seems like a part of the soul The monster, the part you can’t control I will always own this emotion and never let go.
Is it the rain or my heart that beats? Sasha Hawthorne - Prison not supplied The rain crashes down I can hear it in the puddles At the moment my life’s in such a muddle My thoughts are unclear My minds neither far nor near Memories are a blessing in my mind Pictures of you in my head are so hard to find Thoughts bouncing, re-bounding off walls While the rain outside just falls and falls Crashing against the windows, hitting the roof I wish I wasn’t in this prison wish it was Magaluf Spain is where I told my niece and nephew I was Where the sun is shining and the weather is hot Nope quite the contrary just rain and bad weather I’m starting to reach the end of my tether Minds just racing round and round I can only here one noise and one sound Is it my heart beating or the rain that pounds?
Life is strange with its mysterious ways Its gets more mixed up each passing day See when I was a child, it was different then But now there’s a man at the end of this pen His senses are reeling, his heart beating slow His mind’s so full of problems which he will not show He keeps them well hidden under his skin But it’s his problems what’s making him so tired and thin There’s a smile on his face known as a shield But it’s false like his life and it’s kept tightly sealed This man is so unhappy deep down inside His heart no longer holds any pride See his life gets shorter each passing year Because he’s so full of worry and drowned with fear Fear of his future that lies ahead Because his body’s alive and his brain is dead With no love in his life and nobody to care And when he gets home there is nobody there Except for that powder, his friend, MR BROWN Who he must go and see when he’s feeling down He’s getting too old really too quick See his friend MR BROWN is making him sick He is slowly fading day by day With his only friend who he sees everyday What’s life left for me he begins to say? Why, oh why has he grown this way? His life he knows he’s tried to change But just as he gets there it’s time to re-arrange By that powder, the brown, who has made him his slave So there’s only one answer he says to himself Its back out with the needle and off with the belt As its hate and rejection this man’s always felt He tightens the strap around his arm With his spoon, so steadily in his palm He pumps up his vein and marks it up Puts the needle in his arm and begins to flush He sees the blood and draws back for the rush He puts his needle back down and lays down on his bed With that powder rushing through his veins straight to his head He wakes up in the morning with pains all up his back Thinking to himself I must go and see the quack He gets his head together and heads straight to the phone Waiting for that caring tone voice after the tone “Hello son can I help you?” He says yes straight away You’re lucky we’re not full up; we can fit you in today He thanks her for time and puts down the phone With a spoon full of oil he heads straight for home See his life just revolves around this everyday Because he cannot face society, he just can’t see that way The evil roots within him they cannot be destroyed While locked up in a prison cell full of pain, he’s annoyed The charge he’s been held for, burglary that’s its name Hunting for that money, sneaking was his game This man is so unhappy his life’s full of doubt With his head in his hands this man begins to shout Please all of you people can you not see? The devil inside and what he’s doing to me He plays with my mind and once caring heart With a scar full of hatred he has torn me apart And now he’s locked away, he’s going to do some time MR BROWN has done this damage So I must end this painful rhyme
7
You give me headaches when you call me You’re like a stranger I know well You’re rambling voice it does annoy me You’re just a bug I can’t repel Apparently you’re a danger You froth, you scream, you shout Sometimes when you leave me It’s like you’ve never been about They say that you are slippery That you pick and choose at will Some say that you’re afflicted Some say that you can kill And although I’ve never met you I feel we are pretty tight, quite snug They’ve labelled us schizophrenic But to me you’re just a bug.
A cut below Justin Clayton - HMP Acklington In times gone by The blade was my friend Something I would turn to When I was feeling down To help release the pain And the anger A cut here And a slash there The blood would come Like a river running On the floor like a puddle Stitches, so many Another scar to add to the collection How many more to come Hopefully for the better The blade has become my enemy No longer a friend The river has gone dry The puddles have gone No more stitches No more scars for the collection My wounds have healed For the last time
New Roads Norman Jarrett - HMP Swaleside Fallen leaves crackle under my feet As I travel back with uplifted eyes Along hilly roads lined with tall trees Where darkened hedgerows used to grow I see stone lanterns in the distance Flickering against the night sky I trudge on to the edge of the village; On the threshold of tomorrow Feeling stronger Because of yesterday
Insidetime June 2010 www.insidetime.org
If you would like to contribute to the Poetry section, please send your poems to ‘Poetry’, Inside Time, Botley Mills, Botley, Southampton, Hampshire SO30 2GB.
Poetry
8
The melody of the wing
The Nightmare’s Begun
We don’t have to be here
Alan Speed - HMP Liverpool
Neil Williams - HMP Wandsworth
Paul Lynch - HMP Holme House
The whisper of the keys turning I know it so well Early morning opening And the noise begins to swell An orchestra of bedlam The shouts, the bangs, the raps Then the ghostly forms of cons emerge Like greyhounds from their traps A dazed race to the water urns To fill their cups and flasks And after refresher of a brew They remember to don their masks Oh then the swagger returns though The hard knock patter of feet In the background a screw is shouting One quilt cover and one sheet Six shop are not required Get back behind your door Then the whish, whosh, whilsh of mop heads As the cleaners mop the floor Well then you know its feeding time As the trolley crashes the gate You lie there wondering what’s for scran I’ll bet its mashed potato mate So you slither from the top bunk Warm feet slap cold floor God you hate this prison food But you still come back for more Different radio stations ply their trade And you hear the neighbours sing Some are annoying and tap their pipes To the melody of the wing You take a breath – close your eyes To sleep you face the wall Only to be woken, by the ping pong ping Of a table tennis ball Association has just arrived Like a bullet to the brain Same old faces, same old shit You’re a knot in a groundhog chain “Any skins lad! – “A bit of sugar” “Lends some burn to score” Till you pray for what you tried to escape The crash of your cell door I’ve heard grown men don’t weep at night Cold blade cut warm skin Then the insistent chatter of insanity As their nightmares invade and begin Bedum – bedum – bedum The slow beating of a heart I swear to God I’ve heard at night Some poor souls life depart And it sets my mind to wondering If we don’t feel that we’re not right And the system has got one up on us ‘Cos we’re pawns in a waiting game So turn on, tune in, drop out for now ‘Cos tomorrow we start again!
As I stood in the dock, got given twelve year My whole world collapsed, filled with dread and fear I really am sorry for the things that I done Sometimes I wish I had one bullet, one gun
I watched the snow fall beyond the bars The flakes so many shine like heavenly stars Christmas thoughts run quick to my head Forgetting for once I’m locked in this bed Glitters of diamonds as they elegantly danced My gaze like a child magically entranced I lift up to look through the dazzling glow The street light enhanced and brightens the snow I see no wire no fence or no wall Just an urge to throw a snowball With memories of youth on a hill with a sledge Jump on I scream watch out for the hedge My laugh so intense brings a tear to my eye I rip down the slope and pass the hedge by I slip and slide having so much fun A bump in the air, I land on my bum I pick myself up and look down at my sleigh A glorious chariot not broke where it lay Back up I climb as I dodge onward boys They screech on by and make so much noise I reach the top, look back with joy My happiness builds I’m just a young boy Clothes steaming through sweat but damp with cold Let’s keep this forever, don’t want to grow old Festive songs come now like a jingle bell Ding dong I’m back in my cell What good times I’ll have to pass the time Never again will I think about crime The journey I’ll have as I lay on the bed The wondrous memories all stored in my head A lifetime of thoughts to block out this hell Happy once more because the snow fell
I’ll only do six tho’: guess that ain’t so harsh The only downside is I’m in fucking Belmarsh God give me a ship out, god give me a move ‘Cos nothing gets done here, they’re not into that groove Put an app in for this, an app in for that Still nothing gets done, its full of crap Go see the nurse: “I’m not well – I feel ill” And all that you get is that magic pill “You don’t understand: I’ve got flu, I feel rundown and dull” All you get for your trouble is paracetamol This seems to be their miracle pill That cures everything but guess what? I’m still ill. I can’t sleep at night my frustration turn to fight Punch up my door ‘Cos I can’t deal with this no more “You can’t have a sleeping pill – we won’t give you that” “Well what am I supposed to do then, you Prat?” “I know – we’ll send him to the Cass Unit to paint and draw” Yeah right – that will really stop him punching the door See the problem aint with painting or drawing or to speak …the problem is simple: I can’t fucking sleep! The rattle of the keys, the banging of the doors The sound of the screws patrolling the floors Slide open the hatch So they can look in like you’re a fish in a tank – yeah, a dolphin A courtesy knock wouldn’t go amiss As you look through the flap when im having a piss The food is bland: it ain’t very nice Everything served with potatoes and rice I dream Chinese, Indian, KFC Bargain Bucket McDonalds, Burger King … five years left to serve: oh fuck it If there’s one thing I’ve learnt and that is for sure I’ll never offend again and come back here anymore Once is enough for me in this place If I did come back it would be a disgrace Things have got better: I’m now off that turf I’m now resident at HMP Wandsworth I don’t know where I’ll end up in my final destination Just another number; statistic of the prison population Well people – that’s enough saying, I’m gonna try and sleep now and go to bed So this is signing off goodnight…or is it?
Prison Issue Dude Aaron McConnell - HMP Littlehey He had prison issue shower gel and prison issue creps Prison issue toothpaste, a prison issue bed A prison issue tracksuit grey, blue or red A prison issue knife and a prison issue spoon A prison issue mop and a prison issue broom A prison issue plate to hold his prison issue food All in all he is just a prison issue dude Next month we revert to the usual poetry section, we will award a prize of £25 to the entry selected as our ‘Star Poem of the Month’. To qualify for a prize, poems should not have won a prize in any other competition or been published previously. Send entries to: Inside Time, Poetry, Botley Mills, Botley, Southampton, Hampshire, SO30 2GB. Please put your name, number and prison on the same sheet of paper as your poem. If you win we can’t send your money if we don’t know who or where you are! By submitting your poems to Inside Time you are agreeing that they can be published in any of our ‘not for profit links’, these include the newspaper, website and any forthcoming books. You are also giving permission for Inside Time to use their discretion in allowing other organisations to reproduce this work if considered appropriate, unless you have clearly stated that you do not want this to happen. Any work reproduced in other publications will be on a ‘not for profit’ basis. WHEN SUBMITTING YOUR WORK PLEASE INCLUDE THE FOLLOWING PERMISSION: THIS IS MY OWN WORK AND I AGREE TO INSIDE TIME PUBLISHING IT IN ALL ASSOCIATE SITES AND OTHER PUBLICATIONS AS APPROPRIATE.
