Hello. This is Steven again, in Jackson, Michigan. Got a few poems for you guys today. Support prisonradio.org, of course, definitely worth it. They’re doing awesome things.
This first poem is called “Steven Meaning Remix.” It’s a prompt on my name and what it means.
Steven Meaning Remix
Years ago, I wrote a flow
That rose from the depths of soul,
Cultivated from dirt like the seed of a rose.
Anointed one,
Crowned one
Is how the definition goes,
To show I’m meant to be outspoken
With cold flows
To go blow for blow
With those who hate love
And love war.
“Steven Meaning Remix.”
#
This next poem is a prompt that we are prompted to do in class. We use multiple random words. I call this poem, “A Day.”
Outlook on life was grim for him
Who smoked trees bigger than his
In front of his crib.
Time to try and feel fit
So he could get equipped
For the club and making dubs
Selling drugs by giving his hair cut
At Lupe’s spot on Verner and Clark
With all the thugs.
Stepping out the house,
He got mad love as he combed his hair,
Which was too long,
And this was rare,
So, he stared in the rear view mirror of his car
On the way to the store for more cigarillos
And Doritos for sho’.
You know, then what do you know?
Willie the neighborhood crackhead was riding his bike
As he smoked crack out of a cantaloupe.
That’s true though.
Both had a lack of attention,
And the sunshine in Steve’s eyes made him blind,
Plus he was so high,
And so to find Willie, the crackhead, had died,
Was no surprise.
Would redemption escape his life?
That’s called “A Day.”
#
Next poem is called “Last Word Way,” Notice the end of each line begins the next line.
Last Word Way
Failure to cultivate a child can destroy worlds.
Worlds we make for selfish purposes cultivate hate as intimacy disintegrates,
Disintegrate practices which blind a child from seeing fate.
Fate, when properly understood, perpetrates a mind with the ability to regenerate,
Regenerate what? It’s great, through practice and purpose.
Purpose driven life is good reading material on this subject, by author, Rick Warren.
Warren Avenue in Mansfield, played a role in my failed cultivation as a youth of the nation.
Nation and religion, so much misguided submission to both, which is like a catapult for war,
War is not the way, for war will be the way,
And they that love its ways will rue the day one day,
So, please pray in Jesus name and ask him the way,
He’ll show you the way, because He is the way.
#
Last poem for today, “Foggy Mind,”
Coming up out the fog.
Oh my god, look at this place.
What went on?
Where am I even at?
Better yet, where am I from?
I can’t recall nothing substantive,
Substantial calm before the storm of forlorn reality
As I took in the tragedy, so sad to see.
Where is Noah’s Ark,
When the need to escape closes in like a cave?
It’s so dark.
Oh my god! This is all my fault.
I know I must pay a cost.
And although all memory seems to be lost,
Still embossed across to my mind’s eye is a cross.
I mistook it for an ‘X marks the spot,’
But my life is not crossed out.
I remember my forever defender,
One name, Jesus.
He freezes.
I so much need this. Please believe it.
These commentaries are recorded by Prison Radio
