The poems on this page were submitted to MIM by prisoners. It is our policy to not print names because we understand that affiliation with MIM can be a serious danger to the health and even life of prisoners as well as people on the outside. Instead we have included the state of imprisonment and date where this information is known.

The Prison of the Lost
a califronia prisoner, September 2006

Aimlessly drifting on this sea of wrath
Barely afloat in humanity's mass
So easy to capsize into this sea of sorrow
Living each day with no thought of tomorrow

Speakers scream throughout prisoners' lair
Shouting orders in a confounding blair
Words are destroyed when given so loud,
Enter our sunshine causing minds to cloud.

Trash of others thrown unto the grounds,
Treasure quickly collected for not much abounds
One day is like another, a sister or brother,
An endless time with little choice of finding other

Love departs in shortest moment of trial
Peace and joy flee too in its denial
This steel cage is now your proper place
The demon of self alone to face

What is this hate? What is this quaking fear?
Does one see another or view in a mirror?
Walls of deception surround every head
Are we still alive or already dead?

Buried like unwanted trash of yesterday
Into stone crypt we are loathingly thrown away.
What will we be if we ever depart
But that part of death served a la carte?

Rot
By a California prisoner, June 2006

Lavish nights
In your cell
While you rot
And die in hell?

Heartless pigs
Who carry the keys,
Who will quickly beat you
To your knees?.

It's a game of life and death,
Even your soul is under arrest?

It's a fight
Few will win,
But a fight
One must begin!

Intellectual Soldier
a California prisoner, 2004

An intellectual soldier is what I desire to become now that I'm older,
Now that the world is on my shoulders which only makes me stronger,
I just try to take the struggle and pain for what it's worth,
Make it work instead of making it hurt even worse,
So I build myself everyday to become an intellectual soldier,
Now that the injustices of the system has become bolder,
Colder in their method of punishment,
Mostly aimed at the less fortunate,
I desire to save myself since I can't save everybody else,
Maybe I'll become a model of excellence,
A living testament of what can be done,
Overriding the odds with a passion to overcome
To all my people follow me as I lay down the foundation for our new culture,
No one can stop or lock an intellectual soldier,
Now that you see the Catch 22 of the old way,
Now that you see the hatred and greed of the oppressor that doesn't stray,
Doesn't show compassion or love but suffers the oppressed ones,
I can see their plan of destruction clear now that I'm older,
This is why I desire to become an intellectual soldier.

Imagine
by a California prisoner, May 2006

Imagine a world where time stands still
Where nothing you do is of your own free will
Stripped of your freedom, your hopes, your pride
Surrounded by strangers with no place to hide
Imagine a place where you?re told what to wear
A place where no one is allowed to grow hair
You are told each day you?re not to talk
And where and when you can and cannot walk
A world where you sleep, surrounded by hate
Where all you can do is just sit and wait
Imagine a world where you have no choice
Where you can?t even think because of the noise
A world where you work but get no pay
And made to feel worthless each and every day
A world where days crawl like a snail
Where all you have hope for is a piece of mail
A world where you have to eat real quick
Does this sound like a world that would make you sick?
Imagine a world surrounded by wire
Able to walk from this place is my greatest desire
A world like this is hard to conceive
Yet here I am and cannot leave

Untitled
by a California prisoner, April 2006
Harvesting hate,
Formed from gregarious seeds that germinate.
Planted by few, spawned from many,
breeding fast and with minimal light,
to duplicate darkness of epitomy?s night.
In a distraught propelled thought its transferred,
Stronger than a virus and a notch below cancer.
Extreme malice, poured forth of horn or chalice.
Accelerated actions from a once naked seed,
unconscious violence erupting to stead.
Fetid breath of legions, marching to all regions,
Gathering with a well trained eye,
Those who?ve chosen a hate filled life.

Untitled
by a California prisoner, May 2006

Outside my window
Outside my window, a new day I see,
And only I can determine what kind of
Day it will be.
It can be busy and sunny, laughing and gay,
Or barren and cold, unhappy and gray.
My own state of mind is the determine key
For I am only the person I let myself be
I can enjoy what I do and make it seem fun
Or gripe and complain and make it hard on someone
But have faith in my self and believe what I say
And personally I intend to make the best of each day

My Patience Strong
by a NY Prisoner

Who's thoughts are these that..
Cloud my mind
and give me thoughts of
Su-I-cide
These chains that bind
no one can see- I only know
I must break free

Mistake me not!
For one that's tamed
A captive- yes! But not a slave!!
My Patience Strong
Not known to yield
I've suffered many wrongs and ills!

Disinherited
My Shield like that Dark Knight
Sustains me in my endless fight.
Not all can know the pain I feel
for:
These chains that bind
not all can feel!

This cycle- full of Misery-Pain
Conflicting thoughts
Drive me Insane!!

To live, to die or just exist.
To right past wrongs or be a misfit
to
Live a lie or suffer wrongs
a negro
or one Warrior Born

Hao! Inolunda
A man indeed
These chains that bind on one can see.

E-c-h-o-s
from the distant past
with links like steel
from the very first to the very last!

My people
are a nation strong!
who've suffered may ills and wrongs!
What was done to them
is still...
Done to me!!

I only know
I must break free!!

La Gente
by a California prisoner, Nov 2005

At the top of their lungs "Latino" that's what they're screaming
With no clue of the meaning
Conquered and colonized never realizing the tantalizing
Illusion of conforming our lives

First was our lands stripped from our hands,
Teotihuacan, the Yucatan, to our islands.

Spanish captains forced their religion and language made us Latin,
Azteca, Inca, and Mayan destroyed to atone our sins.
As if this wasn't enough wars divided us more,
With the divisions of class and oppression of the poor.

"America" land of opportunity,
Let us reach the boarders and we shall be free

Having our fill of milk and honey
But when we arrived it was plain to see

America had no place for those like you and me.
Change our clothes,
Lighten our skin,
Blend in, maybe then;
They will yield and allow us work other than the fields.
Mconalds and Dominos take the place of tacos and burritos
But wait
We now have numbers and want our identities returned
So in a panic
Adopt the term
Hispanic.

Becoming mainstream fulfilling dreams
In music, film, and politics la gente is ever present on the scene.
Confusing the success of assimilation with progression
Blinded by ambition.

Latinos the sleeping giant is what they call us,
Strung out workaholics with noone to trust

Look what we've become
The illusion of freedom like a shot of heroin has made us numb.
Graffic pictures show we turned our women to bitches,
And abandoned brotherhood for riches.

It cannot be avoided
La Gente's talented and pretty faces in so many places are only begging to be
Exploited.
"we need a voice"
Say the people so disconnected they can't comprehend racist, classist and marginalist conditions effected our choice.
Refusing to remain in silence we spoke with violence
Murder in the streets is what it's come to.
Trying to break loose
These chains got us twisted up in pain
We need a change!

La Gente is asleep so it appears
But the revolution is tooo near not to hear.

Prisoner's poem
By a California prisoner, November 2005

A revelation slips quietly before my eyes
I'm haunted by the vivid pictures painted in my mind
"Imperial Design"
Leaving the indigent to commit more crime
Imperative, exposing this poem that compromises
Many human lives
Their imperialist bonds enslaving us
With an attempt to eradicate us and an unjust war declared justice
U.S. soldiers fragging their COs
AK47s killing friend and foe
At what cost will this war be won
Anti-war protestor, Cindy Sheehan, grieves the death of her son
As her questions go unanswered
Bringing no peace of mind
Every prophesy is revealed in its due time
Can you see it?
A revolution on the horizon
So take a stand and fight for what you believe in

Prisoner's perspective
By a California prisoner, April 2006

Looking at our government things look hectic,
That's coming at you from a prisoner?s perspective.
We experience arbitrary prison confinement in isolation,
Because we had the will to go against a nation.
Because we want to end imperialism,
They lock us up in government prisons.
Everywhere you look there's nothing but destruction,
Our whole government is full of corruption.
Everyone wants to know what the fuss is about,
It don't take a scientist to figure it out.
Over in Iraq it's about oil sources,
They will take any way they can, even by government forces.
To pacify the people they give them a baby rattle,
When all the governments come together there
Will be a great battle.
Who will they battle if they all come together,
Don't worry this is not a great riddle,
For no one will trust anyone in this golden age,
And once again corruption will show its ugly stage.
That's coming at you from a prisoner's perspective
So, you want to know what the government adjustive,
So, once again they throw us in prison,
Because we wanted to put a stop to capitalism.

The following four poems are all by the same California prisoner locked up in the SHU, August 2005
Prison Sounds

Jingle of keys
A turning lock
The slamming gate
Footfalls abate

Skeleton Bay

Beyond the threshold
Beneath the lies
Underworld otherness
Minds unmade
Inside out
Dark days
Black nights
Granite graves
Last rights

Dungeon Dreams

Falling, Falling
Without a catcher
Into darkness
The horror! The horror!
Where pandemonium reigns

Prison Abyss

Fallen angels
Crash and burn
Ashes to ashes
No return
Charred and tattered
Broken then crushed
Beyond recognition
Dust to dust

Revolution, Revolutionary!
By Suruakan, a California prisoner, August 2005

Some shout revolution with their mouths, yet their hearts are stagnant, capitalistic.
Some wave the red flag of Maoist honor and integrity, yet at night in shadows they are truly blue blooded Amerikkans.
Some bleed revolution only in words, yet their deeds kill revolution.
Revolution is Change!
A change in your walk, a change in your talk, a change in how you think…most important a change in what you believe.
Revolution does not tell you what to think, as the capitalist opportunist does.
Revolution teaches you how to think, how to breath even as your lifes blood passes between your fingers…as each breath is measured by the slowing beat of your heart.
In revolutionary communistic communities, there is one body, one mind, one soul, one spirit, one love…revolution is love for your deep rooted family. Oppressed by those who seek imperial command overall in selfishness, provoking invoking fear and anti-love, anti-oneness, anti-unity, anti-revolution.
As your stand in Cultural Revolution, or armed revolution, in goal of a united front, where all are soldiers, warriors taken the oaths of freedom internally and externally. You are a part of a world movement founded first by spirit, by blood, by death, by life. Revolution, revolutionary! Some sleep till dusk, some sleep till dawn, but during waking hours the oppressor, the enemy bleed pigs blood.
There can be no revolution without bloodshed…
There is no such thing as an unwounded revolutionary!

Racist Minos
By slowpoke, August 2005, Corcoran SHU

So much time wasted behind these prison walls
Where a comrade only has his word and his balls
A product of imperialism yes that's what we are
The revolutionaries, gangsters and ghetto movie stars
Enslaved to the system by being incarcerated
Living life without a future but never penetrated
Society has chose to pay for these prisons
With hopes of reform for republican visions
Not knowing that rehabilitation is really just a myth
The ones who never come back are less than a fifth
Stuck in these ad-segs and locked away in SHUs
Where the racist minds flourish and there's continual abuse
Hog tied to a toilet for almost three days
Is what the C/Os do to us saying "crime doesn't pay"
Beaten with their billy clubs and sometimes getting shot
Fed experimental drugs so now we can talk
Withholding our mail should be a federal crime
It's another form of torture affecting our mind
Some walk around like zombies because they've been forgotten
Others will be de-sensitized until their bodies rotten
Bottom line and on my mind is really I'm a slave
Will I catch a beating if I'm trying to just be brave
If I ask for what I got coming will I be ignored
Or will they crack these cell doors and our fighting be scored
Time will only tell within this concrete block
Until then our only hope is that the torture will stop!

From the eyes of a non-violent 3rd Striker, sentenced to 25 to life for possession of a half a gram of cocaine and drug paraphernalia (a smoking device)
this is what I see
by a California prisoner

Everyday I analyze, my surroundings are filled with troubled minds
there’s so much hate, behind blindless stares, that when tensions rise, it’s like the 4th of July
the element of surprise, the only rule that ever applies, never compromise
I have seen guys try to negotiate with fate and straight lose their lives
and I can still hear their cries, see the tears in their eyes, it’s like déjà vu
dudes who front like they can’t be touched, be the same dudes who get knocked out their shoes
scarred up and bruised, ignorant fools, always get surprised
because behind penitentiary walls, there are rules that determine whether one lives or whether one dies
and if you could look through my eyes, you would probably squinch, at the horrors I’ve seen
things bring bad dreams, from a dream state, back to reality
demons be stalking me, recording my deeds
never will I freeze, for them that freeze be those that get froze
tag-toed, permanent posed, carted out the back door
and I ain’t ready to go, so I stay on point, even watch those I know
because, if you really don’t know your friends you can best believe, that they are really your foes
and it shows in their actions, their motives, their deeds
then there’s these rogue C.O.s, who be out of control, abusing their authority
their conduct be disorderly, oppressive in nature, and they’re protected by the “C.C.P.O.A.”
and I’ve filed grievance after grievance, and still no one in “Sacramento” has anything to say

Throughout the “California Department of Corruption,”
There is no more “Correction,” just Degradation
“Rehabilitation,” has become a joke, through these quotes I wrote,
You can note my Frustrations

Click this out dude, I don’t know what’s going to happen to me, but I know what’s going to happen to you
the truth is you got to watch your speaking around and be careful who you talk to
because you’ll always have fools, with nothing to lose, thinking that they’re real tough
that’s only until they get stuck, cut up, they shouldn’t have been doing too much
now they’re straight out of luck, stuck in a hospital bed all stabbed up
hooked up to the “EKG,” heart still pumping but the brain ain’t saying nothing
“Oh well,” unplug the life support and call the chaplain in
and once the last rites have been observed, then notify their next of kin
that’s way, I always play to win, because I fear a loss might put me on the bench,
I’ve seen missions, up in these trenches, and my mind ain’t been right since
every day I wake up tense and the only peace I get is when I’m sleep
“Peace,” to the angels “God” has sent to watch over me
the scars of confined men and women run deep, as penitentiaries bulge beyond capacity
while “Felonious Politicians” prey on societies insecurities
then there’s the great “Lawmakers,” always out for gain, playing with the taxpayer’s fears
every day brings a different struggle, so “I” prepare for war. “Revolution IS Here”

Blurred Vision
By a California prisoner, June 2005

Capitalism is a trap. It captures the souls of each of the willing
and breeds soulless, inhumane beasts. The capitalistic parasite
causes mass hunger, robbery, killing, homelessness; it is the heart
of destruction towards civilization. The bigger and wider the
capitalist web becomes, the more humanity dies. Because so many
impoverished people are trying just to simply survive, they become
susceptible to becoming capitalist themselves if they get just a
small taste, because they fear returning to those harsh conditions.
That is why:

We are beings of powerful intelligence, lords of our own thoughts.
That's why when the tyrants try to capture and control us, we flee
from the cops.
We hold the key to every situation,
and contain within ourselves a new transformation;
our minds are intelligently cultivated. But allowed to run wild,
the elements of our mind operate the shaping of our individual style.
The soul attracts what it secretly harbors within,
so in the meantime you crack open a bottle of gin.
Even at birth our soul comes to its own;
it attracts those combinations of conditions while it sits alone.
You see our body is the servant of our mind,
and through the eyes we see temptation of all kinds.
At the bidding of unhealthy thoughts the body sinks;
so I drown my thoughts deep in this here black ink.
To perfect your body you must guard your mind,
smoke out all the demons that wait in line.
Strength will develop by effort and practicing,
but a powerful mind will cease when fear and doubt kick in.
I feel fit to act independently and stand alone,
but yet I find myself saying "God, take me home."
The universe does not favor the greedy--
then I think to myself, who in the hell? it sure it not the needy.
Most dream of peace but live a nightmare:
through the flesh of babies, souls walk in fear.
A calm mind is a beautiful jewel of wisdom,
but I see zombies walking around, blind cause their brains are numb.
Too many obstacles--so many let their dreams die and fade away;
The darkness of capitalism consumes their souls before the flesh
whithers away--

In the Ghetto of My Soul
by a NY Prisoner, July 2005

In the Ghetto of My Soul...
My cell walls are nothing more than
MIRRORS OF MISERY
Mimicking my unhappiness with hopeless despair
As I sit here in silence staring off into space
Desperately trying to save face.
In the eyes of individuals whose lives have become
As predictable as rivals and so entangled with lies
that their only sense of truth hides...
Inside the grimy interior of their disguise
and see...

All I really know are these...
Unforgiving iron bars and blood red brick walls
upon which reality has scrawled
the names of those helpless souls who have
Succumbed to defeat
letting the rigorous pressures of prison life
beat them senseless with its relentless
conditions of indifference towards brutality
and death
THIS PRISON SHIT IS MERCILESS!!

Late at night, as I lay here in this...
Shadow shrouded tomb of anticipation...
My anxiety seems to overwhelm me while
My hopes seem to disappear into thin air
Like... Ghost...
leaving me feeling lost and confused
As to what the hell any of this really means
If anything...

And it's like,
This prison shit has stolen my pride
And stripped me of my dignity. leaving my
heart and soul stained with disgust as I
STAND HERE ALL ALONE
Facing accusations of immorality for having
Compromised my morals & principles by
Associating with individuals who never had
Any morals & principles to begin with.
Individuals wouldn't even have acknowledged
Under Ordinary Circumstances.

And see,
This decade done left me feeling
dirty & degraded & ultimately humiliated, I
guess because I've been inevitably forced into
the compromising position that I find myself
in today.

And I detest these stinking Pigs!
For all the shit they done did to the kid
during this bid. Along with all the pain and
frustration & aggravation i done endured.
Not to mention the agonizing sense of
loneliness I have suffered...

In the Ghetto of My Soul
My heart is colder than the water in the toilet bowl
in which I wash my clothes, and harder than
the solid slab of [unlegible] steel upon which I
sleep at night. And my misery runs deeper
than the "Blood in My Eyes & the Ice in My Veins"
And yet, I'm becoming numb to pain as I'm not
the one for silly games!
CAN'T YOU FEEL IT!
In my vibe and hear it in the words that I say
In this poignantly depicted picture of sadness
I've conveyed?

I mean, at times I feel as though I'm the
Epitome of humanities anguish as I've not only
been persecuted for but stigmatized by the crimes
I've been accused of committing. And at times...
I feel as though I've also become the victim
of a system in which, no one is exempt from
the ill-fated master plan of indoctrination
through out the social, political & economic
means of incarceration.

And nowadays it seems like all I really hear
is people politicking & philosophizing on the gate
deliberation upon the so called 'Game of Life'
And it's like their entire self of self meaning
& self being is twisted with these asinine
ideologies & concepts being contemplated upon
such as 'The Art of War' which is really
nothing more than the 'Art of Image' as
it's nothing but a fad to those of Us who
haven't any idea of what the Art of Self-
Preservation is really all about.
This prison shit is obscene & ultimately absurd
And everybody seems to want to be seen and
heard. And see...

The scheme runs as deep as the clothes
which we wear & the shoes on our feet. As well
As the music which we listen to, which has
A lot to do with the climate on the street you
see. the government done took & programmed
the People through their "Social Political Entities"
we perceive as necessities. Such as all these
video games of virtual reality.
The ghetto done become commercial see.
"Negroes" done took & sold themselves to the
streets. As if the value of life were obsolete!
Considering how dramatically it done depreciated
within the reality of their mainstream scheme of
Deceit.

In the Ghetto of My Soul
there's a lonely young manchild who wanders
aimlessly though the hood of my everyday thoughts
searching desperately for someone to talk to and
confide in. Yet, finding nothing but ice cold
eyes & hostile stares, which seem so very
cruel and unfair

Untitled
By a California prisoner, July 2005

These rotten streets of capitol bosses
Reek of money, greed and reforms
The American rose.
Your churches burning ancestors turning
In their grave still hurting
Of the war they lost
But for a righteous cause.
Americhemical smoke lingers in the air
Forced to breath it
So to better ourselves we're told.
Rather let's put up a fight.
Let's learn to destroy this tyrant
Chase this ridiculous game they play
Away from the birthright choices
In our ancestor's country.
It's the NAFTA the CAFTA
The world trade O.
The outstanding debts they trick
Our puppet leaders to accept
That has us in this Third World
Labeled state.
Anger and anguish is the outcome
Of this American weapon of mass depression.
This constant repetition in history
Is no longer a mystery.
No forgiveness any longer
Let's struggle for our freedom.

The immigrant outbreak
Hurts uncle Sam's investment:
The landowner
Fields of crop from Mexico
Down to Argentina.
Cheap labor for hire
Are the metropolis from North to South
Owned by this so-known gringo.
The business man is
The good do'er who hires
In this Third World slum.
While the higher ups
Live in the wealthy real world
Those in the South
Search for the American dream
Impossible in their own country
So they break their barriers
To the wealth owners land
Across the Rio Grand
And there the green goes
To chase away the runaway
Of the cheap labor state.
Uncle Sam the keeper of slaves
Will resort to reform
This immigrant outbreak
So stay away, keep away they say
And accept the American way.

The ultimate gangster
By a CA prisoner, July 2005

Of lies and deceit that pitiful
Demand that lies at our feet
He tried to deceive us with
Power and when all that he had was a
Fatal disease he promised he'd give
Us the power to cope when all that
He had, was a small bag of dope
Well the ultimate gangster will need
A new plan. There's a spirit that lives
In me that makes me a man a
Spirit that gives me both power
And hope a spirit that gives me
A life without dope

Broken Homes
By a Prisoner in Oregon

Broken homes in an hour glass after dark sing and dance, watching the
sands of my sanity slowly pass

Laying on make believe grass, listening to homes knocking on doors where there's no homes

From the inside the voices don't hide as they're calling out my name, I go insane

The names on the wall don't talk back at all, the stories they could tell have broken free from this IMU cell

Soon I'll be free if I make it mentally in a world that will not accept me

Walking the endless streets, tripping over where I stand in this so called
promised land with no shoes on my feet, hungry for new friends and
something to eat

Homes might sing and dance yet never sleep and their feet are made of
concrete

We Must Rise
Sykes, a prisoner in California, May 2005

Rise up my people, start the revolution!
Open your eyes, see the solution!
We are kept in oppression, we are kept in despair.
The rich get richer without a care.

We must pick up our arms.
We must fight to the death!
Do not let oppression take your last breath!

My people, look around you,
What do you see?
A people living life in poverty!

Look into your heart, how do you feel?
Seeing our children cry for a meal.
Let loose your anger! Let loose your rage!
Demand to be free of societies cage!

We break our backs, we sweat and toil.
While the aristocratic people dig for their oil.
Government's control, it's imperialistic maze.
We must fight for the freedom of communist ways.

Rise up my people, start the revolution!
Open your eyes, see the solution!

Down For Mine
By a California prisoner, December 2004

For all the time lost
I’ve paid the cost
Many years lost
Can never be brought back
Lost many things – besides just family – friends
All of them gone
For riding and believing in mine
When I die – will people drop tears?
Will I become a fallen peer?
The life I still live – grants me a short route
Being out there is my way of life
For lost time – won’t burn dimes
Lose the “nine” and be down for mine
Just hold onto that line – and I’ll be fine

Who’s to Blame?
By a California prisoner

Finding a way to keep myself at bay
From all the things they say
Forgotten love and faithful memories is all I have
But what do I really have?
Everything I gained I lost
Why is it?
What can’t I gain?
Why must I lose?
I have the game put in work
Game fame – Do some dirt
Feel the shame – But how is to blame?
Don’t sound lame and not follow your word 17 all sounds the same on a
different day
But I just play and now I’m sinking deeper each day
I go on but it’s time to head on to my life and forgets the game
That is for fame when all you gain
Is shame and look lame and for what?
The game
It all sound the same
So who’s to blame?
For wanting to play.

Life Ain’t Cool
by a California prisoner

You was trying to be a thug
Nigga you can’t stop
Strung out and bugged.
Nigga you flig-flopped
Then you try to be a man
And take a stand
Well listen to this nigga man and understand
Tha you messed up your whole life
You ain’t right
Had your ego all twisted up and dark as night
Your family disowned you
And treated you wrong
Just from sight
Cause you couldn’t even control yourself
And do right from wrong
It’s too late
And your ass can’t be stopped
You’re fully “cocked”
And only way is if you get dropped
By the copes…..

Three Strikes you're out By a political prisoner in California, July 2005

In the state of California
They say 3 strikes you're out
If you don't know what that means
Let me explain what the game's about
Now strikes are known as felonies
And they could cause some strife
With 2 you're going to prison
With 3 you're going for life
This law will break up families
And uncover society's fears
The streets will fill with blood
And little children's tears
I say the streets will fill with blood
With this law you choose
A two strike criminal facing life
Has nothing to lose
And what about all the children
And all the parents they have lost
Suicide and welfare lines
Are just a fragment of the cost
And what about all the prisons
Filled beyond their max
It's those that voted for this law
The government will tax
This law was passed in ignorance
By the people of this state
I pray to God that it is corrected
Before it is too late

Casualties of War
By a Washington prisoner

From the tower shots ring out,
From the eyes tears cry out,
From the heart blood flows out,
and as the body hits the ground
life dies out.

Killed by a police sniper for a
fist fight, never had a chance in
America's Penal vortex.
Government and Correctional
corruption at its highest level.
Civilians and convicts, brain-washed in
chaos with no unity.

Plutocracy, and stolen presidential
elections go hand and hand.
It's time for the third world nations,
urban ghettos, indigenous natives,
proletarians, lumpens to make a stand.

A Global class war is on the
horizon. The struggle for human
emancipation continues.

Pendulum
By a Washington prisoner
This is dedicated to the two unarmed prisoners that were shot dead at Washington State Penitentiary (WSP) in 2002, by tower prison guards, and to all the other innocent victims of police homicide.

As the pendulum swings,
time closes in on correctional
corruption and penal fascism.
Modern industrial slavery extracts
the human ore from millions of souls;
decimating communities. The
multitude of voices go unheard
because justice has become deaf,
to the cries of the innocent and
unfortunate!

Poetry by a prisoner in California, February, 2005
I live within stone walls surrounded by tall towers.
Guns aim down but I'll never be tamed.
I was grown in cages so I am full of hate.
This rage ticks with time...chains bind my body but not my mind or soul, I am in control.
My mind is sharp as the razor wire.
With time to burn here in solitary I learn revolutionary study.
Revolution is the solution to wipe out capitalist pollution and
imperialist institutions.
Like many I was born in poverty, from the slums to prison living
conditions created a time bomb that ticks-soon to be released and unleash
the wrath on the dysfunctional capitalist society who confined me and
tried to blind me by hiding history and keeping us minorities in poverty
and in prison.
The sun is rising.
It's a new day - time for uprising, we are no longer the minority but the
majority.
The rich are few but the poor many.
The sun is demanding retribution -the blood of the rich.
We must remember our ancestor's the Cuauhtemoc.
The Mexican honored the sun god, Huitzilopochtli.
With the capitalist Spanish blood we must follow the path of armed
struggle.
Zapata refused to live on his knees but choose to die on his feet
fighting.
When the rich give us nothing but poverty or a prison cell, we should give
them hell!

To Be, Not To Be
By A New York Prisoner, August 2004
We are dead to the light of conscience
Because we fear the consequences that truth
Will have upon our actions and circumstances.
We choose the blindness of pretenses and the weakness of conformity,
As our comfort and security.
We will stand for nothing of substance and merit
Because we prefer the shallow grave of arrogance and stupidity.
Far beneath the surface of our life's masquerade,
We are an emotional sea of contradictions and biases
Always pretending our innocence and wholeness.
We cherish the delusions that nurture our illusions
Because the face of reality will usurp
From us our crutches and excuses-
Forcing us to be, than not to be

MIM comments: This poem deals with the struggle within people between playing the role that the system has prescribed for them and recognizing that system for what it is and working to destroy it. However, this is not the even battle that idealists make it out to be. We can say with certainty which side will win out in different populations of people, even though we may never predict the outcome for an individual. That is why the ending of this poem strengthens its message; it stresses the role of material reality in bringing the world's majority into revolutionary consciousness. Only the privileged can hold on to their "crutches and excuses," but even theirs will eventually be lost in the overthrow of the very system that provides them.

The next two poems are from a manuscript called "The Dance" which dealt with the Rodney King situation.

Stealing Away
At the entrance of this dance, the edge of reality,
Nervous people voiced together when the blindfold was pulled off,
Smoke came up, and a wooden shack shop buckled,
The colors of liberty picked up with a bicycle and a basket,
Making a straight line passed it.

Together Royally
Leap with me wet tears in my eyes,
Don't oppose even judge a crime,
Complete songs we sing, let them ring,
Leap with me wet tears in my eyes,
Sacrifice, fight, make war a job,
Helps worthless for people who rob
Leap with me wet tears in my eyes,
Don't oppose even judge a crime.
- a California prisoner

The next seven poems were inspired by the book Agents of Repression which is about the government COINTELPRO wars against revolutionary groups in the 1960s and 70s.

FBI Exposed
Political ghosts rising from public turmoil
Influential media display of angelic images
Demented goals universally known as Hoover
Assassination from presidents to small children
Cunning manufactures of the perfect evidence
Racial bombs to redefine Black liberation
Massacres on the last Native American front
Imaginary terrorist to commit terrorist acts
Infiltration to keep the grassroot unseeded
A death squad of capitalist guerrillas
- a CA prisoner, September 2003

Government Skeleton Crew
Laws that ignites dissension among the people
Professional criminals with badges of authority
Diabolical actions summed into the cointelpro era
Frameups to prosecute all leftist potential
Ku Klux Klans sworn into the oval office
Concentration camps as windows to population control
Executive tricks for the disappearance of martyrs
Congressional statutes to eradicate radical voices
Memorandums transformed into secret service bullets
An opened grave to another dying song
- a CA prisoner, September 2003

Justified Foul Play
Pseudo gangs to confuse, divide and undermine
Plots engaging the enemy to devour itself
Icy fear solidified in physical reparation
White memories from the Nat Turner days
Targets through the crosshairs of annihilation
Trials orchestrated within the federal grapevine
Innocence after layers of exposed conspiracies
An era avoiding the Black radical messiah
- a California prisoner, September 2003

Status Quo Democracy
Status quo with a national police force
Answering only to those among its ranks
Civil murders as the main recourse
Agent provocateurs at the helm of its flanks
Centuries of suppressing freedom of speech
A lifetime dedicated to reactionary pursuits
Domestic wars protecting the corporate leech
Raising the fascist flag for new recruits
- a California prisoner, September 2003

A Red Cloud Lining
Thundering and lightening in a Red Cloud
The name does not ring a national bell
Chief of the Oglala Lakota spoken aloud
Sending Lt. Colonel Custer straight to hell
In patent violation of the territorial guarantees
"Fort Laramie Treaty" burnt at the Capitalist Stake
First offering money for land through referees
Then military evasion for the take
An ass kicking on the racist regime
Deliberately omitted from textbook history
Lessons to learn from their greedy scheme
That people power is an invincible mystery.
- a California prisoner, September 2003

Holiday Fiction
Holidays keep you reaching for your pockets
For celebration of other peoples' ideal
Cheap merchandise saturating the markets
Inflated prices so economically unreal
Consumers programmed just to consume
Doing what others have done before them
Seasonal thinking in full bloom
Intelligence on the lowest link
- a California prisoner, November 2003

Same Strokes
What do you think about the new world order?
Well, it's the same old world order in overdrive
One nation extending its tentacles across the glove
Propagating to be saviors against heathen ideologies
Intensifying mental darkness for future control
Rewriting history with the real characters absent
Going as far as the people would allow
Then retreating back to the drawing board
- a California prisoner, November 2003

Too much of Nothing
Too many prisoners, too much time to relax
Too many direct orders in a place of disorder
Too many psych pills, too much state tax
Too many knuckle heads competing to be porter
Too much fiction, too much petty conniving
Too much vain talk, too much senseless jiving
Too much stale air, too much empty sadness
Too much junk food, too much sound madness
Too much of too many affecting all
Too much of nothing behind this wall
- a California prisoner, November 2003

Predator
The cold war hot as hell these days
A different face to another arm race
Beating war drums wherever victory pays
While depositing diseases without a trace
So much hype with the mightiness might
Scaring their own shadows in the dark
So much false security in a global fight
That will make the predator the prey's mark
-a California prisoner, November 2003

Next Episode
Television seeing what you don't see
A whole market of selective thinking
Programs speaking to the subconscious memory
Special effects to keep the third eye blinking
Victims in all scenarios under parental guidance
The more violent the higher the demand
Children in the same episodes of defiance
Where the prison system definitely understand
- a California prisoner, November 2003

Whatever
Peace to those who want peace
War to those with a violent agenda
Since imperialism will not cease
World revolution will never surrenda
Freedom is not something to give or take
Life is to be enjoyed by mankind
Mass extermination is not a mistake
History alone is the best sign
- a California prisoner, November 2003

Just another day
Boom! Get down! Boom!
Code Adam! Code Adam!
Boom! Boom! Boom!
Seven inmates in combat!
Sssss... Sssss... Sssss...
Bam! Clank! Bup! Clank!
On your stomach damit! Bam!
Put your hands behind your back!
Watch out! Another hostile!
Bang! Sssss... Sssss... Bang!
Next time you're history buddy!
Tell medical to hurry! Three looks dead!
Apply more pressure! Stop the bleeding!
Weapon Check! No weapons involved!
How can we explain three stiffs?
Very easy! We saw what appeared to be weapons!
Do you think that would work?
Ask the jury that convicted these poor fools!
- a California prisoner, December 2003

Reverse Images
Who said Jesus was a white man?
Was his ancestors lily white too?
Would white Christians worship him as a Black man?
Teaching their children that God is Black?
Black angelic images portrayed through Hollywood?
Wooly hair as the trend for white folks?
Circulating Black money to buy or sell?
Establishing a Black house as the seat of power?
Raising a flag symbolizing Black supremacy?
Holidays in memory of black propaganda?
Attending churches surrounded by Black creation?
Erecting white laws in the furtherance of Black control?
Invading white countries with Black agendas?
Painting Black pictures contrary to their existence?
-a California prisoner, December 2003

That's Gangster
I always hear brother's hollering they "gangsta's"
Gangsta this gangsta that! These brotha's think
that being a gangsta means killin their own kind
sellin poison to their folks and robbin stealin and
hustling their own folks. That ain't my definition of
being a so-called "gangsta." Let me give you brotha's
my definition of what "gangsta" is.

Educating yourself and those around you; that's gangsta
Educating your community and your homies; that's gangsta
Decolonizing your whitewash minds; that's gangsta
Keepin your neighborhood & communities safe; that's gangsta
Treating our African Queens with respect; that's gangsta
Liberating Africans worldwide; that's gangsta
Fighting police brutality; that's gangsta
Creating jobs & opportunities for our folks; that's gangsta
Fighting oppression and capitalism; that's gangsta
Sacrificing for world liberation; that's gangsta
Looking out for the loved ones lockdown; that's gangsta
Remembering our dead homies and ancestors & former leaders;
That's Gangsta!
- a California prisoner

Government for itself
Government funding to White Hate groups
Both in the trenches against Black sovereignty
Fruitful roads leading to vigilante paratroops
Political campaigns to administer mental poverty
Black code laws separating man from beast
Bibles reinterpreted showing truth of inferiority
Generations of the wealthiest slave feast
Subliminal constitution with an invisible priority

Business before Humanity
Westernize business monopolizing international resources
Minerals to exploit for dictatorship use
Barren lands unproductive in future losses
Polluted waters flowing from commercial abuse
Cancerous air with no consciousness of guilt
Neo colonialism as the world class stage
Citizens of their country living in filth
The only rights to a prison cage

Capital Rule

Democracy strictly for the ruling class
White membership surpassing public rhetoric
Law abiding racist transparent as glass
Caste systems installed brick by brick
National monuments symbolizing a white washed past
Founded on the scorched back of slaves
Indigenous citizens trusted as an outcast
In a society erected from mass graves

Colonized Prey
Torrential rains to a rainier day
Born for the mere sake of oppression
Colonized as a profitable prey
Amassing recognition to another rejection
Tomorrow's plot to continue the onslaught
Infrared eyes bulging beyond the stratosphere
Armed struggle against the state juggernaut
Grass root uprising without the slightest fear

Untitled
24/7 this stays on my mind
open up the paper and all I see is hard times
government corruption and government lies
government destruction of innocent peoples lives
anyone being called a terrorist when they fight back for their people
open up your eyes and take a close look at the people
got us in the ghettos with nowhere to go but under
workin 9 hours a day
and have to still make ends meet on the under
minorities scared to walk down the street
some change their given names
police on the prowl for anybody who is non-white
and has a suspicious name
war on terror is war on anyone they can defeat
exploit for profit
so they can travel in luxury seats
have the finest of life and toss the world crumbs
it's time you open your eyes and participate
in shutting their evil machine down
- a California prisoner, October 2003