Convict - a sentenced criminal
politic - judicious, expedient; prudent, sagacious

Sonntag, 31. Oktober 2010

Dear Friends

Dear Friends,

In two years, half of my life will be have been lived in the shadows of guardtowers and barbed-wire. It was in one moment, I came to be here; where fifteen years later at the age of thrirty-two, I`ve bcame well acquinted with remorse and cried a fair share of regrets. Despite the regret and remorse residing in my heart, neither hve made it possible to retrace steps; to that one moment at seventeen when my life was swallowed whole by a mistake.

Techincally in two years, it will have been a life-sentence for me. Nevertheless this isn`t the sort of life sentence the court intended on December 06, 1996. I reach out to the each of you with the highest hope you will help me conquer the goal in my heart: a second chance.
Friend or not, I want to do my part...and getting something for nothing will never be a part of me.

So individually, I encourage you to support me through a donation of your choosing for my artwork, or craftwork. Your donation will go towards my need to hire a lawyer who specializes in post-conviction remedies. Through your sacrifice you will be opening door of possibility... a possiblility at a second chance, my only wish.

Sincerely Yours,

I can be reahed through e-mail:

I encourage you to open a line of communication with me. All ideas are good.

I can also be reached through my good friend Angela, who without her, even this door would be closed.

Poem, Portrait, Drawings, Dreamcatchers, Crosses, Bracelets,
Choose of offer an ideal -- I`ll deliver on my end.

Mittwoch, 27. Oktober 2010

observations on visits...

....When I was out in population, on the weekend it`s a popular thing to stand in the dayroom windows and watch as the visitor`s come down the sidewalk to the visitor`s area. Let me tell you, they come down that sidewalk in all manners. From young to old, limping and laughing, they come. From cartwheels to wheelchairs, they come. All for a person whom some can`t even touch and after a short time through glass or across a table, they say goodbye. It`s only after the visit is over, that they notice how much the other has changed; how their son or daughter looks so much bigger then the pictures taken, (capturing them growing up).. one picture at a time. One visit at a time, this is how some convicts witness their seeds progress. Some gone so long, that mama`s and daddy`s come, with their canes, their walkers, their cartwheel turning wheelchairs :-), a gray hair here, or there, where it wasn`t a decade ago.
Time barking in its silent voice. But they come, the ones whom didn`t rob that man, or rap that woman, the ones whom hand never touched one drop of a blood, but just as effected, as the ones whom find forgiving so difficult.
Yeah... you ought to see them kids coming down that sidewalk, coming to see the other half of their family, ...their daddy. Or even moms and dads coming to see a son, they won`t see again byond the gate, that traps them for that short moment of bonding.
But they come, till they can`t anymore...

taken from the letter from Oct. 4, 2010

What is love...

What is love,

An illusive ideal,
teasing, taunting
powering the distance,
insisting; wanting
Haunting us,
in our hours alone
departing with no word,
deserted in the morn,..
over cliffs,
crawl - waterfalls,
the "if" whta love is,
drifts and falls
As echoes only the memory can hear,
oh, how they survive from there to here.

What is love?
Love is what cures
yesterday`s sorrows,
giving us anchor,
in reflections we borrow
A quest through learning
scepting change,
reluctant but resilient,
is our purpose and pain..

What is love?
A reunion with purpose
you come to understand,
grateful of opportunity
when life is taken by the hand.
...It`s beyond the division,
of self from self,
love is the resch,
high up on the shelf,

What is love?
Love is that leap year joy,
we keep trying to time it -
But, love is the one asking
you, to define it.
What is love

October 20, 2010

Sonntag, 24. Oktober 2010

Mother, ...again

Mother, ... again

Eaach year the brightness of the sun
caresses your symbolism,
as hypnotism over waves,
from the beginning you gave embrace,
replacing my sinning with love
how can I doubt the shove and pull
of your heart beating on my skin?
Bruised and blinded by the surface,
missing passionate pirpose
seeking the best through the rain
nurturing me, with hopes I flame
curing my flooded confusion
nourishing my soul`s contusions
with every endeavor,
you defended our alliance,
wrote defiantly in concrete:
The story of motherly love,
echoing here, smooth - as far back -
as I dare remember, you shivered
and delivered me to your breast.
I learned your heart beat my skin,
then called it mother, I love you, again.

The time has come

The time has come

Stuck between letting go and looking back
through blurred tears wanting more than memories back
we act like the euology can`t be heard
ignoring what`s known postponing the words
like denying its voice would make it treu
if only the void I feel was filled with you
or what if this tiny "if" existed...
I doubt it would do just what we wished it
so why must we go on pretending
role playing our past in these condemned buildings
unpausing the past captured on fillm
dancing with shadows that once was him
trapped in a realm, with no way back
both hearts burnt on a bridge collapsed
subjecting ourselves to what is unjust
questioning, this circumstance of us
the he - the she, tied to a wish
that you and me can somehow resist
the revolutions of the sun
or reality beyond
the dreams and hopes succumb
missing the half that made you one
areminder of what now only is...

The time has come to sever our ties
The time has come to deliver our byes
The time has come to cease the cries
The time has come, to live our lives

Montag, 27. September 2010

"If you are not loved, you do not exist" - M. Marazziti

...Ofcourse, the momentum a pendulum gains swinging to right, will, by the laws of gravity, swing nearly to the equivalent angle on the left. If the upside of anothers dream need not be yours to believe, can the same be said of despair?
The disease of doing all you can, and still succumbing to shortcomings just short of societal standards. Dis - ease is contagious. Despite being a child growing up we pick up this sickness from our families. Our friends. Going into pre-adulthood, we`ve lived with the symptoms of dis-ease, dis-satifaction, dis-function for so long we are numb to its touch. But its fingerprints are all over our efforts. Lying everywhere we`ve been in its innocent truth.
Where they say "The writings on the wall". But even then we`re in denial. Faced with what we faced in the past, and reminded how we responded to it...we blame coincidence, circumstance, but not our lack of confidence.
To have self-confidence, one must believe in helps even more so to have others believe in you. Infact, nothing can wear on you faster , than not being believed and not be loved.
Here, (in prison) you`ll find the majority of us ran from the unconditional love of our families and embraced the conditional terms of fair-weathered-friends. They didn`t restrict us with rules. Or confine us with commitment. We could wander where we wished and if our paths crossed, - cool. Our paths crossed, in some institutionalized form or another.
Now the irony is, if the bridge still stands between us and the hand we leit. We reach out to those we ran from. Our families. Our friends.
Alot of what we didn`t understand becomes clear and with clarity come fear.
Sometimes you cannot know enough or have reason to believe danger is involved. Like playing with matches. Or swimming without supervision. What could go wrong, right?
Well we know wrong will go wrong.
Sort of like, when I was younger, I believed I understood all I struggled through, I believed all decisions I made were justified some sort of way; (anger is a crippling emotion on our minds) this was my understanding. That I was making informed decisions; but what I knew, being measured against what was possible to know...came out to be less then 10% of what was possible to show you how powerful a little knowledge can be, though it is everything to your world - juxtapose the other 90%, it is nothing.
With realizations such as this I came to the point where I felt compelled to re-understand what I thought I understood...does that make sense?
To love yourself, would you agree you must understand you? I don`t believe love is dependent on any understanding. Love is independent; understanding it at times defies all explaination...But it`s like, if we believe it exists, our existence in turn is made lighter; it makes our decisions easier. Love gives us an agenda. Puts our passion in motion. Its quite healthy to be loved. Why? Well, ther are obvious reasons, but the reason I`ll reflect on is the one that allows you to be thought of any hour of the day; it allows your shared sruggles to be advocated in your absence; it allows you to trust; mainly however it gives consistency to your purpose...for while you may breathe to keep your blood oxygenated...its not a reluctant breath.

Samstag, 11. September 2010

The way I am...

" The way I am...I am.
I don`t make fake gestures. I`m too sincere.
I feel like it`s good for the soul to speak truth.
If a person can`t stand it, it is due to the flaws within`himself...,
and not I.
Everyone has the ability to reason and resist..."

Mittwoch, 8. September 2010

The days come...

The days come t me as breath to my lungs,
seeking refuge, though refusing to stay...
a midnight lover brushing my body,
as dark clouds would passing a lonely moon...
screening prayers as secretaries would -
still the days come to me unappointed,
annointing me with its weight and pressure,
each gesturing to be the one for me,
but I see pass their lust to own my soul...
Still do the days come, dressed by tempting suns,
a dime, a dozen seeking a husband
in me,tough my soulmate has been declared.
For her shall I wait to recieve true love,
refusing the moment, with no omens,
open romances or second chances -
should I fail my maiden of circumstance...
if only...
her sisters wouldn`t crowd and overwhelm,
with their promises of second-hand love...
wandering in wonder of her ideal,
stolen sessions with her sweet secretions,
smiling in relief from the grief I feel...
prayers of freedom breathe a priceless breeze,
dates of unstressed doubt, no soul-selling fee...
tempting me and delivering distress,
dressed up dreams with beams of blinding sunlight,
caught in the glare bare with time ticking out...
If only loneliness beat its own drum...
I`d sip the serenade as the days come.

Samstag, 4. September 2010


Who sees the same another saw
pictures shared by eyes like jaws?

Recline to view the sunny blue,
and name the clouds as game;
for every shape there will be two,
who gives them different names.
What looks to be a lion`s mane,
stalking through the sky;
can be two scoops of vanilla plain,
frozen in your eye.

I don`t expect you to see what I see,
accepting what things merely seem to be;
driftwood afloat a swift flowing river,
hope misguided by a motive`s finger,
I learned from victories that weren`t mine -
respect the lessons I`ve learned doing time.

You see my hesistance to trust as fear,
I`m just checking to see the path is clear...

ABC`s of Life ....

" My everything may not equal all of yours, but does it make it any less?"
Convict Politic

In 1978, I came from my mama with nothing but a heartbeat and needs. All my learned behaviours were motivated by a hunger to feed these needs. However, as a baby and without aid - no amount of motivation would put a spoon in my mouth. So early on, pacifying my needs spilled over into being happy; WANTING to be happy meant depending on others outside myself to aid me in achieving this happiness.

Around 5 or 6, my dependency entered that transition period from dependency to independency, (e.g. my persona, likes/dislikes, etc.) began to surface. Although I was an individual from the start, I began to "indi - visualize" when I began elementary school.
Having already attended the most important schooling of my life in the first 5 or so years, I began carrying myself based off examples I experienced. My individuality was foundated on the people encountered, the ones who appealed most at that point.

Martin Luther King knew in the 60`s that morality couldn`t be legislated. Morality is learned while the chalk board is cleanest, while our minds are the freshest; the frailest. Thus, more dependant on "being" fed and not on "what" it is "getting" fed. Martin surmised correctly that everyone was not fed properly. Everyone`s ideal of what is moral may not be what the next person believes. Does ethnic background effect one`s ethies? History surmises it does.

"Life must be lived forward, but it can be understood backward."
Soren Kierkegaard

As babies, we affiliate with the ones who raise us, who feeds and takes care of us. They are who we look up to. Depend on. I don`t believe any of us asked to be born. I don`t belief at all; blank we were born. Like magnets we clinged. Absorbing all our orbs could.
I came without nothing to this circumstance. My veins swam with needs that made me want to understand: Why I couldn`t swallow the lump that came when I saw her cry? Or why I cried when they "talked loud" at each other?
Ofcourse questions like these lined up in my subconscious mind, and my solitary audience surmised at answers.

I began to assimilate my life to these answers, sometimes, these answers are true.
Well, Hell, they`re all true, it`s either they work towards happiness or they don`t.
In my case, it brought me confusion: A decade removed from the civil rights bill being passed, I knew the claustophobic comfort of stares, whispers, and tension. The parade of fingers that couldn`t figure out how black and white made me, instead of grey...

This grey area of my life was hardly something to appreciate. How can you appreciate what you don`t understand? How important couldn an understanding be, in a situation as new to them as it was to me?
With the world that embraced me thinking in black and white, I only thought of it as mom and dad - they were my world. I slowly became them.
More him than her. Stepping on roaches. Even the babies.
So what, my shady world was grey? Why hate and criticize the only world I can appreciate?

It took coming to prison to realize, independency - individual dependence - is paramount to what we are and affiliate to, to what we assimilate with and how we appreciate the lessons in our lives.
The only person that questions you, is you. Trust yourself absolutely in all aspects.
I talk about myself, because its all about you.
Take with you what you can.

Convicted Wisdom

Convict Politics part 2

Convict Politic..
writings, thoughts and poems of a convict.

Convict - sentenced criminal
Politic - judicious, expedient; prudent, sagacious


C oncrete --- P recise
O pinions --- O riginal
N arrating -- L oftly
V isions ---- I nformative
I n --------- T imeless
C andid ----- I nflexible
T ongues ---- C onvincing

Night and day, yin and yang, sun and moon, black and white are all opposites in perspective. When brought together who opposes whom? One is complement to the other`s definition, but these things will be what they are even while standing alone...

Having spent the majority of my life incarcerated, enclosed by walls on all sides and sealed by a door whose key I won`t see for some time - I`ve reflected. Perspective knocked. Patience opened the door Possibility became my friend....

Suppose it would be taking it for granted to say everyone has laid on their back and looked at clouds pass by; nameing them according to their shape. It would be greater assumption to say everyone has sat and stared at paint-chipped walls. Well, I`ve spent more than half of my life watching plenty of grey walls rebel its oppressive white paint.
And in all their jagged attempts, I see resemblance of the missing puzzle pieces of my youth, i their aging shapes.
Ones, I wondered, why I couldn`t find in my adolescetnt attempts to define myself. It was between these scattered walls, I collected piece upon piece, and began to put peace in place.

These are heartfelt opinions gathered over the journey of allowing my eyes to adjust, to the dimness from the violet end of the spectrum as opposed to the vibrant reds seen on the other side, I share my convicted wisdom.

Freitag, 3. September 2010

Out of the book " Blood Brother" by Elliot Arnold

A piece out of a book, Christopher wrote out to share with you...based on a true story between Cochise, the Apache-chief of the Chiricuhua tribe and a guide named Tom Jeffords...

"" There is nothing we do ourselves, Tagliato. I have found this out. Each man is driven. The things he thinks, he does himself are done for him. Each man is like an arrow. The string is pulled back and at a certain moment it is released and the arrow goes in the direction it is pointed and although it seems to have a life it has no life and its movement comes from that string and its direction from him who pulls the string and presently the appearance of life vanishes and the arrow, which so shortly before as been flying through the air like a bird, falls heavy to the ground and again is a piece of wood.
Your people and my people kill each other, Tagliato. We are of that war. One day perhaps we shall try to kill each other. If I die of a bullet I hope that it is your bullet. It is said that the bullet of a friend hurts more than the bullet of an enemy, but I have never believed this. The life of a man is the most precious thing he owns, more valuable than a horse, maybe.
It is better to give that life to a friend than to an enemy. I am tired of what goes on inside my head. It is like a country I have seen too often. There are many things there that do not make me happy. Now I have your mind to look into. And you have mine. We must look into each other as though each of us were an unexplored land, filled with many new things. If we speak with straight tongue your mind will be as though it were mine and mine as though it were yours. ""

The Power of One

Every expectation, suspect,
yet, with reality`s eyes
I dreamt,
as I was ancouraged to do.
Wasn`t encouraged to expect
the poor odds God chose for me
the ones spelled out in statisties
takes of those who existed
on twisted paths, lost, confused twice
from birth till I`m back in dirt.
is One.
Life lived for 17 years,
of the days, one is clear
and from that day forward I knew,
the Power of one mistake is true.
Heard, " Anything is possible."
told, "If its meant to be it`ll happen."
Wondered where they learned to add
without adding.
Sad when, the rush to step is first,
ill-equipped steps tip the scale,
back to One...worst...
Oh, what inifity started
people and possibility,
just the potential of expecting
one thing of yourself,
awakens an ambition
reminded of where it came.
Thus forgeveness forgets
failure, is your foot on the line
behind the goal you set
but couldn`t get...
The Power of One.
Who knows the awesome power
of heart and mind becoming ONE?
That quantity is volume
and quality is value
One is not the same as the next
and what`s best, isn`t always more.

Samstag, 21. August 2010

Ambitions swell my heart

Ambitions swell my heart,
With no truthful place to explore,
Sun consumed by the dark…
Left abandoned by tides ashore.

With now truthful place to explore,
Sand flattens foam standing still,
Left abandoned by tides ashore
Waves withdraw feeling with its thrill.

Sand flattens foam standing still,
One by one, bubbles burst,
Waves withdraw fleeing with its thrill,
Why does hope hang us with its curse?

One by one, bubbles burst,
Pressed by breezes wanting to know
Why does hope hang us with its curse?
Addicted to the rush of fantasy`s flow

Pressed by breezes wanting to know
Of the recipe stirring inside you
Addicted to the rush of fantasy`s flow
Camouflaged by the problems that divide you.

Of the recipe stirring inside of you,
Constantly thinking getting no stronger
Camouflaged by the problems that divide you,
Going on, when going is, no longer…

Constantly thinking getting no stronger,
Burrowing through life still behind on breath,
Going on, when going is, no longer…
Like a heartbeat itself to death.

Burrowing through life still behind on breath,
Questions come knocking on double locked doors,
Like a heartbeat beating itself to death,
Wanting one more chance, but answers ignored.

Questions come knocking on double locked doors,
Sun consumed by the dark,
Wanting one more chance but answers ignored,
Ambitions swell my heart.

No one hears the cries

No one hears the cries
No one hears the cries,
crawling like dark skies
through purples and blues,
and hating to choose...
thru dilemmas unfamilier to me,
mashing memories, nothing left to see
the replicas of men so far removed...
numb - bitten by frost of justice`s cool
soothe solely, by the souls ugly truth
manchild recruits, forever lost youth,
taunted by pride and replicated hate,
echoes crescendo and never abate...
The nightline battles, rattle my mind,
shackled by misfortune, preventing the climb.
Sniffles...muffled as footfalls retreat,
sunrise reflect, where morning dew sleeps
laying denied, hogtied in the dark
with all that`s part shark and a bit too sharp,
for ears...cause it`s clear my answers are here,
where echoes return, when -
no one hears the cries,
captured by nets inhibiting their rise
facing a fear, so clear to my ear
the years disappear, yet -
no one hears the cries,
crawling like dark skies,
pass purples and blues
and scars I can`t lose...

A Voice...

A Voice...

A voice...
The faintest of breezes,
brushing around objects;
determined not to be deterred,
expecting inconviences.

A voice...
Not yet strong enough,
to pick up its own weight;
though leaves feel it and some are fell;
an ear is gained, the push begins.

A voice...
Creeping low baritones rumble,
pattern of its steps distinguished,
impossible to extinguish,
cause you who oppose don`t weigh enough;

A voice...
Like those echoes once divide,
clearly repeat "NO Retreat" - NONE!
crust and gale truths that tell themselves,
in cycles and numbers that live no lie...

A voice...
like tornadoes that re-arrange,
your revolved resolutions
realities of the sixties,
AIN`T no actuality NOW
so instead of "keeping real",
lets try to keep it ACTUAL...
or at the least,

August 2010

Convict Politic

Convict - a sentenced criminal
politic - judicious, expedient; prudent, sagacious


C oncrete --- P recise
O pionons --- O riginal
N arrating -- L ofty
V isions ---- I nformative
I n --------- T imeless
C andid ----- I nflexible
T ongues ---- C onvincing

To know is to grow.
To grow is to blossom - to live.
One must secure this opportunity for themself. To aquire mental and moral instruction; and once it is acquired, to appreciate it. Don`t allow it to be taxed, spent, or fined by a foreign someone who plays puppets with your interests.
Education can`t be taken back once it`s received. It can`t be burned or turned into a burden. Unless you decide to neglect it.
Race, religion, nor regret has a soapbox here. Beauty unknown will be undervalued.
Unappreciated, unglimpsed. The slope of my facets, too jagged and flawed. But the fight is within; experience our shield. My body is my protection, confidence won`t let me believe it. Won`t let me believe it is enough. Good enough, to believe in.

My situation is accredited to struggles no one else has had the honor to glimpse naked. So you don`t understand the scars you see. The body of struggle reinforces our souls, gives our will - power.
Inner strength.
Strength that can`t be measured with the eye, from the outside - where the judgers of jewels stand.
Strength that can`t be measured untill the moment calls, its calloused calvary arriving to slay those who may oppose forward flow. Incited by insight camouglaged in our consciousness, enlisted by experience and definately determined.

In all its beautiful depths and softest pains, struggle is worthy of envy. An unaging agenda, to survive inspite. Situations I`ve struggled through, not only became a part of me, but they took me through confusing crossroads that left scars of their passing.
For awhile, I let the scars define me, but the definition of bwauty written across slate - changes at a rate too fast to state. I learned scars don`t make you ugly.
I stopped underscoring the significance of my struggle.
I learned to appreciate it.

I talk about myself because it`s all about you. Take what you can and cultivate it, to fit you.
Struggle, like pressure, defines the dimensions of diamonds from the inside - out.
Think of your inner-self, as a safe, containing all that you cherish. It`s okay that its unknown.
Be the unglimpsed beauty.

Convicted Wisdom
# 771799

P.S. * next Corbin copy : " The Power of One"