More Monday Motivation
Another week, another Monday. Time to bring on Prose #mondaymotivation
Our Letters from Prison initiative has us visiting prison on a weekly basis in a bid to improve lives through the power of words. We post the work we bring back and hope some of you comment on them. That support gives the inmates confidence as they see their punishment through and helps them come out the other side motivated to live a different life.
This week’s snippets:
1. Decay thoughts
...Frustration coming out through my manifestation
I got decay thoughts
Rotting my mind
With insane talk...
2. Prison has changed me
...Since being locked up, my though patterns have evolved. I now think more before I act upon things, on impulses. And I think of the consequences of my actions....
3. Inside Out
...As the time stands almost still the only thing to pull them
Through is the power of their will...
4. The Tower
...Now re-shaped into another’s imitation brand
Caged too, and force-fed poisonous acts and words
By those pompously believing that they are lords
I visualise those fingerprints of babies on our wall...
5. Unexpected Visit
...Sally sat there and pondered the sentence carefully, Mitchell had been her rock for the past two years and now he’d gone...
Many of these fledgling poets and writers have had a troubled start in life and are bettering themselves with the tools that their incarceration provides. We hope the thought of that helps you face your Monday with a bit of positivity and some #mondaymotivation
Click on the links in the comment section to see the full version, and please add your words. Please also follow the dedicated twitter account @poetsinprison
The Victim
"He always makes me do the dirty work!” I lamented, selecting a sharp knife from the wooden block.
I stoically rolled the body over, making the first cut, severing the head from the torso with a slashing horizontal line. Standing back to admire my work, I watched in fascination as blood trickled down on the cutting table. Dipping my finger into the blood, I was surprised to discover it felt cold to my touch. Next, I made a long cut, reached in and removed the guts. As I peeled back the skin, my husband sauntered into the room.
“Why am I always the one who cleans your fish?” I bemoaned.
untamed
a man with hair
almost as wild as him.
long, blonde curls
that he’ll try to tame in a ponytail.
I love them when they’re free.
when the breeze blows them to his face,
and I tuck them behind his ear.
as if its the most natural thing in the world
for him to talk so freely to me.
and I’ll always listen
and I’ll always insist he leaves his hair free
and I’ll always love him most untamed.
Uncommonly common
Gone like faith
On Sunday
Like my namesake
Written on the back of a leaf
Floated on runoff
Swept under the city
Between the grates
But I returned
To the crisp dry pages
Of open-ended opportunities
Of mass confessions
I set my eyes on fire
And feet directly into the coals
To know
I'm alive
I live
In every verse of longing
I'm nurtured by poets
Long since dead
Who had faith in their hands
Who sweet talked the spirit
To dabble in their inkwells
Who found rafters and a noose
Who reopened scars because
They changed their mind
About changing their mind
Who emptied bottles like bullets
Into their mouths
Because they couldn't bear to be common
Because they were dying to be original
Did they let their names float away
Did they know the spirit couldn't leave
Their words
Even as their bodies hanged
Did they lose faith
Or take to the grave
That 26 letters can only be arranged
In so many ways
The Writing Process 2/2: Audience
In part 1 of my discussion about writing, I suspect I was preaching to the choir and now want to be more specific about the process itself. There is a naturally occurring writing process that has been observed amongst writers and that is well documented. The resulting jargon is as follows: audience, plan, draft, revise, edit, proofread, publish (repeat as needed). Once a writer decides on a topic or a topic decides on a writer, the audience should be considered. I may have something to say about love, but in order for my message to be as effective as possible, I must consider demographics like age, sex, education, attention span (in the case of social media). The theme may not change, but my delivery might. Writers subconsciously consider audiences all the time: the audience on Instagram is not the same as Twitter is not the same as TheProse is not the same as a Tumblr is not the same as a personal blog is not the same as a paperback. It's kind of like choosing what to wear to a social event. Different events require different attire. The next time, I will discuss planning. Thanks for indulging me. -JC
#littlewhitenote
jcv2016
Image Source: Google
Dear Diary
Funny how when I write diary entries,
they're nothing but cryptic,
just in case someone else manages to read it,
because my fear consumes me,
and Roosevelt was right,
as the only thing to fear
is what keeps me up at night.
People underestimate words on a page,
but it dictates every single way
we move and interact
each day and how the world
conducts business
without us,
without me,
and I sit here wondering what's wrong,
why can't I see
some words have used me
their appeal, too strong,
and I couldn't tell them
how wrong it'd be to follow
every move they make
leaving me stranded
abandoned
by my own mistakes.
It's hard to claw at the truth
when it hides, evades,
and no matter what you want
it just won't stay,
maybe it's supposed to be
impossible to find
cause I haven't taken the time
to stop reflecting
on such derelict
themes and open my eyes
to what's new to seize,
it means something
when you've closed yourself off
and every sound
every option
seems like another damn wall
and maybe
it's hard to know when
you're always told stop
instead of go.
Going down a trail
Let me erase all evidence that you ever broke a sweat
With my tongue, but as I wipe down the path from your torso
Goosebumps now spring up like mushrooms.
Let me press my lips here and there
Down at the edge of the clearing
Only for a rest, and a flutter here and there.
Let me glide my hands silently
Over the hills and valleys of your body my touch barely a feather,
Causing a chaotic storm behind closed lids
Circling over before resting on the blades of your hips.
Let me not waste water
Especially this trembling pearl that's about to tumble off
Here, slowly scaling around my tongue will climb up the crag
Rustling for a hold at the underside of a small ridge
Before slinking up to the top to bring quench to my thirst.
Let me taste you inside out
I’m wondering what’s the secret ingredient
My lips find the experience so breath-taking
Her sister wants to drink it all in too.
Let me rappel down the length of you
Propelling in and away from you
Until I reach the ground on a dizzying unsure footing
Let me... bask in the whole of you. Next trip out I’ll
Let you discover the landscapes over on my side.