By Rodriguez A. Peake
Muskegon Correctional Facility
If love is the only answer ...
Why are there so any questions? Why are there so many lessons in life to live and learn, like fire burns and life is truly a blessing, if love is the only answer?
If love is the only answer ...
Then how did hate ever become a choice? And how did evil ever get such a loud voice? Or why did I sit by the still waters and still hear so much noise, if love is the only answer?
If love is the only answer ...
Then why in your heart do you wanna hurt me so bad? And why do I wanna hurt you? And why don't we both see the same truth when only one God created both you and me?
Why do we do the things we do?
If love is the only answer ...
Monday, June 28, 2010
"Today"
By Rodriguez A. Peake
Muskegon Correctional Facility
Today ...
I looked in the mirror into my own eyes and saw so many other people's tears and so many of my own lies, I wanted to cry.
I felt the pain of a heavy soul that couldn't move on because of a heart that was cold, and beating in the chest of a man that had done so many wrong.
I wanted to cry.
Today ...
I looked in the mirror and for the first time in my life saw the very reason why I wanted to cry
Cause for every lie I had ever told, certain pieces of my life had been put on hold
And for every hurt I had caused another was another piece of one's joy I had stole
And for every tear I had caused and left behind was another teardrop that fell from the clouds of my own mind
And now I finally realize it was time to look back into my past and ask forgiveness for all teh wrong I had done that was mine
So ...
To all those out there who I ever cause hurt, pain, tears, heartache and told lies ...
I ask of you, please forgive me 'cause from the bottom of my heart,
I truly apologize
Muskegon Correctional Facility
Today ...
I looked in the mirror into my own eyes and saw so many other people's tears and so many of my own lies, I wanted to cry.
I felt the pain of a heavy soul that couldn't move on because of a heart that was cold, and beating in the chest of a man that had done so many wrong.
I wanted to cry.
Today ...
I looked in the mirror and for the first time in my life saw the very reason why I wanted to cry
Cause for every lie I had ever told, certain pieces of my life had been put on hold
And for every hurt I had caused another was another piece of one's joy I had stole
And for every tear I had caused and left behind was another teardrop that fell from the clouds of my own mind
And now I finally realize it was time to look back into my past and ask forgiveness for all teh wrong I had done that was mine
So ...
To all those out there who I ever cause hurt, pain, tears, heartache and told lies ...
I ask of you, please forgive me 'cause from the bottom of my heart,
I truly apologize
"Where Would I Be?"
By Rodriguez A. Peake
Muskegon Correctional Facility
Where would I be if I wasn't here? Would I be there? Nowhere, like a chair sitting in an empty room?
Or ...
If I wasn't there, would I still be nowhere? Like a moon stuck in the day becuase of a night left too soon?
Where would I be?
Would I be where I thought I could've been? If I would've done what I should've done way back then, way back when, when now was then, and then was all I had - only seconds to make decisions I didn't know would affect my life to the end?
What about my friends whose lives ended? Where would I be if I would've walked down that same street? Like them, would I be free, suspended in a realm or eternal peace and rest where life ended because of wise decisions intended, but never made?
Where would I be?
If I hadn't given the streets and the world so much of me, would I be somewhere deeply rooted, like a tree, standing tall, facing the wind, the rain and only shedding a leaf instead of sitting behind these brick walls for countless days at a time, facing the possibility of years in a penitentiary?
Where would I be?
If I would have taken more time to get to know me, to know you, and to know God more passionately
I wonder ...
Where would I be?
Muskegon Correctional Facility
Where would I be if I wasn't here? Would I be there? Nowhere, like a chair sitting in an empty room?
Or ...
If I wasn't there, would I still be nowhere? Like a moon stuck in the day becuase of a night left too soon?
Where would I be?
Would I be where I thought I could've been? If I would've done what I should've done way back then, way back when, when now was then, and then was all I had - only seconds to make decisions I didn't know would affect my life to the end?
What about my friends whose lives ended? Where would I be if I would've walked down that same street? Like them, would I be free, suspended in a realm or eternal peace and rest where life ended because of wise decisions intended, but never made?
Where would I be?
If I hadn't given the streets and the world so much of me, would I be somewhere deeply rooted, like a tree, standing tall, facing the wind, the rain and only shedding a leaf instead of sitting behind these brick walls for countless days at a time, facing the possibility of years in a penitentiary?
Where would I be?
If I would have taken more time to get to know me, to know you, and to know God more passionately
I wonder ...
Where would I be?
"Who Am I?"
By Rodriquez A. Peake
Muskegon Correctional Facility
I often look in the mirror and ask myself, "Who am I?"
Am I just a moment of lost time in empty space? Or, am I an immortal god with a man's face who will one day simply die?
Who am I?
Am I a hateful tear drop that somehow fell from a loving god's eye? Or, am I an image in a mirror of the truth that told a lie?
Who am I?
Am I that what I do? Or what I see? Or what you think of me? Or, am I really all three? Please, somebody tell me. I'm confused because I know me and sometimes I know I can be filled with so much love, and then be overflowing with too much hate.
I can be a man lost in a world of childish mistakes. I can be a child lost in the consequences of a grown man's fate. I can be an angel with open wings, then I can be the fury that opened hell's gates.
So, deep inside I continue to debate the question of "Who am I?"
Am I that sensitive man that shed a tear when I knew nobody would see me and no one was near? Or, am I that little boy trapped in a man's body, trying to make the entire world believe I have no fears?
Am I what I appear to be in the eyes of a crooked-ass society? Or, do my eyes simply lie to me when I look in the mirror and know I've done so much wrong, but somewhere deep inside still see something so right in me?
Who am I?
Im'a look away from this mirror and into the depths of my souls until I see the blue of the sky. Im'a ask the question again to my best friend, God: "In your precious eyes, tell me, who am I?"
Muskegon Correctional Facility
I often look in the mirror and ask myself, "Who am I?"
Am I just a moment of lost time in empty space? Or, am I an immortal god with a man's face who will one day simply die?
Who am I?
Am I a hateful tear drop that somehow fell from a loving god's eye? Or, am I an image in a mirror of the truth that told a lie?
Who am I?
Am I that what I do? Or what I see? Or what you think of me? Or, am I really all three? Please, somebody tell me. I'm confused because I know me and sometimes I know I can be filled with so much love, and then be overflowing with too much hate.
I can be a man lost in a world of childish mistakes. I can be a child lost in the consequences of a grown man's fate. I can be an angel with open wings, then I can be the fury that opened hell's gates.
So, deep inside I continue to debate the question of "Who am I?"
Am I that sensitive man that shed a tear when I knew nobody would see me and no one was near? Or, am I that little boy trapped in a man's body, trying to make the entire world believe I have no fears?
Am I what I appear to be in the eyes of a crooked-ass society? Or, do my eyes simply lie to me when I look in the mirror and know I've done so much wrong, but somewhere deep inside still see something so right in me?
Who am I?
Im'a look away from this mirror and into the depths of my souls until I see the blue of the sky. Im'a ask the question again to my best friend, God: "In your precious eyes, tell me, who am I?"
"Big Neph" got skills!
My oldest nephew, Rodriguez, is serving a life sentence in prison. He recently informed me that he writes poetry. I asked why he never mentioned it before because I study prison writing. He said I never mentioned that to him, so how was he supposed to know?? LOL!
In any case, he sent some of his work to me and I was pleasantly surprised. I had no idea my "Big Neph", as he likes to sign his letters, had skills! He writes mainly about love - longing for and losing it - and the man he's become and is becoming.
I'm sharing some of my favorite pieces in separate posts on this blog. "Big Neph" wants to know what you think, so feel free to comment.
In any case, he sent some of his work to me and I was pleasantly surprised. I had no idea my "Big Neph", as he likes to sign his letters, had skills! He writes mainly about love - longing for and losing it - and the man he's become and is becoming.
I'm sharing some of my favorite pieces in separate posts on this blog. "Big Neph" wants to know what you think, so feel free to comment.
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Why I'm doing this
About half of my 10-year reporting career was spent covering the police and court beats. I’d get dozens of letters from inmates requesting help on their case, or other matters. It’s not unusual for a reporter to receive inmate letters on a daily basis. Most often I’d throw them away without so much as a glance, dismissing the inmates’ stories as typical jailhouse rhetoric.
Now I wonder how many great stories I missed out on.
It wasn’t until I received feedback from inmates in response to my 2005 USA Today essay about my incarcerated father and brother that I started to really read the inmates’ stories.
I’m glad I did.
The inmates were from prisons in North Carolina, South Carolina, Louisiana, Georgia, Pennsylvania, New York, Connecticut, Texas and California. Their letters were full of testimonies of how my story inspired them to reach out to their children – many of them hadn’t seen their children in years – and they shared stories of their prison experiences.
One inmate from the Collins Correctional Facility wrote: “Your article made a lot of us feel not alone and we know we have hurt you, all of you. I speak for all of us men who have fallen victim to our own selfishness and blindness, we are sorry.’’
And in 2007, when I wrote a second column for USA Today about some black people being “stuck” in the ‘hood, I received dozens of more letters from inmates. These stories were just as powerful – if not more – than the letters three years ago.
The emotions conveyed in all of the letters were raw and honest, and the writing eloquent and powerful.
And thus began my personal quest to help inmates exercise their free will to write.
Writer and activist Amiri Baraka once said jails and prisons have become “explosive resources for revolutionary change.”
Prison writing is that avenue for change. For many inmates, writing is the only will they have to stay alive.
I've started this blog to give these men and women a voice – one that will be heard – and to continue the legacy of great American prison literature.
Inmates have stories to tell and lessons to teach.
The time to listen – and learn – is now.
Now I wonder how many great stories I missed out on.
It wasn’t until I received feedback from inmates in response to my 2005 USA Today essay about my incarcerated father and brother that I started to really read the inmates’ stories.
I’m glad I did.
The inmates were from prisons in North Carolina, South Carolina, Louisiana, Georgia, Pennsylvania, New York, Connecticut, Texas and California. Their letters were full of testimonies of how my story inspired them to reach out to their children – many of them hadn’t seen their children in years – and they shared stories of their prison experiences.
One inmate from the Collins Correctional Facility wrote: “Your article made a lot of us feel not alone and we know we have hurt you, all of you. I speak for all of us men who have fallen victim to our own selfishness and blindness, we are sorry.’’
And in 2007, when I wrote a second column for USA Today about some black people being “stuck” in the ‘hood, I received dozens of more letters from inmates. These stories were just as powerful – if not more – than the letters three years ago.
The emotions conveyed in all of the letters were raw and honest, and the writing eloquent and powerful.
And thus began my personal quest to help inmates exercise their free will to write.
Writer and activist Amiri Baraka once said jails and prisons have become “explosive resources for revolutionary change.”
Prison writing is that avenue for change. For many inmates, writing is the only will they have to stay alive.
I've started this blog to give these men and women a voice – one that will be heard – and to continue the legacy of great American prison literature.
Inmates have stories to tell and lessons to teach.
The time to listen – and learn – is now.
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
I'm just getting started
Hello!
This is just a quick note to say I'll be updating this blog over the next few weeks. My goal is to provide an open forum for inmates to showcase their writings and update you on my prison writing research.
More to come; stay tuned.
ProfBreeWill
This is just a quick note to say I'll be updating this blog over the next few weeks. My goal is to provide an open forum for inmates to showcase their writings and update you on my prison writing research.
More to come; stay tuned.
ProfBreeWill
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