Autumn’s here. The breeze is still warm, but you can smell the change of season in the air and see it in the birds. Especially the baby sparrows, cow birds and black birds who think they are grown now and in full plumage.
I remember being at CMC State Prison when it was full of trees, flowers and gardens. CMC prison at the time was set up as a prison for transition to the free world. You had to find your own job there, like on the streets.
All that has changed, of course. Before I left, prison officials had decided there would be no more plants taller than grass.
Well, Pleasant Valley Prison never had any trees, but did have one little 20’ X 20’ corner of the yard where there was a tiny fish pond, a few flowers, and a small shrub like tree – the baby bird feeding tree I spoke of before. This is where I fed the birds.
Today, after I finished my work out and was walking the track, I saw the fish pond being dug up. The railroad ties that held up the backside of the pond area were gone. The pond garden had been here since this prison opened, some eight or nine years ago.
The birds, there were none around as the pond was being demolished. Birds were probably confused about the destruction, not able to grasp any reason for it. The birds stayed away. What little nature we had here, by next week will be gone. No more butterflies, birds, or moon reflections in any waters. No more fish flirting with the tiny stream that fed the pond. No more hummingbirds just a couple feet away from my face, sipping flowers. No boulder for the toad to hide under during the day, and then to swim in the pond at night.
They left the baby bird feeding bush/tree. No other plant life around it. No birds will come there anymore. No more humming birds or toads there. Nothing to hum around or toad around.
A big riot happened tonight on “B” Yard as we were coming back from chow on “A” Yard. We can see some of “B” Yard from “A” Yard. The alarm went off. I could see people fighting and the warders announced on the loudspeaker: “Yard recall for A, C and D Yards.” I could hear the shooting, as the guards herded us on this yard into the cell blocks. Each yard here is like a separate entity, a separate prison.
But for the moment, “A” Yard is on lockdown, too. I found it was black and Southern Mexicans fighting and one prisoner was shot down by a warder.
No birds or cats to look at today, except of course in my mind’s eye and in my reading. I can go wherever and look at whatever I want to; with an opened mind and heart there is no distance between two points.
The warders keep telling me I have too much paperwork when I don’t. Especially for someone who has been in prison as long as I have. I do not want to throw away pieces of work I am still working on or could get inspiration from. But the warders have hinted they might come into the cell and gather up my texts haphazardly, and toss them aside or destroy them.
I have been sending texts out periodically anyway. So, to avoid the loss of material, I posted some work out and tore up a lot of paperwork. Even a journal or two. I don’t like throwing away paperwork or letters. I had to do something. I sent the letters out, though.
Here is a piece I wrote that I probably would not send out anywhere, and a poem I kept for inspiration. So I’ll put it in the newsletter.
PURPLE DREAMS
Dusty emotions bloom on a silent street
like Indian Paintbrush, orange poppies
and blue-eyed grasses.
There is no comfort in dreams
once they are plucked.
Purple lipstick, purple nails, purple souls.
Is purple the color of independence?
The color of nectar between two forest nymphs
under a crescent moon?
The wrinkles, the sweet
sorted passions between the green
leaves and creaming purple flowers?
What secrets languish purple
betwixt their subtle nature?
Why does beauty arise to burn
gentle under a martial moon?
I want to say hello, a big hello, to Ingunn and thank you for your ideas on things to write about. I want to say hello to Bodil, Aida and Heidi, and also to Eva.
Writing Class
Writing group is still on hold, although we are sharing books and newspapers and just have to make a new day to meet. Everyone is still writing.
Bird Stuff
I stood there looking at the small bird feeding tree/bush left standing beside where the pond used to be and the sparrows saw me and darted over there now and then, but they are too nervous to stay around and eat. I noticed there were a couple of small yellowish orange flowers there. I watched them and a dude came by and said flowers are a symbol of weakness, and that is why women love them so much. I said something like, cool, if that’s what you think.
I know that was absurd, flowers being a symbol of weakness. First that guy can interpret a flower or flowers any way he wants to, but flowers are not weak nor are any other plants. Men and women who enjoy flowers are not weak. Mother Earth brings forth flowers and she is not weak.
Besides, flowers are some of the most diverse and strongest beings on the planet. How grand it is to see a woman in flowers, holding flowers, or just standing by flowers. It is pure joy and beautiful to see such a thin --–two beings as one. Flowers are a symbol of strength, growth and beauty, an explosion of love. Especially if one looks at flowers, or Mother Earth in general, through natural eyes, through realness yes.
Yeah, the little bird feeding area and pond is gone now. Today, right at the same spot, a water main broke and water shot up into the air some 40 or so feet in protest and soaked the dry, chopped up, ground where the pond and flowers once stood.
Closing Thoughts
May the joy of a butterfly and the brilliance of a rose float in your heart and soul. Keep the realness and love flowing! Stay real! Always glowing and growing.
Spoon
