Again the fly slowly drifts past me.
With no success.
Dancing in the shimmering glare of the river
are two bright yellow butterflies.
Round and round each other they flit and flirt.
Dancing their ritual dance of love.
Before coming to rest on the tree,
their life's work complete.
Now they; watch me.
As the day passes and the river runs on.
My day of fishing as gone.
Of fish in my bag?
I have none!
If fishing for fish is really the aim,
then I guess I'm not cut out for this game.
If I wanted to gain a fish.
Down to the shop I'd hop, and in a jot.
The fish, I would have got.
A full day fishing resulted with nothing to show.
Why don't you try it?
Then you'll know.
Why men fish,
That don't know how!!.
*****************************************
Prison works?
First of all, if prison worked they would all be empty, and they're not. This was yet another Cat C. Rejection, telling me how I was too bad to go to a Cat C. Prison, telling me yet again how I had to be "made better ", more of the same. I've had this for five years now and the tune never changes. If you are guilty of your crime you can move on and go home sooner than the end, but if you've done no wrong you have to sit tight and rot. Prison is full of people rotting. Do the prison services' not know that to deny your guilt can only do you harm? Then why do it if it's not true?.
Prison works toward releasing men back into the world... Not this one!
When release comes here, you're not so much fledged but hurled back into the world.
I'm not a "special" case but; this place tells me they can't do me any good.
They can't fulfil their obligation as they surely should.
They tell me to move on. To pastures new.
To complete the courses they say I have to do.
Courses that once done, will remove any desire I may hold to do again the things I've been told. When I do this, Life changing course, the risk I pose to the public reduces.
Then I can move from B. To one letter less; a "C ". But Cat C.
Is not the point to me.
Being closer to my family is the aim.
When Cat C. I endeavour to gain.
See prisons in Cumbria number one.
And to live in this prison, any risk I have must be gone.
What a good life it must be, to live in a jail next to the sea.
To live with men that pose no risk; to the public, or me.
What a joy to know, no one in this jail is bad.
Everybody here has done the course.
Their treatment they've had, I don't know, but it must be a tranquil place to dwell.
Not like here a living hell with drugs, war with no place to go.
With stabbings and fights, people 's cells burning throughout the nights.
The smell of fright; a dead-end on the road of life.
Prison works!! Or does it?
Why do we see more and more locked up in jail? Is it the system?
Does it fail to change the minds of men impaled on the spikes of criminal acts?
Does prison work? Let's look at the facts!
More and more come back to jail.
More and more don't win but fail to live a life anew.
More and more after release return, to things they know how to do.
New prisons open every year, to cope with the increasing growth in people needing "help."
Prisons don't close down for lack of people in them to dwell.
Prisons don't have empty cells.
But two where there should be one.
If prison worked there would be none.
*****************************************
I met a stranger
The stranger is about Jesus on his way to Emmaus. Like the men in the story, we often don't see what's right in front of us. Some times we see what we want to see. We make strangers of the ones we know.
I once met a man on my way home.
He was tall and dark, all alone.
Walk with me, I asked the man.
Tell me what you think, if you can;
think of what?
He asked of me.
Think of that man, nailed to a tree.
I know not, of what you tell.
From round here do you not dwell?
Everyone knows of the man Jesus; the Nazarene.
His miraculous acts all have seen.
A better man there's never been.
He was condemned to die,
On tree, up high.
Thursday it must have been, Pilot came out,
washed his hands clean.
Joseph, his friend, gave up his tomb; of Arimathea!
It new and very near,
he took Jesus down.
Wrapped him in gown.
He laid him to rest.
When Mary went to do her part.
She needed the stone moved, before she could start.
The stone was gone!
The tomb held none,
Jesus' body was no longer there, she asked of the gardener.
"They've taken him; where?"
You tell me these things,
you say you know, you sound surprised.
The body should go.
How foolish you are not to understand.
Why the Christ had to be nailed to the cross.
By foot and by hand.
Mosses told of how it would be.
He told of the suffering, and of the tree.
I asked the man to stay; for some tea.
He said no but then he did agree.
He did the honours and said grace.
That's when I recognised his face.
He was the one.
Then I looked again; and he was gone
*****************************************
Room with a view
Sitting in my cell one day, looking around. The walls looked closer than the day before. This room was my whole life, and all I had in the world was in it. My corner of this vast world.
A room with a view, eight foot wide by ten foot two.
A bed of iron, welded to the floor.
A solid steel shield they call a door.
One cupboard, one chair, and a table in the corner.
Where I sit and eat, like little Jack Horner.
There's a sink stuck to the wall, just below a button marked with the word "call."
Sometimes it's cold, sometimes it's hot, whatever it is, you get what you've got.
This is where I sit and think.
This is where I eat, and drink.
This is where I sleep at night.
This is where I have to shite!
**************************************
The word of this book are the thoughts and felling of my heart from the bottom of my pit to the top of my mountain. Please remember that the worst day in your life is only twenty-four hours. God loves you and we love you be blessed.
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