Welcome to "Voices from the Row" |
 |  |
Our first poet is Bill Clark. Below, he introduces himself and recites four of his poems. Simply click on the play button to hear them. You can also hear him read his poem " A Cell with no Bars" set to footage of San Quentin.
Poetry by
Bill Clark
Bill Clark
Bill Clark - Introduction
"A Poem to my Children" - by Bill Clark
"Who Can I Turn to?" - by Bill Clark
"Pure Lust" - by Bill Clark
"These Eyes" - by Bill Clark
"The End of the Road" - by Bill Clark
Bill's Artwork - Political Cartoons
"Hypocrisy" by Bill Clark
"The Story of my Life" - by Bill Clark
"A Cell with no Bars" - read by Bill Clark
Our next poet is Alphonso Howard
There are four of Alphonso's poems below that you can listen to by clicking on the play button. Alphonso also creates some wonderful art and you can see some examples below.
Alphonso Howard
Alphonso Howard - Introduction and "Smiles"
"Just Visions" -by Alphonso Howard
"A Struggle in this Blackness" - by Alphonso Howard
"Vice" - by Alphonso Howard
"Brown Symphony Artwork" - by Alphonso Howard
Our next poet is Ojore McKinnon
There are four of Ojore's poems below that you can listen to by clicking on play. There is also the text as some of the recordings did not come out so well. Ojore also is an artist and you can see some of his artwork below.
Ojore McKinnon
"I Feel So Lonely" - by Ojore McKinnon
I Feel so Lonely (by Ojore McKinnon)
I feel so lonely
trapped in a cage surrounded by warehoused bodies.
Oh so lonely
as I eat meals alone, day after day, year after year.
So lonely
Amongst the volumes of words, yells, screams,banging and complaints.
I feel so lonely
when I stare into the late night darkness of my cement box.
I feel so lonely,
Not being able to be a father, uncle and son.
Oh so lonely
Knowing Im out of sight, out of mind.
So lonely
when I fail to hear my name during mail call.
I feel so lonely
having to console myself.
Every day I feel so lonely
Isolated in a death row cell.
Ojore McKinnon
I feel so lonely
trapped in a cage surrounded by warehoused bodies.
Oh so lonely
as I eat meals alone, day after day, year after year.
So lonely
Amongst the volumes of words, yells, screams,banging and complaints.
I feel so lonely
when I stare into the late night darkness of my cement box.
I feel so lonely,
Not being able to be a father, uncle and son.
Oh so lonely
Knowing Im out of sight, out of mind.
So lonely
when I fail to hear my name during mail call.
I feel so lonely
having to console myself.
Every day I feel so lonely
Isolated in a death row cell.
Ojore McKinnon
"How I Feel" - by Ojore McKinnon
How I feel (by Ojore McKinnon)
Sun up high in the sky
I love that feel
Sea-gulls glide by
I wanna know how that feel
Sometime I wish I can fly
Even with my determination and wil
Barb-wire discourage any try
Im just keepin it real
Vultures in the sky –
Am I their next meal?
Gun-man up high
clutchin’ cold steel
Can you imagine how I feel?
Picture this in a pale
A butterfly flutterin’ amongst this concrete and steel
Bringin a smile to a hardened male
he softens at the ideal.
Killers defending an insect’s life;
becoming its sentinel and shield.
Decades ago they captured
butterflies in a field.
Now they know how it feels.
Visits give me a high
that’s how I feel
Time flies by
with only hours to build
Never do I let them see me cry
though Im on an emotional reel
That’s how I feel.
Empathy is a delicate feel
from our experiences is how we feel.
Ojore McKinnon
Sun up high in the sky
I love that feel
Sea-gulls glide by
I wanna know how that feel
Sometime I wish I can fly
Even with my determination and wil
Barb-wire discourage any try
Im just keepin it real
Vultures in the sky –
Am I their next meal?
Gun-man up high
clutchin’ cold steel
Can you imagine how I feel?
Picture this in a pale
A butterfly flutterin’ amongst this concrete and steel
Bringin a smile to a hardened male
he softens at the ideal.
Killers defending an insect’s life;
becoming its sentinel and shield.
Decades ago they captured
butterflies in a field.
Now they know how it feels.
Visits give me a high
that’s how I feel
Time flies by
with only hours to build
Never do I let them see me cry
though Im on an emotional reel
That’s how I feel.
Empathy is a delicate feel
from our experiences is how we feel.
Ojore McKinnon
"Where Poetry Lives" by Ojore McKinnon
Where Poetry Lives (by Ojore McKinnon)
Here Poetry lives.
Restricted to penal institutions.
Playing out as theatrical war-stories on mainlines.
And descriptive raw details of life on death row,
all the while contemplating lethal injection.
As secure brave expressions
from those in protective custody.
Here poetry lives.
Amongst the prison population.
Amongst those who escape between the lines.
Freeing their poetry from mental bondage
that it may find freedom
beyond the walls, fences, barb wires and bars,
that define the Department of Corrections.
Where does poetry live?
Inside the cells.
Germinating organically within
the universal space of confined thoughts.
Stimulated by a confined existence.
The noise, the beat;
Conversations, the rhythm;
Conditions, the inspiration.
Poetry lives in the pens.
Formless in the pigment, that exit pen-fillers
of the poets who need to document life.
Inking letters and compositions
arranged to form words, sentences and prose
that were once invisible narrations
conjured up within the vast imagination
of prisoners.
Here poetry lives
behind enemy lines.
Where does poetry live?
In “The Belly of the Beast”.
Ojore McKinnon
Here Poetry lives.
Restricted to penal institutions.
Playing out as theatrical war-stories on mainlines.
And descriptive raw details of life on death row,
all the while contemplating lethal injection.
As secure brave expressions
from those in protective custody.
Here poetry lives.
Amongst the prison population.
Amongst those who escape between the lines.
Freeing their poetry from mental bondage
that it may find freedom
beyond the walls, fences, barb wires and bars,
that define the Department of Corrections.
Where does poetry live?
Inside the cells.
Germinating organically within
the universal space of confined thoughts.
Stimulated by a confined existence.
The noise, the beat;
Conversations, the rhythm;
Conditions, the inspiration.
Poetry lives in the pens.
Formless in the pigment, that exit pen-fillers
of the poets who need to document life.
Inking letters and compositions
arranged to form words, sentences and prose
that were once invisible narrations
conjured up within the vast imagination
of prisoners.
Here poetry lives
behind enemy lines.
Where does poetry live?
In “The Belly of the Beast”.
Ojore McKinnon
"Vitamin C" - by Ojore McKinnon
Vitamin C
My mind is free
My body is caged
I seek serenity
And call for better days.
My spirit is strong
My physical is fit
This allows me to hold on
And reconcile the present as a gift.
My cage is isolation
My torment is daily
But my freedom is rooted in redemption
And your compassion helps me to get by daily
You are my daily recommended Vitamin C
That keeps me immune from a confined mentality.
Ojore McKinnon
My mind is free
My body is caged
I seek serenity
And call for better days.
My spirit is strong
My physical is fit
This allows me to hold on
And reconcile the present as a gift.
My cage is isolation
My torment is daily
But my freedom is rooted in redemption
And your compassion helps me to get by daily
You are my daily recommended Vitamin C
That keeps me immune from a confined mentality.
Ojore McKinnon
Ojore McKinnon's artwork
Our next Poet is Steve Champion (Adisa Kamara)
Click on the play buttons below to hear Steve Champion (Adisa Kamara) read some of his poetry:-
"Pain" - by Steve Champion
"If there is...."
"I Sing" - by Steve Champion
The Ancestors - by Steve Champion
"Beyond The Walls" - read by Steve Champion
Steve Champion gave a recorded introduction to our panel discussion at the Poetry Café on 6th July 2018. You can hear his thoughts here about why artists on death row write and create:
Our next Poet is Carl Powell (Kwesi)
Carl Powell (Kwesi)
When Carl arrived on death row, he couldn't read or write. He can now read and write and enjoys writing poetry and essays. Of the poem below (Pillowed Tears) he says:-
"After losing my mother in 2005, this poem became my personal experience".
"After losing my mother in 2005, this poem became my personal experience".
Pillowed Tears - by Carl Powell
Pillowed Tears – by Carl Powell
With tears, there’s smiles and laughter as I reflect on the jokes and stories you used to tell.
Whether between you and I, family, or my friends,
When you were on a comedic stage you couldn’t fail.
Growing up you nurtured and guided me through a very difficult time.
Pillowed tears,
When my emotions were all over the place, you kept me humble and gave me peace of mind.
Because of your fun and easy going ways you were a pleasure to be around,
You made people feel loved and appreciated.
In you, they realised a caring and loving friend they had found.
You always stayed who and the way you were effortlessly.
So genuine and consistent – regardless of what you were thinking or feeling.
Your selflessness, strength, and courage inspired me.
Now, you are missed, and you filled more voids than you would ever care to know.
You were my mother, father and friend – You healed during times of pain – encouraging me to move on, and grow…
Pillowed tears – though I’ve stood tall, my tears continue to fall,
I know you’re watching over me from the heavens, but nothing compares to
Hearing your angelic voice, and the peace I had after our calls.
Pillowed tears – I never wanted to say goodbye.
Thinking about what you mean to me, mean to us – the memories that make me laugh
Strong and brave are the same memories that put me to sleep – on my pillow, I cry…
Carl Powell
After losing my mother in 2005, this poem became my personal experience.
With tears, there’s smiles and laughter as I reflect on the jokes and stories you used to tell.
Whether between you and I, family, or my friends,
When you were on a comedic stage you couldn’t fail.
Growing up you nurtured and guided me through a very difficult time.
Pillowed tears,
When my emotions were all over the place, you kept me humble and gave me peace of mind.
Because of your fun and easy going ways you were a pleasure to be around,
You made people feel loved and appreciated.
In you, they realised a caring and loving friend they had found.
You always stayed who and the way you were effortlessly.
So genuine and consistent – regardless of what you were thinking or feeling.
Your selflessness, strength, and courage inspired me.
Now, you are missed, and you filled more voids than you would ever care to know.
You were my mother, father and friend – You healed during times of pain – encouraging me to move on, and grow…
Pillowed tears – though I’ve stood tall, my tears continue to fall,
I know you’re watching over me from the heavens, but nothing compares to
Hearing your angelic voice, and the peace I had after our calls.
Pillowed tears – I never wanted to say goodbye.
Thinking about what you mean to me, mean to us – the memories that make me laugh
Strong and brave are the same memories that put me to sleep – on my pillow, I cry…
Carl Powell
After losing my mother in 2005, this poem became my personal experience.
As well as poetry, there was artwork displayed at the Poetry Cafe by San Quentin death row inmates, for the whole month of July 2018. You can see some of it below.
Take a look at some of the wonderful art by the prisoners on San Quentin's death row
Thank you for visiting our "Voices from the Row" Exhibition. Please do post any comments and feedback below, as these will be passed on to the poets and artists. And if you would like to browse, or purchase any artwork, then do visit our etsy site https://www.etsy.com/uk/shop/SanQuentinArt
10% of proceeds goes to charity, and the remainder goes to the artists to help them to buy canteen, stamps or art materials.
If you have any queries at all or would like any information, please write to me at [email protected].
Thank you.
Nicola White
10% of proceeds goes to charity, and the remainder goes to the artists to help them to buy canteen, stamps or art materials.
If you have any queries at all or would like any information, please write to me at [email protected].
Thank you.
Nicola White
0 Comments
Nicola White
Artist, Mudlark & passionate about helping prisoners on death row to share their artwork and creative writing
Archives
June 2021
July 2018
March 2018
January 2018
September 2017
July 2017
June 2017
January 2017
December 2016
RSS Feed
Categories
All
Albert Jones
Artreach
Bill Clark
Chicano
Chicano Art
Chicano Art By Luis Maciel
Death Penalty
Death Row
Death Row Art
Death Row Cookbook
Death Row Poet
Death Row Poetry
Depression
Ink-stippling
Inmate Art
Keith Loker
Last Meal
Luis Maciel
Outsider Art
Poetry
San Quentin
San Quentin Death Row
Steven LaWayne Nelson
Suicide
Texas Death Row
Archives
June 2021
July 2018
March 2018
January 2018
September 2017
July 2017
June 2017
January 2017
December 2016