Poetry competition CLOSED 10th May 2015 3:49pm
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MadameLavender
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72 Hours

case28
Alexander Case
Dangerous Mind
42awards
Joined 16th June 2013
Forum Posts: 2077

Poetry Contest

Just imagine for one second that you were on death row.
In less than 72 hours a couple of blokes, who grew up not far from my hometown, will be shot dead on an Indonesian island for drug trafficking. These two young men have admitted to making a stupid mistake, they have spent 10 years in prison, they have been rehabilitated and have helped rehabilitate other prisoners.

Their legal campaign to reduce their death penalty to life in prison has now been exhausted and in less than 72 hours they will be shot dead.

Watch this video: https://vimeo.com/51027086

1. Write a poem about a foreigner facing the death penalty in a foreign country.
2. You can write in any style of poetry, one submission, maximum of 350 words.
3. Please be respectful. If you want to express your views on this topic, I've set up a thread in the forum.  http://deepundergroundpoetry.com/forum/discuss/read/8144/

Aten
Paean of Deviance
Lost Thinker
1awards
Joined 25th Apr 2015
Forum Posts: 61

Caged Rage Abroad


Sitting in this cage
A squalid abode
Pitching a rage
Heart frozen solid cold
Told I could be released
I haven't eaten in a week-
A freak of a hairy emaciated beast
Estranged to the language they speak
Let me free
Let me be
See, my captives don't view men as human
I don't want to be found in a tomb, then
Later exhumed by rescue flight crewman
Consumed by sorrow
Hopefully, an assault team comes tomorrow
Far-fetched, I know, but the reality is hard to swallow
Wallowing around in my own filth
Unsanitary conditions
No one seems to have humanitarian intuition
Are there any political efforts for my emancipation?
Most likely these are the last days of my damnation.
Metaphorically, waiting for Lucifer,
I am approached by a masked executioner.


kriticool
Fire of Insight
32awards
Joined 1st Nov 2011
Forum Posts: 596


they not female, blond or blue-eyed...if were, worlds might collide


.:Life or Death Penalties:.


real talk;
most times it is what it is..
within the reality of defined criminality; both
foreign & domestic, no doubt the B.S. can get hectic
and I’m thinking that status of foreign is key
how it impacts on one being free; to me
making a mistake is not an excuse
that’s obtuse
expecting deliverance
from another country’s noose
especially if you into The Game
not knowing the LoD*penalties that’s
usually quite insane, what you thinking?
relatively speaking; homegrown laws
not up for foreign tweaking

picture this, one should
know the risk before entering the frame
it’s like the devil you know and the
devil you don’t know, knowing
both aren’t your friend
while of course hindsight’s saying, “Could’ve
refrained from the sin; but
no, not at all; you went fucking wit them Jinn”

now caught, lessons taught, yet
still without a win
outside one’s jurisdiction
anti-foreign is
the grin

where instead one might’ve
chose to close with some homeland foes
those more familiar with The Game and how risk goes
knowing about tolerated risk and
most of what’s involved; how to
work thru the B.S. getting home-sliced mess resolved
but wrong place at wrong time
that’s what fates all about
wherein most the time a joker’s inclined to
get they ass turned::out::  

Simon_III_Msibi
Mandla Msibi
Thought Provoker
South Africa 5awards
Joined 29th June 2013
Forum Posts: 92

Psalm 23 second version

Yea,
though I walk
through the valley
of the shadow
of death.

I will fear no evil
for thou art with me
even in a foreign country
even when they pity me

I will fear no evil
because I have repented
because you are my lord
and I am your servant

the lord is my sheperd
Even when I choose life
I guess death is close

but I shall fear no evil
because I may be in a foreign land
I will go to a land where I belong

Selah

poet Anonymous

This poem could be about your topic, recently written...





OF SKIN AND OF BLOOD




In your eyes
fires burn of battlefields
You have captured the coldest of hearts
The deepest of snow lays bare
The sun will melt your scars
Of skin and of blood
Now write me that book
with lifelines in it
Whisper me, the wind
That meets, the sea of souls
Through scriptures once foretold
The further inward you go
The more you shall know
Of skin and of blood
And strings of paper wishes
fall like sparrows from your mouth
Come, drape me in your sadness
and sink into the light
The further inward you go
The more you shall know
Of skin and of blood

seekingkate
kateA
Tyrant of Words
Australia 28awards
Joined 20th May 2014
Forum Posts: 2079

you can do something....



five years in this godforsaken place
has taught me many things
first thing, don’t take your life for granted
second thing, this is the only life you’ll get
third thing, and I’ll hang my hat on this one
own your fucking shit
 
nobody owes you a living
no one owes you a thing
I’ll put my hand up
I did what they accuse me of
I’m now the first to admit it
 
I can’t lay the blame at anyone’s feet
I can’t say my immaturity made me do it
I was a fucking idiot
I’ve realized that term belongs squarely at my feet
my choices put it there
no one forced me to do it
 
being locked up here can send you crazy
it nearly did but then I made a conscious decision
I chose to live the best life I can
I searched deep within my soul and
I can truly say I’ve experienced the measure of who I am
I’m a man who stands tall and is counted
It’s shocked some to see who i've become
such a change from the arrogant prick I was
 
If I could turn back time
I wouldn’t hesitate
but what’s done is done
I did the crime, with my eyes wide open
for years I’ve been doing the time
but here, it’s not one of life imprisonment
 
don’t cry for me
we must all die sometime
give thanks I finally found the real me
I got to know him, live with him in close proximity
I was able to show those around me who I truly am
I could experience their love
and return it tenfold
 
I wish it didn’t have to end this way
but you can do something to help me
to help me on my way
I'm alone in this world
I don’t think anyone will grieve me
so please, say prayers when I cross over
I don’t want to feel alone on my journey
 
 















summultima
uma
Dangerous Mind
India 34awards
Joined 3rd Feb 2012
Forum Posts: 1301

 no more fictitious, these hard-line Basilistans  


In search of better design of destiny
straightening his black and white stickers:
from unlucky charms to idleness tags
for fruition of his only crop, His Love
Sreela, His eternal duration staple
waits for his timely embrace
of an impossible harvest

parenchymatous polity, fills deep
in weak reeds thriving  
on profiting superficialities, cellulite minds
tear apart
love
to their games

Chandru daring extremes
as almost always own land underrates home talents
giving scores of disappointment

explores the land of distant unknowns without a hint
of landmine triggers even in airs
Chameleonic lands trap him
in Nepenthes blooms as
locust swarms of unscrupulous pollen dusts
sticks unaware as baseless crimes

their luring bloodred desert sands
gain hues from such gullible preys

his blind days in underground caves
have defenseless innocents in multitudes
not a shred of filamentous light ray enters
blacksheep rulers stage hardline plays
render them creatures  unpardonable

he now awaits the gruesome
capital punishment, open street
butchering, more to terrorize
their own and all round world folks
in curbs of an enslaving silence

And true to tinsel fiction, there's
this rescuing angel just for him
in Sreela His Love, both rebeling
to a brave escapade from hell

now

Whose there for two such real-life  
taken, Sukumaran and Chan, in hunts
on (deceiving) white Bali sands
waiting death rows hours from now
Who will stop those open fire arrogance
of a (cheap-flexing) hardline nation
that may be shockingly in tolerance
as a safe turf terrorist haven




[P.s: Note1: above write is an inspiration/derivation taken from a non-english (tamil)film’s fictious plot (link: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Yaan_%28film%29#Plot), that much affected me & which is somewhat similar to case of Sukumaran & Chan. Have used link’s lead character names in poem, Chandru & Sreela & its fictitious nation Basilistan
Note 2: poem indicates my personal views, not vindictive of a particular nation or outfits]

Naturally_SpokeN
Strange Creature
United States
Joined 1st May 2015
Forum Posts: 15

I’m the true meaning of “time waits for no man”
10 years and I’m still trapped in this foreign land.
Who knew one mistake could take away life of a young man…
When I entered this cave I was nothing more than a young man
Over the years I have completely transformed, I've grew into someone who has helped many men.
My mind is screaming help me, less then 72 hours my soul will be unwillingly set free. No longer are my future years apart of me.
I can’t even focus on one day at a time, I’m forced to live each min like its life, time ticking but I’m tired of this fight.
4320 minutes left, I’ll use each minute to pray for those souls that will continue to inhale the next breath.
These lost thoughts are most important to me; enjoy the precious time you have left because at any moment that one mistake can turn into 10 years, 72 hours, and a shot you fearfully can’t escape.

MadameLavender
Guardian of Shadows
United States 86awards
Joined 17th Feb 2013
Forum Posts: 5594

A Diaspora Of Time


Time spreads out, maddeningly, slow motion,
that I may feel the prick of each second
flying by—
hurried, fleeting, like the ever-changing human
landscapes on the streets of
New York City.  A kaleidoscope of souls wandering
in and out—

I am scattered from my homeland, but I am
going home,
to the other end of Eternity, from which
I came.

There is no justice here, only rogues
in judges’ robes and kangaroo-courts,
while the hands on the clock go
round, pointing,
accusing…
passing all the numbers on its face; my face.

All my numbers are up.  I am the Diaspora
of Time.  I become
Time and it becomes me.  We are floating
together toward the light, leaving
the sweaty stink of the prison walls
to corral everyone else’s cries.

But not mine.

My soul has buckled its knees, sliding
to the dusty floors, like the dirty rivulets
of water,  tracing paths between the cracks
in the bars.

No hood, thank you—
I prefer to watch the bullet exit
the barrel, and countdown the nanoseconds
as it slices through air and time, rippling
in a spray of red confetti and fireworks behind
my eyes.  

I’m going home now.

The clock still waits for others, and the wind comes,
but the lawyers, guns and money* never did, and somewhere
someone sings a Warren Zevon song.



(*reference to Warren Zevon's "Lawyers, Guns and Money" song about being imprisoned in a foreign land)

hardallover
Twisted Dreamer
United States 3awards
Joined 20th Mar 2011
Forum Posts: 62

Myuran Sukumaran

like my art
my impact
will be great.
new laws on reform
I will create.
all because
I have changed
in a system that
has not-
I transformed while imprisoned,
waiting to be shot.

BoFantastic
Thought Provoker
7awards
Joined 24th Apr 2014
Forum Posts: 333

What A Charming Inmate

I'll beat your ass before I disobey God
put me in the cell or in the chair, life isn't fair, life is hard
but I won't sob, I finish the job
convict me and imprison me for dreaming
I never stole no hopes, I never made no deals
but I kill everything and everyone who's scheming
double trouble and triple teaming
disappearing from the life sentence like Houdini
Shawshank my way out the box rub out the genie
on this island the laws is different, they don't play no games
prisoners go missing, mission impossible, improbable missions
they tap every thing, and every body's listening
silent farts get recorded, and in the morning you get sorted
don't test the guards and don't smile at the lifers
a death sentence is lenient, on this island there's vipers
and rooftop snipers
the law is different no lawyers can twist it
it is ruled by a monster who loves the taste of criminals
foreigners beware steer clear of the jackals in the jungle
on this island they don't play no games
you best start planning a prison break
or march in the Reaper's parade
but they won't catch me dying in prison
my name's etched in the walls, sun rises and moon falls
my brains causing a shit storm cataclysm
a miracle on 34th street
but a blood bath in prison







lanooz
Twisted Dreamer
United States 14awards
Joined 21st July 2012
Forum Posts: 240

Goodbye


No need to imagine
death row. Reality.
For what, a mistake?
Death on a beautiful
island, the dream?
It was admitted,
served my time
ten year rehabilitation,
for fellow prisoners
I did the same,
has God forgiven?
My only concern
before departure.
I appreciate your
prayers and opinions,
tremendous support
before the hour of
doom. Scent me brave.
The facts remain a
knot of discovery
but love is my army.
Psychotic license,
turn me away tonight?
A smile is hard to find
as I wipe these tears
away with hope.
I want to live!!!
Give me morning,
life is my territory,
don't dampen the sun,
I want it to stay
but government is blind.
In an infinite stream
I am only but a drop,
so long  my people,
goodbye my dreams.














snagz_raud
Lost Thinker
Kenya
Joined 29th Apr 2015
Forum Posts: 15

sitted at the edge of the corner
on a rusty iron chair
thoughts are racing
words on my mind
rhyme to my heart beat
mixed feelings, emotions and thoughts
haunting my spirit
what should I do
I'm I ready to die
if I repent my sins will I see heaven
Does God really exist

i remain silent
make peace with myself
for oh! Lord I've not been a saint
but still I am his creation

I'm paying my dues for Karma is real
my life the ultimate price
for abducting bread from its owner
I won't seek clemency
from the men who have condemned me to this fateful price
who gave them the right to take a life
may the lord forgive me for the wrongs I've done
I stand from my rasty chair
move to the window
let the rays of sun wash my fears away
I shall fall with honour unlike them  
who condemn and kill a man for taking bread belonging to one with adequately sufficient
with plenty for maggots and flies
to save a child
being vampire strungled and sucked by the fangs of hunger.


Atakti
Tyrant of Words
32awards
Joined 1st Aug 2012
Forum Posts: 3273

Empty Hands


I left home four thousand days ago,
on a trip planned for just seven.
"See you soon!" we said,
and parked the car at the airport.

A few hundred phone calls reduced my life
measurements to eight by six foot long
in white brickwork.
Lights on, off, bells and clangs chop and slice our time.

The night persists in its viciousness,
bringing me faces of my mother, my father, my wife, my children.
Too easily the strain marks their mouths,
the distance shreds their nerves.

Their despair sits bitterly on my tongue
and I cannot undo it.
The weeks and months crush them and I work hard
to tip the scales a fraction the other way.

We [never] run out of time.

Until the days crumble to seventy-two hours.
Will the clock not twist back to years?
Mercy haunts us, transparent and faint,
stripping me bare of past and future.

Minutes left, choking the last breaths of hope,
nameless figures suck the air from dry lips.
My torment ends with a crack.
My family's sentence of mourning begins.


Atakti
Tyrant of Words
32awards
Joined 1st Aug 2012
Forum Posts: 3273

I ran out of time, because irony doesn't take Sundays off.

Do with my entry what you will.

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