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Prose of a Con

Poetry and Prose by Russell Wardlow

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Culture

Transparent

August 12, 2017 by Russell Wardlow Leave a Comment

Transparent
No parents
And what’s apparent 
A product of my environment – I’m a parrot
But now.. I’m a Parent

Filed Under: Culture, Inside, Trauma

Overdose

August 1, 2017 by Russell Wardlow Leave a Comment

Notice me
Know this me
Know this thing
That we call love
Dopamines
Dope to me
Overdose..

Filed Under: Culture, Love, Spirit

Eyes Open

July 21, 2017 by Russell Wardlow 1 Comment

Eyes open with no view in here

Hate fumed with the many hues in here

Closed minds with no room in here

The putrid perfume of doom looms in here

Time stole my dreams, no Martin Luther here

Pictures of my ex-stowed away like souvenirs

Lockdown, lights out

Loved ones barely write now

My sons are riding bikes now

My ex and baby mama got new dudes that they like now

Out of sight, out of mind

Out for mine, alpha mind

Make fire from the alkalines, just to cloud my mind

From these guys with their hand signs pantomimed

I’m dazed in this maze from my ways but I’ve paid the for the price

But dear Lord, I only feel safest at night.

 

 

Filed Under: Culture, Inside, Mercy, Trauma

High Strung

July 15, 2017 by Russell Wardlow Leave a Comment

I got the news-

You said the bruise was from a night of booze

The freedoms we lose by the allegiance we choose

What you viewed was a ruse – looted and polluted solutions

An arubics of gruesome illusions

With abuse that looms and consumes

Like a drug… withdraw or cope?

Confusing, the metaphysical intrusions

An emotional nuance or nuisance, fused with

The hue of jewels, inside of a tomb, tied to a noose

On the neck of a muse, just to amuze

And hide the truth

What beauty would blind

With your mind consumed, you viewed your doom,

Proof- to the delusions of love- the knot in the rope.

Filed Under: Culture, Inside, Trauma

Black is the New Black

July 15, 2017 by Russell Wardlow Leave a Comment

Black feet- black cleats- Athlete- Black dreams

Black fleece- bah bah black sheep- black swan

Black Maybach, black man in the back seat- black streets

Black mask- black duffle bag- black thundercat

If money is over everything..then name everything under that

Black heart- black eyes – black tar, add veins

Black pain- back pain- got a lotta weight on me,

And my family waiting on me- so it’s hard to be patient

Pacing- angst in fate- facing hate- placing blame

Ached with shame- chasing gains- til you make it rain-

Til you make a name- but still, oiled skin,

Add rain, black horse, add reins- black trophies,

Add chains, green paper, add change- black life, add strain

Black face, add vain- black hoodie, add aim!

Filed Under: Culture, Spirit

I Know

July 11, 2017 by Russell Wardlow Leave a Comment

I know how it feels to lose it all –

Because of a mistake or have it taken from you

To withdraw – you don’t feel any part of your heart

Not that it’s breaking, it’s just breaking from you

To feel naked, vacant, ached and displaced

When facing something or someone adjacent to you

To lose faith – but that’s satan or your own creation

Taking up space so revelations don’t make it to you.

Filed Under: Culture, Inside, Love, Mercy, Spirit, Trauma

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Prose of a Con

Prose of a Con is a collection of Russell Wardlow’s prose and poetry written entirely behind bars. Through writings on family, spirituality, freedom, love, justice, redemption, and vulnerability, Russell seeks to show the humanity and hope of individuals like himself who are incarcerated.

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