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Prose of a Con

Poetry and Prose by Russell Wardlow

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Mercy

Belly of the Beast

November 26, 2020 by Russell Wardlow Leave a Comment

Deception, the etymology of her dialect

she sang like sirens

luring me blissfully into my demise

fatefully alerted to the fangs of her promises

my surrender was savored

eyeing the glistening venom oozing from her salivation

serenaded to a triumphant laughter

lifelessly frozen in her deadly clutches

victory and animas adorning her gaze

then her jaws widened grotesquely

consuming all of my sight

blocking even the expansive rays of the sun

turning the day to night almost instantaneously

as I stood, aligned with her tonsils

eerily similar to the shadow of mine

or the shadow I was foreshadowed to become

and with a swooshing sound

accompanied by a vacuuming vortex

her jaws snapped

and fangs jarred, barring down

with my being fatally siphoned from what was once life

once land

once liberation

now lossed, swallowed whole into her belly

where I remained idle

not dead

nor alive by any means

just wasting, while torturously preserved

to relive this consumption in the belly of my beast every day

her thirst rarely quenched

her hunger never satisfied

and heroes are just a fable

because no one can slay this dragon

they only feed her bottomless appetite

hoping she’s appeased

as to not get caught in her caging gaze

bringing down her imprisoning jaws

fearing being enveloped whole

so few rarely dare visit

too scared to risk their lives,

trying to save their lossed loved ones

while distantly crying out that,

“she must be too full by now, let some out!”

but they’ve seen love swallowed whole,

without regard, time and time again

and all that lies left

is a thick dreary fog of,

fear, contempt and hopelessness

the dragon has even been known to consume those as well

there’s truly no escape, inside or out

you either feed her

or get fed to her

and just like her servers,

her hunger knows no bounds

so life remains bleak and dark for most

because there’s no light inside the belly of the beast

Filed Under: Love, Mercy, Spirit

Unheralded Nebraska Corrections

November 23, 2020 by Russell Wardlow Leave a Comment

Everyone flies over

walks past

or stops by

this middle America

Nebraska

our crime lowered

but imprisonment steadily increases

we’re in a state of emergency

having second most overpopulated correctional system

155% over capacity

with a parole board clinging to inmates

like overly attached parents

but no one cares

no one sees

we’re one of few states left with a parole board

a unicameral red state

big money made from our incarcerated bodies

though worldwide attention is only given to bordering states

but Nebraska has BEEN in need of prison and parole reform

approx 850 inmates still incarcerated past their parole eligibility

yet the answer is to build more beds

or construct another prison

staffing still a problem

most states have no parole board

when eligible, you leave

Nebraska is the quiet evil left to their own devices

flying under the radar

our last hope, Senator Ernie Chambers, just termed out

where do we go from here…but in

because we definitely aren’t getting out!

so can we get some attention

what’s a border, without a middle anyway

Filed Under: Culture, Inside, Mercy, Trauma

Drugged

November 22, 2020 by Russell Wardlow Leave a Comment

Drugs or die

do drugs or die

doing drugs cuz I wanna die

doing drugs cuz I feel dead already

doing drugs cuz I’m scared to feel death

life hurts, death shouldn’t

just say no

it’s harder to say no in prison

plus im coping with drugs

but you say “don’t do drugs”

so I go to your therapy

but to remedy my diagnoses

your therapist prescribes me drugs

I got the message loud and clear

don’t do drugs that you don’t profit from

all addicts know their drug dealers

but I don’t know you

so why should I listen

how are yours different?

drugs

drug dealers

you’re all the same

only difference-

one provides peaceful escape

the other forces it

and life…

well it just seems I have no choice but to cope

so who got the best dope?!

Filed Under: Culture, Inside, Mercy, Trauma

Avarice Society

November 21, 2020 by Russell Wardlow Leave a Comment

Why is it so hard for us to create healthy changes to our perception, thinking and values? As we evolve, so should our vantage and therefore perception of what was before and then now…

We have an embarrassment of riches that we expend to extinction while exploiting to position ourselves within economic superiority creating ethnical inferiority towards ethnical minorities all the while becoming ethical apologists.

Even with our wealth of civil liberties, we are like children with so much play time and no scheduled nap, running ourselves into deep, perceptual sleep and conscious fogs dangerously towards chaotic negligence with our fatiguing faculties and clarity, therefore less capable to avoid accident or self destruction.

Our values are boasted with such ignorance and entitlement that the idea of limiting what was once sacrificed, fought and bled for, now believed owed you just sounds crazy. We can’t see beyond our own feet and that’s the problem, because our world is interconnected and therefore interdependent.

Just as we crazily defy orders to keep ourselves and others safe because our lack of freedom and sliming resources, we begin to see the poignantly cruel mirror of urban communities which lash out in ethnic and tribal violence for the competing of resources within their dystopic prisons, while you judge from a distance their behaviors, believing they have equal share rights and access to the pie that all and you yourself have, possibly even more since you believe their assistance is so much more of an advantage to your perceived lack there of.

We are hurting ourselves now and generationally but we can’t see past our own needs and bottomless cravings, filling our bellies and eyes.

And people are stir crazy because depth foundation and substance has long since left their life with the introduction of instant gratification on crack with technology, feeding affinities and avarice of entertainment, money, thirst, hunger and lust, the spiritual or deep tissue nature of our beings, rooted in our emotions and spirituality have calcified with this instant gratification and distantly close or closely distant world we live in, where access is everywhere and longevity and it’s process is torture and archaic to the pallid of our society.

We can’t spend extra time with our families and loved ones, let alone ourselves because families have lost their bond and need of one another with all the surface bandaids used to heal neglected familial issues and internal pains for the sake of appearing fine. Avoidance being remedy while barely making it through each day, let alone the next perceived struggle, threat, or possibility of abandonment.

Oh and love is just as flat and a reflection of ones own vanity and projection of emotional torment disguised in affirmations of “I love you”.

And spending time with self is as avoided as the mirror until its time to make up the mask for the day that you’re supposed to seize.

This quarantine time isolated has become disdained and haunting because the skeletons, elephants, ghosts and glass houses with stone driveways we try to keep hidden, and we have become every bit of our work and our online perception than our cores truth or the pursuit there of.

Oh but this is such the life of a prisoner…dealing with your pain daily just in the waking and sleeping in the constance of your torment and the reality of your anger, shame, guilt, loneliness, pain, losses, grief and mistakes, people hide here too, but even though we make a life in the insanity of an inhumane situation, we never lose site of our imprisonment which the world long has. And now that it is being shown to you, everyone is in abject denial trying to resist the physical dwellings of an opportunity for decompression and separation which should be a time to exhale, reassess, heal, and visualize, but is now a time of seeking an escape back into escapism which was in the many roles outside of your homes, to where you will jeopardize you, your family and neighbors own safety for the sake of your makeshift and delusional, misguided and shallowly contrived sanity.

Change is a sickness somehow, evolution is a cancer, and growth is a fairytale that distracts from the stunting of your purpose.

No one has reason and cause is but circumstantial sensitive and sensationalized.

But the question is, does this have to be and therefore stay your reality?

Can there be a catalyst or revelation of some sort providing a sustainable formula for a better life and existence…sustainable in the sense of satisfying ones needs without diminishing depth, value and the prospects of future generations, a paraphrased definition of sustainability from Lester Brown of the WorldWatch Institute… how can we create sustainable communities–social and cultural environments in which we can satisfy our needs and aspirations without diminishing the chances of future generations…

Well for one I would say, start seeing the interconnectedness and interdependence of human life and human beings and therefore the systems we create and live within, whether religion, education, politics, science, philosophy, business, health care, and everyday life, because if these systems don’t evolve along with our new generations then we would be using outdated methods and world views to fix modern day problems, which if you broke that down and thought about it correctly, that would add to another definition of insanity which is, ” when new cures exist, cure a new pain with an expired or outdated medicine, yet still expect to be cured”.

When there is an inability to change ones perception, thinking and values then there can be no clear cure readily available or for that matter, even imaginatively feasible.

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

Contempt Contentment

November 20, 2020 by Russell Wardlow Leave a Comment

Right before I enter my room

I look into it’s narrow window

and it’s small, confined

claustrophobic dwelling-

for any human with possessions-

and realize I have nothing.

This is what it is

and I have to succumb

and make do with this near nothingness

and still venture to find a smile in the day

and a ray of hope in the tomorrow

while possessing myself

with beliefs of normalcy

of what is now my reality

in order to not to go crazy

and I do this all in a matter of nano seconds

so fluently

as if it was never even pondered for a moment

fooling myself at times

believing this is my life

my room

my place

but this is prison

and I have to accept it,

because if I choose not to,

then what…?

Filed Under: Culture, Inside, Mercy, Trauma

Pressure

November 13, 2020 by Russell Wardlow Leave a Comment

Ran from too many lectures and pressures, back pressed to the fire exit doors

Jump through so many hoops just to stay level and settle scores

while you act as if you walk across rose pedaled floors

I see your gestures-

Sequestered by your suggestions and measured questions you press me for

then stoking my ego as if you know what I’m destined for

though you treat me with the same love I got arrested for

you rob me of it-

yea yea I’m special

I’m ghetto

a rebel

I revel at revolting

but that’s only before the ship tips over

I got this chip on my shoulder

it’s hard to keep from getting colder

besides what’s a heart on a sleeve when I’m frozen?

I know the gift I behold only emboldens

if struggle is the route for exposure, then I’m the chosen

so if you live in a glass house, better stick to skipping pebbles in the ocean

but you are what you throw, and rocks are corrosive

I’m sending my notice

I’m coming world, in case you don’t know it

my belief system is growing

my passion symptoms has me glowing

my peers say that I’m showing

fears dissipating each moment

the portrait I portray doesn’t betray me no longer

I’m only getting stronger

the longer I’m holding on

better sound the alarm

unless you’re counting on karma

but I’m shrouded in armor

that won’t allow you to harm me

or down me like insoluble salts

I’ve drowned out your intolerable taunts

me and the mirror have held countless invaluable talks

I know where I’m headed

I know where my head is

I know my direction

a piece of coal doesn’t die stressing

it sheds into a diamond, and a diamonds defies, it doesn’t digress

so walking within this mine has been my test

as long as I could come out on the other side, where I can shine best

only thing left, is the pressure of your judgmental foot on my neck!

Filed Under: Culture, Inside, Love, Mercy, 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.

Read More

  • Evolving Dream January 15, 2021
  • I Am U December 8, 2020
  • One last time December 7, 2020
  • This Sys-tem December 5, 2020
  • Concentration Camps December 4, 2020

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