Before dawn

I did my sit ups, curls, push ups, back arms and leg work. Made a cup of coffee, with cream and sugar-free chocolate. Looking out the thin thick window I see does... deer under the boulder tree, nibbling around in the extra dry brown grasses and weeds, mingling in the long leaves of the tree. The deer are unimpressed by the prison trucks and cars that pass by. Autumn with a late spring sun. I haven't seen any bucks around the does under the tree. Perhaps all three are young deer and their sex is not yet expressed.

Read the Bird Blog for more nature observations!

Rain

Poem by one of my students and friend.

Wind blows harder

Colder

Green grass tilts its bodies

Windward.

Pigeons line up

On the roof

Enjoying the first rain

Waited year long.

We, two people

One mood. One plight

In the corner

Talking, watching.

People passing by

Clinking sound of keys

Of the gate keeper

Walking to and fro.

Gate opens

Group of people

Walk outside

Chattering. Laughing.

Rain has stopped
Sometimes ago
Suddenly
Downpour.

On clothes
On shoulders
On faces
On our lives. 

KP.NVL
Van Nguyen

Today's lesson

I held my prose class today, and did I did a lesson on; What is compassion? What is empathy? I wanted the fellows to relate both states to their individual lives. Some cats went straight to a denotative meaning of both words. Other students went to the denotatíve religious and philosophical meanings, giving the questions no flavor or personality at all. I had given the questions open ended. One guy, an old writer did personalize both compassion and empathy into a story about a lady who helped drug addicts and prostitutes in San Francisco.

I asked for at least two paragraphs. At the end of the writing period I spoke about the importance of making the lesson their own. The compassion and empathy, make the states personal, and see what they come up with. I asked was not empathy encompassed within compassion? Can there be compassion without empathy, was the homework.

Peace Gang - Thank you

Greetings Peace G. family friends and realness folks. Thank you for your thoughts, vibes and blessings. Thanks for continually being a part of the realness struggles to keep human rights, rights of all people, regardless of color or gender in the forefront of the realness struggles. You are definitely an inspiratin for me and always bring me out of a funk, a deep sadness and mild depression. Your thoughts, vibes, heart and meditations help heal me and not to allow the sadness to stay and build a life long nest in my heart, mind and spirit, even though, so many years in physical prison makes it tougher now a days to come out of the funk.

But, I keep creating, glowing and growing. Love and light to brothers and sisters imprisoned around the world especially lifers, LWOP's and those on Death Row.

May the people, the States who love to kill and execute people, soon love to love. Keep sending out realness, love, healing and light. Keep growing and glowing!

A breeze

Sitting in front of art room and feeding the birds as Marty runs his visual art classes. The sparrows, cowbirds and blackbirds come inside the chain-linked fence. The pigeons try to come under the fence and I run them off.

Today I am more at peace with myself than yesterday. At first there was fog on the Folsom hill where the trees that we see or cannot see determines whether there is program or not. The sun broke through and is generous with his rays. There is an about 10 – 15 degree breeze which is nice on the skin. It makes me think of a hug that dispels the loneliness. One can choose not to be lonely but sometimes loneliness gives you no choice.

Art Room - Music

What a day full of song, poetry and music. Diane Patterson came in to do an all the way real concert and brought two of her poetic musical friends, Sara Tone & The Earth Tribe Gospel and Al Torre medicine music bringing tunes to the heart and soul of the men here. Bringing poetry and lyrics that smashes the B.S. and leaves the heart open to hoping. I sat back after the concert and now in the art room I watched our guests check out the previous guest artist wall. Al Torre spoke of Kimberly Bass and flow notion and Sara Tone spoke of Michael Franti. Diane has from the beginning been a part of the art room and a welcome part of my writing classes and has often visited my poetry class as a guest artist sharing her incredible lyrics, songs poetry and prose. So glad I was not on lockdown to miss Diane Patterson and her friends. A blessing and I am sure  Earth Mother is so proud.

Stay real!

(written in November)

Stay Cool

There is a mean hateful officer running the rotunda where I and my co-worker run the weekend guitar check out program. He hates that prisoners have any programs and make things as hard as he can to disrupt the programs. I remember what my long time friend Karin from Sweden tells me, be nice and stay real and not curse anyone out. She is correct, because I give away my peace, realness or power over my realness and love when I get angry and express that anger through verbal insults. So I stayed cool and thankful. Instead of participating in the negative game, that could get me locked up in the hole, I took my flute, some bread, cookies and prison silence and sat down up against the small wall and fed my blackbird and cowbird friends and communed with Earth Mother. The sky was sweet and cool, but my heart, soul and spirit warm and cosy with realness. There are always peaceful, growthful healing ways to express or sublimate anger.

Dreads

I am on lockdown now just because I have dreads. Yesterday there was a fight on the yard between some crips from down south and some blacks from Bay area up north. So they locked all the blacks down to sort things out. However, instead of taking me off lockdown like they did all other blacks not from this groups, they kept me on lockdown and listed me Bay area, non affiliate, or non gang member. I have never been in the Bay area, 35 years ago I came to prison straight away from Barstow, San Bernadino county in southern California. I tried to have them fix their known mistake. I am from Barstow and run alone and never have been a gang member. The prison officials even knowing that as a fact, told me I must file a 2200 appeal form to get off lockdown. They know that will take awhile to be processed, besides they know I am not from the Bay area and know I am not a gang member.

So today and tomorrow I'll be deprived of teaching my classes. If someone was coming to visit me I cannot get my visit. How do they get away with such madness unchecked by any outside source.

Of course I will survive this. I hope whoever was coming to visit me didn't let this madness discourage them. I have never run with any group in prison and administrators know that to be a fact. I wanted to get in as many classes and hang out with as many of my bird friends as I could before I am transferred. So this evil move by prison officials to place me in a box I have no business in has dampened my heart and spirit some. There need to be real oversight on prison officials when they do outlandish and unjustified actions on prisoners. Prisoners just doing their time. It is sad when an administration of prison officials know what the correct thing to do is, and not do it. They know what the honest and real thing to do is, and yet do the wrong.

Redemptive Solitude - A Question of Justice

Drawing by Spoon

The question of justice and equal treatment for the poor, prisoners and people of color in America is absurd, and all the pundits, lawyers, judges, activists and legal folks know that. Historically, it is a question of power and a question of games.

What is most disturbing to me, is how hard it is for the public in America to see how prison is inherently retributive, evil, unforgiving and a deterrent. When prisons need to be more than just an ugly place. If the public used their senses, empirical and empathic, they would know how important some kind of positive flow is.

If individual members of the public spent a few hours, a night or a day in a cell, perhaps in solitary confinement they would realize how deep the wounds are and go. The public would then see no need to heap punishment upon punishment on people already dispirited and beaten down by their actions and losses in life. Being deprived of family contact, indeed human contact is like being denied sunshine for a life time. The concentration of all this negative energy into one place without any positive outlets for prisoners can be stifling, particularly to the human spirit. It is like a saucer of water in a boiling Mojave desert. God gave Satan a second chance even in hell.

The early Quakers had a proper idea about justice and solitude as a place of redemption. The Quakers in 1826 originally thought when they created the first penitentiary that aloneness with a bible and a tiny sun roof was enough to reform folks.

The solitude could have been productive and redemptive had it been an all inclusive healing form of solitude. Yes, spiritually, meditatively based. They had a proper intent, but the wrong format. The Quakers did not know how prison life was, how it can be a continually expanding pit. They did not know how lifeless solitary confinement can be when orchestrated by politics, government and a justice system that creates a nasty form of isolation. Solitude made out of punishment and inhumanity can never be productive.

No beings, human or not, should be kept in cages without any interaction with other human beings or nature. Such alienation can only lead to

dysfunction, mental and spiritual health problems. Just like the overcrowding of institutions are equally horrible and inhumane.

Respected solitude can be just and enlightening and not much different than monks or nuns, shamans or other folks seeking healing and communion with spirit and self. It can be a means of growth and forgiveness of souls suffering through the solitude.

But, isolation based on revenge, money, punishment and retribution cannot heal people. The solitude must be a blessed space of aloneness, and allow people to meet with people, spirits to meet with spirits, and hearts to meet with hearts. If you take away all that makes one human, how do you expect them to be human, and balance their one foot in darkness and one foot in light.

If the goal of penitentiaries are to redeem, heal and self rehabilitate, the solitude, treatment and justice must be an all inclusive meditative space of realness. The animal inside all humans suffer horribly without human contact and respected space with visits, exercise, meditation, arts, books, education, family, friends and nature to heal and bring about justice in America's prison system of politics and injustice. Justice must be a living and breathing healing entity, like Mother Earth.

At Night I Fly – PBS denied

I just found out today in the art room that At Night I Fly has been denied acceptance on American PBS stations. At Night I Fly was a finalist on Point Of View PBS program. We had two guests today in the art room, and I had just read my poems Go On, No Beauty in Cell bars and Not a Poet. I was in a splendid free flowing poetry reading mood, until Jim Carlson, free staff who helps keep alive the art programs, that PBS did not accept the film. My poetic heart dropped like a boulder in a pond. I was too choked up with feelings to do anymore poems, even after Jim asked me to read my poem At Night I Fly. For the cool guests we had there in the art room, one of them spoke of how there are internet things that can be done to bring the film to a USA audience.

Not that I expected an American PBS to do anything less than it did. Yet, I believe in realness and know that film eats raw meat.

I had to step outside of the art room, take deep breaths and commune with my bird friends and the sky. I do not understand the USA's non acceptance of the film At Night I Fly. But, I also do not understand the USA's non acceptance of my work.

This film has won two top awards in Sweden. I know Sweden is a small country, but still. The film has gathered great reviews in other countries as well. Still not even the smallest film festivals in America have accepted the film. Too much realness, I imagine and not enough fomented violence for a USA audience that love to bash prisoners and people of color. If the film was full of us cutting each other's throats USA would have treasured the film.

It breaks my heart, not for me, but for my brother Michel from Sweden, and others who put so much life, hard work, and truth into this unique production. I'll keep being real and spreading realness no matter what. Even if America never accepts me or my work, I value more what folks think and believe around the world. Stay real – Peace G is love and creativity. We'll keep flowing.

Writing classes

I have both my prose and poetry classes up and running sometimes twice a week. I'm trying to get in as many classes as possible before I'm transferred. One of the visiting teaching artists, Anna, who is a tremendous writer, artist and mother came in to do her workshops in my class, she is always most welcome and her stories and lessons shared are little gems of realness appreciated by both of my classes. She has come into my class as a guest artist for years. It makes our classes more real. Anna shares the same goal when it comes to teaching, we are all students and teachers, and the most important thing is to write, write, write, to create from your own hearts, lives and worlds in order to share what is universal.

However, it's an end of an era here at New Folsom Art Room. Sure they can find some other prisoners to have classes and One Soul will still come to embrace the art room. No one is irreplaceable and I will be forgotten here. But I will keep walking in my own shoes knowing that when you walk in someone else's shoes you leave no foot prints.

The Edge

If I am crying, I want to sound like I am crying, and be each tear-drop. If I am dying, I want to sound like I am dying and be each death. Today I did my poetry reading, and realness was my edge, my voice, my tone, my feel and flow.

I do memorize and say my poems out loud, but my readings are spontaneous and unrehearsed. I have no set voice, or tone, or standard modulation. I try not to speak too fast, and pronounce my words clearly. Because, I do hope folks get to savor each word, and let the beat and rhythm ring inside them like cello, violin or native flute, letting each word flow its distance in a cadence that blends one word after another. Sometimes I do rush through a reading, because I think, who am I to stand in front of anyone and read poems. Who am I to think what I offer is worthy of anyone's ears. Still I like to engender my own flow in the moment and not be rehearsed or sing-songy, but just let the moments flow as deep and real as it need be.

If I am sad, happy, angry, proud, romantic, sexy, lonely, crazy, melancholic or bitter, I want that flavor to be expressed. I am a river, a bird or a mountain's cry, whatever those moments entail. I believe we all have our own voice, cadence and speech patterns. We must cultivate that realness, that speaking poetry in our own voice. The power of realness, as steel sharpens steel. Today I opened my poetry reading with my poem “Sag” and closed it with my poem “No beauty in cell bars” and my edge was anger.

Invisible

I've been uninspired and invisible for the last few days, indeed for over a week. So much sadness and melancholy sitting in my heart like low clouds or fog in a mountain valley. Not waiting to do anything, feeling too much alone.

I've not been inspired to write even snail mails, something I adore doing.

I'm in a lull and invisible like a fish without eyes in the deepest, darkest depths of the sea. I am full of emotion, actually fears longing to roll out. I am full of passion, love and realness, but no expression. But, as I write this blog I am coming out of this lull and have started my snail mail writing as well.

Michel's visit - At Night I Fly

I've just seen "At Night I Fly" for the first time. I've still not seen the short documentary "Three Poems by Spoon Jackson", that started this film history.

I must say Michel did the best job on the film and I can see why it won the Swedish Oscar and also the second biggest award in Sweden. The piece is amazing, unique, real and a blended balance of art, life prison, and the human condition everywhere.

This film touched on aspects of life and art in a way that transcended stereotypes and hatred. It'ss a blended non sentimental ballad of a film with imagery, art and words. Life and suffering at it's deepest, and most profound levels and at times a bit absurd. Something I'm sure Samuel Beckett and Barney Rosset would have appreciated. The proper balance of imagery, silence and speech which spoke for themselves. Young people are able to see from the film how prison life is and can be and not glorify it. Young folks anywhere in the world can relate to At Night I Fly.

The only thing I'm kicking myself in the ass about is how I could have been more in the film, and could have had an individual interview like the other prisoners in the film, if I would have kept my ego more in check. I was pissed off because there were limits on where I could be filmed. I told Michel the film maker forgive me and my ego for getting in the way of the production at times.

But Michel told me the way I am in the film was not perfect but fitted the entire narrative perfectly. The Spoon I am came across and I am thrilled about that. The film is a blessing. A unique, universal take on humanity, prison life and the arts. How as human beings we are all connected through darkness and light. I could be you and you me. I know it's hard to believe.

Thanks film maker brother Michel, and At Night I Fly.

- - - 

 

If you want to see the films, buy the DVD's here:

At Night I Fly

Three Poems by Spoon Jackson

More about At Night I Fly on this blog:
Why not At Night I Fly, America? 
At Night I Fly - Thank you

Art Room: Rock & Roll

Again I sat in front of the art room reading Paolini's Brisingr Eragon and J.K Rowling's Harry Potter, first book. I thought perhaps I must read one of the H. Potter books to see what all the fuss is about. Inside the art room there's rock-n-roll. It lasts from 8:30 to around 11:00 am. Some wardens, prisoners and free staff passes by and they commented on the singing and no one of them liked the rock-n-roll singing today. The rock-n-roll is so loud sometimes you can still hear it down the corridor and on the yard. I sit and commune with the birds and warm breeze. The free staff supervisor sits outside too, during the rock-n-roll session. The blues session takes over at around 11:30. The door is left open to let the blues flow into the breeze and corridor, not closed like when the rock band plays. I like all kinds of music, blues and rock. I just want to be blown away by it.

New release

Spoon's poem Go On is one of the poems in a new anthology called "Too cruel, not unusual enough". SF Bay View writes: "This book, about to be released, is made up of essays and poems by prisoners sentenced to “the other death penalty,” the long, slow, agonizing death of life in prison without hope of parole. This poem by Spoon Jackson is one of them. The editor and co-editors are also serving LWOP sentences, and the cover was designed by a prison artist."

Clinic Politics - Health Care/Diabetic

The four pillars to good diabetic health are: diet, wholesome food, exercise, and monitoring of your diabetic status. I found out in 2003 that I am a Type II diabetic as I literally peed out sugar water. At times, my sugar level can be high or low, sometimes within the same day, expressing itself by making me lightheaded, faint, or giving me headaches. Due to injury to my hip and back, I was unable to walk down to Medical for a few days and I missed my diabetic treatment. When my hip and back healed enough to walk back down to the clinic, the nurse who runs the diabetic checks convinced the doctor to stop my diabetic morning treatment. I heard she said it was too much work. All the nurse does is hand over the finger stick and record the findings. How hard can that be?

Over the years here, I have met a couple nurses who had over 20 years experience inside prisons and in the outside world. Both nurses quit because they said they were not able to nurse, to do their jobs as best they can, because of the clinic politics. Both nurses retired or moved on to outside jobs. One shared with me, with tears in her eyes, the frustration of trying to do their jobs and be real nurses. The real nurses are not with the politics.

We are stuck here in prison with some nurses and doctors who do treatment on paper and in quotas and not according to any medical oaths as doctors and nurses in health care. Why be in health care anywhere if you don’t care?

I have observed that many nurses here at New Folsom just want to do the least amount of work as possible. They complain that diabetic treatment takes up too much time. Sadly, some nurses and doctors are here just for the big money and are not concerned about patients anymore than slavers were concerned about the education of slaves.

To make their jobs easier, some nurses will do anything not to call a prisoner down to the clinic to tend to the prisoner’s health. This is in order not to appear weak or to show genuine concern for a prisoner’s health. Some nurses’ and doctors’ main concerns are custody issues and not the health of prisoners. So why are they in health care?

Prison doctors and nurses have no real checks and balances, except other nurses and doctors who are questionable themselves. There used to be healthy diabetic trays back in the ‘60s, ‘70s, and part of the ‘90s. But they stopped the diet dishes to redirect that money toward the health care practitioners who barely do their jobs. Nurses and doctors who try to impress custody with how bad nasty they can treat prisoners, or to get out of treating us at all.

As diabetics here at New Folsom, we are only given the same breakfast, lunch, and dinner as non-diabetics. We have been advised not to consume most of the food on the trays and what’s left does not sustain one throughout the entire day.

The health care folks I have among my friends and family contacts in the free world, said I should be getting a special diabetic diet. And my sugar levels should be checked each day. I should be getting supplements to lower or raise my sugar levels as needed. None of this happens.

© Spoon Jackson
First published in SJRA Advocate September issue 2012

Reprinted with permission of Barbara Brooks, SJRA Advocate monthly prison newsletter.

Art Room

Only one person came to check out a guitar today to play on the small yard. So I sat outside the art room and watched the sky and barked sweetly at the crows, and played my flute. Prisoners went upstairs to visit*. I tossed the geese, pigeons and black birds my bread. I had a special treat for my crow friend. There weren't any sparrows today on the backyard. So I went to the front yard and found a group of spring sparrows and watched, tweeted at them and shared the cookie I had brought for the crow. I could sit all day long under a shade tree and ponder or read.

*to the visiting room

Bird Stuff in August

Read seven new August posts on the Bird Blog.

Follow Spoon

Drawing by Spoon

Follow Spoon on Twitter. His tweets also appear on Facebook.

Back on lockdown

Unlock had lifted and I was just about to start my writing classes, but now all blacks on C-yard are back on race based lockdown. They say a correctional cop and a prisoner had a fight or something. Don't have any details. I have to go back to deep writng and reading.


Notice
This particular lockdown only lasted 3 or 4 days. No lockdown now, though the prison has cancelled all night programming. Given what's happening on C Facility, it's good Spoon (and other LWOPs) will be transferred to somewhat lower security prisons fairly soon.

Beyond I

Drawing by Spoon

Shakespeare said,

when sorrows come

they come not as single spies

but in battalions

The lion in me is roaring

this morning, alone

but feeling all the inhumanity

of prison

I am constantly embracing

sorrows and letting them go

inviting in sunshine and spring

inviting in sweet summer rains

But this year sorrows outnumber

the rain drops and keep coming

like run-away trains

I keep embracing the sorrows

and letting them go

hoping for the best

hoping for some rest

Space to keep dreaming

Space to keep being real

Time to keep healing

Time to keep being love

Beyond labels and names

I'll keep being

until I am beyond sorrows

and pain

until I am beyond heartache

and hate

until I am beyond I

The beast in me

at peace

a calm stream in a placid

valley

© Spoon Jackson

End of an era

Here at New Folsom Art room/AIC (Arts In Corrections) it's an en end of an era because they are making it impossible for LWOP to program here unless you are a trouble maker in constant trouble. They are changing C-yard to a non programming yard and transferring all long term programmers. So Marty, Ken, Spoon, Marco who run the Arts In Corrections classes, we are all up for transfer and probably all be gone by the end of the year. Not that any of us are indispensable, just that there wont be an Art room or yard to do art programs. So, I hope Alaskans and anyone else who has been a part of AIC/Art room and wants to see us together for the last time will come in as soon as possible. "Big C" who ran singing classes has already been transferred.

Bird Blog

Read new posts on the Bird Blog

Lockdown, ten months

They have eased up some on the lockdown only to unleash their next phase in their plan to continue making this yard a non programming yard. They are allowing some more blacks to go to work. Still I am denied work, visits and phone calls and still locked in cell almost all the time. There has not been any incident between blacks and south sider Mexicans since April, not even a frown and yet lockdown continues. I sit longing to go to work and close out my prose and poetry classes in realness. But New Folsom's plan is to not have any programs on C-yard and to bring in all the trouble makers they can, to foment continuous strife on this yard until they are ready to change it into a sensitive needs level four yard. Sad thing because this was once a progressive programming yard that rivalled most lower level prisons until the state decided to make it dysfunctional.