Poetry by Patrick Jones

The Best of Me
By Patrick Jones

Northern lights in my dreams
Blinding fluorescents when I’m awake
Voices in my head, ” Go ahead…. let it out.”
“I’M SICK OF THIS SHIT…..HOW MUCH MORE DO I HAVE TO TAKE”

Unyielding pressure, my blood won’t bleed
Engulfed by cascades of other incarcerated people
Refuge is under state issued blankets at night, alone I grieve
the lives of Valerie and Malerie.
Two souls, whose lives have no equal.

My anger is less about them being gone
More from the guilt of leaving them first.
Sentenced to around thirty years.
I committed rage filled crimes.
They still didn’t think I was the worst.

“Purple & White” in calligraphy, tatted on my chest
A month & one day removed from turning 26
December 6, 2006
Days later I get a letter from Valerie
” Malerie passed away…………
My tears blurred the words, I couldn’t read the rest.

Purple suit and a white casket
The last colors enhanced by my sweet sister,
When we were kids she called me “Sniffer”.
I’m glad she suffers no more
But everyday I miss her.

January 7, 2022, “I love you.” “I love you too”
Our last words vibrated through the phone
Neither of us had a clue
January 9, 2022, Valerie’s time was due.

It hit me like a shock wave
An intangible force
That felt so concrete
Snatching what was left of me
Raiding my heart, taking my last connection away

Valerie was my Rock
She was my friend
She was independent and loyal
She spoke her mind
Never did she toil.

Malerie was my compass
She told me that I was noble
She was graceful through hardships
Embodied a strength felt in her silence
Her life taught me resilience.

They left within me
What was the best within them.
It’s through their love
That as they say, “I’m Him”

I close my eyes
Their hands gently touch my shoulders.
When life is freezing, they make it warmer
But when the fires to hot
I remind myself, I’m their brother

Malerie is my Aurora Borealis
Valerie is my Australis
They were sparkling crystals
Their vessels were Gods chalices.

Valerie had a saying that’s so kool
She had it put on Maleries headstone.

When Valerie passed, it became my duty
to request that hers also said that
“TRIPLETS RULE”

Think About It
By Patrick Jones

If I was as close to you as the prana you breath.
If I satisfied your cravings beyond the food you need.
If you were heavens earth
And my chemistry held your royal seeds.
Would you?

If you didn’t have to pray for love.
Asking to experience what a spiritual man does.
If I was just as below
And within as God is above.
Would you?

What if my touch was created for your body?
If my manhood had a curve that filled your inner anatomy,
Making you deny your own chastity.
If my tongue gave your hips gyrating rhythms.
Made you wine so naturally.
Would you?

What if you found pieces of me,
But in a man unburdened by chains.
Would my love be your loss
If your impetuousness brought me pain?
Would you?

If you were glad he wasn’t as complex,
But he still treated you just like the others.
If I knew that’s why you prejudge all black brothers.
They all wooed you with Shakespearian words.
Their motives always proved to be for your sex.
Tear streaked cheeks, emotions you couldn’t suppress.
If you prayed so many nights,
But had no clue I’d enter your life next.
What if you understood the cost of asking?
The nobility required with the blessing of receiving.
If my actions consistently aligned with my words,
Regardless of your lack in believing.
Would you?

What if you were aware of your own thoughts.
You know! The ones creating those barriers.
The ones casting shadows of doubt.
Yea Yea Yea, we’re all liars.
Would you?

What if I’ve finally arrived,
But you exploited my vulnerabilities.
If you created wholes out of thin air
Really highlighting your pessimistic mentality.
Would you?

What if your “Iff’s” were just illusions
But missing the smoke and mirrors?
Subconsciously fortifying your dramatic delusions,
Exasperating your prolonged confusions.
Would you?

What if your “If’s” weren’t yours to maneuver
If they were imposed on you by your peers
“Girl he sound to good to be true”
Words on replay, in between your ears
Would you?

What if at every margarita night sleep over
They always trigger past relationship traumas?
What if you finally chose to get sober,
If we were immortal,
With no time for getting older.
If in your soul, my love grew,
Think about it for a minute……….
Would you?

Papers
By Patrick Jones

At the side or the front,
service weapon drawn
Is a citizens life what you want?

Coping with PTSD, many trips to the bar,
a small percentage pose a threat
Not the narrative if doors aren’t ajar.

Driving to a doctor, concerned with water retention.
SIRENS, UNMARKED PLATES, MASKED FACES
The next minute your dead or in detention.

Overcrowded Ellis Island in our distant past.
so many years, to many crossings
National welcome policies weren’t gonna last.

Eight years of unprecedented deportations.
glaring contrast highly unnoticed
It wasn’t algorithmized, not a national conversation.

I guess the ends justify the means.
one guy did the same thing with prudence
The other thrives off creating inflammatory scenes.

Epiphany 
By Patrick Jones

Growing up without love
Early years, nobody wore a mothers hat.
I was an adult before confronting that.
Always felt unwanted
Escaped by wrollin up, stayed blunted.
So much to give
With none given
Like I’m the gift, but missing the ribbon.
Depressions a real thing
I fight it with mantras I sing.
Awareness of harsh pitfalls
Difficult task
22 plus years within prison walls
Everlasting with time passing
Mental warfare crashes down like landslides
Internal pain, no need to seek
I can’t even hide
But I continue to rumble
Because in my afterlife
I’ll regret not knowing how the cookie crumbled.
Always underestimated, underappreciated
But can’t be duplicated.
Spawn of an adulterous affair
A mistaken creation 
From early 1981 relations
Now on feet with tingling sensations
Surgeries got my hands feeling numb
Intelligence unquestioned
But oftentimes I feel dumb
This can’t be life
There’s gotta be more
OH SHIT!
Love within
Was what I was searching for.

Forty-Five
By Patrick Jones

With my eyes still closed, I’m awake before six
May all mother sentient beings, I pray before six
Towel covered face, shielded from fluorescent lights
I’ve spent so many nights
I’ve written so many kites, no social media
I missed all of that, no likes
Every day starts before six
Decisions to hold on, decisions to be strong
Decisions not to be wrong
Avoid problems and personalities, altercations that can’t be fixed
All before six
How’s my health?
When I get up, will I be scrutinized for being myself?
Questions before six
5:15am…iron man chimes, it’s that time
I’m up before six
Something funny usually crosses my mind, it’s dark outside
Trying not to awake anybody, I move like a mime
Before Six
Had a lot of fears now, I’ve done over twenty years
I’ve learned how to live before six
Will I have a good day?
Bank it!
First I use the dryer for my steel and body heated
Condensation-soaked blanket
Get dressed, wash my face, and brush my teeth
I move to a beat.
Heard by the sound of my feet
The cadence of my walk
I swear I laugh before I talk
Before Six
Sitting meditation is my medication, A magic carpet ride
A guru gita filled sun salutation modified
A self-loving conversation, inside
May even look funny in other’s eyes
But this life is mine, I choose to be legit
Today I’ll be kind, I’ll be the shit
I profess in my own mind
This dope is purer than any line
This yoga shines
The whistle blows and officers yell…
“Count time”