PRISON SONGS

Hau Mitakuapi:

These musings are divisible into four groups: Fish Tank Warrioring Up, Stories of the Street, Personal Enlightenment/Fulfillment, and Haiku. The first four poems are the primary Warrioring Up poems. I wrote these in the fish tank in Jameson Unit, and they are a combination of bravado, reminiscence, and whistling in the dark. The second group of six poems, Stories of the Street, is basically stories amalgamated from personal experience, insights, and observations. The third group, Personal Enlightenment/Fulfillment is a group or nine poems running the gamut and gauntlet from love to repentance. The fourth group of ten Haiku is placed throughout. A short ditty is also included, to bring the total poem count to 30. These poems, like convicts, are numbered rather than named.

I hope you find my Prison Songs worthwhile.

**These Prison Songs are dedicated to all the Indigenous People who have done Time. To all those who have chosen the suicide option while doing Time. Dedicated especially to the Late Great Leighton Rich.

On this sultry summer night I was awakened by a dream. A dream, which through its very sense of dread, would not allow me to again find slumber until I wrote. A dream which causes, as I write, a myriad of thoughts concerning suicide to cascade through my mind. In writing, I am attempting to sort these pained images into something tangibly digestible.

Yet, how do I verbalize the terror of suicide? The lack of love the victim must have felt? How do I put into mere words, the heartbreak of the hows and whys of guilt? How do I recreate the- what is the word- despair, of these prison bars? How do I transfer into ink, that all too familiar "Thorazine shuffle", that side affect and by-product of the systems insidious chemical lobotomy? I know I cannot; yet I must expend the effort. I must at least try and not allow my silence to be an option.

So often I would tell myself after having just sold a piece of artwork that "next time I’ll send him money". That "next time" I’d set aside a $20 or a $50. Many times I thought about the quality of his artwork. Not until after his demise did I actually take the time to page through the inches thick three-ring binder of his; preserved lovingly by his Aunt, Marletta Pacheco. While handing me this book she intoned, "take care of this, Jimmy, It’s worth more than Gold". Once I sat down and immersed myself in his pen and ink world, I truly felt his humanity. I truly felt his pain. I truly felt his ghost. I truly felt my guilt.

I, who had profited and lived off the images of the Lakota, was staring face to face with true Warrior art. Images of unabashed machismo and pride intermingled with sinews of shame. Bits of laughter tangled with despair. Signs of redemption shackled to thoughts of damnation. – Images of struggle. Images of a Brother, despite all odds, still seeking his own humanity.

Knowing these contemporary Masterpieces of Lakota Art were created during years of languishing in administrative segregation, burdens my soul all the more, and adds to his Arts poignancy.

Leighton was a Human Being trying to make sense of an inhumane world. He was as much a victim of his street culture as he was a creator there of. He reacted violently to the violence surrounding him. That is no excuse, that is just plain fact. I knew him as a loyal comrade and confidante. We did time together, and he once did time in my stead. He had an esprit de Corp unrivaled.

Two daughters were actively searching for their father. Their teenage curiosity led them to find him. Unfortunately and quite poignantly, their search ended at his casket.

I had a dream, here in the joint, this languid July night. I dreamt of Leighton. Maybe it was his ghost awakening me from my slumber. Maybe it was merely my guilt, rousing me from myself. Either way, I feel better for it, and a shade closer to my own humanity.

Pilamiya, Brother Leighton. I Love You Bro. May you finally rest in peace.

As I sit now, reviewing my nine weeks of incarceration, I must admit, it all seems like nothing out of the ordinary. It is quite surprising how quickly one accustoms himself to the insanity of the asylum. Perhaps it is simply residual institutionalism aroused from dormancy. Perhaps it is only innate survival.

I feel strangely neither out of place nor at home, It’s as if I’ve been waiting at a bus stop for a God awful while. This short tenure in the belly of the beast has, fortunately, had its upside. I have reacquainted myself with old friends and comrades and made a few new, true friends.

Much has changed, yet the basics remain the same: hard time vs. easy time. One can "pull hard time" through a plethora of avenues, yet easy time is wrought by only one smelter—humanity. I see now why Malcolm X once called prison the poor mans university.

I quoted Malcolm X during my parole revocation hearing. Actually, words uttered by his post-enlightenment persona – El Hajj Malik El-Shabazz. The quote went as thus: "A wise man once said, "children have a lesson adults should learn: to not be ashamed of falling, but get up and try again. Most adults are so afraid, so cautious so "safe" and therefore so shrinking and rigid and afraid, that is why so many humans fail".

That quote could adequately sum up what I have learned during my brief stint in the joint. It’s all about "finding ones humanity", as another wise man, Francis Yellow, always tells me. In light of the wisdom of the men I just quoted, I have nothing left to add.

Mitakuye Oyasin

#1

I’m a Political Prisoner a Tokala of War

Don’t they think I know the fuckin’ Game and the Score

Eat my flesh, flesh of my flesh, come with me and Roll

Visit the ghost of Lakin’, way down in the Hole

I’m in the building that killed Him, (I ain’t gonna die)

I’m in the building that broke Him; (I’m way too hard to cry)

I don’t know how to squeeze out a fuckin’ tear

Picture Him in Heaven, representin’, with a blunt and a beer

I’m a Soldier of Freedom, Handsome Lakota Man

A free Wolf I Stand, don’t give a fuckin’ damn

Fuck the wasicu; fuck America fuckin’ too

You ain’t down with the Crew, well then fuck you!

Only with down ass Bros. have I ever Rolled

Make 20 million dollars if my Story gets Told

The Story of Wet, Rans, Lake, (Tiospaye, you too)

Story of a Superclique, fuckin’ Zoo Crew

Gonna stay Alive, stay Strong stay Right

Gonna keep on writin’, Night’s my pens Flight

Quarter Moon smilin’, she’s a Beautiful Winyan

Reminds me of a Lakota Woman (might never again see ya)

I don’t mind being Tokala; Sungmanitu’s my Dad

Don’t mind being the Best and Baddest of the Bad

Unci Maka remains, and Pipestone is still Red

And Many more verses swim though my pretty head

#2

The Wolf I am, Sungmanitu's my Name

I tasted Freedom once, yet Chained I remain

Must I pay with my Life, for who I was Born?

Must I Apologize, when it’s my flesh that’s Torn?

I cannot say I’m sorry, no remorse do I know

I only went home, just to say bye to a Bro

I left the dogsled I used to pull all damn day

I left the dogs life, for Sungmanitus Way

Now I am alone, in a concrete box I sit

My way is my Nature my Nature I can’t quit

I Love, I Love, and that’s my Downfall

Like a Courting Flute played sweetly, I answer the Call

I’m Married to my People, Oyate I won’t divorce

I’m Captain of my Ship; I’m stayin’ the Course

So love me ‘til they kill me, give my Scalplock to Lake

I truly love that Brother, my Heart’s still at his Wake

I have no guilt, or sorrow, or any kind of shame

This Wolf’s only guilty of being too Hard to Tame

So lock me away, in concrete box alone

My Heart is still mourning, somewhere in Lakota Homes

#3

He walks with a strut

Seven Generations thence

Pity Us Tunkan

#4

I came here Today, not to say I was wrong

You can only Chain me in a cage for so long

Rode in one day upon a Pretty White Horse

Ride out a Free Man of course

Went to Rapid City, as a Good Relative

Went to He’sapa to see how my People Live

Saw a Nation in bondage, beset by many an Ill

Saw a Nation in bondage, whose Spirit you can’t Kill

Don’t expect me to submit for a few links in my chains

Around my neck, like a dog, this fetter remains

I’m free in my Heart, regardless of you

I’m free all damn day, regardless of what you do

You can beat my Body, throw me in the Hole

Look ya in the eye; tell you it’s my Land you Stole

Declare my Independence; Secede from your shit

Just ‘cause I’m caged, it don’t mean that I Quit

Hard and Proud, from streets that are Real

My Spirit is mine, my Soul you can’t Steal

Bury me under pines, with a Breeze blowin’ sweet

Think of me at Wacipi, when ya hear the Drum Beat

Heart of a Nation, He’sapa, I Love You

The smell of your pines, the taste of your dew

From the Needles to the Badlands, I call you my Home

Where the Spirits of Crazy Horse and Sitting Bull roam

#5

Rollin’ up to the gate, escorted by a glock

Reason they jacked me is ‘cause I walk my talk

Doin’ a 40 year bid, for the rest of my Life

Jamming’ alone, ‘cause time is my Wife

Fuck it all man, I’m Real as steel

Lakota for life, Tiospaye, that’s the Deal

They wanna bury me here; it’s plain to see

But please, bury my Heart in Wounded Knee

My Soul’s gonna fly with Tasunka Witco’s

Tatanka Iyotanka, Lake, Rans and the Bros

It’s a Good Day to die, for the People I Live

My only regret is that I’ve but one Life to give

I never chose this Way, this Way chose me

Not for a minute do I regret being Starkey

My Soul’s at peace, my Heart’s full of Love

I feel Tunkasila Smile on me from Above

All I need is Tiospaye; I’ll give it my All

I got Radar Love, I’m there, don’t need a phone call

Depression, Repression, Oppression’s the same

Can’t take away my Freedom, Time’s just a head game

Lock Stark's ass up and swallow the damn key

My Mind still Soars, as Free as can be

Look out my window at the grass growin’ green

Think of my Pony, that Pretty Machine

My Memories are mine, and dear to my Heart

My Sisters and Brothers are the biggest part

I’m a Simple Man (maybe even dumb)

But my Love is Real, as Real as they come

Don’t laugh at my ways, my Mojo’s no joke

It’s real as my Neck in this oppressor’s yoke

Bear with me, understand, but don’t fuckin’ mourn

When finally I fall flat, flattened by scorn

Laugh at the Good Times, Smile and say

"That’s one Ridin’ Brother, who Rode all the Way"

Wrap me in a Buffalo Robe, Sage around my head

Don’t cry for my ass, ‘cause I ain’t really Dead

Burn some Cedar, and burn some Sweetgrass

And tell the wasicu to kiss my Bad Ass

I’ll wander the Earth, for all the shit I did

Tell you one thing, this Wolf never hid

I flew it Loud and Proud and for all to fuckin’ See

Ain’t never gonna be another G like Starkey

#6

Against the Wind and against the Grain

Against the World and against the Pain

Without a Friend and without a Doubt

Without an End and without a Shout

Still he Rides, Proud in the Saddle

Still he Rides, Proud into Battle

Trying to make Sense of a Senseless World

Trying to justify the iron he’s benched and curled

A Big, Buff Brother, fresh from the Hill

A Big, Buff Brother, fresh Resentments to Kill

Treated like a dog, locked in a cage

Treated like a dog, driven to Rage

Knowing nothing but Struggle, ever since Day One

Knowing nothing but Struggle, Life by the Gun

A Culture blames the Ill for the Disease

A Culture whose flames Burn away Pleas

Rebellion, Revolution, Creation, Evolution

A Stallion, Resolution, Elation - Resolution

Charging Enemy Lines, he goes out with a Bang

Charging Enemy Lines, he shows Homies to hang

In Dying, he finds Life, in Death, Respite

In Trying, he finds Death, for Life had no Light

#7

They Supermax and Emasculate

They win the election; say Everything’s Great

They disregard the Treaty, the Grass still Grows

They lock down hard, my Long Haired Bros

They Rape our Women, our Land and our Life

They blame us for Reacting to their instigatin' Strife

They Massacre less often with Bullets now

They Massacre with Steel Bars; (we still don’t Bow)

They Promise us Parole, if only we Comply

They Promised and they Stole, and still they Lie

They are not White nor Black nor Yellow nor Red

They are wasicu, a way of Heart and Head

They are fat takers, the Murderers of Truth

They are the Yoke we’ve bore since Youth

They think we’ll Break, we’ll wait and see

They don’t know the Strength of Starkey

#8

Through Introspection

Searching through one Painful Life

A Cocoon lies Empty

#9

Momma didn’t raise no fool

I was raised by the State

Just a Capitalist Tool

Flat Time soon, can’t wait

Headin’ back to where I was Born

Ain’t holdin’ nothin’ back

Only change is my Locks are shorn

And Tats from when time was slack

God, I miss the Times, and the Life

With that Trinity we Preyed

Rollin’ with the Gat, Bat and Knife

And Prayed and got Laid

It’s gonna be Better, this Time ‘round

Time to show ‘em all, how Hard I did Time

Drop in on all the Fools that I Clowned

Bitch Slap the World for callin’ it Crime

Gonna dig my own Grave

Jump in and Boast

Ain’t nobody’s Slave

[My Homies will Toast]

Sure I’ll be Forgotten

Once I’m Replaced

My Lucre’s Ill gotten

My Life is a waste

But I got that

Not a damn thing more

just this damn Gat

And the next liquor store

#10

A Glock Pops