Friday, March 30, 2007

Poetry by Earl McClellan

Do You Know What I Mea-naa
by Earl McClellan

I wake up every morning put mv chair by the bars and listen intently for the passing of cars
Nothing, no sound or no smell and hasn't been for years
just the cries of the convicts with their tears and their fears
Twenty six if you're counting or perhaps thirty five, all these souls to their maker lucky me left alive
The word lucky is not said with distaste and it's not said for kicks
it's said cause my life has been blessed by Minutes Before Six
You say you haven't heard of this site well that's truly your loss
check it out look it up and say hi to Dina she's Minutes Before Six’s boss
I've wondered for days what MB6 could possibly mean
perhaps it could be apostage rush drop or dinner with a very unruly teen
Well Mr. News Man time to out this dilemma to bed
grab a pen and your check book and quit scratching your head
Send a nice healthy sum to MB6 and Ms. Dina
don't bring out my Italian side
if you know what I mea-naa

Pride and Pain
By Earl McClellan

Some were honest, some were scoundrels
Some were full of hell
They came from castles, they came from shacks
And some came straight from jail

These were the folks that settled our land
Our country tis of thee
They brought their corn, their pumpkin pies
And staked their claims for free

The strong survived the natives slain
And that's what made their life
They toted guns and brutal strength
And took away the knives

It wasn't fair but then it seldom is
Our pilgrims had their way
They cleared the land and built their homes
And declared Thanksgiving Day

My heart is full of pride and pain
For the history that happened then
For you see although I'm an American
I'm also one quarter Indian

If Only
By Earl McClellan

I crave the morning sunshine
which never will I see
The sound and smell of fallen leaves
The weeping Willow tree

The falling snow
The biting hail
The brave young lad
Who brings the mail

A summer night, a babbling brook
New York's finest, a fleeing crook
So many things I long to feel
A Christmas tree, a turkey meal

But alas this cannot be
I cannot feel I cannot see
And you're probably wondering why
I'll never hear a baby cry

Or understand the whys or war
Or venture through a grocery store
Nor witness a lover's sigh
A hurried breakfast, a kiss good-bye

Or how about a crescent moon
The eclipse of the sun in the dead of noon
The finish line, the touchdown pass
Or the serenity of a midnight mass

On and on I could go
What it would be like 
to know...

But since you're thoroughly confused
And I for once am amused
I'll enlighten you, my friend
And bring this satire to an end

And vow to never
write again
I'm out of ink
For I'm a pen 

Earl McClellan 151845
Lakeland Correctional Facility
141 First Street
Coldwater, MI 49036