Wednesday, August 18, 2010

Poetry by Frederick Page

Each Day Belongs to Us
by Freddie Page

A single second of a minute,
are but moments of our day.
Reflects the content of heart;
by what we do or say.
We have lived each second,
committed to a love that's true.
The moments that we’ve shared
confirms love by what we do.
Each day belongs to us,
defining the quality of life.
Enhanced by our character,
to remain as husband and wife!

I Love You Still
by Freddie Page

From the day
we first met!
My love for you
hasn’t changed yet.
But then again,
it has.
Quite different,
than in the past.
It’s stronger, better,
defined more clear.
It’s the thing in life,
I find most dear!

A River Flowing
by Freddie Page

To think of a river,
two types come to mind?
One sitting still, one flowing
clearly another kind.
She can be either one,
peaceful or running over.
A gentle taste of love,
tenderly I get to know her.
When she’s running over;
I know more I am blessed.
Cause running and wet,
is when she’s at her best!

Life is too Precious
by Freddie Page

An amazing thought occurred;
how precious life has been!
To have you as my wife,
as my closest friend.
To look at our lives,
consider what is to be.
The better part of living,
I believe you gave to me.
Life is much too precious,
too valuable to waste or lose.
To do it all over again,

it would be you whom I’d choose.

Seven Ways to Look at Freedom
by Frederick Page

Amid multitudes of men,
Lies a common thread
An instinctive out cry for freedom.

Inside me a raging torrent,
As a sea
While freedom displays it’s many depictions.

Freedom strides regally individual in heart.
It‘s realities conflict among a vast global community.

Our freedom and our resistance
Are unified.
Our freedom and our resistance and our expression
Are unified.

At times I’m vividly stuck between,
Freedom's hopeful existence
Or the struggle in its non-existence,
Scarred by its distortions.
Or its elusiveness.

Wealth enticingly capitulates my being
Through clever disguise.
The idea of having freedom
Often abused, sometimes distorted.
Still desired
A fleeting gift
often appearing unattainable.

Oh Freedom created so wonderful,
Why allude to oppression, corruption and war.
Your blessing is long hoped for.
Resonating in my footsteps
deeply rooted in spirit you are admired.

Unborn, I Cry
by Frederick Page 

Future presidents and scientist, inventors and entreprenuer’s,
educators shot down in their youth and incarcerated,
simply because of their area code or the color of their skin,
which neither are in their power to change,
subjugated to a prison industrial complex, fueled by the idea of
a capitalist utopia, sustained by mass incarceration,
Governor Wolfe standing firm against tax breaks for the wealthy,
while education for urban areas loom in doom,
mimicking Adelanto California’s prison expansion, promising em-
ployment, while its children are being taught in trailers,
one step away from prison, pledging allegiance to America out of,
what is in comparison to a dumpster used for trash,
meanwhile Republicans nail Wolfe to a Cross, making mockery of
his Saviour like status for children of oppression,
justifying class inequality by the preconceived notion that paying
for more prisons is IDE ultimate solution for privileged...
elitists capitalist who tell Wolfe, you can't save yourself from
the place of safe refuge that we offer by our greatness,
while we close schools and increase our income and our potential
for existence for we are past, present and your future,
secured by Newt Gingrich's Prison Litigation Reform Act that will
assure the undermining of prison litigation and lawsuits,
while discouraging pursuit of justice that can not be afforded,
our children, not yet born, with hope unborn, they cry! we cry!
don’t give them what their cotton is worth,
don't give them adequate legal representation, or a voice in our
land of the free, make more money for me,
but there's no more land to build, so we’ll build in a land fill,
where nothing ever grows, no exploits left to venture,
but wait! the land still has some value, we've found a commodity,
worthy of its apparel, its origin is of a lower class,
Pack em' in Rikers Island on top of a toxic waste landfill, don't
resolve their complaints no matter how ill they feel,
Pack em' in Fayette in Pennsylvania’s 506-acre coal ash dump,
both employees’ and prisoners’ health erodes, who cares,
Pack em' in 13 state and federal prisons near Centon City, Colo-
rado, where waters polluted from mining uranium,
Pack em' in Texas and California, where no man of color live free
of the elevated levels of arsenic in water near Navasota TX,
Pack em' in Victorville Federal Correctional Complex that sits on
a former weapons storage site cited for Superfund cleanup,
Pack em' in Northwest Detention Center, near Tacoma Washington,
that is a designated volcanic hazard zone,
Urban children around the country, we hear your cry and feel your
pain while you bear the trumped up charges against Jesus,
born Saviour of humanity, yet what is humane loathes your being,
that is, you are the hope of tomorrow, Jupiter rising,
we fight for you, when you think no one cares, we hold you down,
when you think life will never be fair,
we make known your presence, when you feel invisible, we keep
hope alive, while everything around you appears to be dead,
we are you, as you are we, you are the voice, Unborn, I cry!

Frederick Page BU2238
SCI Graterford
P.O. Box 244
Graterford, PA 19426

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