Posts by Prisoner Express

Art Knows Nepal ’18

This newsletter shares the rich art of Nepal and Treacy’s experiences on an artist’s residency in Kathmandu, Nepal. Click Here to Download “Art Knows Nepal” Packet

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Chess Newsletter Fall ’17

We have had an ongoing chess club for more than 8 years and as volunteers leave the area we have always managed to find someone new to lead this effort. Currently the lessons are being created by a prisoner in Washington State. This is the first time we have had a program created by someone…

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“Where Dreams are not Welcome,” by Taj Mahan-Haft

Photo by Jon Asato on Unsplash

Dreams are an essentially human thing and having them taken away steals life. This piece is a subtle shout to Langston Hughes and his many references to dreams deferred. Here they are not just deferred but kept out at all costs, by the structure of the environment and by the culture inside. I wrote this…

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“The Real Prison” by Stephen LaValle

Prison is not the way people think it is. I found that only prisoners know the real prison. The real prison is loneliness that sinks its teeth into the souls of people and is emptiness that leaves a sick feeling inside. It is anxiety that pushes and swells and is uncertainty that smothers and stifles. It is frustration, futility, despair, and indifference.

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Childhood, by Anthony Mendoza

While growing up, I was raised by two wonderful, loving, and caring parents who taught me all the good and honest virtues in life. That is, the right from wrong, respect, honesty, kindness, and the best effort in everything.

I was one of four kids, the baby of the bunch. However…

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“I’m Here,” by William Spaulding

My poem is about my mom. I was in prison and lost her to an overdose. She was my best friend and for the longest time I felt like my life was over. I am an impulsive writer and one morning I woke up and grabbed the pen and paper and wrote this poem. I…

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“My Earliest Memory” by Barry L. Taylor

At the age of two, my mother left her six children behind when she left my father. My very first memories were of waking in my crib with the light turned off and seeing the soft light of afternoon ooze through the window shades. I wanted my mother and cried out for her. She came into the room, told me to lay down and go to sleep, and left the room again.

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