Story/poem prompt from photo 6

[lynnmosher]

I thought my offering to #5 was the kiss of death but we had two more, so far. Keep going if you like for #5.

Here's my pick for #6...

[Keith Wallis]

On the outside, looking in,
the taboo bars of hardened steel
imprison the delights I see.
On the inside, looking out,
the enfolding bars of hardened steel
imprison my delights and me.
On the upside
the bars protect and shield.
On the downside
the bars restrict my field.
So consider my dichotomy
and decide
whether the bars work for
or hinder me.

[lynnmosher]

Oh, awesome, Keith! And boy, are you quick on the draw! Wow! This is exactly why I picked this image...the two different views. Thanks!

[Scotsman]

Here's my first attempt of any such feat ...


Is it really true
He desires all of me?
That even in here
I can be set free?

I’ll take the chance
I’ll believe it’s true
I’ll change my life
I'll be like You.

From now on
I’ve been set free
Because of the blood
On Calvary.

[lynnmosher]

Hey, my ol' friend! How the heck are you? For a first try, that's pretty darn good! I think I have a story rolling around in my head but it will be a while before I can get to it. Thanks for joining the photo prompts!

[melw]

The Bars 500 words

I looked inside and could remember how it felt looking out. It was so different finally being outside, now being allowed to go wherever I wanted at any time.

I hadn’t been guilty, but hadn’t been able to prove my innocence. I spent my time in jail being a model prisoner. I knew I had to try to get my life order once I got out. I knew the person I wanted to see above all, probably didn’t want to see me.

I wandered down the road to head for my parent’s home. I knew they would welcome me with open arms. They never believed I was guilty. He was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.

I looked up at my parent’s home and turned around. Across the road I saw the house I have lived in ever since getting married. I saw the roses had grown since I saw it last. I smiled as memories came back.

Lily loved roses so I planted her some. It wasn’t until Logan was born that they had bloomed. It was as if they were waiting for Lily and Simon to have a child until they would flower.

Every morning that they was a rose he would pick on and lay it on Lily’s computer. She would see it and thank him for it when he got home. Home to his family. Lily, Logan and now Shawna.

He was about to turn when the door opened and out ran a little girl. She stopped and turned her head to side to look at him. Following her was a woman, that said, “Don’t forget your coat.”

She stopped and her green eyes opened and stared at me. Those were eyes I knew so well. The eyes that misted up with tears when he had proposed. Eyes that he could read so well, at least he used to.

Lily crossed the road, and said “what are you doing here?”

“Lily, I am back. Early parole, aren’t you happy to see me?”

“Si, you can’t came back. Shawna always asks about her daddy and so does Logan. I have said you have gone away and won’t ever come back. I never thought you would be released.”

“But I am Lil, aren’t you happy. I was not going to pressure you to see me. You never came to see me in jail so I understand.”

“I just couldn’t see you locked up.” Lily was letting tears fall.

“Lily, can I be a daddy again to Logan and Shawna. Can I be a husband for you?”

“Simon, I doubted your innocence yet you still want to be with me?”

“Lily, I know deep inside you love me, you always have. Never will I forget the experience of being in jail, behind the bars that kept me from you.”

I put my arms on her shoulder “It made me realise what is important. Lily, never let the bars of our life ever separate us.”


MEL

[Mona]

I have watched young inmates stand looking out from a window, transfixed as if they had taken leave of their bodies, as though their minds had taken a trip into freedom for just a moment. Oh how they wish they could undo the past and erase the thing done that caused them to be placed in this tomb of suspended living. Here you are no person and few are your firiends, just hours and hours and days without end.

[JayBee]

i do not see a picture for prompt 6 although what haa already been posted paints it well. .
I saw the shoes (prompt 5) but they seem to have dissapeared now. anybody any ideas?

[lynnmosher]

JayBee, Both photos are there. What browser are you using?

[grateful]

It’s 4:00. Stop staring out there. Visiting hours are over and you can’t see the parking lot from here anyway.

Maybe next week.

Who am I kidding? They didn’t come today. They didn’t come last week. Or last month. Not even last year. They are never coming. Suck it up and deal, girl. They will never forget me, but they’ll never forgive me, either.

I broke their hearts, I know that. I didn’t mean to. I didn’t wake up one morning and decide, hey, I’m going to give my all to a lifestyle that will land me in a maximum security prison for women.

I wish I’d never taken that first hit off the pipe. Everybody else seemed to be having such a good time together. It was the first time I’d been invited to one of their parties and I didn’t want to be such a nerd that they’d never ask me again.

Nerd? Yeah, well, I am one, I guess. I was good at math, anyway. Although if I’d been as smart as everybody seems to think I am I wouldn’t have done what I did.

That’s all history now. To tell the truth, that first time was pretty amazing. I felt beautiful and cool. Funny, too. Everyone laughed at my jokes. Each time after that, it took more and more to feel as good. Pretty soon I ran out of money. Then I ran out of things to sell and Mom and Dad started noticing jewelry and cash missing.

You don’t have to be beautiful to make money on the streets. I developed a steady “clientele,” and kept myself supplied with the little white packets I could no longer live without.

Mom and Dad tried “an intervention,” but I ran away from them, leaving the house wearing nothing but panties and a ratty old sweat shirt. I’ll never forget Dad wailing at me to come back, that they loved me. My Dad, crying like that...when I think of it I want to die.

Time to stop staring out through the bars wishing I could get out.

There's an old lady who comes and preaches in the prison chapel once a week. She tells us that knowing Jesus will make us “free on the inside.” She says the reason she comes to visit us is that Jesus tells her to, and she says whenever she visits us, she’s visiting him. I totally don’t get that. Does that mean Jesus--GOD!-- is here in this hell hole?

Vera, the old lady I’m talking about, says Jesus can forgive sins—even murder—and wash me clean. It’s a little hard to believe. I’m filthy and what I did can’t be undone.

It’s Sunday evening, and Sergeant just called out chapel. Vera will be here soon. It’s time to stop watching for visitors who will never come. I think I’ll ask Vera if Jesus really is in here, is there any way I can meet him?

[rlspark]

Very real. Nicely written.

[Radical Poet]

Just Ice Served

What dey talkin 'bout
I bin here all week!
Nutin but watta
Dats all I getta drink!
Hell, I still don't get it
what dem fools had said
When day hit dat hamma down
Man, I hunged ma haid
...Just Ice Served
Hell, day ain't gim me any! :mad:

[grateful]

Wow! RP! That was radical all right. Good!

[Scotsman]

Grateful, this story of yours rings true. Having been on both sides of a jail's visiting tables and their chapels, I understand this inmate's frustration with the world and with past errors in judgement, and the offer of a "life change" that Vera will present.

[rlspark]

Why’s that light so bright? It hurts my eyes. No…it can’t be real. It’s night. What’s happening here? I’m scared. Help me! They’re coming. No. Help me! This can’t be happening. Let me out!

Finally, I’m waking up. Oh, that was only a dream, or was it? I can’t shake it. Was I really screaming? I must have been; the tears streaming down my face are certainly real. Shear terror. Who was after me? I can’t remember. I’m still shaking. It’s dark again, and I’m all alone. I am alone, right? Was that light real, or part of the dream? I can’t seem to separate myself from the dream and find reality. What….? Who…? Someone help me!

[grateful]

Very unsettling, rlspark. Dark, menacing--no anchor in reality. You've packed a lot of emotion in an economy of words.

[Xenia]

PRISON

Razor wire all around
It smells of sweat and fear
The cold is colder
The heat is stickier
Faces look dead

And hope is contraband

.

[grateful]

"and hope is contraband." Oh my, that is FINE. I'll be using that!

[Xenia]

Grateful, I'm glad you like! I worked in a prison for years... I know many of them felt that way.

[lynnmosher]

Mel, Grateful, Radical Poet, Rispark...

I love all of them. You guys are great! I love each point of view and seeing how each of you take a different path to the same image.

Xenia, that last line is haunting...hope is contraband. Oh, my!

[JayBee]

I use firefox, i'd almost given up but the thread is back today, a contribution will follow.

[JayBee]

bars of my own making
prison walls
small cell window
unevenly formed
to prevent my seeing
the suffering of others
LET ME OUT
i cry