Monday, December 26, 2016

Getting to know through Life Lines


Coming to you live and direct from the tombs of North Carolina’s death row, are the voices that bring shame to the erroneous practices of capital punishment in this country.

Paul Brown, Rodney Taylor, Lyle May, and yours truly, Leroy Mann, are the “paradigmatic hippies” turning the tables on the state-sanctioned homicides that have initiated and concluded each of our days for a total of 70 years.  In turn, this is our LETHAL INJECTION of truth acting as a stone throw into the ocean of your existence.

Allow this art to be the TIDAL WAVE of humanity that rumbles beneath the surface.  Life is not rocket science; nor is it fair.  Life will always be artful, just let the art be art.  The passion within our voices bridges the gap between unconcerned and GETTING TO KNOW.

Life Lines is about connection.  It’s about finding surprising spaces to share endangered, beautiful life.  It’s about recognizing our power and our powerlessness to give and take life.

One hundred and forty-seven men live on Death Row in North Carolina.  Most of us have been here for more than a decade.  Some more than 30 years.  Those of us, who are writers and poets, are passionate about the spoken word.  Until now, we’ve only been allowed one supervised 10-minute phone call each year.  But now, with regular access to the phones, we want to share our voices with you.  Literally.

Life Lines is an audio journal of poetry, spoken word and other creative writing from North Carolina’s Death Row.  We’ll publish three pieces each week: poems, or short stories in our own words.  Words, which we hope, invite communion, however limited and imperfect, with those struggling to live inside state prisons.

But we need your help to make it happen.  We want to build this place for you and us online, and that means creating and maintaining a website.  We’ll also have to pay each time we call off the Row to make the recordings.

With your support, we can cover these start-up costs and get connected for the first year.  We hope that will give us enough time to generate a moderate flow of monthly support to keep this line open for as long as you and we are willing.

Because of state laws restricting access to prisons, the authors record these poems by phone.  As you listen, carefully, let the line static become a reminder of all the lines-race, class, iron bars, and barbed wire we’ve constructed between ourselves.  If we allow them, these pieces can open new, shared spaces for us in spite of these boundaries, if only for a moment.  Take a chance with us – just listen.

Checkout this fascinating piece, featuring the Life Lines organizers, as well as, the North Carolina Death Row spoken word artists, on the Talking Bull Podcast.


Written by,
Leroy Mann and Chris Agoranos

Sunday, December 18, 2016

Homage to a Homegirl


Losing the people we love will always test the integrity of our spiritual soundness.  Loving someone does not subside when the prison gates close or the Plexiglas distorts your view of the other side.  Young or elderly having love and hurting for the loss of another person is an extant practice that tethers the human species.

I first met Keith Wiley (Chino) when he was 21 years old.  Death is a common topic of discussion between men condemned to die.  It is the reality of our dire circumstance; yet never easy to accept when we experience death’s effect through someone we love dearly.

The October 2015 death of Mary Elizabeth Hewlett compelled Chino to reflect on his homegirl; a platonic relationship that was tighter than most.  “I felt bad learning about her death 9 months after the fact.  I was trying to track her down and she was already dead.  I was actually expecting to hear from her again.” The words of a friend missing a friend.

I haven’t come across many friends since I’ve been in prison, but Chino is the real deal.  It’s only right that I share in the mourning of a close friend, sister, daughter, and mother of two (Devin & Destiny).

“Roses are prayers.  Prayers take different forms when they reach the other side; I believe sincere spirituality laced in the loyalty of a loving friend.  This is how Chino pays homage to his homegirl, ‘Mar-dogg.’

100,
MannofStat
Copyright © 2016 by Leroy Elwood Mann


Port City Rose

You know, it’s not like me to fumble with my words, especially when it comes to you, but I ain’t never have to speak to you under the present circumstances.  I reckon on one hand it’s good cause you’ll understand me now better than you ever have.  Damn, Mar-dogg, what happened?  I got word about two weeks ago from my lil’ bro (he’s friends with Brittany). 

Initially he wasn’t sure and at the point I was hoping it was anybody but you!  I actually thought it might be Mike.  We just got the phones on the Row (yeah, you read that right) and I was pushin’ to get at your number! Which is how I found out… I can’t help but notice it was October.  Seems so much has happened in that month during my life. 

Looking at it now it’s almost expected that you’d take flight then.  So, how’re you doing? Chino Niqora’ 😉 remember that?  Myself, I am maintaining by the grace of God.  Still pushing to hit them bricks.  My chances are greater than ever now; I got a real tight issue, know what I’m sayin’?  You probably sayin’, “ain’t that a bitch: this fool outlasted me and he’s on death row!” Crazy ain’t it?  God lays down the plans for us. 

Speaking of God, them roses you’ve been getting lately are from me.  I’m Catholic now, have been for a few years now.  Trust that I’m always going to send them up as well as stay in Moma-Mary’s ear about you! I’m going to need you to do the same for me: ain’t too much changed. 😌 Right now I’m trying to get in touch with anybody to bring me up to speed on things with you. 

I’ve not met Devin and Destiny yet, but I assure you that once I touch down, I’ll find them.  So long as I’m round, they’ll need for nada!  Make them feel that… I LOVE you girl, always have, and always will.  You were a Port City rose from crown to ground! I’m going to miss you: that drawl, the Kim-N-Lines 😉, and your letters during my years here.  I won’t forget!  Trust that I’ll carry you in heart for the rest of my days.  Til we meet up again, stay up-n-true; it’s all good.

Love Always,

Keith
(Chino Loc)

Mary Elizabeth Hewlett
 2-7-1977 ~ 10-10-2015
R.I.P.





Monday, November 7, 2016

Freedom Is…

  


Opening my eyelids without the pain of a sore sight.
That’s what freedom is…
Freedom, is finding a new approach
To an old dream,
Remaining true to self in the process.
Yeah, that’s what freedom is…

It is the truth exhaled through literary expression
Or the knowledge that written words can be erased
But ones that are spoken can never be taken back.

Reading… Writing… Running:
Exercise of escaping the prison plantation.
Using the leaves from trees to be heard
Rather than hanging from its branch without a last word.
Feel me?

The recognition of a freedom writer
The commitment to doing what was once prohibited
For my kind,
Speaking my heart and mind, that’s freedom.

See, this writing thing is no gimmick; it’s resistance,
That goes beyond penmanship.
Every word represents the blood I deny my captors

Every syllable symbolizes another heartbeat that
Escapes them, who see me as no more than livestock.
Damn right! I got something to say.

As long as my vision has focus
I’ll be the eye of the storm.
Just give me one breath and I can resuscitate
The embodiment of reform.
That’s what freedom looks like.

The 3rd strike ain’t right,
But neither is the 2nd or 1st
When the worst of the worst
Is handing down sentences
And putting babies behind fences
Decimating their malnourished mental defenses,
Leaving families as slaves to the penal system.

I know what freedom is,
It’s the words I have to say.
I know where freedom is,
At this point, I’d rather show than tell,
So I’ll see you when I get there.

MannofStat
Copyright © 2016 by Leroy Elwood Mann

Thursday, October 13, 2016

To The Moon and Back




People are funny.
When life is sweet, oh what a treat!
Everyone wants a big slice of that.
Lots of laughs, joyous hugs, the festive moods seem to be unending.

But when the last bite is gone,
Nothing there but a plate full of reality,
The supporters and well-wishers become health conscious.
No one wants a slice of that life.

Your world may have potential,
Humans who never knew you begin to see evolution is inevitable,
They come forth with a mouth full of smiles
And bearing ostentatious credentials.

They all want to explore that axis until the
Rotations are no more
Life stands still for some but there is the
Luxury of departure for others.
My Moms is an alien, Yo.  She got to be an alien.

I have intentions that are genuine, yet difficult for the human eye to see.
My role in this life seems to be,
That of a castaway living amongst a lost colony.

An environment where love is a parasite
Foreign to the air we share
But somehow gestates within the breath of a few.
My Moms is an alien Yo.  Does that make me one too?

Nearly deceased at birth,
I was an emergency C-section.
Removed from the ailing womb of an alien
Who refused to leave this space.

Her will to live was passed down to me.
I wonder if her fellow celestial beings can see that.
I wonder if they have record of her newborn
Growing strong enough to take his first steps.

Have they recorded her offspring riding a
Big Wheel with reckless abandon?
Pedal a bike without the aid of training wheels?
Pushed the pedal of a rental car enroots to
His senior prom?

And eventually being condemned to die,
Under her watchful eye,
By the indigenous of this watery planet.

Moms always went against the grain.
From her days of community activism
To the stain on her last names; Mann.

The name at the top of a death certificate
Is the same name given to me.
The pitfalls within life’s terrain didn’t make
Living so easy.

Many humans have tried to discredit Moms
But they could only make her my inspiration.
“I love you to the moon and back.”
Is how she concludes our visits and phone
Conversations.

Is this just some old saying?
Or, is it a reminder that she is not from here?
My Moms is an alien, Yo.
I guess that makes me on E.T.

Dying to get back home.


Happy Birthday Stingin' Bee!
I love you to the moon and back Moms.

Mannofstat
Copyright © 2016 by Leroy Elwood Mann