As we wait
Poems from Death Row
By Mark Henry Lankford
The line and paragraph cuts have been set as found in the partly typed, partly hand-written original.
Waiting, way over yonder, past
the horizon
I can sense the patience, the determination
of the dark spirit. Morbid, it sometimes lurks
among the near. Mordant, almost offending the
senses, yet somehow saccharine.
The weak and infirm, they are the
first
to succumb. They almost embrace it with
the strength of Hercules. With clawing
and gnawing and bawling and mewling,
they cling.
With crying, defying, implying,
maligning;
Caressing, obsessing, possessing, depressing;
unprepossessing, the dog is messing,
on the rug at my mind's door.
I had a dream that I had a dream
that I had a dream that I had a dream.
In it, she was writhing, sighing, shyly spying;
The dream expanded ever more,
yet strangely - nevermore.
I saw that she was the bearer
of positive means - and cheer;
with her ideas I could ward off;
the morbid and patient sphere.
So the valiant spirit has
many forms,
not always easily seen.
But as I sit, condemned by fools,
my soul begins to sing!
Why? I've already won!
Hidden are sorrows
Beneath the Paled lit smiles
Never to surface
Slender reed of hope
When used to stir emotion
Becomes limitless
From my lofty perch
Feathers rain down as crystals
Upon a torrid sea
Emeralds shimmering
Ruby eyes in the night
Tongues of fiery loss
Cascades of true love
Wash the hearts of the lovers
As dew cleans lilies
3
(one he wrote to Frances)
Franie, I love you
From the deepness of my heart
O Angel, my Fran
19th July 2004, describing an attack on him (upgraded in August 2004)
ATTACK OF FOOLS
14 July, nine at night
I entered my small cell;
From behind came two young fools,
They had not been raised well
Attack! Attack! At my back
The idiots fists did strike!
I was surprised by the onslaught
My adrenalin began to spike
Fast on my feet I turned around
Their eyes now wide with fear;
My feet began to strike them
"Tell them Markie boy is here!"
What are your idiots doing?
The fools had no reply;
With cold, reptilian pursuit
They both swung for my eyes
Adair, a troll-like ogre
Picked up a full hotpot;
He slammed me across the face
But stop me he did not!
I slapped the ewer from him
It clattered across the cell;
A television was his next weapon
The application did not go well!
The other mental defective
Brandon Spurway is his name;
continued to put his fists on me,
Yet toughness is not his game
The TV struck me on the head,
Blood gushed from my broken nose;
the hotpot had done the damage
Why were these fools my foes?
I pushed the TV away from me,
Cliff(ette) Adair backwards went;
It was then that I rushed him,
For they had lethal intent!
Girly-boy, that's Adair
Went flying to the floor;
He had broken the TV set
As his sweat began to pour.
Over the toilet, he had fallen,
With me in hot pursuit;
The coward's fear was extant,
With panic at it's root!
But we can't always get what we
want,
As the Rolling Stones do sing;
They doused the Texas stud horse,
When it comes to rough, he's king!
Cowards and racists shall always
be,
yet, such dogs should take heed;
You can't always get what you want!
But silly punks get what they need.
So on top of girly-boy I did
descend,
Righteous wrath did God supply!
His eyes were as big as saucers,
He thought his end was nigh!
I slapped his hard in his ugly
face,
I think he wet his pants!
Spurway kicked me in my back,
Taking advantage of his chance.
I rose to challenge this offense,
Spurway sensed what was to come;
Yet as he continued to use his fists,
His race was nearly run.
I slapped him hard across his
face
One time, two times, three!
I asked him closely, "What now, punk?
You want some more of me?"
Adair, as all cowards do,
Looked toward escape;
He pushed the button for the cops,
His retreat he wished to make.
Spurway was astonished,
A normal state for he;
He knew he had made an error,
And really had to pee!
Before he could hit me,
I kicked him in the shin;
Suddenly the door popped open
And I began to grin.
Adair was sad and bloody,
This hateful, homely gnome;
They both hit the door a'runnin'
Like daddy was callin 'em home!
They lit out like scalded cats,
These racist, pathetic punks;
The old man had hurt their pride,
Having peppered them with thumps.
You should not pull on Superman's
cape,
You should not go out to kill or rape;
You should not try to be a man when you're not,
Or you might sleep in a burial plot!
Assailed I was from behind,
A cowardly jump that caught me blind;
Yet turn the tables, I did true,
Attack me once and shame on you!
My nose was shattered,
One eye almost closed.
But the cowards ran away
Their lack of guts exposed.
A grudge I do not harbor, no
revenge.
Upon such tragic emotions, my soul does not hinge.
These poor, lost children, will pay as God sees fit,
And the state of Idaho will play a part in it!
The pain I suffered, not so great
I've suffered a great deal up to this date,
Solitary will now be my plight,
We all know how sad this is and it's
Never right!
But, the old Bull, he will fight
on,
His days are not yet o'er;
My faith and love, undiminished,
I'll just try to pray the more.
Another page has been turned,
Perhaps some lessons have been learned;
I still survive to spread the word,
I hope, I pray I will be heard.
My job, now lost;
My freedom, nil'
Abuse me as they see fit
They won't break my will!
Perhaps I'll write more,
Perhaps you'll write to me?
Perhaps, yes, I'll pray more;
Will you pray for me?
Pity, I do not accept
I'd rather be your friend;'
Perhaps if you would be so kind,
Would you support me now and then?
You see, our lives are but a
small dot,
On the vast expanse of time;
It would be fine if I could make yours better,
And in the process better mine.
I shall not see,
I shall not go;
Some cannot see and
Will NEVER know!
You and I can change the world,
A little at a time;
Why don't you count your many blessings?
I'll try to count mine.
I was attacked,
I did defend;
Like David against Goliath,
I was the winner in the end!
Yes, winning is just a state of
mind,
The plight of cowards is to lose;
You make your bed, hot or cold,
It's up to you to choose.
Forget this event I shall not,
No matter how long in tooth;
Yet I shall pray for my enemies,
That they'll one day know the truth.
You cannot win with fists or
stones,
You cannot win by breaking bones;
The only way to win the fight,
Is to always do that which is right!
Our path is not always smooth,
The rocky road will try us;
But if we keep our faith intact,
Our Lord will surely stand by us
Thank you for your time, sweet
friends,
For your love and tender care;
Do not despair for this old Bull,
I just wish I could be there!
This poem is a recounting of a
cowardly attack by two stupid inmates upon Mark H. Lankford, a
condemned man of faith. Those that sent these two fools have
reprobate hearts and no place in civil society. They shall reap
that which they sow
Mark H. Lankford 20489
Now moved in segregation for something HE did not do.