Darren Deichen
Out doing the same old thing,
My childhood friend Ricky Lee Eusted.
Playing the clown late at night,
Being 43 does not mean much to Ricky.
It seems as if all the beauty has left his heart.
I remember when he and I were 18
Not caring about anything.
Twenty four years behind
What is left of my smile
Cured me of that.
But my old friend Ricky Lee
Still is lost.
The Tehama County jail
Holds him again.
And I found it sad
To read his name in the paper.
The drugs do not cure
The hidden rage inside.
They only increase the
Flame.
Until the night watchman
Of your mind tears
The soul blind.
And that is why
Ricky Lee
Is not Free.
Has anyone touched when the crescent moon bloomed?
Faded between life and passionate tragedy
Wilted before a doorway open to only you
Rode the crest of colors when the sun goes down
Stood before a reality you could not resist
Has love ever struck you dumb?
The Shade of the Sun
does not belong
where the nights miss love
Robbing hearts
spilling invisible tears
all over the sheets in the dark
And the days
only grow stark weeds
that breed such bitterness
It's where time bends men over
with only a taste
of life's dust in their veins
The granite hearts
shatter with ease
upon this feather filled anvil
As shackled faces
continue to swim
in an empty well
I was born Darren Glenn Attebery in 1964 and raised in the San Fernando Valley. My father died when I was six. His death left me without a guide in life and I was locked up at 12. Except for a few trial periods outside I was incarcerated until I was 18. At 18, I had changed from a timid fearful boy into a man who thrived on anger and a sense of injustice in his heart. I committed violence like I was justified, committing armed robbery and assaults. I ate up my 20s, 30s like they were nothing, with 19 years in state prison. My anger consumed me until on my last term, two of my father's sisters found me in New Folsom. They began to visit and send me books. My idea of being a completely worthless person began to change. I began to learn about myself and my father's family. While in prison, I had a son from a family visit. It seemed like God or a divine intervention and the mellowing of my angry spirit all came together as one. The books my aunt sent exploded upon my soul. My son gave me a dream. And two strikes taught me that freedom was no longer a game. Poetry has invaded my heart and mind. And not the weak idea of modern poetry. But like the Skalds and Bards of old, I burn with passion and desire. This world, this life is beautiful. It should be shouted from the hills and streets. --Darren Deichen