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“Imagine…” That was John Lennon’s wish for all of us. I’ve been
fortunate to have been involved in editing this publication and in the
Grinnell College/NCF program since its inception several years ago.
In the beginning, none of us envisioned the magnitude of growth
that the program would attain. This volume of Concrete Perspectives
is a reflection of that growth, as is the number and variety of classes
taught by student volunteers and professors. It is due—in no small
part—to the hard work, energy, and spirit of those who make the
weekly trek to the prison to teach us. Their lessons go far beyond the
handouts, books, discussions, lectures, and assignments. It is through
their efforts and generosity that we learn the most. In an environ-
ment that can easily bury one’s spirit alive, we have had the gift of
imagination given back to us. As you read the pieces in this collec-
tion—some dark, some light, all the product of minds trying to find a
sense of self and freedom—I hope that your imagination will fly, too.
Included are poems, short stories, plays, and essays. The styles
and genres vary widely. I hope that you enjoy them all. I also hope
that they serve as an inspiration, inviting you to try your hand at writ-
ing or any other yen you have dreamt about.
I want to profusely thank the many folks who have made
Concrete Perspectives come to life. None of this would’ve been
possible without the generous support of SPARC. Thank you very
much! To all of the Grinnell College students, professors, and guest
lecturers—we are eternally grateful for all that you continually give us.
Words alone will never be adequate.
Emily, you rock… but you knew that. Eric—I see your ef-
forts paying off in dividends of change, unlimited potential, and
much success. Katie… well, you’re the standard that we all strive to
measure up to. It has been a real privilege. Susan—thanks for your
guidance and help in putting this book together! Anne—we miss you
and hope to see you soon, pushing us to greater heights and distanc-
es.
Evelyn Oltmanns—your tireless energy and efforts are amaz-
ing. Very few people understand how much you have really invested
in the program and in us. The successes are a reflection of that
investment.
Jason, you have brought a lot to the program in your role
as class coordinator. It’s a difficult job at best and your personality,
patience, idealism, quick wit, and humor have made it an experi-
ence worth being a part of. I am grateful that you took the reins and
helped to drive the program in such a positive direction. Very few
people could accomplish what you have. You’re a good man.
To my family and friends—Howard, Antje, David, Teresa,
and Avis—I wish I could give you a portion of what you have always
given me.
This has been one of the most influential, positive experienc-
es of my life. As I take personal stock and consider “retirement,” I
know that I will sorely miss it all. I see nothing but a bright future for
the program because of the people—like those already mentioned—
who are willing to put in the time, energy, and work, so that this
collaboration only grows. The future looks auspicious. Imagine—just
imagine…
-Randy Ekstrom
Starting with the instructors, who so graciously donate their time and
talent, I would like to personally thank two very special groups of
people.
Every time I go out to Newton, when I see the prison on the hori-
zon, low, grey and surrounded by bales of treacherous wire, I think:
I don’t want to go in there. But once in the classroom, when the
guys settle in, and we start working through a text—the intensity of
their motivation, the profundity of their reflection—restores me to
my true vocation. Teaching at Newton enables me to be a dean at
Grinnell. I’ve said that to the guys. And then, when class ends, and
we leave the prison, I feel like singing all the way home.
-Kathleen Skerrett, Religious Studies
One of the things I most enjoyed about teaching at Newton was the
diversity of life experiences the men bring to the material. Having
a range of students, from young adults to older men with families,
for example, enlarges discussions in directions that don’t develop in
classes at Grinnell. It was challenging to respond to all the perspec-
tives the men brought, but it was also loads of fun.
-Jean Ketter, Education
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Lewis Ayala The Hunt 1
The trick is staying down wind so they don’t catch your scent.
There’s nothing I love better than ambushing a buck.
The tracking, stalking, then finally killing them. AHH, the thrill of
the hunt.
I’ll try this spot for my stand, gotta get set up before dawn
Finally, shed this heavy pack
This is a perfect way to spend my days.
I’ve waited and prepared all year for the return of these days
When the does begin to release their scent.
So we ready our weapons and prepare our packs
We devote all our time towards the bucks
They’re the reason we’re in our stands before dawn.
It’s rutt season, time for another hunt.
I’ve been practicing and preparing all year for this hunt
I’ve got this spot picked out and have been watching it for days.
I’m finally settled in my stand with plenty of time before dawn.
There’s no wind, so no worries about them catching my scent.
1
I’ve seen four does and only a couple bucks
Hope I haven’t wasted all this time carrying this heavy pack.
Even if I don’t get a monster, it’s still worth toting this pack
This long. After all it’s all part of the hunt.
Over there’s two does and behind them are those same two bucks.
I bet that ones’s the one I’ve been tracking for days,
Looks like he’s hot on their scent.
If he turns a little it’ll be worth sitting here since before dawn.
2
Brother Raven
Kenneth Bolen
4
Breathe
Randy Ekstrom
I stare
Eyes dull with time
As some look for redemption, and
Some look for serenity, and
Others look for love,
All in the wrong place.
Tucked neatly beneath their folded arms
God is carried casually,
Like so much luggage,
While the Buddha still sits on his ass…
Silent.
I stare calmly at the truth—
I am worse.
I am less.
I am dead.
6
RUSTOLEUM
Jason Darrah
7
Away Too Long
Rodney Lampman
8
Justin DeMoss
THE BATTLE
9
Peacefully Resting
Jayme Powell
10
Friendship is Forever
Stephen Miller
11
Prison Nights
Randy Ekstrom
13
Letting Go
Jayme Powell
is
trusting someone to catch you,
after you’ve held on for dear life,
over the edge of a cliff,
while fear is gripping you,
harder than you can grasp,
just freefalling backwards out of control,
opening up to a person you don’t even know,
hoping someone cares as much as you do,
losing yourself at the hands of another,
becoming something you fear,
changing your entire being,
forgiving a lover after an affair,
releasing your resentments,
admitting your fears and failures,
revealing your insecurities,
accepting a fate that has been decided by someone else,
its easy really,
cause all these feelings,
fears, hates, regrets, pains, loves,
tangible things we hold on to cause they have meaning,
but when you let go,
you are free from your own prison,
living in a realm of openness without issues,
take a moment to look at your palm,
it’s that easy yet completely unbearable,
opening your hand,
can you do it,
let go?
14
How Fleeting Life
Robert Matheson
We are shadows
from the corner of an eye—
here then gone,
we pass on by
Our lives are fragile
as butterfly wings,
and soft as a breeze
on a summer day
We’re here for a moment,
then pass a way
We are footprints
in the sands of time
We make no reason—no rhyme!
But if we stop to reason why
life will wave and pass us by!
15
Where We Are
Erik Stannard
16
Prayer
James Shadden
I can be assured there is a God,
I make my requests known to him in prayer.
A prayer is but a simple conversation
telling him all my needs.
My God reveals himself to me in meditation.
I have this assurance through my faith.
18
The Night My Freedom Died
Rodney Lampman
19
THE ASTRAL PLANES
Kenneth Bolen
21
Sunshine
Stephen Miller
22
James Shadden
My Prison
23
The Strongest
James Arbogast
25
EARLY RISER
Rodney Lampman
(for his wife!)
26
Who am I?
James Shadden
There are many black memories that worked thru in time can be
erased;
I must build endurance and continue at a very slow and steady pace,
27
Burning Love
Erik Stannard
28
Awake
Stephen Miller
Despair and hate have surrounded me, the cell bars have closed
I am locked inside this body of pain and torn flesh
As to when freedom will come my way I wait in anguish
I am all alone on this deserted island
I will soon be nothing more than to falter
I have gotten myself into this black abyss deep water or black skies
Scratching, clawing, fighting, digging, shortness of breath
I can’t see a thing because of all the pressures
All of these things that I truly do hate
Hopefully they all go away when I awake
29
America
Kenneth Bolen
30
Watching fish float in a bowl
Shawn P. Shelton
31
BIZZALLOONS
Jason Darrah
Superimposing afternoons
With songs that children dare to sing.
Where from came the bizzalloons?
32
I Don’t Know You
Kevin Bruegger
I know that you are out there somewhere. I don’t know who
you are or what you look like…I don’t know that sound of your
voice or the feeling of your skin on my fingertips. I don’t what color
your eyes are and I don’t know the color of your hair. I don’t know
the sound of your voice or the sound of your breath as you sleep
peacefully next to me…I don’t know where you live and I don’t know
your name…
What I do know is that you are out there somewhere…You
are lonely, and you always feel like something is missing, but you
haven’t lost anything…You have been in the arms of a few other
than me but it still doesn’t feel right…you have even been in a few
relationships but they have turned out to be the complete opposite
of what you are looking for in love.
So you continue searching, looking for that passion and car-
ing and love…That will make you eternally happy and content for the
rest of your life…you will continue searching until at last you find me
and I find you…
Until then I don’t know you.
33
Placebo effect
Takowa Talley
34
A Concrete Perspective
Randy Ekstrom
Peering through the window, I scan the horizon to the west, tak-
ing in as much of the view as the narrow concrete slot in the wall
permits. Mounds of unkempt snow have fairly dwindled down into
the soft earth, their ghosts resting in frosty puddles. A chilly breeze
ripples across the field, disturbing the tranquility, forcing steel fences
to quiver in rigid tremors. The sun pours itself onto the scene, its
radiance improvising warmth onto the idle grey tables that patiently
wait for dominoes and oft-repeated tales. A tired concrete boulevard
lies in the dull brown grass, stained with years of grit and plodding
footsteps as it circles the prison yard. An assortment of souls wander
aimlessly, adorned in grey and blue, like remnants of the Civil War,
staring with hardened eyes at a world that lies within sharp lines of
demarcation.
Far off, past the razor’s edge of the fence, a small herd of
cattle stands firmly in the breeze, their heads nuzzling the dark green
that erupts from clumps of faded grass. Near them, the blackened
heads of Canadian geese rise like stealthy periscopes searching the
horizon for enemy ships. A squadron of their brothers drifts gently
in from the north, dropping silently from buoyant clouds. Barren
trees stand bravely with their backs bowed by winter winds. Like Chi-
nese characters, they stiffly pose outstretched inky limbs, their green
buds invisible beneath unpolished armor.
Muffled shouts from across the yard filter through the thick
glass of the window as comrades call to one another.
“Meet me in the weight yard!”
“I can’t man—I gotta call my ol’ lady.”
“I got class.”
In the distance, near a desolate building, two cats—one black
and white, the other mottled brown, look up, their eyes searching.
They leap to their feet, mewing softly, as they jog cautiously toward a
bit of meatloaf carefully tossed in their direction.
Beyond the glittering fence, beyond the geese, past the
trees—the western horizon beckons to me, a silent voice that fills my
35
heart. I strain to see farther. I hear voices from home: my dad asking
me to hand him a crescent wrench; my mom scolding me for eating
the cookies before they’ve cooled down; my brothers comparing the
Vikings and the 49ers; my sisters listening to two generations of mu-
sic, giggling. I see my son, his tiny hand clinging to mine for the last
time, his blue eyes not understanding.
The edge of the world calls to me, perilously distant.
36
ALLIYONNA
THE ONE WHO’S LEFT TO HOLD MY DREAMS
Chris Levy
I am troubled by this pain I’ve caused this gift I was given. She is
only ten months old and just above two feet tall she has five little
teeth and a laugh that drops tears from my eyes. She is my little girl.
It’s been almost two weeks since I held her last. Her name is Al-
liyonna Verlea Ruth Levy. She is my world my life. I held her when
she was born, the first one to hold her. I see the air fill her lungs and
the color come to her skin as I cut the cord of love that attached
her to her mother. Now she’s growing like a rose. Pretty soon she
will be a young lady and I will have to let her go. IT WILL BE THE
HARDEST THING I’VE EVER DONE. The first time I went away
from her it took over a month to see her, then a month for my next
visit. Now she comes almost every two weeks to rain havoc on my
heart. She brings tears of joy to my eyes every time I see that she has
learned something new like when she said dada or hi or took her first
steps. I just miss my little angel in and in one hundred and sixty seven
days I will be home and this time I will stay.
37
Under the Tee-Kee Lamps
Robert Matheson
Scene: Stars stare down from a black and velvet sky, and a cold white
orb hangs silent above an old oak tree. Beneath its bare and crooked
boughs sit two people on an old wood and cast-iron deacon’s bench.
White clouds of condensed air hang about their heads in the still
December air. The only movement comes from the four tee-kee
lamps placed around the bench and a slight breeze. Each lamp flick-
ers and gives off an eerie glow of false warmth. Yet, they stand like
fierce sentinels against the night. The two people on the bench are
huddled together. But to anyone watching, it is obvious that the cold
is not the only reason for their closeness. The larger of the two has
his arm pressed gently around the shoulders of a young girl. Her long
chestnut hair hangs across his arm and disappears into the shadows
beneath the bench. Both of them are staring past the flames of the
tee-kee lamps and into the darkness beyond. With only a turn of her
head she looks up at him and says:
39
An Atlanta Skyline
Tim Petersen
The unruly dogs continued to shout ferocious warnings to
one another yard to yard, all directions up and down the alley for
what seemed like miles and hours. In the blackness of the night, I
slipped through the gate and made my way across the vacant back-
yard to the rear of the house where I began to scale the wall to reach
the second story balcony.
It is the same scenario each time I sneak to this healing com-
fort zone of mine. I have several of these portals across the country,
including Kauai and Alaska, but sneaking into this one calls for added
caution and peaked awareness. While I listen to the dogs barking and
growling from their own back yards I can’t help but wonder whether
or not the dogs are reporting that the intruder is light-skinned as
well as one of peculiar scent. I am in the heart of Atlanta’s Historical
District, which is the heart of Atlanta. It is nearly three o’clock in the
morning and there is a very good chance that I am the only human
of non-African American descent for many, many miles around.
You’d think that I could not afford to be found here, alone, in the
middle of the night, yet I walk without concern of being discovered.
Tonight, throughout this endeavor I am harmony, in balance and
walking in silence and beauty, as they say. I am one-hundred per-
cent native, I am a member of the only existing race there is in this
universe, the human race. Just like the name “uni-verse” implies…
uni-verse, one song. I come here often. I come here humbled. I come
here in supplication with a yearning heart and a need to connect with
the alternate, ethereal world of loving kindness and brotherhood. In
many places across the country I have located these comfort zones
where I seek the refuse of silence. I carry stones to construct per-
sonal medicine wheels where my lamenting and seeking visions take
place, safely in the protection of my guardian relatives. I am not able
to build a medicine wheel here, however, I do perform the sym-
bolic motions of the ritual to honor and invite all my relations, just
the same. From the first time I came to this location I knew it was
home to me, I felt protection in the reception from all my relations
who come before and after me. I know that I have always been here,
40
living, loving, learning leaving, and returning to the familiar, again.
Away, for a while, until another woman brings my spirit from the sur-
face of the ocean’s waters and bores me once again into a new body,
a new life. Once more, I am the eternal among the mortal, the infinite
mingling in the finite.
I crawl up onto the roof of the back porch to rest on the bal-
cony where I sit silently in reverence and in complete expectation of
visiting knowledge, beseeching the wisdom that has been kept safely
in the bosom of the ancients and elders who have long passed. Those
who anxiously await for the younger ones to appear, humbly asking
for the guidance and wisdom which can only come from the hearts
and safekeeping of these respected ones that have gone ahead.
I smell the bar-b-que and automobiles while I sit in the dark
humid summer heat of the Atlanta dawn. These smells are rolling
and blending with the Magnolia, Cherry and Persimmon, and Lilac
trees. The traveling aromas blend and bond, from the familiar to the
unknown, along with all of my senses they fade from today, to the
past. Sounds, sights, and smells of this night suddenly transfer into
another world where my heart is waiting for the communion with the
company of the elders I am seeking. Sensory perception becomes
lucid, taking on a new life related to a time in, and from, memories
past. Back and forth my heart and mind are traveling. Listening,
learning, and loving these voices of the past which are as real and fa-
miliar as my own Mother’s lullaby, as warm and assuring as her breast.
I am being loved, cherished and taught by friends and family whom I
have no conscious memory of ever knowing.
The dogs that sounded the alarms and threatened the intrud-
er only hours ago now know me, it seems they know and recognize
this person I am more than I know who I am, sitting here in wonder
and elation.
I sit and meditate for hours, looking off the porch of this his-
toric home, feeling like I belong here. I feel acceptance and love while
I sit here pleading to know and understand what that little boy seen
in the Atlanta skyline as he sat here while growing up. I wish to know
what inspired him as a twelve year old young man as he sat here with
his legs dangling over the edge like me. I question if his Grandfather
was aware of all the love, strength, and determination that stirred
41
in his little boy’s soul. I question if his Grandfather ever suspected
his little boy carried the dreams and visions of a prophet, one who
would one day help transform the hearts of the people in this world.
I am told, yes, his Grandfather, a great preacher in his own right,
recognized the depth of Truth, Strength, and Love in the eyes of his
little boy.
Was it this beautiful skyline that convinced this young man
that he would do it? Where did his confidence to attempt such a
change come from? That is why I come today. I come to surrender
my heart to this understanding of love and truth.
When the morning breeze begins to kick up with its coolness
and I get ready to retreat back to the reality of my mortal life I can’t
help but feel the presence of Martin Luther King, Jr. The love and
understanding that has been passed down to him through his Grand-
father and the others who mentored that sacred life is given to me for
sharing, also.
Some mornings I smoke a little personal blend of tobacco on
this porch, but mostly I am much too overwhelmed by the mystery
and sadness of it all. Every time I leave this place of communion I
am briefly saddened, I don’t want it to end. I have doubts that I have
been given what I came in search of and I want to remain until I hear
Martin clearly speak to the depths of my being. It’s all selfish doubts
and melancholy. Once I get to my vehicle I know that I have again
been blessed. From the presence of inner peace and contentment
I know I have made the connection. With a rejuvenated spirit I am
walking with Martin’s determination and it is time to go, the birds are
singing loudly and with joy.
These are life changing moments for me. So subtle, yet so
strong are the revelations in my life. It may be days, months, or even
seasons before an incident reveals a new heart in me. I may be in
discussion or thought concerning life and/or creation and our rela-
tionship with its obligation to it, or to each other, when I am struck
by a quiet or revolting epiphany. For a moment, I do not know or
remember when I had begun to think this way, but it seems natural
and clear to me now, then another familiar sensation overcomes me
and I am reminded of mornings on Martin Luther King’s balcony,
or words he spoke in a public address and it is clear to me where this
42
ancient wisdom living in my newly invigorated heart has come from
and I remember a piece of creation’s blessing, one splendid little mo-
ment that unfolded for my eyes only, like the morning with the birds
singing to me with joyful declarations, and I know. I don’t know how,
but I believe I know. Until it is absolutely clear to me I’ll continue to
think it was in the view of the awesome Atlanta skyline. As long as I
walk this side of life I’ll continue to sneak up onto that balcony every
chance I get when I am in Atlanta. Such a memorable skyline!
Thank you, Martin.
43
Political Innuendos
Takowa Talley
44
House or Mouse
Burke Frink
Characters:
Levi, 25, real estate agent
Jacob, 26, Levi’s business partner and best friend
Old lady/Lena
Scene: Levi and Jacob’s small realty office. There are two desks facing
each other—one against each wall—a filing cabinet next to Levi’s
desk (to the left of the audience) and water cooler next to Jacob’s.
The walls are plastered with pictures of houses and property for sale.
There is window upstage and we can see it is raining. As the scene
opens, we find Levi standing, staring out the window; Jacob is talking
on the telephone.)
Levi (to himself): God, I hate this weather. Hasn’t stopped raining in
three days.
Jacob (cheerfully): Well, Levi, old buddy, old friend of mine, we final-
ly managed to unload that three-story monstrosity over on Arclight.
(He rubs his hands gleefully.) And, for a hefty commission, I might
add. (He leans back and puts his feet on the desk.) Not a bad way to
start the day, eh?
Levi (absentmindedly): It’s been raining cats and dogs for three days
straight with no end in sight. God, I hate this weather. (Levi walks to
his desk, sits with a loud sigh and hangs his head. Jacob goes to Levi’s
desk and sits on the edge.)
Jacob: Why so glum, chum? You, of all people, oughta be on top of
the world. Just think, kiddo, in two days you’ll be marrying the girl of
your dreams. (He leans forward and claps Levi on the shoulder). And,
just think, with business going so well, you can take Lena to Japan for
your honeymoon.
Levi: That’s if there is a wedding.
Jacob: What do you mean, “if ”? Of course there’s going to be a wed-
ding. I’ve never seen two people as crazy about each other as the two
45
of you. So, why would you think you weren’t getting married?
Levi (in a choked voice): She’s gone, man. Nobody has seen her for
three days and I am really starting to get worried. The rehearsal din-
ner is tonight, and it’s like she’s vanished off the face of the earth.
(Pause. Deep breath.) Hell, her parents don’t even know where she is.
Jacob (encouragingly): Cheer up, man. I’m sure everything will work
itself out. (He goes back to his own desk.) Only advice I can give you
is try not to think about it, and stay focused on business. (He looks
up as the door opens.) Right now, we have a customer.
(Old woman enters. She is an odd mixture of wealth and bag lady.
Her hair and nails give the impression of a woman just coming from
a beauty salon. On the other hand, the floor-length coat and red
unbuttoned rubber boots she is wearing—as well as the patched,
over-sized canvas bag slung over her shoulder—makes her look like
she has been dumpster diving. Going to Levi’s desk, she sits down
and sets her bag on the floor.)
Old Woman: Excuse me, young man, I would like to buy a mouse.
Levi (Not sure he heard right): Come again, ma’am?
Old Woman: What do you mean, “come again”? I am not leaving. I
only just arrived.
Levi (clearing his throat nervously): Yes, ma’am. Sorry, ma’am.
Now…
Old Woman (interrupting): Young man, stop calling me your mother.
I am not your mom.
Levi (taking a deep, calming breath): What may I do for you?
Old Woman: I would like to buy a mouse.
(Jacob gets up and walks over to join the conversation. He sits on
the edge of Levi’s desk, leaning forward so the Old Woman can hear
him.)
Jacob: I’m sorry, but we don’t sell mice.
Old Woman: Why, thank you, dear. (She pats his cheek.) I think
you’re nice too.
46
Jacob (exasperated): Madam, this establishment is not a pet…
Old Woman (interrupting): Of course it’s wet, you nitwit. In case you
haven’t noticed, it is raining cats and dogs out there.
Jacob: I was just going to say this is a realty office.
Old Woman: I know that, silly boy, that’s why I’m here (pause) about
my kitty. (She turns back to Levi. When she does, Jacob draws circles
around his ear…the universal sign for “NUTCASE!”)
Levi: I really am sorry we can’t be of any help to you. (He picks up
phone.) Perhaps I could call someone.
Old Woman (shocked): Gun! Goodness, gracious, no! I don’t want to
buy a gun. I want to buy a mouse for my kitty. (Before Levi can reply,
the Old Woman opens the canvas bag at her feet, pulls out a dead cat
that’s been stuffed and mounted, and places it on Levi’s desk. Star-
tled, Levi jumps up, knocking over his chair.)
Levi (gasping): Good Lord, woman! What the hell is that…that…
thing? (Old Woman pets the dead cat.)
Old Woman: Why this is my kitty. Isn’t she just precious?
Levi: Lady, would you kindly get that disgusting thing off my desk.
Jacob (breaking in): Now, hold on just a minute, Levi. Now that the
cat is out of the bag…so to speak…I think I know what is going on
here. (He turns to the old woman.) If I am not mistaken, you want to
buy a mouse for a house with cat like that.
Old Woman (Beaming): Exactly.
Jacob: And, would you like some cheese to go with that mouse?
(The Old Woman claps her hands excitedly, like a little girl given a
birthday gift.)
Old Woman (gleefully): Oh, yes, yes; and a little pink ribbon tied in a
bow around its neck. That would look sooo cute.
Levi (in disbelief): What the hell are you two babbling about? Are you
both nuts?
47
Old Woman (fanning herself): Oh, do be quiet, dear, and get me
some water, please. It is dreadfully hot in here.
END SCENE.
48
Villanelly Kelly Sings the Blues
Jason Darrah
When Cracked
my heart in half,
was sad and I fell for
bent me twain, I you. Left alone
felt like I was through. on my broken throne,
Villanelly lunar dancing,
Kelly, what breathing thick
did you cobalt
do? blue.
And You
the birds, placed your
they split in bow against
two, muzzled their my leg, and played
beaks and silenced their until it sawed right
feet, so they could through, leaving me
hear twice as without a
much of single
you. clue.
49
Author Bios
James Shadden: Writing allows me to put some thoughts on paper. It
gives me the opportunity to express myself without confrontation.
Burke Frink: I use my writing to prove to myself, and the world, that
I am smarter than a monkey. Problem is, I only end up proving the
opposite.
Tim Petersen: For many years I have known that I carry a message
to share and my only option is learning to write because I really can’t
sing and no one listens to me when I talk.
Joseph Riffey: I have five shining sons (Josie, Dakotah, Dylan, Dal-
ton, and Gabriel) who light up my life and inspire me from a vast
world inside my heart. I love you and think of you every single day.
Waiting…always waiting to see you again.
Lewis Ayala: This is the last place I ever thought I’d see something I
wrote, glad I gave it a shot.
Randy J. Ekstrom: To DJ, whose words have helped teach me to
write…to breathe freely.
James Arbogast: I write because it is easier to express my feelings on
paper than trying to express them with spoken words.
Christopher Levy: Everything I do is for the love of my daughter, Al-
liyonna, whom I cherish above all things in life.
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