Reggie Clemons is still sitting in prison awaiting an appeal to make him free again. His story is like many others in the system, you don’t know what to believe or understand.
After being attacked by guards with mace during Muslim Ramadan exercises. He requested a prison transfer from Bonne Terre to a prison in the state capital of Jefferson City.
A few years ago, I met his chaplain and did an exclusive interview on him. He appeared to really tell his story to the world.
In 1991, at the age of 19 he was taken from his home by police under the false pretense that they just wanted to question him about the murders of two sisters that took place on the Chain of Rocks bridge in St Louis, MO. Despite the insistence from his mother to obtain a lawyer first, the police assured her that Reggie would be fine and would return home later that day. He has not been back home since.
Reggie stays occupied by writing poetry, working, and preparing for a television feature..
I am not here to be a judge, or a jury. I just think rather he is innocent or guilty. Let’s tell his story, like they’d done made convicted murderer Pam Hupp life out to be a movie star so quickly.
In the meantime let check out his series of poetry he sent over to me.
I awaken to be woke to a brand new day in the lazy breeze of an of day.
Hope for the of chance that the hint of Barbee Que will float on the wind my way.
As I smell the neighbors flowers from down the street and around the corner to mix into a bouqet of roses, jasmine, lavender, and Marigold of delight.
I close my eyes and wonder what would it be like to be a bubble bee from around the way. Chasing my own tail too heapy to smell the fresh blooming flowers of the dream.
I can good anywhere I choose, but there is never a moment to lose, when chasing the best pollen, for the best honey of the day. Like golden wet dripping money, too expensive to be called a treat.
After all the work it takes to make honey stumping your feet, like pressed wine. Well refined and ages with time to last forever and a day, to never spoiled. Honey blesses all our toils with a taste of a freed spirit and heals the soul like a ladybug tickling your nose.
On this lazy afternoon, sunset will come and be gone too soon.
If I were a well rounded ring
Hone by a jeweler whose
Soundly upon the scare of his craft.
Whose been thrown in
A rubbish pile.
No matter how much
You defecate upon me,
I am still,
A well Rounded gold ring,
From my father’s rubbish pile.
And my soul shines through.