A man in a wheelchair reading a book under a tree on a sunny day.
Photos: Elizabeth Escobar – ibY (2021).

I'm Ekiwah Adler-Beléndez.

Help me get back to jail

in the name of poetry!

Here's the story.

Dear friend,


Over the past year, it's been an absolute privilege to bring poetry to a juvenile detention center in Mexico City. Thanks to generous private donors, I conducted multiple workshops on how to read, write, and revise a poem for a group of young men aged 14-18 accused of a crime and detained until their trial. 

Hi, I'm Ekiwah, how ya'll doing? 

Photo: Elizabeth Escobar 

The rawness of these poems, their boldness, and their vitality inspired me – it's the real gasoline fueling my wheelchair. 


And the final workshop culminated with these brave young poets reading their poems in front of more than 30 inmates and security guards.


The program was such a success that the juvenile detention center invited me to lead six more workshops with a new group of detainees. These workshops will also culminate in a final poetry performance. The tremendous support from people around the world for the first phase of the project has been astounding, and I’m confident we can do it again with your help! 


Can I count on you to support this next chapter? 


Keep reading to learn more!


With Love,

Ekiwah Adler-Beléndez

2024

My current project

Imagination unbound: poetry in prison

Short on time? Watch the video instead!

Giving poetry workshops and readings in a detention center in Mexico City for men between the ages of 14 to 18 awaiting trial . . .

*Photos: JJAI, Juvenile Justice Advocates International (2020). Retrieved from Día de Visita Documentary Gallery. 

Not all tattooed like I thought

No necklaces with skulls 

And black gothic clothes 

These young men 

knit crosses out of wool and laugh

Play basketball, 

love poems in the sun 

And yet staff tell me behind closed doors 

many have been to Hell and aren't out.

Who am I to expose the details?

To point fingers and seek explanations

Like a court judge?

Not me! As I read to them

I learn there's one thing 

No bars can imprison. 

Imagination unbound: Poetry 

a sliver of the moon

Smaller than a mouse, 

bigger than a house 

What can trap it? 

I can't promise

it will crush all cruelty 

Set a man free

But I've seen

an ember

A poem light up

Nothing less than the fire 

of love begins there: 

A human being in language letting

the cold-hearted steel

Of desolate Hearts 

begin to melt 

and be shaped again:

If you're still listening 

I can tell you 

That time and time again 

poetry has saved me.

But the practice of poetry 

Requires time.

Its perfume must be 

carefully extracted and macerated 

to carry the soul of a rose

And bring it forth. And yet sometimes 

the enchanted carriage

has a deadline like midnight

before it turns into a pumpkin.

Photo: Elizabeth Escobar – ibY (2021).
A man in a wheelchair on an illustrative and metaphorical road, to suggest an active journey.

So I need the funds to get back to the detention center fast.

I must return 

to the detention center

as fast as I can

These teenagers here

have 1 to 5 months here

before they are judged

guilty or set free. Most are gone

Within 15 days. 

LET POETRY CARVE A SONG WITHIN THEM.

Get me back quickly: donate now.

"Ekiwah's work is vital. It's a way to think beyond The Prison Walls." —Berenice Perez Ramirez, social worker and professor at the National Autonomous University of Mexico

Make a PayPal donation

The project continues into 2024–2025!

To continue part two of the project, we need to raise $3,500 (U.S.) for six developmental sessions in poetry analysis and writing, and for a final poetry performance and celebration ($500 per session) as fast as possible. The challenge is that we need to complete these sessions within seven consecutive weeks, before the young men move on to sentencing or are released.

Meeting the funding goal in full is crucial to making this happen in the time frame required.

🔒 PAYPAL (END-TO-END ENCRYPTED)
The logo for PayPal.

Bonus: Read poems written by the young inmates 

A child's poem


There was a child dreaming,

Then his dreams left, and his soul turned dark and without feeling.

He realized he was trapped in a river of problems

and didn't know what to do.


My unhappy day


An afternoon in April, I lost you. I don't know what else to say.

There is sadness in the sad afternoon.

Your smile has pierced my brain like an arrow.

I remember the hour and day I no longer had news of you.


Untitled


I feel like a dog in a pound, unable to speak.

Your donations go to ...

Transportation

The necessary gas and toll money for my round trip to the detention center. 

Driver and PCA

A skilled driver with wheelchair accessible car.

A disability personal care assistant (PCA) for me.

Programming

Donations are essential to the programming: and ensures the teaching curriculum is well developed, meaningful, and impactful and the project coordination between the facility is well managed and respects their code of conduct. 

If you can't donate, spread the news!

On social media, with friends you'll amuse. With your network's help, we'll grow strong. Together, we'll right what's wrong! 😉

CLICK + TO SHARE

¿Preguntas?

About me–in quick rhyme

As a poet in a wheelchair

My father and mother paid most of my bills

So I could keep writing poetry and dancing with the Daffodils 

while stealing a line from Wordsworth

A young man with flowing hair sits against a majestic mountain backdrop, creating a captivating and picturesque scene.
Photo: Dhyan Adler-Beléndez (2000s).

–$0

Now that my beloved father is dead

There's no time to dip my quill in ink 

I must win my daily bread 

Or look at my empty 

bank account with dread

Mary Oliver said it best 

Being a poet is not more important 

than being a janitor and cleaning a toilet 

But neither is it less. 


 A monochrome image featuring poet Mary Oliver, a bespectacled woman, exuding elegance and sophistication.
Mary Oliver. Retrieved from SSJE (2012).
A man in a wheelchair holding a yellow wet floor sign, conveying the irony of the sometimes unrealistic expectation of manual labor for people with disabilities. Emotional or though leadership labor is often disregarded.
Photo: Elizabeth Escobar – ibY (2021).

My skills as a janitor would be poor

and I'm too much of a wild man to fall 

for academic tenure and its allure 


So let me invite you instead 

to donate to my poetry work 

Which is where I can hit 

the nails of living on the head!

"Without your help my son would be on the streets without a place to live while I had colon cancer. You and your work have saved Our Lives." —David Vasquez, father of my client Juan Carlos

Extras

Workshop details

Bonus: Read the prison poetry workshop curriculum 

Workshop Schedule 


The poetry workshop sessions are scheduled to take place in the morning, from 8:00 to 10:00.


Session Structure



Workshop Session Themes



Results


The ultimate goal of this workshop series is to compile a rough draft of a poetry anthology. This collection is expected to garner the attention of various human rights organizations, prompting their interest in contributing to its publication. Our shared journey through poetry will serve as a powerful testament to the transformative impact of creative expression within the context of these young lives. Once the anthology is published, all sales will go to bettering the lives of the authors.

Poetry corner

Read my poems

"Evening Summer Rain" – A poem for Mary Oliver

Evening Summer Rain


For Mary Oliver


To realize 

fire and water are not enemies 

      only twins knotted 

in the braids of lightning;


to unlatch my mouth 

      and unfurl my tongue

for the electricity

of each tingling drop—


to move toward the storm 

     and be drenched by it, deliberately—is a reckless 

summer act.


But you and I know why 

we have been busy

       soaking the moment in 

without rushing 

for shelter. We hope for nothing less 


than Heaven itself

plummeting down

into our bodies!


⎯ "Amor sobre Ruedas" by Ekiwah Adler-Beléndez (Editorial 17, 2021)

"Love Song to My Motorized Wheelchair"

Love Song to My Motorized Wheelchair


I often forget you. You 

are cranky and lumbering.


But then I turn you on

and I remember 

I love you


especially on high speed

I love you recklessly

rolling with me 


my joystick is yours 

throbbing in full gear

as we bump


denting the floor.


You wait for me to

charge you up

and you come squealing  

                             asking for more!


If I don't please you 

your weight 

might crush my bones.


You love to see me wriggling 

and when I try to pull out of you

you hold me inside.


Oh my dark dawn!

Oh my loyal taskmaster!

Oh my electric,

steel tempered mistress!


⎯ "Amor sobre Ruedas" by Ekiwah Ekiwah Adler-Beléndez (Editorial 17, 2021)