"dealer" poems
Iron bench, open sore
dragon rock, three in score
flesh on body, tortured soul
arms high, in hell's hole
Corner bulb, neon light
drake hotel, second flight
jolly pop, rizla plus
open flame, behind the bus
Broken fixtures, tully hat
channel swimmer, at the bat
blind alley, words of cuss
dealer waving, in a fuss
Grim reaper, boys in blue
super bee, armored shrew
****** sips, swollen glands
potpourri, on demand
Black death, huddler's arch
beat the cold, and summer parch
toothless grin, ****** glare
obituary, to be shared
Dead of night, decontrol
cheeva tar, black coal
east central, chinatown
mr. freeze, is coming down
Foot soldier, skidder row
chicken feed, and white blow
silver spoon, casted hand
demons surface, on demand
Frantic sounds, below the glass
poison waiting, to be passed
crack pipes, over coat
bodies flat, begin to float
Gospel sounds, from union square
friends gather, deep in prayer
guardian angels, now deployed
thornton park, without a void
Covenant house, in holy charm
welcomes all, with open arms
salvation spreads, on chapel row
kindness that, cannot be sold
Oct 14, 2017
Oct 14, 2017 at 5:36 PM UTC
What day is it where we at, where is
the **** were you trying to smoke
my cat??
I see things through glassed eyes,
my mouth has the hunger, but I'm
to ****** to drive, Whats in the fridge
in the cupboard, f*ck it i can make a
munchie feast out of that.
I smoke with friends or when alone, i,ll
smoke in the dark room the spliff my
only light I see "wow look at those trails...
I have speed dial on my phone 1 is my
frindly dealer who delivers to my home,
2,3,4 take away pardise they no what I
want when ever I phone.
I,m a stoner there is no mistake, I will
always be happy unless my **** does
get braked, and if my phone battery dies
no mucnchies, no smoke, I couldn't deal
with that, "wow look at the pretty lights,
Feb 27, 2014
Feb 27, 2014 at 11:24 AM UTC
Dented and newly used
my heart is set on cruise
Winning
Grinning
Never gonna give up
because I refuse
My heart may be breaking
but it is not the end
Dealer count me back in
I am on the mend
I am on a comeback
I am done being afraid
I am done being saved
Do not need another setback
I am on a comeback
*I believe in who I am
I'm better than I have been
I am not down and out
I have only just began*
Thank you HP and fellow poets for this great honor!!! Sorry I am so late to the party but my 8 yr old boy hijacked my phone from me.
Aug 9, 2016
Aug 9, 2016 at 4:07 PM UTC
Bunga Bunga everywhere,
a powerful man with silly hair
seduced a girl too young and scared,
was married too but didn’t care.
Corrupt and feared!
Bunga Bunga sounds like fun,
a swimming pool and saucy sun,
an Egyptian that was on the run
Or, under-aged Morocun
Who ****** the boss!
Bunga Bunga ***** and *****
coffles of women to choose
and buy and grab and ride and use,
with confidence
and so much to lose,
but why didn’t he lose?
Why didn’t he lose when it was on the news
and hundreds of thousands of people accused
him of scandal and incompetence?
He never revealed his conscience
or any remorse for play boy antics
so far removed from his pedantic
stereotype as a political leader,
more like a ****** wheeler dealer,
pervy old ***** geezer,
over cologned,
greasy,
heavy breather;
machinating falsifier;
misogynistic **********
He prized a Ruby above the rest.
Bunga bunga, what a pest...
she leaked his private fetish fest;
poor Silvio, he tried his best
to hide the bribes and bets
and ****** and drugs and threats
but never could care
what was right and
what was fair.
Could only care
about the colour of his
**** hair.
May 8, 2018
May 8, 2018 at 11:45 AM UTC
These streets
are home to countless
rodents
emerging for a moment
to feed
or breed
or just to breathe the sun
One by one line up
for the chance to
make something
out of nothing
Who are they and
where do they go
while the city refuses to
sleep
___
Doors to endless lands
line the avenue
each its own portal to the
unimagined
A family of four
with the yapping mutt
or a lonely cat lady
whose entryway wreaks of *****
a drug dealer
door slamming
every hour on the hour
or an empty snowbird's nest
On the surface
everyone pretends
they don't have a hole to
crawl back to
or walls that know
every night
But below the sewer grate
a world filled with
the stench
of what could have been a
good day
Many a barkeep can
shed some life
on these drunkards'
rat king
or at least a story of those who
made it out
Once or twice it'd be grand
to see the bottom of a martini glass
left with a sip or two
instead of the casually tipped
lipstick-clad cocktail,
drained of doubt and despair
until morning warms the
frozen dreams
of those retired to
a paradise unknown
Oct 25, 2015
Oct 25, 2015 at 1:45 PM UTC
The human soul was threshed out like maize
in the endless
granary of defeated actions,
of mean things that happened,
to the very edge of endurance, and beyond,
and not only death, but many deaths,
came to each one:
each day a tiny death, dust, worm, a light
flicked off in the mud at the city's edge,
a tiny death with coarse wings
pierced into each man like a short lance
and the man was besieged by the bread or by the knife,
the cattle-dealer: the child of sea-harbours,
or the dark captain of the plough,
or the rag-picker of snarled streets:
everybody lost heart, anxiously waiting for death,
the short death of every day:
and the grinding bad luck of every day was
like a black cup that they drank,
with their hands shaking.
10k
Warning:
The seagull flying over the Appalachians
could not possibly be amused by the
puzzles of an illegitimate composer
and the skyscrapers climbed.
1.
The skyscrapers were played by tall
rocks a girl climbed when she couldn't
remember if the cape she wore was
made from steel or newspaper.
11.
The newspaper they all read together
that morning (girl, boy, king, etc)
promised nothing but a fifty percent
chance of dandelions terrorizing the bus stop.
2.
The bus stop had since become a
dealer corner and the sunset behind
the mountains was blocked by the
flipping hair of a lost boy.
7.
The boy bought a toy for cheap -- it had
a built-in laser, so she stole it to blast a
whole hole in that guilt-ridden quilt hung
over the four dollar love seat.
6.
The love seat, she bought the day he went
to maple -- the soap dispenser was broken,
but she couldn't find anything new (that she
knew) to wash her hands with.
5.
The hands that handed her a hammer were covered
in promotions, so she stole the motorcycle when
they were watching the scarecrow going
through electric-shock, disco therapy.
8.
The therapy that she received from the
parrot-king and his troupe of square roots
was enough to make her not forget not regret
the boy with feathers in his ears.
10.
The ears she woke up with one morning
were different in shape than before
and the black fur she knew
was growing before her eyes.
3.
The eyes of the boy were wider than
the nightly news station promised, and
there wasn't really a difference
between caves and boxes in a town that small.
4.
The town she arrived in didn't have
a carpool lane or derby, so
she had to take her pet goldfish
to the river for his depressive state.
9.
The river wasn't as flooded after a couple
weeks of changing the tune on the jukebox
she found way before the departure
of her white gold pearls.
12.
The pearls she wore for her
coming-of-age were buried beneath
a dirt mound when she promised herself
to always insist on herself.
Apr 23, 2012
Apr 23, 2012 at 10:49 AM UTC
Choose **** Choose a dealer. Choose your rolling papers. Choose a **** Choose mind numbingly long conversations about **** all. Choose home grown. Choose frequent holidays to amsterdam. Choose red eyes. Choose the biggets pizza ever for when the munchies kick in. Choose paranoia. Choose chilling with mates. Choose hallucinating about a giant green hedgehog following you home. Choose watching Cheech and Chong. Choose skunk. Choose super skunk. Choose hiding your stash from the police. Choose spilling ***** **** water on your carpet. Choose a fake jamaican accent. Choose space cakes. Choose your future. Choose ****
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 6:08 AM UTC
A psychedelic substance
A psychedelic substance
Drugs. Drugs a unrelated substance.
familiar states of consciousness, familiar states.
A stimulation
A stimulation of the body
in my body
the drug, with the familiar states of consciousness
familiar states
Oh God, oh Jesus
The hallucinogens as known as drugs
consciousness
Jesus, a pusher, a dealer
a psychedelich *******
a Psychedelich mushroom
like the substance
the psychedelic substance
Capture your attention
in a box
in your mind
in your psychedelic jesus mind
Jesus was a pusher
jesus was a drug addict
a psychodelic drug addict with drums around his neck
Feelings, euphoria, empathy
for Jesus
Love, heightened self-awereness
only for Jesus
Only for my dealer
Increased sensuality, increased awareness of sensation.
Creativity, paranoia
Paranoia over Jesus
Feb 26, 2015
Feb 26, 2015 at 2:26 PM UTC
I'm trembling, but who's to blame:
the dealer
or
the drug?
And, at this point, what's the difference?
I like the way the dealer warms me up, but I like the way the drug cools me down. I like the way they both make me crazy, but I love how they keep me sane. I love the way they whisper everything, but at night, they scream my name. I like the way the drug kisses my insides, and the dealer covers my skin. I love the way the drug feels like a virtue, and the dealer is nothing more than a sin.
I like the way this addiction is going, but I hate it all the same.
I wouldn't mind the dealer, if he wasn't the same place from which the drug came.
Jun 7, 2014
Jun 7, 2014 at 10:32 PM UTC
unsure, uncertain,
of the laws invested
in the realms and reams
of poetry ingested,
am i addict,
or supplier,
retail consumer
or
wholesale supplier,
a mom & pop candy store,
or a metastasizing intelligence
that takes any thing, and all,
a solitary letter,
an instance of a sighting,
a gasping palpitation
and reformats it into
a hehe literary madhatter^ piece
you supply, I demand,
I supply, boy oh boy,
do I ever, but you never,
come to me directly asking,
write me a poem, thick or thin,
witty fitty or an overly looooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooong
e~pistle (a/k/a e~pistol)
yet the trade goes on and om,
the marketplace never closes,
except when periodically the
gatewaykeeper is slow to pay his bills,
and the trading centres are global scattered,
young entrepreneurs try to sell a single
piece, as if it was breaking news history,
and tired old men, review their lived,
eager to memorialize, so it's ok to forget,
in retro!spect perspective,
the mirror who cannot lie,
states affirmatively, you are
both ****** and dealer,
a corporation scientific
of ancient biblical origins,
a psalmist, a deacon,
a lyricist, but thankfully
not a singer,
an essayist who writes best
when ****** by tawny port wine,
who snatches inspiration with
equality of equity,
(wait! that's wrong,
the equity of equality,)
where he can
find, ***** city streets, the deaths
of heroes, the sunrise calm miracle
he drinks in daily, by rivers, by seas,
by estuaries brackish, and streams
of watered purity, the riveting bays,
the individualized glisten deflected
into my eyes, that each
contains one pure blessing within…. nml
Sep 27, 2025
Sep 27, 2025 at 9:24 AM UTC
he dudes want to battle my verses
they can't even read my curses
Jamaican style,I'll ****** you with curses
then write your ulogy in cursive
you can't understand my flow your so subversive
i'm deeper than the surface,
i'm so submersive
so stop playing with my time, you are so not worth it
if you want to get beat you can get tekken,
i'll transform into sun-tsu
and use your one style against you,
theirs two sides to every story
so this plot
could get complex
i'm already at the top
so if you try to climb-max
**** could get confusing,
trust me- you don’t want me ******* to my own conclusion
don’t force my hand, I’mma a dope dealer
with more beemers than than a four wheeler
Dec 5, 2014
Dec 5, 2014 at 10:17 PM UTC
iUsed To Be A Dope Dealer .
**** Turned On Me, Now im The Dope Feind.
Mary Jane Used To Be My Main its
Insane, Now iGot Methamphetamine
iN My Veins.
& iDont Give A ****** **** iLove
Them Stronger Drugs
iDont Take Em To Avoid Problems.
iCan Solve Them.
iDo iT For The High & Them
Dialated Eyes.
Can You See That iM Krazie
****** Up Mentality Since The Age
Of 13.
iGet Twisted So My Life Can Look Unrealistic iGot That Sick Sober High
My Times Quickly Passing By.
Sep 6, 2014
Sep 6, 2014 at 2:30 PM UTC
Under
The rule of law
With a great smile
She plays mathematical game.
Sometime,
Adding,
Subtracting,
Multiplying,
Dividing,
Switching
But rarely,
Stopping
On query, she replied
“You are getting pill for”,
Pain
Sleep
Wake up
Dream
Breathe
Smile
Forget, and to
Live
Disclosure
My only drug dealer
My Doctor.
Feb 7, 2018
Feb 7, 2018 at 6:36 PM UTC
She
Changed
My
World
Everytime
She
Smiled
I asked her to stay calm
She told me her heart was too wild
It could not be tamed
A fire burned in her soul
I gave her a love she could only buy from me
I was her dealer, and blind lover
For I saw love through her
Sep 9, 2017
Sep 9, 2017 at 8:18 PM UTC
I walked to meet up with the dope dealer
To get some more of the soul stealer.
Nov 26, 2021
Nov 26, 2021 at 11:21 PM UTC
‘it’s possible to love her
even after all of this’
pills
needles into arms
spoons with burnt bottoms
passed out on the floor
drooling
skinny
starving
convulsing
i knew when you
lied about being over it
you were still skinny
i saw the needle marks
in the crook of your elbow
i saw the spoons
in the back of the drawer
i knew when you
made me go home so soon
your dealer was also your affair
your husband, your ex lover
your ex life, the opposite of living
you’re dying
you are dying and it is your fault
and i have run out of empathy
yes it is a disease
yes it starts as a choice
yes
you were depressed
but you still
you.
you said.
“who cares i want to die anyway
who cares i’ll ruin my body
my brain my
relationships
my life”
the hope has left your eyes
what’s it like to look up to a destroyer
what’s it like to love a broken woman
what’s it like to watch the progression
the regression
the walking backwards
one step forward but if you say
“just one more time”
it’s 5 steps back
10 steps back
20
30
the cut is deeper
the scars are darker
and you are gone.
what’s it like
to admire an addict
to be denied what you had
to be ignored
questions go unheard
“where have you been?
is everything okay?
i miss you.”
you see the inevitable
you hope it turns out different
you hope she is the one in a million
to miss a ruiner
to cry over the loss
to realize that
you distanced yourself for this exact reason
it is sickening
and you ask
“what if”
but “what if”
isn’t
“what is”
so you vow to never go down that path
so you pray you will break the cycle
so you progress
one step at a time.
Sep 5, 2018
Sep 5, 2018 at 9:07 PM UTC
I am supposed to be writing something
Because I am a writer
I’m supposed to be feeling something
Because I’m a feeler
A bad mood healer
A sunshine dealer
So wash your face and stare at the sun
And run, run run
A do run, run
It’s so much fun
Do what you want
Do what you want
Feel it erupt around you
Like a clown with a frown won’t do
Same with you
Not smiling baby
Light it up
Little darling
Live it up
Come on now
Stir the ***
Footsteps carry feet outside
And a body catching a ride
Don’t look now but there’s
A person inside
Walking that line
So many
Strangers in the night
Exchanging disregard
Invisibility works best
For some I guess
But I’d rather fly
Or would I?
- insert sigh -
Lay my head down
Close one eye
Keep one open
In case you try
To marry me in my sleep
Courting me in my dreams
Or so it seems
Do the work
While I’m awake
Look me in my whole face
You can’t replace
Or fake
Love
Feb 22, 2012
Feb 22, 2012 at 3:46 PM UTC
The past participle of deal is dealt;
Thus, when the cards fall is when it is felt.
A deck of cards knows its own unsealer
as well as the skill and art of the dealer.
Trump cards, (although not normally plural)
are to share. The enjoyment is jural.
We hope they are more than dealed incitements:
those fifty-five thousand sealed indictments . . .
Oct 2, 2018
Oct 2, 2018 at 8:01 AM UTC
Bottom feeders flourish
When the economy's a bust
When bad times are the norm
And good times turn to dust
When neighborhoods go south it's sad
But a sign of their demise
Is when a bunch of pawn shops open up
Before your very eyes
When stores close down or move on out
After years in the same place
Their memory is a radar blip
They leave without a trace
But as fast as they lock up their doors
Another shop moves in
It's the local pawn shop dealer
He's a shark without a fin
Like dollar stores and boarded doors
The pawn shop shows the way
That business has moved on out
Or closed or moved away
They prey on peoples hardship
They broker deals without a care
They don't need to know your history
They just know that you're there
The street has three new pawn shops
Palaces of buy back stuff
It's bad when there is one around
But, three...well that's enough
One opened by the Jeweller
Two doors down across the street
Now he's buying up possessions
Of everyone he meets
Folks who purchased jewellery
From Old Cy at his old store
For each twenty of it's value
The pawn shop gives you four
Cy can't afford to buy back
He doesn't have much money left
And besides his store insurance
Doesn't cover much for theft
The people at the Pawn shops
Took jobs and live in town
They trained two counties over
They succeed when times are down
It's a sign of the recession
Downtown dies and fades away
And then the bottom feeders surface
Their the ones who're gonna stay
You can look in the shop windows
Know who bought what and from where
You know the candlesticks were bought at Cy's
And you know who bought them there
The guitar that hangs beside them
That was pawned by Emma Rose
She needed money for the bills
When the fresh fish plant had closed
There's a snapshot of the township
Sitting inside on their walls
They pawn shop is successful
While the economy still falls
You can see a piece and start to cry
For you know just why it's there
There's no one here to help them
There's no jobs and it's not fair
They open up each morning
While the nights dregs still sleep outside
They have done two hours business
Before lights on at Cy's
It's a sad and constant story
Of just what a town's become
But when asked if they've been in there
The inhabitants go "mumb"
They never seem to close up
The town's never make it back
While most places lose money
Pawn shops make it by the sack
The bluesman has some stuff there
The bartender has some too
Even though her bar's still going
She did what she had to do
The street, it is it's own world
Jewelly shops, banks and bars
But inside the local pawn shops
Are hidden all the scars.
May 11, 2012
May 11, 2012 at 7:54 PM UTC
It was a Friday night,
I was on the phone with my grandmother when I looked at the clock suddenly remembered,
it was time for the ritual.
I immediately hung up on my grandmother,
and stripped of my clothing.
The ritual required I be naked.
I then took some goat cheese out of my refrigerator,
and put it in the microwave.
I waited.
The goat cheese seemed like it took forever to melt,
but it only took a few minutes.
In those few minutes,
I just sat there,
and played with my left ******
Finally, the timer went off,
and it was done.
I took the melted goat cheese,
and poured it onto my body.
It burned,
but I suffered through it.
I would do anything for the Goat Gods.
Anything.
Once the melted goat cheese was poured onto my body,
I began to lather myself in it.
Soon, I was covered in melted goat cheese.
The smell,
was horrendous,
but in a way,
I enjoyed it.
Then, I removed the goat blood from my refrigerator,
and poured it into a ***
which had been on the oven all day,
waiting.
I began to boil the goat blood.
I took a sip of it.
"No" I said as a shook my head in disappointment.
I had been ripped off again by my goat blood dealer.
There was no flavoring in it.
It tasted like goat blood.
So I threw in some carrots,
and a dollop of horse radish.
While it was boiling,
I went to my bedroom,
to my closet,
where I found my goat mask.
A real goats head I had carved out and made into a mask.
I put it on.
When I had it on,
I felt like one with the Goat Gods.
When I returned,
the goat blood was done.
I poured it into a Tupperware container,
sealed it,
and put on my shoes.
By now,
the once hot and slimy goat cheese,
was dried,
and stuck to my body.
It was crusty,
like the crusties you get in your eyes,
just all over your body.
I walked out the front door,
across the street,
to my neighbors house.
I tried to open the front door.
Locked.
They knew I was coming this time.
Last week,
they forgot.
So I left the goat blood on their front steps,
and left.
When I got home,
I immediately went to the TV,
sat down,
and turned on "Antique Roadshow".
I looked out my window,
and saw my nervous neighbor grab the goat blood,
and bring it inside.
"Soon they will join the Goat Side" I said as I repeated it to myself, "Soon they will join the Goat Side".
Apr 4, 2012
Apr 4, 2012 at 7:55 PM UTC
Poetry the feeling
Poetry the action.
Poetry in everything
Poetry in working
Poetry in drug dealing
Poetry in words
Nouns and verbs
Poetry in metaphors
Poetry in similes
Lest cement a brick like a drug dealer does a ki
Poetry for the poor
Poetry for the rich
Poetry for the sick
Poetry for the healthy
Poetry for those trying to make heaven on earth
Poetry for you
Poetry for me
Poetry for all
Poetry Is My Poison ****
Jun 5, 2015
Jun 5, 2015 at 7:33 AM UTC
There's holes in all my pockets
No more money do they hold
My hands can't go much deeper
Trying to shield them from the cold
I've got 'bout fifteen dollars
Rolled and stuffed inside my boot
Got it from a pawn shop
Where I went and sold my suit
The road to where I'm going
Is one I've never been before
I've gambled all I own away
I'm looking for a score
All my life's possessions
Are scattered cross the land
In pawn shops and casinos
In the mountains and the sand
I gambled with the devil
Didn't win, had no chance
Now, I'm hitching it to nowhere
With empty pockets in my pants
A dealer with a lucky streak
And me on my last legs
Now, I'm one step up from dying
I'm now one of the worlds dregs
The money in my left boot
Won't last long when I hit town
I'll find the first casino
And my sorrows I will drown
Be it on the tables
Or at the bar telling my tale
It won't last long no matter
But my soul still ain't for sale
I gambled with the devil
Didn't have a chance at all
It's amazing that the distance
That there is for one to fall
It didn't take a decade
And it didn't take a year
But, I'm one step from the bottom
Aching hard for my next beer
I'm hitching it to nowhere
But, I'll know when I arrive
Don't know how long I'll stay there
Or how long I will survive
I've got holes in all my pockets
All I own is on my back
I gambled with the devil
He took red, and I took black.
Sep 9, 2013
Sep 9, 2013 at 11:04 AM UTC
She was the glittering fairy
In the books,
But those who knew
Of the fairy
Tinker Bell,
Told another truth.
For hook was never after Pan
He was to hook a fairy,
Was his plan.
She had them hooked
On Dust,
Each morning
They would snort the glitter,
Then once again
Before dusk.
Those of weak soul
Could not take the toll,
Blood would seep
from there,
Eyes
Ears
& nose.
Feed to the croc
With a clock ticking,
Also addicted to
Lost boy flesh
Glazed,
Glittered,
Eyes,
Of a hunger untold
Peter Pan
He flew to our world,
Not for
Friendship
Or for fun,
But to replace those fallen
Dismembered,
Hacked,
carved,
All by tinkers wand.
They were
Feed to the croc,
When all were asleep
High on dust
They never did ask,
Where the others had gone.
Enticed by a far away land,
Those who were taken
Never again to see home.
The lost boys
In a far off Land.
Peter her protector,
From the man,
The one with a hook for a hand.
Stories sing a different tune,
For it was tinker bell
Who magically removed
This limb called hand,
To quench its hunger,
Fed it to croc
Now the beast has a
Taste for the man.
No ill does hook hold
Against Pan,
But a sword
Must be put
Through this child,
Who thinks he is man.
For hook is the only one
Who can rid this land,
Of the twisted dealer
Of dust,
Who wishes
To enslave this land.
Jun 23, 2014
Jun 23, 2014 at 4:36 PM UTC
The winding never-ending road begins in the forest
The root of all evil is an exchange of nature’s breath
The root of all evil isn’t born in any sense
The root of all evil begins with a death
The carcass is driven to its’ after-life
It’s given a new face and a new shade of green
Most of it won’t make it to hell, every day it’s shredded
There is no reminder that what it is, isn’t what it seems
Each and every piece that makes it, starts in the same place
In this place it is still meaningless until claimed
It is then transferred for some purpose
Could be violence, could be music, could be life….
It continues on this-never ending path
The stock broker to get coffee
The coffee worker to get burgers
The burger griller to eat bread
The baker to ride a skateboard
The skateboarder to smoke ***
The drug dealer to get a weapon
The gun shop owner to have ***
The ********** to keep living
The pharmacist to play the market
The stock broker to….
We’ve reached the beginning again.
The root of all evil is our fuel to survive
Our fuel to achieve, our fuel to happiness, our fuel to wrath
So when does this stop and what happens when it dies
The root of all evil begins with a death, it’s a never ending path
Nov 8, 2010
Nov 8, 2010 at 10:24 PM UTC