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"medicin" poems
The door opened, he entered There was a whoosh of air The Bluesman looked bedraggled And he grabbed himself a chair Cy, came out, he heard the bell Saw the Bluesman, gave a smile He said "I see the storm is worse" "It's gonna keep up for a while" The Bluesman looked around the store Saw a guitar on the wall "She's an old one hanging over there" He called to Cy, now down the hall He grabbed it, rubbed the neck some He said "she's got a lot to say" He went back to the wooden chair And the Bluesman, he did play "There's lots of music in this girl" "So many songs not sung" He looked back at the hook behind Where this old guitar had hung He sang songs about Jesus about freedom, and the moon Amazingly for the guitars age It wasn't out of tune Cy went to the pawn stores back returning with a flask He'd brought the Bluesman medicin The Bluesman continued with his task "This old girls a treasure trove" "She's just so full of words" "Songs kept hidden for so long" "Songs just waiting to be heard" He played some more, the storm let up He thanked Cy, took his leave "An old guitar needs to be played" "It's lost songs to be grieved" "You know that you can play her" "Whenever you come by" The Bluesman turned and smiled He held the flask given by Cy "That old guitar is special" "She's an old soul, just like me" "I thank you for the offer" "Time will tell, we'll see" The Bluesman left the pawnshop It was if he wasn't there He went out back behind Gianni's And sang his music to the air
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Oct 8, 2017
Oct 8, 2017 at 3:41 PM UTC
The old guitar (a bluesman poem)
The door opened, he entered There was a whoosh of air The Bluesman looked bedraggled And he grabbed himself a chair Cy, came out, he heard the bell Saw the Bluesman, gave a smile He said "I see the storm is worse" "It's gonna keep up for a while" The Bluesman looked around the store Saw a guitar on the wall "She's an old one hanging over there" He called to Cy, now down the hall He grabbed it, rubbed the neck some He said "she's got a lot to say" He went back to the wooden chair And the Bluesman, he did play "There's lots of music in this girl" "So many songs not sung" He looked back at the hook behind Where this old guitar had hung He sang songs about Jesus about freedom, and the moon Amazingly for the guitars age It wasn't out of tune Cy went to the pawn stores back returning with a flask He'd brought the Bluesman medicin The Bluesman continued with his task "This old girls a treasure trove" "She's just so full of words" "Songs kept hidden for so long" "Songs just waiting to be heard" He played some more, the storm let up He thanked Cy, took his leave "An old guitar needs to be played" "It's lost songs to be grieved" "You know that you can play her" "Whenever you come by" The Bluesman turned and smiled He held the flask given by Cy "That old guitar is special" "She's an old soul, just like me" "I thank you for the offer" "Time will tell, we'll see" The Bluesman left the pawnshop It was if he wasn't there He went out back behind Gianni's And sang his music to the air
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Natten omslutter os som ringe af stål. Jeg vil se igennem dine øjne, transparent hele vejen. Gennembore dine organer og sprænge rygsøjlen. Tåget og tung af medicin ser jeg dig. Mørke og reptiløjne. Kolde som sne. Kyniske. Solsystemet danser over jorden af bregner. Man er forpligtet til at tænke håbefuldt, men jeg tænker ikke håbefuldt. - men famler i blinde med kolde hænder. Isblå negle og blodmangel. Lad os gå sammen, tænker jeg, men tier. Sætter mig i stedet sammen med de andre og vi klipper huller i hinandens hud. Septembers fjerne varme sætter lys i mine øjne og drager mig ud i natten. Lyset erstattes af kulørt neon og tager pusten fra mig. Der er en indebrændt stemme i min hals og for enden af halsen sidder munden. Tungen slår knuder og jeg kan næsten ikke, men med sammenbidte tænder, skriger jeg. Efter hvad aner jeg ikke. Inhalerer det sidste marv ud af dagen og hoster den ud med bræk. Samfundet er dødt, og jeg vil ikke længere forestille mig livet med lungerne fyldte af kviksølv. Jovist har vi været i det grønne. Jovist. Jeg kom til festen i den sorte nat. Natten af ramaskrig. Jeg ligger søvnløs i mælkevejen diffust omsværmet af natteravne og stjerneskud. Stjernedød. Jeg lytter til deres stemmer, ser dem igennem øjnene og på et tidspunkt går jeg hjem.
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Dec 21, 2014
Dec 21, 2014 at 4:24 PM UTC
Til jeg gik hjem
jeg vågner her på mit yndlings sted badet i morgensol og kan dufte resterne af chanel og rødvinen fra i går og hjemmebagte boller og nymalet kaffe til at starte dagen på jeg kan høre dig grine i køkkenet og den ring af ætsende syre der havde dannet sig om mit hjerte forsvinder som var du helende medicin følelsesløs havde jeg været så længe at jeg helt havde glemt hvordan det var at føle og hvorfor det jeg føler lige er for dig ved jeg ikke men lige nu er det okay ikke at vide og bare nyde for det er så ubegribeligt men det er okay så jeg lukker øjnene og sover ubesværet videre mens lyden og følelsen af dig og dit dyrebare nærvær svæver hen over mig som en beskyttende skygge og snart vil vi drikke dagens første kop kaffe på terrassen og det hele vil stadig forekomme mig så ubegribeligt ... men det er okay så længe du er her
0
Oct 13, 2014
Oct 13, 2014 at 7:02 PM UTC
ubegribeligt
*Broken dreams Broken dreams Everywhere On this empty street Or not that empty After all A person is walking All alone The dim light The dim light Form at street lamp Brightens up the night The lonely soul's shadow Is walking beside Another one Another one Another broken dream Comes to the street But the lonely heart Still keeps beating Through the rain That's falling Where to go Where to go The lonely mind It doesn't know But the body moves And continues to go The lonely heart Seeks for a home Memories Memories Lives freely On the empty street Maybe it's not that empty at all It becomes more lively Every time The lonely soul falls Pain and tears Pain and tears Keeps living in the lonely heart Through the years Creating a cold dark web Of fears That keeps the broken soul From mending Medicin and therapy Medicin and therapy Can't fix the scars Created by life Breathing is hard But the lonely continues to fight Hoping for a day When they'll find a person That can open their eyes Make them understand That they're not alone....*
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Apr 29, 2016
Apr 29, 2016 at 2:12 AM UTC
The lonely...
I joke around all day, all happy and glad And it seems like nothing could ever make me sad Cause I'm crazy, hyper and I drive everyone mad But when I'm home im my room, by myself, all alone Listening to music, on my computer or my phone The truth about myself, I can feel in my bone The doubts comes over me, with surprising speed The thought about myself, "Will I ever succeed"? The thought that during the day, is impossible to read Even though I know that all my friends are real And I still cannot believe that I feel the way I feel Reality comes over me, and I think "What's my deal?" I would never think of doubting myself during the day Cause when I'm with my friends, I never doubt my way But at night, it comes, and it doesn't matter what you say I know I'm not alone to think and feel like that To feel the pain of thinking my life is just flat If need to find way to color up under my hat But laugther is the best medicin, as we've all been told So when the happyness is gone and your smile has been sold Read some jokes, watch a comedy, and your frown will simply fold Just put on the coat of laughter, and you will not feel the cold
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Oct 1, 2014
Oct 1, 2014 at 3:15 AM UTC
The truth about myself
It's 3:04 am and oh my god the shakes won't stop These tremors are so violent and my vision is blurred I have everything I have love I have the fill of my sadness I have the drug that's prescribed "Stop when you get your medicin, because then you won't need it" But even now as I'm sweating over the realization that I might have taken too much I can't stop telling myself I need it Sometimes I get so afraid that I will die That my heart will stop and my eyes will roll back into my head Then I remember That fear of death is fruitless Because I am death Death is all that I know Maybe I'm afraid of myself
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Aug 27, 2014
Aug 27, 2014 at 3:08 AM UTC
Shakes
Jeg får ondt i hjertet af at se på dig for tiden. Du er syg; og din feber kaldes depression og din medicin er rødvin og hvid rom og den r. øg du ruller og de ord du sluger og jeg elske. r dig for højt til at se det foran mig, fordi jeg kan se dig græde og jeg kan se det gøre ondt. Feberen strækker sig i din mave og klemmer hårdt om dit hjerte. Og det værste er; at lige. gyldigt antallet af panodiler og cigaretter jeg propper dig med, så er dine øjne stadig klare og du er stadig defekt. Så jeg leder stadig eft. er medicinen til at kurere din feber.
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Oct 25, 2016
Oct 25, 2016 at 5:29 PM UTC
Feber
Alt du giver mig er på udlån og du tager grådigt det hele tilbage når jeg går igen med renter Jeg er dit vinglas du fylder op for at tømme; jeg tror også jeg får dig til at have det bedre med dig selv Så nådesløs i din udførelse og pludselig i sofaen til en flad fest væk på medicin for en sygdom du ikke har Patetisk og pinlig, sårbar Afventer din næste symfoni af tør hosten så vi kan holde i hånden, en undskyldning for at hvile min hånd på dit ben Jeg ruller ofte øjne af dig og sukker dybt når du snakker men jeg skal nok passe på dig Kysser dine øjenlåg så du drømmer om mig
0
Jul 17, 2017
Jul 17, 2017 at 8:37 PM UTC
Svend-Erik
Love is pain, Has no medicin. Love is illness Has no recovery. Love is thron Hurts a lot.
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Apr 4, 2013
Apr 4, 2013 at 3:05 PM UTC
Love hurts
Anything, to feel nothing. I used to wake up, six in the morning. Just enough time to smoke one before class. Made me feel nothing for about two years. Till my chimeras found me, through my buzz. Tried pills, didn't work the way I planned. First time in my life I felt even more than I was used to. Got scared. Maybe there is no medicin. So the shrink gave me some medicin. Made me numb for about six months. Untill I lost my believes in placebo. Tried ******* my feelings out. Dug up some more issues. And now, I've been sitting here, for the last two hours. Staring at my wall. It tells me in a foreign language that I am strong. I painted that **** I believed in it. I'm not a bit stronger than the substances inside me.
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Mar 31, 2013
Mar 31, 2013 at 6:45 PM UTC
Untitled
Alt du giver mig er på udlån og du tager grådigt det hele tilbage når jeg går igen med renter Jeg er dit vinglas du fylder op for at tømme; jeg tror også jeg får dig til at have det bedre med dig selv Så nådesløs i din udførelse og pludselig i sofaen til en flad fest væk på medicin for en sygdom du ikke har Patetisk og pinlig, sårbar Afventer din næste symfoni af tør hosten så vi kan holde i hånden, en undskyldning for at hvile min hånd på dit ben Jeg ruller ofte øjne af dig og sukker dybt når du snakker men jeg skal nok passe på dig Kysser dine øjenlåg så du drømmer om mig
0
Dec 14, 2018
Dec 14, 2018 at 2:30 PM UTC
Svend-Erik