"opioid" poems
Licking the ***** off the small peaks,
Each dilated eye in ecstasy truly speaks.
The peaks are so natural button-like soft,
Conveying sans the speech the desire oft.
Whenever stiff & excited about to burst,
Titillating the sensuality be with trust.
Jan 16, 2016
Jan 16, 2016 at 11:00 PM UTC
I am reading poems by Billy Collins:
AIMLESS LOVE, a retrospective,
A sampler, as it were
For the Books and Brew;
Our monthly selection.
Nine manly men
Meeting for monthly meals
And book-talk
And politics
And, of course, good beer.
They like nonfiction,
I like fiction.
Richard Hughes,
British writer of poems, short stories, novels and plays said:
“All nonfiction can do is answer questions;
It is fiction's business to ask them.”
Still, my repertoire has expanded:
Nike shoes.
Civil War.
Institutional racism.
Opioid addiction.
Rafting the Grand Canyon.
Climbing mountains.
With Baron Von Humboldt.
And now this:
Poetry.
Nine manly men
Reading poetry to each other
While sharing a meal,
One lovely poem after another.
You can't read a book of poetry
Like you consume other books,
Fiction or nonfiction.
The table of contents:
The lid of a box of exquisite truffles—
A map of pleasures contained within.
You look at the map,
And make a selection.
The caramel truffle
Is not the coffee truffle.
You look at the map,
Make a selection,
And bite!
The crusty chocolate cracks!
The darkness melts,
Floods your mouth with taste.
Then the rush of caramel!
Flavors, smells sloshing
Swooning with sensate memories.
What? Turn the page and read another?
Reach for the coffee truffle?
No. Linger with caramel;
Luxuriate on aftertaste.
Is that a note of citrus or salt?
I will enjoy my coffee truffle tomorrow.
Apr 2, 2017
Apr 2, 2017 at 12:26 PM UTC
one who basks in the soft heat of grandiose moonliness
growing fatter on honeyed imaginations
their sicklysweetness soaking through the pores
of countless generations
their minds invade a collective consciousness
burning arcs of inspiration – torches of the collective vision
in drilling through mutual experience
great gaping black holes of creation
effigies of super-egos, lynched on altars of desire
neon flames and disco lights, emotions on a massive pyre
maiden voyagers on never-ending cruise
sinking in foreign oceans – their endurance dupes
minor gods of destiny and fate they await
dionysian ****** of wine and food for thought
and hearts that beat in unison
a schizoid muttering that enlarges and deafens
manic pleasure that spins and spins
in eternal circles of pleasure and pain, loss and gain
opioid mists that dream a dream of everlasting name
an addiction an obsession that sumbits
to some masochistic drive
to empathize.
- Vijayalakshmi Harish
06.09.2012
Copyright © Vijayalakshmi Harish
Sep 6, 2012
Sep 6, 2012 at 4:55 AM UTC
I have an insatiable appetite for oxymorons, as they can be violent in their state of calm relaxation.
Although Bacillus anthracis is truly antisocial within the context of biological weaponry; so, domestic discipline has become intertwined with the Hindu philosophy of Vatsyayana.
So, what do you think about that?
Personally, I have never consumed methylated spirits even though I have unravelled a myriad of ideologies whilst my boots concealed precious opioid syringes.
Therefore, always reflect upon the Code of Hammurabi, because she is the epitome of savory stew.
How alternative are your affiliations?
Jan 6, 2014
Jan 6, 2014 at 11:28 PM UTC
Peering through a wasp's wing
at shadows on the wall
Hear the whispered whimper
echo down the hall
Glass thump of bone and feathers
against the bedroom window
Motes of darkness floating
to air a moldy winnow
Creak of standing knees
rise in opioid haze
To wander past the shadows
and sniff of death's bouquets.
r ~ 6/11/14
Jun 11, 2014
Jun 11, 2014 at 10:32 AM UTC
the vastness of an empty soul
demystifies the Grand Canyon
and shrinks the universe
to microscopic molecules
barely able to manipulate energy
matter that doesn’t matter
madder than a hare in March
balance skewed
undue pressure
seasonal disfunction disorder
ordering medication
naturalization
seeking citizenship
in an isolation township
serving only self-pity
to the self-destructive –
squatting, gargoyle
surveyor on the job
soaking in the loathing
basking in the glow
caused by the discontent of others
opioid android locked in the void
unemployed
laughing at misery
in mercy centers
meticulously mimicking the miscreants
impersonating pain
seeking to blend –
ostracized miser in designer jeans
obscene in drag queen regalia
“whiskers from under his pancake make-up”
wake-up Godiva, locate the paraphernalia
mammalian musculature
hide the heart of a snake
as she slithers across the floor
searching for the perfect surfactant
….her scaly skin itches, uncomfortably
tearing my lip skin
in the din
of her poorly lit closet –
together in terror, the admission seems worth the cost
lost in the sweet melody
of sobbing children
and clattering dishes
shattered visions
misgivings
estrangement entangled with commitment
obligations
oblivion and orange peals
appealing to a higher power
unanswered questions hover inconsequential
adding to the ozone depletion
and altered climate
owning blame
for all the world and her problems
I sit with shoulders slumped –
Jun 24, 2014
Jun 24, 2014 at 12:23 PM UTC
Babe tell what's wrong with me
Voices pierce my skull
I pray to god that hell help me
I guess I'm wrong
They say gods actually helping me
What's going on
Seems like the devils on my shoulder while gods in my mental
Used to be a opioid adduct used **** with Norco
Hearing voices at night telling me wrong not right
But its right to be wrong but wrong to be right But that's all too political right
Whites killing blacks than blacks killing whites
School shootings Got parents paranoid when they say
Mom i promise I'll be fine
Were all god's children why do we got to fight
Another topic why do women not have rights
School taught us from a early age
My body my rights
So why are politics
Saying abortions' are just no right
When a parent isn't ready they are not ready
Save the child abuse, emotion abuse
The therapy and pills that consume
Otherwise there be more caskets
Than baby shower baskets
In our life
I'm sorry for every one struggling with abuse/racism/sexisms'/and to all the parents that lost their children in the school shootings. My condolences go to you… I'm sorry
Sep 2, 2022
Sep 2, 2022 at 11:05 AM UTC
surrender and defeat,
my fated causality,
by mine own hand done in,
'twas the death I ordained,
when to the addiction of ego,
I did, did I,
concede and become another casualty
by mine own mind
Aug 19, 2018
Aug 19, 2018 at 5:41 PM UTC
i never bought the whole dark academia thing.
sure, ****** and drugs and *** are torrid and dark when you're from a rich family,
when you've never woken up to the news of your childhood best friend being shot to death,
when you haven't seen your family and friends fall into the seductive cesspool of opioid addiction,
when half of your class was pregnant by the time senior year rolled around.
the academic upper class thinks what working class kids go through is sexier when the backdrop of the overdose is chandeliers and silk,
instead of a small town parking lot at 3am.
my aesthetic reality of academia is scholarships, it's leather jackets and nicotine addictions
it's having the only fifteen-year-old car in the campus parking lot and hoping to find a plug before the first week of classes.
it's not sleeping between work and class and partying. it's being the only one whose dad isn't buddies with the guy giving me an internship.
it's lonely. it's the crippling loneliness of not understanding upper class social cues,
it's reading crime and punishment in the slivers of time between work and work and class and more work
and emphasizing with raskalnikov so much it makes your teeth ache.
it's coughing up blood.
it's having health insurance for the first time in college and still not using it.
it's drowning, it's fighting, it's violent and heroic and painful and
never knowing
if you'll actually
make it.
Jul 30, 2020
Jul 30, 2020 at 8:33 PM UTC
Mulling about
The muck
The haunts we are hardbound
Foggy fetal leavings by the sea
Right before the light;
The days of purple haze
Of sallow street cars, street lamp, amped up
Yet dampened loss of desire
Pop another oxy-hydro-fire.
To be able
To muck about
With inner abandon
the abandonments deep
Numb battlements / "Hoorah!"
Semper Fi the pain
Only significant
With derivatives
From ******* plantations
Opioid addiction’s contractually binding
Lingering love notes
A vice grip on idle minds
So many now that prey
But with a side affect of
Try holding in your ****
for three-plus days
So as not to feel
Not at all
Not even the rage
We keep anxiously pacing
Clawing at
Nonexistent strings
A Beast inside our cage
Forgiven by preacher men
Proclaiming to hallelujah
Change
At war with illusionist
Freedom
The boys fight for still
A country of patriotic pill poppers
Believing in heavenly kingdoms'
Healing
Secret silent pleading
Because nothing takes away
The pain
Like Hydro Oxy foxy pills
Self medicate down wind of will
If unaffected "consult your physician"
He’s at the edge of the stage
A Spearmint rhino making it rain
For Peaches
From patient list of his *******
The business of lust
Is feeding the loss of will
If you still feel lost -- and war sure did
Give them nothing but
PTSD & bad dreams
Machine gun migraines
Pop another pill
Jagged little killer
Softly knocks you off your feet
Black is cheaper
Smoke out not to feel
The muck-about days of
Constipated pains
Reader Digesting heavily,
Numbingly unreal.
Casualty of a nameless waste
That’s his deal / what it's like :
Most fecund
A life on the toilet
In wait for relief…
Get off the ***
Can't give a ****
Like this bowel movement
His heart has called it quits
To all this unholy *******
Veteran
Patriot
Manhood’s defeat
Damnation
Mucking about...
Jun 17, 2018
Jun 17, 2018 at 11:02 AM UTC
Percocet
*******
Xanax
OxyNEO
And god knows what else.
You keep telling me “I’m not high I swear! I’m just tired”
But your lips are tinged blue, you have saliva in the creases of your mouth, your body is frail and sickly looking, your skin so white it’s almost transparent. Your eyes are swollen, glossy, and gaunt, your cheeks are sunken, your hair is tangled and unwashed.
“I’m not high I swear!”
But I don’t believe you. How many times have you said that to me only to confess later that you were, that you found a pill and didn’t have the self control not to take it.
“I’m not high I swear”
Yet you randomly smack your head, blurt out random words and nonsense, forget entire conversations, fall asleep mid sentence.
You said you were clean. But the very next day I get a call telling me that you’ve been arrested for a DUI, you had Xanax and Oxyneos in your toxicology report.
I’m afraid to answer my phone when it rings, I always fear it will be the call that tells me you’ve overdosed.
You said “I don’t need to go to rehab, I can quit myself”
But if that were true, you’d be clean by now. It’s been over a year since you told me you were addicted to pills.
At first it was just a perc or two, and now you are a full blown opioid abuser.
You’ve become the thing you hated most. An addict that can’t admit that they have a problem.
“Im not high I swear”
I can’t count how many times you’ve said that, how many times you lied to my face. So many times I never want to hear those words come out of your mouth again.
But I know I will, and I know I’ll go home and cry after and pray to god you wake up tomorrow.
I just want my best friend back, the kind and honest loving girl you use to be.
I’m tired of the you you’ve become.
The girl that lies, that steals, that is wasting away.
If only you never took that first pill.
Feb 17, 2019
Feb 17, 2019 at 8:32 AM UTC
By: Cedric McClester, Copyright (c) 2017
Am I dating myself
With these words out my mouth?
See, I remember a time
When we flashed the peace sign
And called one another
Sister and brother
Seems we’ve gone sour
On acquiring black power
And black on black crime
Is the new paradigm
When we look in the mirror
It becomes much more clearer
That we hate what we see
Although that shouldn’t be
Remember freedom marches
Before the golden arches
Then ****** entered in
And we start popin’ our skin
Before we shot it straight into our veins
Which probably explains
Why we regressed
Long before the present opioid mess
It was ****** first,
But then it got worst
So let me take you back
To the era of crack
When a nickel or dime
Could trigger a crime
And what really hurt you
Is the women who lost their virtue
But I’m not absolving the men
Who’d engage in all kinds of sin
I remember gangster rap
And how that set the trap
Which brought the stress and strife
From tryna live that gangster life
Then the East Coast West Coast war
That didn’t exist before
Remember when Biggie and Tupac were friends?
Instead of how their story ends
They’ire a classic group today
But I remember when NWA
Used to pull out all stops
When they sang **** the cops
And chronicled their lives
Called their girlfriends and their wives
All kinds of ******* and ******
Then would dance down on all fours
Now let me bring you up to date
Would it be wrong for me to state?
When it was our problem alone
It was the prisons we were shown
There was little sympathy don’t cha see
When it was just you and me
Who said they had a problem
There were few out there to solve ‘em
But opioids are everywhere
And it’s a disease now, so I hear
That crosses all socio-economic lines
Now there are many telltale signs
It’s now called an opioid disorder
Past the inner city border
And the word is harm reduction
Instead of out and out destruction
Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2017. All rights reserved.
Nov 22, 2017
Nov 22, 2017 at 12:02 PM UTC
What do you have of mine, that I cannot take - a smile, a growl, a half-eaten sandwich with sad milky tastes? O the meals, you've eaten in my Camry on a beating mugged summer. Sour lemons, misconstrued carrots, uncomfortable plums - oh my peaches, and slipping undercover, covertly reaching for a compliment - back-handed, red-handed, now fingers crossed and arms too. No ring finger in sight, too good for a pinky swear. Mixtapes and Toronto opioid pamphlets - if I die in a Camry then I deserved it. Who the **** wants to die in a camry. Continue humming your incessant rap, I'll up turn my Winehouse knowing my 2000's were glorified. Burger King oiled bags musking the air. Sunday's are meant to be spent on the Oakville waters with hairs tied, iced coffee's, and wet lips.
Mar 10, 2018
Mar 10, 2018 at 12:28 AM UTC
*anesthesia
and opioid dreams*
*rolled-up smokes
and guitar strings*
*with rotting mind
and rotting teeth*
*I'm losing weight
I'm losing sleep*
*cut me open
sew me up*
*the pain I feel
is not enough*
*give me something
more to feel*
*try to persuade me
this is real*
*I've spent so much
time on my own*
*that I'm afraid
it's left me cold*
*I'm a monster
so I'm told*
*my loyalties are
bought and sold*
*look in the mirror
I'm repulsed*
*I check my wrist
can't find a pulse*
*this corpse I wear
is just a shell*
*that keeps me locked
inside this hell*
*with runny nose
and bloodshot eyes*
*I sit alone
and wait to die*
*but it seems death
will never come*
*or have I already
succumbed?*
Jun 2, 2016
Jun 2, 2016 at 3:15 AM UTC
‘Bring me the horizon!’
she cried, eyes raging
with a terrible joy.
Bring me the light
of a thousand searing suns
and explode the bliss into my soul!
Let me writhe in the ribald heat
and simmer my flesh
in love complete
for now is all and all is now.
Fell the birds from crimson skies,
facsimile their lullabies.
bring me songs from Heaven’s stage
to shimmer in my gilded cage.
Floss my feet in clouds so sweet
as sugar spun across the sky.
free my dreams from out their seams
and fall into the blinding light.
Surge with me to silver stars;
to glinting worlds that
twist and twirl
and sparkle from afar.
And join me in Elysium;
the Eden of Nirvana
where Love strokes Beauty
and the air purrs with pleasure.
Stay with me forever
and pulse with joy unfound.
but never dip below the clouds,
for monsters wait
upon the ground.
======later======
‘It’s all a lie,’
she murmured,
guarding her cup of winter tea.
‘I’m sinking, and the mist is drinking
everything that’s good in me.’
The colours start to leak,
the world bears its teeth, as
shadows crowd round and
join their hands.
This opioid mist of requiem
hides demons loosed from out their den
I sit and slowly swirl
drowning in the silken shadows
of muttering dark worlds.
It drags me down in furtive heaves
to somewhere I don’t want to see,
but somewhere I know I believe;
with meshing, hungry razor teeth.
It’s a solitude of sorts,
pervading though it seems,
filled with plotting cohorts
laughing deep in silken streams
that leak into a Sea of Grey
housing horror on its tides,
in-bound now, with rotted sails,
cover me and let me hide
from needle-sharp torment
and callow moments put to flame.
I sit here counting down the hours
until I’m born again.
So eviscerate my fragile faith
and leave it for the saints who stay,
awakened to the mystery
of all the mouths could ever say.
Jul 27, 2012
Jul 27, 2012 at 12:23 AM UTC
Inhospitable landscapes
And opioid canapés,
Give into grief
And metallic decay:
Your mind in situ.
Moral compasses compounded.
Green grows grey
Far swifter than you think.
In the blink of an eye
We'll see different skies.
A pale blue bloom
Will soon become doom and gloom,
And marigolds macabre,
Perfume of tulip and
Netherworlds of hubris,
Will consume the gold
And the grey.
Except
We're not there yet.
Giacommetti, Picasso and Muller foresaw:
We're all going to be ignored.
Ultimately.
A single state engrained into lore:
Deplorably thick custard creams
With a side of sea bream,
Quarter-loaf multi-seed bread
And half a shilling in the shed.
Unimaginable-
Immemorial.
Pass the headstone,
Don the frown.
The bright brown obelisk of fate
Awaits you now.
Jun 5, 2018
Jun 5, 2018 at 8:45 PM UTC
With every step
I stay
the exact,
Perfect
distance,
from a bonfires heat.
Feb 4, 2014
Feb 4, 2014 at 1:38 PM UTC
By: Cedric McClester
If not for the pills
Doctors once prescribed
The musician Prince
Might still be alive
Along with others who
Sought similar relief
Because their stories too
Ended in grief
If not for the greed
On Big Pharma’s part
The opioid epidemic
Right from the start
Might not have grown
To epic proportions
Because of ignorance
And outright distortions
If not for the relaxed
Government regulations
We might not now
Be at our battle stations
Trying to reverse
What’s sweeping our nation
Because opioids doesn’t
Go on vacation
If not for the prevalence
Of the fentanyl drug
And its purveyors
Who are typically smug
Then we might not have
Gotten mugged
In the way that we have
By this deadly drug
Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2019. All rights reserved.
Nov 18, 2019
Nov 18, 2019 at 8:25 AM UTC
I love it here
The dark pressing in on our car
Your smile in the driver’s side
Breakdowns never felt so lovely
I never thought I’d love the road so much
Even more than I did before
Crossed legs and holding hands
Opioid laughs and careless daydreams
Wind rushing like our bloodstream
Hazards on and headlights flicker
We’re free,
Just like we always wanted to be
No longer too young
We’re free
Free
Nov 28, 2017
Nov 28, 2017 at 9:07 PM UTC
3am
3 breaths
Too late
I kept doubting
Moving only in my mind
My body, my sad corpse
Knows only (ab)u(se)
Is it too late
To break free (me)
Come clean
Hurt me
With a bullet
To the chest
Darling
Shining
Cellphone flashlight
Morphine shadow
Opioid dreams
****** sheets
I can’t be what you
Or i
need
Feb 26, 2023
Feb 26, 2023 at 12:01 PM UTC
By: Cedric McClester
I’m hurt and I’m confused
Got a bad case of the blues
Opioid addiction’s old news
'Cos someone lit the fuse
And now you find it everywhere
In places where they didn’t care
But life indeed can be unfair
So they’ve become aware
Just say no was like denying
That whole communities were dying
Then we discovered they were lying
Iran Contra revealed them buying
Drugs that kept our communities addicted
Not in the least were they conflicted
‘Long as they thought it was restricted
To the areas that they conscripted
Because it has become systemic
Now it’s called an epidemic
And treatment is the new polemic
The rest I guess is academic
And so I wonder where to begin
Treatment was the thing back then
Until prevention made its way in
Now maintenance happens to be back again
Medical professionals now treat the affliction
That politely is known as opioid addiction
If they didn’t it would be dereliction
Of office treatment in their jurisdiction
Some of you may not be aware
That opioid addicts can get office care
For many of ‘em it’s an answer to a prayer
A stigma free environment beyond compare
Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2017. All rights reserved.
Apr 18, 2017
Apr 18, 2017 at 3:01 AM UTC