"pharmacist" poems
everything is on sale
and I eat and eat
and yell at the couple
arguing in the ATM line
and smirk at the pharmacist
as I toss my meds in the
can behind the counter
king soopers
my realm
of crushed potpourri
honeycrisp apples
black cocktail dresses
stuck
shut with
peanut butter
I love grocery
shopping.
Oct 28, 2015
Oct 28, 2015 at 1:00 PM UTC
Born like a kid,
Believed like a child,
Thought like a philosopher,
Depressed like a prisoner,
Felt like a sinner,
Hated like a lawyer,
Ate like a veterinarian,
Lied like a politician,
Read like a historian,
Saw like a physician,
Slept like a pharmacist,
Smelt like a scientist,
Spoke like a priest,
Heard like an economist,
Loved like a counselor,
Tasted like a rich bachelor,
Worked like a tool,
Cheated like a fool,
Walked like a diplomat,
And died like a cat.
Apr 7, 2013
Apr 7, 2013 at 12:29 PM UTC
PART II: A GLASS CEILING DRIPPING WITH BLOOD
Mohanad Younis, of Gaza City;
Where the sand is stained with blood
As the world feigns pity.
Broken families, unspoken tragedies –
The order of everyday life.
He was born amidst chaos and strife,
To a divorcing husband and wife.
If life were lived in peace,
This dissolution would’ve been a release.
Not much more, not much less –
A family’s lore, a decision to digress.
In war-ravaged land, however,
One needs every helping hand,
Especially a soul that was so clever.
Such a curious, voracious mind needed to understand;
A furious, rapacious search,
Unexplained conundrums to unravel and unwind.
Why do we exist?
Why do we fight and resist?
Is it worth living with all these scars on my wrists?
Does anybody outside Palestine care?
Will they keep on watching?
Or will they be unable to bear?
Of this and much more Mohanad must’ve thought,
As he sat at the Marna House Hotel,
Smoking cigarettes, freshly bought.
A student at al-Azhar, a mild-mannered pharmacist,
A prudent man who would have gotten far.
An admirer of Bassel al-Araj, another victim of oppression –
An inspirer, a brother who alleviated his depression.
Hunted down and killed by the IDF,
Another pacifist murdered for being an activist.
One figure of many who died;
One of those who did not want to hide.
Mohanad wasn’t a resistance fighter –
He felt that such persistence did not make their burdens lighter.
Instead, he wished to make his mind brighter,
And perhaps have family of his own.
He was in love, and wanted to get married,
But life was rough, and warranted a future far more harried.
The final twist of horror?
Having the intellect to apply for University,
And deserving the respect needed to obtain a reply,
Yet not being allowed to leave the city.
That is the news Mohanad had received,
Hopes and dreams suddenly deceived.
Denied a right to education
Because he was born on the wrong end of a cruel fabrication.
The glass ceiling, dripping with blood,
Swallowed his hopes whole like a flood.
Sep 10, 2018
Sep 10, 2018 at 10:04 AM UTC
Your first position of power
Feeling you don't get the respect
You think you deserve
I almost pity you
Treating us like dogs
But with a guise of politeness
"Ma'ams" and "pleases" can't hide your contempt
Your patronizing tone washes it all away
Doctors bark at you, you say?
Patients don't respect you?
Poor you, you deserve the world
Right, try being us for a day
Your lying mouth never stops
Complaining, explaining
As if we're completely ignorant
As if we can fix your problems
Your favorite activity
The one at which I roll my eyes
Is telling us how much you hate
The profession YOU chose
Perhaps you're just upset
That all our young minds
Can change our paths
Nothing for us is set in stone
Condescending, you sneer
"I am your boss"
***** you've been here
Less time than I have
What gives you the right
To judge these people?
Sure, they're self-entitled
Demanding and belittling
But have you looked in the mirror lately?
Mar 1, 2011
Mar 1, 2011 at 10:44 AM UTC
The Pill Poppers Proverb For Purchasing:
Only buy from friends
who'll give you
the solid truth.
Capsules can
carry lies
they could
have been
in
the hands
of stoned-cold-heart
killer
or
careless self-proclaimed pharmacist?
It's hard to spot
a double agent
in a sea of sunglasses.
Stickwitchure gut.
Apr 12, 2012
Apr 12, 2012 at 10:34 PM UTC
Broken box
Society’s cold shoulder
Children grow older
People get colder
Humans become more animalistic
Incarcerated ********
Humans don’t deserve this
Barbarity
Our city
Needs clarity
Eyes upwards in isolation
Nocturnal
Echo location
With no manifestation of god
But the sun feels so good
Freedom forgotten
Lost to new conditioning
A tumor that gains a stronger claim
To an inmate’s brain
We are not improving our world
We are just pharmacist repositioning
The world’s pain
Feb 8, 2015
Feb 8, 2015 at 2:30 PM UTC
Its a brand new day,
I awake to my mind in clutter,
Same routine, different day,
I shower my sorrows in cold water,
As I step out, I carry on with my daily mask society has given to me,
Argueing to myself saying what I do isn't right,
But, clearly nothing in life is given to you,
So I serve relentlessly, not thinking at all about the consequences,
As I see new faces and meet new people I say,
"Hello, nice to meet you, I AM your local street pharmacist."
{RP}
Nov 22, 2013
Nov 22, 2013 at 2:50 AM UTC
Dinner table,
Bowls of light,
Stage fright, lilies,
No appetite,
Dark absences nibbling
Right through my eyes
Like black rabbits pulled
Out of Truman Show skies,
Provoking the question
From those sat up front –
Is this a trick you’re pulling -
Is this one of your stunts?
But no amount of smiling
Will do –
Nod all you like.
They’re onto you.
Christmas Eve,
Sister’s house,
Black eye,
Ulcerated mouth.
Divinely tickled-
By Miss World!
A pinecone and mistletoe
Christmas hurled
Down en suite toilets
Porcelain pink,
My face makes love
To the bathroom sink.
The most squalid Little Lord
In the county, me,
Summer blooms hold
No charms for me,
So I try to apply my
Favourite smile
And travel a few more
Country miles
To a chemist that doesn’t
Know my face.
I browse a bit
(Condoms, spectacles case)
Then I try to
Convince the pharmacist
That I need two
Bottles of
Gee’s Linctus.
The cruelest boyfriend
I ever had
Gives head to a toilet roll
And his fingerpads
Are bordello yellow
From greased nicotine,
This ******* in Primrose
Exhales smoke in a stream,
And I try to remember what
Buttercup said,
His baby’s breath whispers
Wilt in my head,
Something about purity
Something about loss
Something about cleanliness
Something about God
Something about something
That I should tick off as regrettable,
But one flower can make everything
So *******
Forgettable.
Oct 4, 2013
Oct 4, 2013 at 2:49 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
The pharmacist is not your friend
He may put you up in a high hotel
With slip streams of ****** pills
Paxil and Wellbutrin
Designed to defeat depression
To facilitate a fog like
Fugues of perfected moods
With drugs made to create
The perfect drone state
So you can pay your bills
So you can **** and sleep well
So you can keep your health
But it is poison
Kidney killing swill
And while you are under the influence
Perfectly sedated so you forget how to feel
One hand is in your pocket
Thinning your wallet draining dollar bills
While the other hand holds your heart
Crushing what is left of your already weakened will
Aug 21, 2015
Aug 21, 2015 at 11:37 AM UTC
You were a great person and a great pharmacist.
You were killed in cold blood and you will be missed.
You were murdered because of some Oxycontin.
You're dead but you won't be forgotten.
It's sad to know that you won't be coming back.
Your life was taken away by a sick maniac.
Being killed because of some pills was evil and low.
Many people loved you and we all hated to see you go.
Now your family and friends are forced to say goodbye.
I really liked your pharmacy and you were a nice guy.
May 23, 2015
May 23, 2015 at 9:18 AM UTC
Whenever I'm around my family,
I get this low kind of feeling.
My family is full
with the kind of people
that become vps,
investment bankers,
nurses,
lawyers.
me:
little ********
that smokes ****
calls himself
"a writer",
and doesn't like to have
long conversations
about his future.
I am not one of them,
I am not a black sheep, or a black pharmacist,
or a black lawyer.
I am something
that wants to become
something,
when I am unsure
of what that something
is.
A continual
rebirth of somethings
likening myself
to God
with so much
internal creation.
This is malignant
to my family's ideals
of self-assuredness
and placement,
brutal placement
in America.
Nov 23, 2011
Nov 23, 2011 at 5:18 PM UTC
i saw you in the frozen food isle
unintentionally thawing everything out
making the manager mad
i wanted to stop and talk
and tell you this joke i heard about a pharmacist's daughter
but i hadn't seen my own reflection in fifteen minutes
May 15, 2015
May 15, 2015 at 11:45 AM UTC
Laughter,
is the best medicine for a broken heart.
Making you my pharmacist.
Laughter fighting pain.
You're different,
with your blonde hair
and blue eyes.
You're laughter isn't driven by lust
I think you might actually care.
Please me different.
Please be kind.
Never fragile or otherwise.
Please don't break me apart,
I can't live through another one of those.
Apr 6, 2013
Apr 6, 2013 at 11:36 PM UTC
In March of 2010 a 46 year old white male was brought to this hospital after a severe 'episode'. He was placed in the Mental Health Intensive Care Unit . He was diagnosed with " Major Depression ". This is considered Slow Death , a treatable disorder by the AMA currently . Artist and Architect will lay out Hallucinations and conceptual designs , Engineers , Mathematicians and Surveyors will coordinate more pills at higher doses because minute details to within fractions of an inch followed by schizophrenia by Earth moving equipment , graders , bulldozers , psychotic episodes , dump trucks , Carpenters and Concrete , bi-polar disorder and Bricklayer will labor different Help treatment methods because the drugs are having absolutely no piece by piece constructing form , pylon , shoring embankments for Steel Worker and Welder ,Pipefitter and Increased risk of suicide was reported for Plumber and all manner of tradesman , supplier and Pharmacist ........
Psychiatrist and Psychologist will formulate a treatment plan which will include drug therapy and counseling sessions with Electrician and patient and Spouse plus other family members if needed in order to reach the island Drowning which will be a difficult task . Emory Hospital is conducting new research because they finally admit to depression drugs not working in Freak more than half the patients today , like every other building bridges in hopes of getting to the island that is depression .
Sep 27, 2015
Sep 27, 2015 at 9:42 PM UTC
We,
the uninsured
being inured to this,
the will of gods.
Our lives doled out in tablet form
from birth to breath by those pharmacists
with death proscribed,
prescription wise.
My eyes have seen the crookedness that shake
foundations,
three times a day we pray again to all the gods
to open up and swallow pills and god just nods
his head,agrees that we need medications.
The ***** top bottle throttles me
but I am strangled happily by those 'dolls'
the greens and reds of fol de rols
a plague on gaudiness unless instructions say,
take the pills three times a day.
These games we play, I'll say,
are just a side event,a small diversion to prevent us
from ever having to face the facts,
but we're inured to that and so,
on and on and on we go until the end is reached.
I plead,
just one more pill,
it appears that this is not the will of god or any pharmacist,
I missed the last bus home,but home is hell and
so that's just as well.
I wait in the wings to see
what tomorrow brings.
Aug 14, 2014
Aug 14, 2014 at 6:45 AM UTC
I've got friends who work in pharmacies
And talk about nothing but addicts
And I've got friends who are addicts
Who talk about nothing but drugs
But what am I supposed to say
To my drug-addled friends
When you're the only addiction I have
And there's no cure for
My pharmacist friends to figure out?
Sep 24, 2014
Sep 24, 2014 at 12:43 AM UTC
Pharmacist with the funny face
I’m not sure how the lines were etched
and set in place across a severe brow
like storms had raged and winters chill
had set the frozen expression
into an acid dipped contour.
Each time I went with a prescription
to collect remedies for a cough and cold
a limp here
a sore there
some racing bp charts
an erring heart muscle.
His face remained stoic.
His face alone would frighten me
as pale as death he looked at me
over the rimmed glasses
and just that one second longer
than necessary.
My guilt soared. I felt like an addict
come into store to fetch
a high kick of something
suspicion hidden under the GPs scrawl.
I dared to look back
flushing red at his store.
It became a battle of the blush.
Twice I won
And never went back for a whole six months
Is he the guy that protects our streets
from the throaty lozenge
that may contain crack *******
hidden in its entrails? I dont know
but I always felt he had a secret sleeve
from where he pulled out those potions!
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, 2 months ago
Jul 3, 2014
Jul 3, 2014 at 5:21 PM UTC
I cannot write.
I simply cannot.
Unless writing is merely the description of our own humanity.
In which case, I write very well
I summarize what makes myself
in a form of paper clip flat
and in the black smudges of light
on a hot laptop's screen
I make the pills you pop
when you feel the angst
and I make the black tar you shoot up
into your drowsy veins
I am the writer
I am the dealer
I am the pharmacist
I am a speaker of myself
and nothing less
Oct 9, 2013
Oct 9, 2013 at 3:56 PM UTC
Was on pedestrian
in a hospital
Walking on a stiletto
Feeling high, like on hills
Wearing trendy clean clothe
A white lab-coat
is a top
Sticking her left palm around
Her waist,
And hip is dancing
Name tag,
stylish on her labcoat
Pharm. Romantic Pharmacist
A name,
placed on the tag
Vanity she felt, and
glancing side-on
And, sweet scent diffusing
Into a pharmacy,
she placed her leg.
Someone,
a good looking Pharmacist
Welcomed her,
With a beautiful hug
And kissed her, beautifully
A romantic Pharmacist
Jul 1, 2020
Jul 1, 2020 at 6:06 PM UTC
it's funny that they call it plan b
because usually it's more like plan d
and even then, you're not really sure
that it's such a good plan at all
and even though the pharmacist
in wegmans doesn't flinch,
you still wonder what she's thinking
and the wondering goes on a long while
i watched **** tattooed men
make me drinks with 80 proof whiskey,
and tried to forget that i ******
someone i didn't give a **** about
that maybe, just maybe,
cells had begun to multiply,
but maybe they hadn't, and i
was feeling like ****
drinking my 10 dollar drink
for nothing
the next morning i woke up,
red lipped, wild curls framing
a face that spoke of last night's failures
i stood in front of the mirror
and i captured the face of a girl
the morning after
Aug 12, 2012
Aug 12, 2012 at 7:50 PM UTC
Victory over victory
means excellent
and good success.
Smiles over success
can be contagious.
It is a good sickness
to share with others.
It's infection is
really encouraging.
This is the only
disease ladies are
willing to show off when
their men contacts it.
Doctors recommended,
pharmacist orders it,
and nurses injects it,
wives are thrilled by it.
It is a bitter drug
worth taking.
One capsule daily
dose drives poverty
fever away,
and keep ailing
mediocrity at bay.
It attracts mosquitoes,
that's parasites free.
Without it nothing
worthwhile works out.
Success is everything.
It has an attitude,
It has a voice,
a very powerful one.
Put it into action and
all doors opens,
goes to war and
settles disputes.
Can unlock every door
that refuses to open.
It answers all things.
Children are trained and
groomed to have it.
Pursued by everyone
by any means necessary.
Great risks are taken
because of it.
Those of the dark side of
life kills because of it,
anything can happen just
to possess it.
You are nobody
when success
eludes you.
Even nations goes
to war just to keep it.
To be powerful and influential,
it must be in your abode.
To be successful is awesome.
But you must plan and
work hard to have it.
©2018,Emeka Mokeme. All Rights Reserved.
Nov 5, 2018
Nov 5, 2018 at 8:03 PM UTC
It started with the high levels of uncertainty
Followed by the flu of broken trust
then the cough exploited emotions
Next came the fatigue of betrayal
She was sick more sick than she had ever been before
My words and actions were the antidote to this sickness.
The prescription.
But instead ,she kept on swallowing the poison her lover fed her.
When the poison had kicked ,the "lover" was out of sight
She laid in bed terminally sick
The next poison her way death
Mar 21, 2017
Mar 21, 2017 at 7:07 AM UTC