"poppers" poems
I can’t wait to be a hundred;
turning over the thoughts
and plots, of Caledon
floating on Zimmer inserts
and dusted Florsheims
three steps forward
in a dream woven
summer afternoon
Through the barn doors
and bee keeper flats
assimilating voices
from Sachems
and Forbes
and Hope Healers
coming and going
as the countryman
comes and goes
You can feel it
in a place like this
the 3 in the tree memories
of Allis Chalmers
and combine parts
of Sundrim poppers
and shallow carp fields
of patterned lawsons
and fading caulk
(on the ripped and rolled
frontier seats)
it’s a wishing well
for the peddler
and bold hydrangea...
both peeking their way
through the rusted
grinders wheel
Jan 24, 2017
Jan 24, 2017 at 11:55 PM UTC
Old friends & new couples
Barista aprons & vanilla poppers.
Aug 24, 2014
Aug 24, 2014 at 12:46 PM 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
Way up there
In the thin, thin air
There sits a man
Who laughs and grins
And fiddles with his double chins
A lunatic, if you must know
He paces, paces,
To and fro
Not love, nor hate
Does Steve perceive
But TV programs make him seethe
Xanax, ****** amyl poppers
None of these are Steve's show stoppers
Thorazine would do him good
But he won't take it
Like he should
So Mumbling Steve will grimace/grin
Until it's time to cry again
His mother loved him not a whit
Flushed Steve away, like so much ****
He killed his daddy, uncle, too
He killed that man, with Devil's Brew
Mumbling Steve drank up the rest
Of that that killed the old ******
Then laughed and laughed
And flashed a grin
Then burned off his extra chin
JNc 3-16
Mar 26, 2016
Mar 26, 2016 at 11:38 PM UTC
I saw a dinosaur today,
his scales were pink!
Perhaps he's gay?
His claws were big,
His teeth were whoppers.
And his *** was firing party poppers.
Jan 2, 2011
Jan 2, 2011 at 6:49 AM UTC
This is for all the men
Who tell me I am beautiful
I can't hear you
Through all those years
Of being an ugly duckling
This is for my dog
Big blue eyes
My baby snugglebug
Sniffing for donuts
Chewing my hands in the morning
And the nail biters
And the chefs
Who lose fingers to the meatgrinders
And the farmers
Staking lives
On a drop of rain
I am vain
This is for the men
Who have faith
I am not the ****** Mary
Just another pretty face
Another lacy thong to take off
This is for the underwear makers
The firecrackers
This is for the characters
Who explode in the night sky
Like the fourth of July
And ordinary people
Are blinded by the colors
This is for the mothers
And the big brothers
And the Prozac poppers
This is for the bees that have stung me
I've eaten their honey
And my cakes would not taste
So sweet without it
This is for the surgeons
And musicians
And fishermen
For the men who have bought me dinner
And never seen a return
On their investment
This is for the beards
And chest hair
This is for my little sister
Who is finally growing up
The word "love" on her tongue
And this is for America:
Land of the free
Home of the mancave
Beauty is only as deep
As your mineral rights
The copper and coal mines of your eyes
Beauty flies as high as kite
Melts away like cotton candy
After a baseball game
This is for the men who called me beautiful
For all the beauty in the world
All the beautiful
This is for you
May 18, 2013
May 18, 2013 at 9:43 PM UTC
tweakers tweakers everywhere. there's barely room to stand.
little knots of junkies nod. i think they're with the band.
ravers... rolling. round and round. chewing fruity gum.
cokeheads chatting. chatting chatty chats. i feign i'm deaf and dumb.
stoners take it all by calm. in need of nothing save visine.
drinkers drink. until they puke. get sad or just plain mean.
pill poppers pop to **** the pain. or relieve life's daily stress.
remember!
you can always do a little more but not a little less.
Mar 19, 2014
Mar 19, 2014 at 7:44 AM UTC
at theend
of the day
theking goes
back in the
samebox
as thepawn.
Right next to the guns, poppers and wedding rings. Right next to the forgotten kings words written in pages bent but unread, revealed and sent like bullets found a gun bed. Stories woven and unwoven through the magic of attachment.
Oct 7, 2017
Oct 7, 2017 at 1:51 PM UTC
Users and abusers
come one and all
there is a freak show
down in the glass house
winos and crack heads
coke freaks and nitrous suckers
acupuncture skin punctures
and candy land pill poppers
*** heads and shroom munchers
users and abusers
one and all
come on down to church
in the basement of the glass house
wet your tongue in holy water
and revel the gospel of our lord and savior
(Insert dead pop culture icon here)
and don't forget to pay the tithe
to mother superior
Mar 25, 2013
Mar 25, 2013 at 1:16 PM UTC
She lets me try it on.
I want it. But I don’t get presents like she does.
It’s beautiful. Bright with a white, fluffy trim. Zip and
poppers all the way up.
She widens her eyes. Twists her hands into claws
and she says “Little Red, come here and climb into bed…”
I laugh. Her wolf sounds just like Grandma.
Ma swings her arm back. I stop.
She turns to see what’s changed. It isn’t funny anymore.
I hear the thwack as Ma’s hand connects with her nose. It
was an accident.
Should’ve been the side of her head.
Now there’s blood.
She buries her face, wraps her arms round my waist.
A darker red blooms on the nylon.
She calms down but she’s shaking. We untangle and I help
her on with the coat.
I don’t want it.
We wait for a while in silence; shredding lollypop sticks,
peeling the top off an old lemonade-can.
She starts to cut neat, tiny crosses into her fingertips.
Not deep.
But I’ve seen enough. I feed the lollypop sticks and
lemonade-can to the cracks between the planks of the pier.
The hood covers her eyes completely. I think she’s stopped
crying.
“You look just like Little Red” I tell her.
She says “Maybe I am.”
Sep 12, 2011
Sep 12, 2011 at 4:40 PM UTC
so you've got a heartache in your belly.
& as you casually told me
" it's about the size of a thumbnail
right now "
i looked down & realized
i needed to clip mine.
your eyes dimmed like theatre lights
when i closed the curtain
on your monologue
about motherhood
to tell you we couldn't keep it.
& i probably never loved you more
than those days where we would sit
in silence,
thinking about how empty we were about to become --
you literally,
& me….desperately.
& we went to that sterile building
with the bulletproof glass windows
& the chubby old woman,
using a blue blouse as a veil to cover the layers of
stress & years underneath.
she spoke to us through an echoing intercom
in a grave attempt to keep her distance
from our fingernail problem.
we got buzzed in & we waited &
we sat close but god you were so far away
& i reached out & grabbed your hand to pull you back in
& you looked over at me --
overpassed me --
& the ghost of a smile haunted your lips for a second….
they called your name, well
not your name…not the name i call you,
but the one your dad gave you,
& they told me i couldn't go back there with you
& i said i understood but i never will.
the waiting room filled with somber souls,
& we all pretended like it was just a normal doctor's office
but it was obvious who the better actors were
as some randomly burst into tears
like confetti poppers at a birthday party.
we all knew we were at a funeral but
they turned up the volume on the TV
like the quiche that Rachel Ray was baking
would make us forget the mistakes we were burying
& i remembered the picture you showed me
that looked like an x-ray of a jelly bean & said
" that's it.
that's what it looks like. "
& you stared at my face like you were trying to
memorize my expression in that exact moment
so you could dig it up whenever you needed to hate me again,
but then you came out of that door holding your belly
& i knew you wouldn't need to dig that up
because you would have no problem hating me
anymore.
Jun 27, 2012
Jun 27, 2012 at 3:04 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
In the mood to have a drink,
A glass of champagne,
Watch Big Ben count down the time,
Until the New Year enters in,
Party Poppers popping proudly,
Magic music motoring,
In the mood to have a dance,
A dance to enchant,
Watch the fireworks explode,
The clock meets the midnight hour,
Party Poppers popping proudly,
Magic music motoring.
Aug 27, 2012
Aug 27, 2012 at 8:33 PM UTC
I'm feeling used
And discarded
Like a little confetti popper
You expertly pulled that string
And got that brief explosion
Of bright pretty colors
And then tossed me away
Like you've done with so many other
Little plastic confetti poppers
Maybe I'm special to you
I still let myself hope
I take your explanations
Tuck them away in my head
Little grains of comfort
In a sea of discontent
Jan 26, 2015
Jan 26, 2015 at 12:40 PM UTC
In Chinatown it is busy
Bikes go real fast down streets that are dark, covered with crumpled up chinese newspapers and what looks like the aftermath of a thousand party poppers
Colored paper that slowly disappears into the wind as the day goes on
An old man is wearing a sign on his chest
He speaks of anger towards the Japanese
How they have not rightfully paid China back for all the damage and heartbreak they caused in wars past
In Chinatown it is different
The air is soft, but the area is buzzing with people
I sit down at one of the bakeries
Here I am at peace
Here, although there is no one to talk to in english
I feel listened to
Feb 20, 2013
Feb 20, 2013 at 10:03 PM UTC
are unstable
pill poppers that
can't make up their mind.
Often get mistaken
for rambling thoughts
and go to trial for
having *** in public
places. Many have
tattoos and are a
bad influence on
your children. The
last one I saw caught
a ride to Greenwich
Village from a trucker
who reeked of *****
If you ever see a poem
in your neighborhood,
please call the fire
department to put
it out before it
spreads like wildfire.
Nov 15, 2011
Nov 15, 2011 at 11:44 AM UTC
They pull the strings behind the scenes, they think themselves queens and kings controlling everything.
And we're the poor pawns that fawn on and on and on, day to day, from dusk til dawn.
We need to stop the cycle. No, we HAVE to stop this cycle. Get off the bike, though, we might not like to, Because we're prisoners and though we're lacking actual shackles, our rights are *** backwards, and the rulers are money-hungry psychos.
We the people pay the price,
The price for living paid in pain and constant suffering,
Nothing's really what it Seems,
And no one Sees because We numb ourselves through drugs and Vicodins,
Pill-poppers, downers, uppers,
Blunt-puffers, paint huffers,
Wrist cutters, coke snuffers,
Methamphetamine intravenously-injecting stupid *************
Drug smugglers, crack stuffers,
Mother struggles, baby suffers,
Speed lovers, glass crushers,
We numb it all so no one bothers.
but sitting comfy at the summit,
Watching the planet plummet,
Are the ones pulling the strings behind the show.
The ones without a soul.
The ones behind it all, yet few of us do know.
It's time we all wake up, stop confirming to the rules, it's time we cut these strings and put the people in control.
Dec 19, 2012
Dec 19, 2012 at 8:05 PM UTC
Trickle down
Rain rainy rain
Trickle poppers
Slippery membrane.
Slippy tickly beard
Prickly pear hair.
Sep 2, 2015
Sep 2, 2015 at 11:40 AM UTC
We sip green beer bottles under lime lights
With her ginseng tongue talking calming evergreen
And her eye’s are envious and big like granny smith apples
And now we’re downing absinthe on the other side
Laughing, getting drunk, and eating green grapes
Her skin is smooth and cool jade
But fragile
A cut under a blade of grass
But it’s emerald, and it’s all the riches we need
Because while everyone was playing life like a game with rules.
We were breaking fences and creating unfair stipulations for others.
No one is passing the finish line if I keep moving it up.
It’s not me raining on a parade
I’m closing down every street.
But still…
We have the pill poppers and the drop outs
The can do’s take up all the good face time so they say
But all I see is a weak person
Socially awkward isn’t an excuse
So if we’re all
Wild animals
Then we
Eat our young
And if you’re into that
Then we’re talking business
But until then
Write your eulogies on crumpled up bath room paper
I get the bland fairy tale story, rock band, slam poetry, baked cookies, digital photographs.
And it’s force fed down my mouth
Like a baby
**** it all
I want things to better
And I expect so much more…
If our lives are just a waiting room for something better
We’re stranded
So I’m leaving behind the white walls
And the cool
Linoleum
Floor
So I may be wildly foolish
But a slight chance at splendor
Is better than misery as a sure things
I'm moving up the hill
to see the other side
-Kevin T
Jun 17, 2010
Jun 17, 2010 at 10:23 PM UTC
I'm watching my friends follow the paths of their brothers
Chain smoking pill poppers looking for love from their mothers
But instead they find it in the
Prize from their dealer
Until everything around them is nothing but a third-wheeler
And all genuine emotion is replaced with this hunger
It's days like these when I wish we were all still younger
Before I ever even considered I might watch my friends become users
When getting high was just smoking, not meeting up with random prescription drug abusers
Im watching the best people I know
use this drug as their foundation
And when it all crumbles, I hope that they have an inner realization
That they were once people others looked up to and respected,
But now they've become shadows of everything they've injected.
Jan 13, 2014
Jan 13, 2014 at 9:40 AM UTC
The other day I phoned a friend, I shan't be usin' names
"Not alright, I tell ya, Gee, my eyeball's shootin' flames!"
"Owie! Owie! Owie! Oh!, Chiliman I like ya so
do tell me what has happened though I know you will be well"
"While chopping jalapenos without the proper guise
I washed my hands both 'fore and aft' but much to my demise
I went to pop my contact in and soon would realize
a flaming side of poppers and a sizzling batch of fries!"
Well I knew he wasn't faking and it took me by surprise
that my heart was feeling something which I couldn't minimize
he must have sensed me crying, guess it opened up his eyes...........
(that awkward length of silence which one-sided love implies)
and sensing he could break me down, I felt I must disguise
so I layered up and told him, "I've got onions in my eyes!"
"Woe is you and oh so woe, Gee girl how I like you so
tell me what has happened though I know you will be well."
"While chopping up the onions without the proper guise
I washed my hands before and aft' but much to my demise
can't blame me now for hoping we could do without the lies
But I'm just a bloomin' onion and I need to guard my...eyes."
And with the sharin' of the troubles and the things that caused us pain
there's comfort in the knowing, for what else have we to gain?
But if I lose you then tomorrow, because today I have been real
Best I learned another thing, to hold back what I feel.
And when everything which must be added is put in the Chili-man's crock
a five-to-one hand wash of water and bleach is best to avoid pepper shock.
Dec 14, 2013
Dec 14, 2013 at 11:56 PM UTC
Sun begins its rise, taking baton from setting moon
Freak closes curtain, sealing darkness within his room
Compulsive habits draw and push, metering this tune
Addict sees the devil, meandering wide labyrinth
Drunkard finds green fairy within precious Absinthe
Religious zeal is just a steal from place called Nazareth
Judging from the junkies, who line up on the street
Methadone clinics make perfect meet and greet
Cops are robbers, faking stats, keeping rule of their own beat
Faithful followers of god-pill-poppers do it just the same
All the people seeking steeples, much, much the same
When will devotee know a drug by any godly name?
It all goes round and in this town, martyrs everywhere
Adhering doom upon a tomb, getting closer there
What we don’t know is soon to show a resemblance of somewhere
Aug 14, 2016
Aug 14, 2016 at 3:31 PM UTC