"prescribing" poems
Four walls; a pair of cupped hands.
Jaundiced like an open eye; an open cove
Prescribing solitude to those whom solitude cannot withstand,
And I choose this cold corner which is furthest from the door,
To be where I am not, before
Your proclivities become my own, I write. I write,
My window holds my breath and frosts the world,
The moon in his amber gown, dressed in chatoyance and spite,
Godspeed; dark, dark shroud for naked skies!
Six floors, walls, doors from you am I.
I couldn't write when the sun peered in,
Her inquiry evangelizing the specks of time left upon the glass -
I've heard it all before; God's shining face leaves none unloved (unseen)
but his spotlight has no starlet; so who can see me up here?
We can't see from windows, dear.
I'd live and sing for the cloudless hall
The nursery of misanthropists crawling on the grey cobblestone
And the lilt of the wind on the rose; through squares nice and small -
The peevish moth shudders at the sight of itself obscuring the day through the glass.
It seems we're always in the way.
May 11, 2018
May 11, 2018 at 5:40 PM UTC
sure, first we had the schism
of the church & state...
"oddly" enough...
we now live in the 2nd tier
of schism -
the segregation of
state & media...
no?
really?
we're not?!
i'm kind of enjoying
this ongoing schismatics -
the segregation of church
from state, at least left us with
the Vatican (i.e. the church-state) -
but this, current...
segregation of state from
the media?
**** me cram my testicles
into a monkey-wrench
and subsequently watch me laugh...
and there i was thinking,
that psychiatrists,
were the new priests of
the secular age...
prescribing the alt. to
the metaphor of cannibalism
in the form of big pharmacological
pills, to replace the wafer for
bread,
or the watered down wine /
grape juice of the...
so how does that party trick goes?
is that the wine turned into blood?
symbolically:
turned water into wine:
flag-wise...
white,
cardinal...
and then burgundy of
cardinal red teasing the bishopric
coloring of purple?
i'm not here to undermine
the faith...
i'm here for the self-deprecating
humo(u)r...
you don't even require
atheism to get a laugh
out of the conundrum -
you, simply need...
the deviation from the catholic
rites...
an apostasy -
but sure as **** it's there...
secularism has allowed
journalism a monastic status...
first came the schism of
church from state -
which remained intact in
the church-state of the Vatican...
so... FAIL...
secondly had to come
the schism of the state from
the media...
i'm watching a schism
take place...
apparently...
the comparative concern
of church's divorce from
the state was easy,
having imploded into the Vatican...
but the divorce of
the media from the state?
apparently... not so easy...
the media is already locking-down
on obstructing the schism -
arguing from an entertainment
perspective...
a century or so later,
and still, the persistent,
media symbolism -
of crafting caricatures of
a state...
as the state embodied in
nothing more than subordination
to its will...
media is the new church...
and if the separation of the state
from the church took so long...
how much time, do you "think",
it will it take, for the state
to segregate itself, from the media
baronage?
i suspect - as much time as it
took to segregate itself from
the church's cardinal-lineage.
Aug 3, 2018
Aug 3, 2018 at 11:34 PM UTC
What moral magistrate
Monster of mediocrity
Makes a model citizen of me
Even if I don’t want to be
All upright and uptight
Humorless jackboot
Goose stepping toadstool
The fascist conservative fool
Who pedals misinformation
Counting on fear and stupidity
To turn strangers into tools
Yep that one eyed sheep
In the blind herd
Who wants to tell me
What I should or shouldn’t do
Why bother
With that proctor
Of indignity
Who counsels
The talented
To remain dormant
In their humility
Doctor of docility
Prescribing conformity
Storming the cities
Bleeding us of our individuality
To make more metal cogs
For the culture machine
May 23, 2015
May 23, 2015 at 6:21 PM UTC
We have this habit of making homes
out of people who tend
to burn any moment.
And we keep collecting the ashes,
putting them in jars,
hoping to save what little remains.
We made ourselves believe that other people
are remedies; prescribing—injecting ourselves with drugs
that walk and talk and breathe
And I have long since realized that we have seas inside us,
and there are a thousand shipwrecks aching for freedom,
but we hold on to every damaged piece.
Sep 7, 2014
Sep 7, 2014 at 1:45 PM UTC
How?
If even there were
A force in this universe
Sustaining life beyond just breath
Beyond this web of neurons
Firing in predictable patterns
Prescribing every inclination and desire
A flame in which is fully forged
The consciousness that
Dreams and dares all things
Beyond our mere survival
If even there were such a force
How would it be made known?
How does a foundation work
When the fundamental building blocks
Are massless, pointlike?
As much wave as particle
Basking in the sunlight of uncertainty
Existing in duality
How, when everything else is
Nothingness
A void a million billion times more extensive
Than anything substantial
That surrounds it
A vacuum that renders
The remaining matter pointless
How could force be hollow
Yet encompass all
What does it all mean
When all of matter falls in between
This unseen field
Rippling, wriggling, rigging
Everything it fills with the seedlings of decay
Each day
Moving along the breakdown towards
Entropy
Splendid chaos,
Almost too perfect to be called such
How could we not see
The force
Still elusive, but unchanged
Striking a balance
Between fate and volatility
The neverending battle
That morphs each how into a why
The demon and the butterfly
Nov 11, 2021
Nov 11, 2021 at 5:34 PM UTC
I am fixed
to the walls of this house
so tightly joined to it,
this bed
through sinew and bone
thread, thread, thread
another plait into me
the night, the breed she is
with that ****** needle
and thread, thread, thread
knows I can’t stand within it
the vignette
the solitude
the white coats,
the men of the word
those in the mire of the clay
all prescribing the same thing
a hit of perseverance
“Oh, okay,”
“oh, okay,”
“oh, okay.”
I lick, lap at
the slow drip
so tightly fixed to where I always have been
don’t come in,
don’t go out
“I’m sorry,”
in the pooling of spit
one hand in the *****
reaching into the pit
the *********
night
I don’t say in vain
“Okay,”
“Okay,”
“Okay,”
she waits
loosens my thread
slips those little tethers
so much good slack
I run
take my hit of perseverance
I burn
burn, burn, burn
right up in the fire of day
she waits for the ash
the sun rises and sets
on the same thing, always
always
always
always
they don’t understand
those free feet, walking the narrows
I watch them all go
no wince, no limp
no thread, no spit
the way that it seems,
from my portion of shadow,
“Oh, okay,”
so easy
Dec 19, 2022
Dec 19, 2022 at 5:04 AM UTC
you said its what you needed.
what the doctor had ordered.
picked it up from the pharmacy.
it would ease the discomfort,
aches, pains, soreness,
and finally you would
feel yourself again.
after all the years of suffering,
you could finally love me right.
but i don't recall doctors prescribing
whiskey in a prescription bottle.
Mar 21, 2019
Mar 21, 2019 at 10:19 AM UTC
Lights! camera! action!
Pretending that events are accidents
Appointed laughter
Framed gatherings
Steady buffing
Drawing
Smearing
Lathering
Turn your face into a masterpiece
And your fashion into a catastrophe
Then your catastrophe into outcasting
Take away normalcy then preach you blasphemy
Then wonder "why are they after me"
X then dotted line just says "that you're mine"
It says "sign neatly" and "read briefly"
And now that he's gone...your the repeat
And if you leave...they gotta 3 peat
*** will get you a check
And if you thirsty for a disbursement... Burp out controversy
And swallow grade A ********
You'll get applauded for being a first class fool
Who didn't graduate
But there's still fans who gravitate
While your old class mates are still someone else's class mates
The former students now have degrees
The ones you call to design your foreign furnished mansion
The ones sold you that million dollar car
The ones you pay to fly your private jet
The ones you pay to manage your career
The ones who indict you for your drug possession
The ones who over the counter prescribing you your addiction
The ones who will do the incision to try and maintain your drunk liver
Miss and mister
They demand their respect
Surviving grueling semesters
The newly alumnus
Will retire after they make a difference
A difference for our children
And by the time that your contract has ended all you talked about is killing
Rims spinning
Money getting
Blunt twisting
Liquor sickening
Girls stripping
Discharge sipping
Jewelry glistening
Superstition
Stomach itching
Teeth missing
Thread stitching
Eye twitching
Thirst quenching
I don't get it
Albums full of insignificance
...
But your not trippin'
Because you won't fall as long as you don't walk when your boss tell you to crawl
If you rock shows
Wear clothes that you never chose
If you pose to live a life that's another man's role
You'll soon believe that you're not from this globe
And you'll soon speak how satan stole your soul
Everything you value is so extraneous
And for that you're famous?
So it's only one recipe
If you wanna be a celebrity you must lose your integrity
Jun 4, 2013
Jun 4, 2013 at 6:36 AM UTC
i find it strange to be politically correct,
without actually exercising any political
career-motive as a member of a government...
because that's what's we're being sold:
to be politically correct, without a career in
politics. doubly strange, to foster non-antagonising
views on everyday matters,
to later realise that whoever we're antagonising
from an environmental bias (rather than
a personal bias) we will never share a dinner with...
so like our opinions mattering in the first place
was by-and-large, just a media hoax to
ensure we were all prescribed the safety of
walking the tight-rope... and never really
designating ourselves the freedom of the constitutional
rights - this leftist bias remains intact,
on the canvas of freedom of speech, however
that freedom allows us to see rural endeavours in talk,
the once appreciated freedom is becoming a polarised
freedom to name & shame... a media hammer or nail...
because it's only freedom when enough people
agree with "us", to allow a bicep expression of
being backed up like some Spartacus...
i mean, i don't agree with most expression,
but i wouldn't **** the hornet's nest with the media
frenzy to appear politically correct... when
so few of us actually have any political power....
being sold free speech, to be later curbed with
political correctness is a bit cancerous....
given that free speech is equated to the voting X
from the age of mass illiteracy...
i don't see how free speech became a vehicle for
acquiring constrained speech dynamic -
when did we forget the chastity of speaking the airy-fairy
things in life on the informal basis, and when did we
become so ****** friendless, estranged, outsiders
to everything that matters... and now, supposedly
between butcher and greengrocer, talking about
the weather in cocktail smocking and bow-tie?
free speech gave us the rights to not ask for political powers...
on whatever governmental tier...
prescribing us political correctness has given the everyday
John the delusion that he can process political power...
the once famous strive for speaking what the hell you want
but not wanting political power changed into
being prescribed political correctness but no political power...
so i ask you... what's the point of being politically
correct, if you gain no political power,
unless you're a rat, a snitch, spying on your neighbour
to grass them out? because that's what political correctness bred,
snitches... those given political correctness laws
were never given any other political power...
added to the fact that they wouldn't have said anything
interesting / provocative anyway.
Aug 21, 2016
Aug 21, 2016 at 9:50 PM UTC
A little Jesus sort
Spaces between clout
Effort lost
Split the cost
Inconvenient doubt
A little Zorro like
Masquerading whip
Body welted
Disguise melted
Self prescribing quip
Risk and Pain
It's all the same
Self Imposed or Not
Let it go
Take it slow
Maybe then you'll have a shot
Apr 13, 2017
Apr 13, 2017 at 12:11 PM UTC
You, yew and ewe.
New, knew and gnu.
Two, too and to.
Do, dew and doo.
Your, you’re, ewer and yore.
Sower, sewer and even sore.
Pin, pen
Win, wen.
Tin, ten.
Bin, been.
For, four, and fore.
Poor, pour and pore.
Bear, bare and bayer.
There, their and they’re.
Sure, sewer, shore and shower.
Censor, censure, sensor, censer.
Din, den.
Kin, ken.
Win, wen.
Yin, yen.
Shoulda, coulda and woulda,
Wanna, hafta and hadda.
Pitchers painted of pitchers
Ree-lutters instead of realtors.
Pertecting you with protection.
Prescribing you a perscription.
A different kind of differnse,
For instance, gimme a frinstance.
Pin, pen
Win, wen.
Tin, ten.
Bin, been.
Din, den.
Kin, ken.
Win, wen.
Yin, yen.
Mar 28, 2016
Mar 28, 2016 at 10:42 PM UTC
Eden, liar
You have wormed into my heart
Whispering
sweets of tender wonder
Prescribing
hallucinogens of a future "we"
Breaking with
a straw, and fake number
Eden, where is my innocence?
I am but a husk
A thin black dress,
A swooping neckline,
You are my affection.
Aug 7, 2013
Aug 7, 2013 at 4:09 PM UTC
Some will ask why I seem ****** in every song I write
It's not that I love to hate
I just can't let these cats take me for spite
I'll make an appointment and show up late
Kick the doctor in the stomach
For prescribing mis-diagnosed antibiotics
You can't just give anyone anything
Or you can take their condition from not serious to catastrophic
Went from isotonic to spittin' up some *****
Yeah, that's how big pharma works
Creating customers that hope their meds will work
But then flip it over and realize it's just dirt
I've been a victim of their upsurps
That's why I hate them like internet trolls hate derps
Aug 7, 2014
Aug 7, 2014 at 8:14 PM UTC
My heart beats
some manic
American dream
just
like
yours
We just have to go deeper
and not get too
emotionally attached
'cause destiny's a *****
just like the distance
Short-term impulse episodes
of mass enjoyment
vs.
Long-term miracles
of wishful thinking
I'm on that "Be the change you wish to see" ****
or believe long enough to see some strange ****
Truth be told,
it's amazing
how much you don't know
because you're
too scared
to look inside
or ever ask "why"
more than what
you read online
No.
It's always some new notification
an autonomic phantom vibration
of the lost soul
Missing out
on it's missing
piece/peace
That stumbles in tune
to delusions
of
Godlike
tendencies
Gracefully,
all the way
back to the pharmacy
As long as they're prescribing
hope and ambition
This American dream,
I'm sleeping on it.
Oct 17, 2013
Oct 17, 2013 at 4:19 PM UTC
My mood again a steady constant
still low, always low but constant
so I seek the solutions, search for normal
I approach and offer myself over
to those, the better minds, the doctors
they are wise and educated and have magic
in the form of pills that I consume
reporting back the basics, this didn't work
that isn't helping so they raise and lower doses
prescribing cures in pills and always asking questions
writing this and that factual results down
they see errors in my mind and I feel restless
again and again changing their minds
as I consume and return the effectiveness or lack therein
all I ;want is the sky that felt light and tasted fragrant
yet so goes my search for my cure as each is different
seeking that fabled equalibrium, that balance
aiming for the land of sunshine and
the state known once as happiness
again, always where life is
and emotions can be steady, ups and downs
continuously changing in workable highs and lows
but alas, I am unable, and I continue only to try
the new, the stronger the most documented cure alls
of more pill to be taken with water day or night
forever dosing, hoping and trying to find my life
chasing that notion of what it is to feel alright
by
Jack Fehlmann
2013
Jul 17, 2014
Jul 17, 2014 at 10:32 AM UTC
I started dreaming in black and white.
you never seemed to
belong in this
technicolour drenched era,
an age of blood
carnations and sapphire Bomb Pops.
***** yellow cardboard boxes in
fluorescent refrigerated cases:
there are goosebumps on my arms and you
hated grocery shopping; I made the lists
and I made the buys; you made the
money, you made love.
we bought a Cezanne print for the
great room; it hangs above the frozen
hearth, grey sunlight filtered through
the cellulose blinds. there is a too tall
glass of scotch on the coffee table beside
a too empty scotch bottle and a too full
bottle of benzodiapenes: I haven't been
self-preservative, and you've been
self-prescribing.
we weren't cut out for this era,
an age of cum-coated lips and
onyx Benzes; we would've been better
in black and white, where our
color-saturated demons couldn't come, where our gem-studded cancers couldn't
eat us alive.
Sep 16, 2014
Sep 16, 2014 at 6:53 PM UTC
The world is cold and dark and mean
Fingers pulling at the seams
So strange, peculiar like a dream
So many faces blur and twist
All with whom distortion has kissed
Battering normality like a fist
Women flaunt and flirt and twirl
Many not much different than girls
Oblivious to this violating world
Innocence flutters at the rim
Cringing from the tearing sin
Fighting, craving, the sickness wins
The men are not what they appear
Prescribing pills to stop the fear
Those same pills that hold it near
They smile and wave and flash their eyes
Girls trust them in their clever disguise
Not knowing they should turn and hide
Then there are those who lurk and creep
Hiding in the shadows deep
They come and find you as you sleep
Others, in the darkness gleam
Out of them some lightness streams
They make tolerable a taunting dream.
Sep 19, 2011
Sep 19, 2011 at 12:34 PM UTC
He wore a stripped shirt
that resembled the twist of serpants
though he smiled warmly his eyes were
steady on the dollars
placing labels and badges on all
the soldiers fighting to pay rent
and live in times so far from purpose
I kick back and watch him scribble
false notice
prescribing a pill to every effect from
this life
its left me purging
I hate the institutions
the corrupt unjust
sick ***** sedating my
passions and
numbing me up
smart went to another place
outside your local village where
the villians mix the chemical
perserves in your children's fillings
I cant help the way I percieve what
I have seen
I cant help that my fall from innocents
was rougher and obscene
I cant stop thinking of the misuse
of power and money mongers
I want to burn the kingdom
hoping it'd grow back to something better
misguided we walk off cliffs and to the slaughter
or we come back as our fathers paper back novel
excellence for me has fallen to resistence
because I simply cant stand this kind of exsistence
go ahead and direct me to another perscription
corrupt everything in my mind that makes me human
I'm ODD to the extreme !
I reject most of you and the latest thing
and now this man sits here
telling me I'm sick and spiraling
as he shakes hands with satan
defiling minds from eyes that only see green
and I pay my way to see this jackal conspiring?!
You can keep your advice your diagnoses and the dice
I'll leave you now to gamble with the rest of the villager's lives
Dec 13, 2012
Dec 13, 2012 at 9:13 PM UTC
2017 and I'm still writing
2017 and still no one likes me
Let me take you back to 2011
Back to when lyrics were
Jumping out of me
Like visual scenes
Back when I was an emotional mess
Where every song ends
With me dead
Remember
The razor blade cuts
All of them scars
All that blood
I called Art
I've been looking around
And nothing has changed
I'm still the mess that was made
I still crave that attention
I still end my nights in depression
I'm still looking for something
That can save my life
Keep failing at everything that I try
Sometimes it's an effort to even smile
At least I can admit it
At least I know I'm like this
Doctors keep prescribing me pills
With this, I can't even deal
Drug addict
I just won't be
They get poured down the drain
My soul is damaged
Beyond repair
In a pitch black room
You'll find me there
I've been looking around
And nothing has changed
I'm still the mess that was made
I still crave that attention
I still end my nights in depression
I'm still looking for something
That can save my life
Keep failing at everything that I try
Sometimes it's an effort to even smile
At least I can admit it
At least I know I'm like this
Happy go lucky
That's supposed to be me?
Guess you just don't really know me
And all the things
that run through my mind
Every single night
I'm lost in life
And I can't seem to find
A map that shows me the right direction
They said life's all about perception
And my perspective
Is that I'm just dead and floating
I've been looking around
And nothing has changed
I'm still the mess that was made
I still crave that attention
I still end my nights in depression
I'm still looking for something
That can save my life
Keep failing at everything that I try
Sometimes it's an effort to even smile
At least I can admit it
At least I know I'm like this
©2017 Written By Benji James
Jun 22, 2017
Jun 22, 2017 at 6:45 AM UTC
Anti-depressants are like prescribing a cure for a wet dream
Jul 31, 2015
Jul 31, 2015 at 12:11 AM UTC
Where do the sunbathed birds go?
I want to know because I'm bleached pale
with the winters woes
and I want out of this cage.
I want to sunbathe were the birds might be,
with their twittering tweetles
and the promise of spring that is so soon around the corner.
Here the weather is just as bi-polar as I believe myself to be.
I'm a self proclaimed doctor with a self proclaimed condition,
and I am prescribing myself a day in the sunshine.
I can't wait to be where the robins lay their eggs,
where the sparrows fly with a glint of their tail left behind them,
and where that indistinguishable "too big for its britches" bird
finds himself his next meal... slowly...
So please, can you give me any directions
to where the sunbathed birds go?
Mar 7, 2016
Mar 7, 2016 at 6:14 PM UTC
**It is so easy it seems
to look in wrong places
for an understanding of this
most illusive word..
Multiplicity and diversity
seem to demand that we comply
with their evident variety..
Enter our laws prescribing
orderly equality with
success most limited..
Moralities are defined
as good here and not there..
Religions find inequalities
in their prisons of belief..
So...we are waiting it seems
for Equality to speak
with a luminous presence
out of which flows
illuminated diversity
bringing Peace at last
to confused searching
in wrong places...**
Mar 12, 2016
Mar 12, 2016 at 9:29 PM UTC
The doctor can't prescribe me an escape from society,
A way to eschew idiocy, redundancy and ignorance.
So even though I'm not a doctor,
No degrees, claims, nor title.
I'm prescribing myself a substance.
One of which I deem fit.
So this is the reason,
As to why I smoke,
Cannabis.
Sep 29, 2014
Sep 29, 2014 at 1:51 AM UTC
There is no time now.
So many of my poems start
with "when", like a manual
prescribing actions or words or
emotions to situations, like a clock
to tick away the lines, all straight, all
parallel, in neat rows, like the answer
to a question I always ask but never
speak, what will happen to me now?
There is no time now.
Now, there is only me, even
my words have gone to play in
greener pastures as my ghosts desert
me to haunt someone less
picked-over, to find a carcass that still
has meat on its bones. I am
bone-dry. I lost the companionship
of my tears long ago.
There is no time now.
Though I know it is midnight, that
fact does not seem to matter as much
as facts should. The darkness is
simultaneously vast and stifling, I am
simultaneously too old and too young. There exists
a longing, I cannot be certain what for, I
know only that it is unrelenting and threatens to
pull me out of my skin. I might not mind.
Jan 29, 2014
Jan 29, 2014 at 6:11 PM UTC