"pusher" poems
“Moby **** Herman Melville
<•>
~for the lost at sea~
after a year of saltwater absence and abstinence,
return to the island caught between two land forks
surrounded by river-heading flows
bound for the ocean great joining
the Atlantic welcomes the fresh water fools,
bringing with them hopefully, but hopeless gifts of obeisances,
peace-offerings endeavoring to keep their infinite souls
sea accepts them then drowns the
warm newcomers in the unaccustomed
deep cold salinity, which
sometimes erodes
sometimes preserving
their former freshwater cold originality
I’m called to depart my beach shoreline unarmed,
no kayak, sunfish or glass bottomed boat needed,
walk on water and my toes, ten eyes to see the bottom,
no depth perception limitation,
reading the floor’s topography,
millions of minion’s stories infinite,
many Munch screaming
god’s foot, heavy upon my shoulders,
a daytime travel guide, hired for me,
not a friendly travel companion, nope,
God a pusher showing off a drug called deep water salvation,
designated for the masses, can handle large parties
my in-camera brain eyes,
record everything for playback -
the lost and unburied, bone crossword puzzles
walk shore to ship, on soles to souls,
is this my new-summer nature welcome back greeting?
puzzled at the awesomeness of vastness,
conclude this clarification for me of the occluded-deep,
is a stern reminder of my insignificant existence,
my requirement to walk humbly, spare my sin of vanity, and
forgive my trespasses upon the lives of others
perhaps then the infinite of my soul perchance restored,
older visions clarified and future poems
will write themselves
and sea to it my predecessors
be better remembered
Memorial Day 2018
May 28, 2018
May 28, 2018 at 11:53 AM UTC
In nineteen hundred forty-nine
China was won by Mao Tse-tung
Chiang Kai-shek's army ran away
They were waiting there in Thailand yesterday
Supported by the CIA
Pushing junk down Thailand way
First they stole from the Meo Tribes
Up in the hills they started taking bribes
Then they sent their soldiers up to Shan
Collecting ***** to send to The Man
Pushing junk in Bangkok yesterday
Supported by the CIA
Brought their jam on mule trains down
To Chiang Rai that's a railroad town
Sold it next to the police chief brain
He took it to town on the choochoo train
Trafficking dope to Bangkok all day
Supported by the CIA
The policeman's name was Mr. Phao
He peddled dope grand scale and how
Chief of border customs paid
By Central Intelligence's U.S. A.I.D.
The whole operation, Newspapers say
Supported by the CIA
He got so sloppy & peddled so loose
He busted himself & cooked his own goose
Took the reward for an ***** load
Seizing his own haul which same he resold
Big time pusher for a decade turned grey
Working for the CIA
Touby Lyfong he worked for the French
A big fat man liked to dine & *****
Prince of the Meos he grew black mud
Till ***** flowed through the land like a flood
Communists came and chased the French away
So Touby took a job with the CIA
The whole operation fell in to chaos
Till U.S. Intelligence came into Laos
I'll tell you no lie I'm a true American
Our big pusher there was Phoumi Nosovan
All them Princes in a power play
But Phoumi was the man for the CIA
And his best friend General Vang Pao
Ran the Meo army like a sacred cow
Helicopter smugglers filled Long Cheng's bars
In Xieng Quang province on the Plain of Jars
It started in secret they were fighting yesterday
Clandestine secret army of the CIA
All through the Sixties the Dope flew free
Thru Tan Son Nhut Saigon to Marshal Ky
Air America followed through
Transporting confiture for President Thieu
All these Dealers were decades and yesterday
The Indochinese mob of the U.S. CIA
Operation Haylift Offisir Wm. Colby
Saw Marshal Ky fly ***** Mr. Mustard told me
Indochina desk he was Chief of ***** Tricks
"Hitchhiking" with dope pushers was how he got his fix
Subsidizing traffickers to drive the Reds away
Till Colby was the head of the CIA
January 1972
10.1k
I was never considered a friend,
just a classmate,
a time-pusher that was all i was.
But today,
i planted a smile.
A smile so deep and pure,
it came as a shock to her.
A surprize indeed.
But surely my own heart rejoices to know that i planted a smile.
Jun 3, 2015
Jun 3, 2015 at 9:42 AM UTC
A psychedelic substance
A psychedelic substance
Drugs. Drugs a unrelated substance.
familiar states of consciousness, familiar states.
A stimulation
A stimulation of the body
in my body
the drug, with the familiar states of consciousness
familiar states
Oh God, oh Jesus
The hallucinogens as known as drugs
consciousness
Jesus, a pusher, a dealer
a psychedelich *******
a Psychedelich mushroom
like the substance
the psychedelic substance
Capture your attention
in a box
in your mind
in your psychedelic jesus mind
Jesus was a pusher
jesus was a drug addict
a psychodelic drug addict with drums around his neck
Feelings, euphoria, empathy
for Jesus
Love, heightened self-awereness
only for Jesus
Only for my dealer
Increased sensuality, increased awareness of sensation.
Creativity, paranoia
Paranoia over Jesus
Feb 26, 2015
Feb 26, 2015 at 2:26 PM UTC
"hell yeah?" the burglar asked the pusher.
(the burglar: wirily, ambitious. plain appearance, dressed in black.
the pusher: wealthy, strong and well-conditioned. sumptuous leather jacket.)
"hell yeah", the pusher answered. "now i got what i like and you got what you need."
both grinned. after a day of extensive work, they relaxed in a hellish pub. it was visited by diplomatic creatures whose faces were recognizable like shadows.
this pub was called babylon 8.
the burglar and the pusher touched glasses to celebrate their deal. they drank.
"nothing to be written down",
the pusher added. burglar nodded. voices of the diplomatic creatures surrounding them; satanic sighs; bold laughter; their sentences sounded like orders that are dictated by judges.
snakes and rats. gravelpitbulls and red cats. creatures with excellent memory. guys who swallow their plans after they had learned them by heart.
a while later, a lady entered the pub: adorable like a man's fantasy; imitable like a woman's strategy. her hair color was your desire; her skin color the color of your dreams.
her name was fantasy girl.
suddenly, the lights went out; suddenly, a lightblue sun illuminated the room. no one noticed. everyone so busy hiding something that nothing was hid.
the creatures of babylon 8 therefore didn't perceive the light.
fantasy girl ordered a drink. she told the bartender: "i need freedom. that's what i want from you, the people of babylon 8."
the bartender a giant with a face full of shining scars; his right ear missing; flashy shirt; an ancient first name; speaker of all world languages combined: the omerta.
fantasy girl took a sip from a silver brew which had been served to her by the bartender. she took out a single match and there was no box; a long cigarette between her unknown lips.
bartender looked at fantasy girl. without saying a word, he turned his stubble cheek into her direction. fantasy girl lighted the match.
lightblue fire. inhaling. smoke. iceblue cloud.
the burglar and the pusher had been looking at fantasy girl all the time.
fantasy girl held a white fountain pen and took a black sheet out of a green handbag. she began to write.
Dec 15, 2019
Dec 15, 2019 at 10:12 AM UTC
Fought
One, Twenty-two skidoo.
Cantankerous mad filamous
She,
That of her,
Me.
Piñata, stretched balloon
Over my big fleshy
******
Tea and cakes,
Painted my nails
Painted my lips
Like candy.
Gold trinkets,
Pour like mercury out of my ear.
Ouch! I cried
My feet in hot sandy
Dreams.
Flying peacocks tickle
My *****
Oranges roll on chalk board tables
Over stale rye bread.
***** dribbles out like mucus
And a runny nose.
Toilet paper and rusty water.
********** on you.
Stocking lover.
Fetish cover.
Woman pusher.
Mellifluous ****
Look at my skin.
Pink, beige, peach, red
Porous, greasy, bacteria ridden hide.
**** me like seppuku,
Smother, suffocate me with
Red jelly jam.
Lubricate your finger with black
Cancerous ash.
Stick it in my naval,
Unravel my umbilical cord
Like so many filaments of my heart.
Tear your flesh
You auto *********
Rip your liver
And force feed it
Corn and maize
Hay and grass
Emory my nails against
Red barn walls
Until bare skin fundamentals
Kisses with salty lips
Inflame my ravishing
Pig stomach.
Kick my shin you
Everything,
Wake up you stupid
*****
Void can be blue skies,
Oceans call for suicide.
Kiss me with delight,
Raspberries tattooed
In my *****
Strawberry cream
Vanilla, milk,
Ponderous infinity,
Cotton, dough
Honey and sage.
Caustic gastric
You and not me.
Feel my legs,
Touch my thighs,
Lick my lips,
Give me anything
Not direct.
Tie me up in complexities.
**** my head up.
Put me in a dream,
Make me happy.
Blair Butterfield 2004
Jan 11, 2010
Jan 11, 2010 at 7:09 AM UTC
I sold smack on a playground today
biding time to scrounge the rent--
Two months ago I had never even seen the stuff.
I'd never procured it for personal use,
let alone sold it.
Now I'm a full-time pusher of prescriptions
for problems that can't be cured,
a modern-day snake-oil salesmen
schlepping panaceas for every conceivable ill.
*Trying to cope with depression?
This'll give you a shot in the arm!
Your boyfriend just broke your heart
mere weeks after breaking your *****
Here's a ***** that you can depend on*...
I thought I was better than this,
but who can afford scruples
with bills to pay?
Internally
I struggle to compete
with people who would never deign to take note of me.
My revenge is in undermining their immaculate lives,
a pill-peddling Socrates
keeping creditors at bay.
I'd always envisioned being someone's hero--
at least being remembered for an act of creation.
Instead I'm an enzyme for eradication.
A cancer cell at best--
A ****** wrecking ball.
One day I woke up a sidekick
to a heroine that's never saved anyone...
Sep 21, 2012
Sep 21, 2012 at 12:53 AM UTC
six-inch heels abandoned
in lampless corner grimy pennies embedded in carpet
rent's due
wedding band girl "fab polka dot frocks"
waterfalling past knees outta place
on casino bus destined for rest under Ft. Worth stars
now, now ********* borealis speckled dice
true love waits
socialite lip balm and bourgeoisie hips compete
in bidding war over which black face triggerpulls
which black face eyes the ground
passerby the red light the green light
all night diner egg on chin coffee-stained porcelain teeth
"I forgave, I think. I forget."
crowded and paranoid in the left lane the right lane
empty and weak and surrender and soiled underwear in ammonia nursing home
children is a word time is a lie the polka dot and the interstate ain't selling
divorce the consequence of acoustic shadows
reblog undo #sotrue reblog
living through x-ray radiotherapy the dotted gown
never the veiny calves or the blush or the eyeliner
somewhere in North Texas shawtys are in the club
shawtys are backin' it up shawtys are dropin' it down
hit me+hit me+hit me=blackjack mishap
the marvel of the wind and of wind turbines
cognac decade brides the epitome of class and natural elegance
standing like oil derricks and treated like oil wells
so secretive and philanthropic
this taxon remains nameless
casino turned dance hall dance hall skinny ties still a thing
this wine is good. is it a merlot? no. this is purely recreational
for birthdays for weddings and Ft. Worth missionaries
10-50 passengers we've got 53, no 54 #hahahaha #whoops #party
who needs unprescribed drugs? me, me (!)
decomposing mascara sweat on brow the interstate no longer lit
polka dots has got the suicide by Manet pulled up
on her iPhone the financial stress which shudders warm-blooded moms
on her lips every mother a librarian every mother a swing-pusher
but digression next to bitterness the lowest sin
edging the cultural gateway of the old west
miracles in and miracles out of tradition following
the slender bends of middle ancient Trinity River
children a word pattycake a game
and time time a lie we left to museum panoramas
Feb 2, 2013
Feb 2, 2013 at 8:12 PM UTC
Doctor or Dentist
An enormous raindrop fell under an umbrella and nearly
drowned the occupant under it. A dentist came opened her mouth
and being ethical pulled out the wrong teeth.
Another man came said he was a doctor and told the dentist
to stop, the dentist said I too am a doctor, and rotten teeth
are sorry for the health, even a pill pusher like you ought to know;
The dentist was rude because he was fed up not being called a doctor.
it came to blows. Meanwhile, an ambulance came
picked up the nearly drowned lady and stopped the fight between
the two medical professionals, the skirmish made the dentist
happy because the ambulance had said; you doctors should not
fight in public.
Apr 30, 2018
Apr 30, 2018 at 4:25 AM UTC
See him wasted on the sidewalk, in his jacket and his jeans
Wearin' yesterday's misfortunes like a smile
Once he had a future, full of money love and dreams
Which he spent like they was goin' outta style
And he keeps right on a'changin', for the better or the worse
Searchin' for a shrine he's never found
Never knowin' if believin', is a blessin' or a curse
Or if the goin' up was worth, the comin' down
He's a poet, an' he's a picker, he's a prophet, an' he's a pusher
He's a pilgrim and a preacher, and a problem when he's ******
He's a walkin' contradiction, partly truth and partly fiction
Takin' ev'ry wrong direction on his lonely way back home
He has tasted good and evil, in your bedrooms and your bars
And he's traded in tomorrow for today
Runnin' from his devils Lord, and reachin' for the stars
And losin' all he loved, along the way
But if this world keeps right on turnin', for the better or the worse
And all he ever gets is older and around
From the rockin' of the cradle, to the rollin' of the hearse
The goin' up was worth, the comin' down
He's a poet, an' he's a picker, he's a prophet, an' he's a pusher
He's a pilgrim and a preacher, and a problem when he's ******
He's a walkin' contradiction, partly truth and partly fiction
Takin' ev'ry wrong direction on his lonely way back home
There's a lot of wrong directions, on that lonely way back home
Nov 10, 2014
Nov 10, 2014 at 7:45 PM UTC
illumination
the sun rungs fears
pusher of its inquiry
ringer in of chore
and civil obligation
dissolving this days events
jonesing for the eve
when poaching the social solution
will bait me into the night snare
Nov 26, 2021
Nov 26, 2021 at 1:51 PM UTC
I am the furnace master
the pyromaniac
the keeper of the warm
inviting flame
I am the fire, you are my fuel
The world is my fuel
be not careless, lest the fire consume your mind
The flames rule all things
They make meaning from nothing
They are the mover, the pusher, the guider of all
Try to control it, and it finds a way around you
If it cannot move around you, it moves through you
If not through you, then it finds a new place to rage
The flame burns all, though few can see
The flame is everywhere, no one is safe
It has surely been in your heart, your soul
You felt it, And you knew it was there
The flame called you to life, and showed you the path, and you knew
But knowing how, and doing, are completely different
All have felt the flame, but not all know of it
Subtlety is the game, straight-forward strength, subtle motion
Surely all have felt the lovers passion, and the flame of life
Surely you have felt the flame of hatred, or of hunger
The fire of anger, of joy, of sorrow
Even those who, like me, spend their lives thinking they rule the flame,
Are only puppets, actually serving it.
Apr 10, 2012
Apr 10, 2012 at 6:41 AM UTC
Mommys a glorified ******
With her 50 some year old married boyfriend
Favorite aunt is a stripper
Used to walk in on her shows
Daddy's a drug pusher
Gave me my fist high at 12
Granny's a kleptomaniac
Must be where I get it from
And it don't stop there
The show goes on
Drug addicts galore
To add plenty of drama
Then there's the snitch branch
Well to do Christians
My biological grandfather
Who says 14 is too old for his tastes
Plenty of violence
To keep things perked up
And everyone on their toes
Welcome, my friends, to the freak show.
Jun 4, 2014
Jun 4, 2014 at 8:41 PM UTC
Life is a sticky
Honey sweet
Mess
Rotten
Yellow teeth
Haunting me
But not from ****
Powdered dreams
Snorting sinus cleaning
I never did that line
But I was still a ******
Getting high
On time
Pill popping
Pain pusher
In prose and poetry
I tapped that vein
Till no blood remained
Till the **** stains
Claimed my pain
Private person
Open window
The cold wind
Would not let me go
A hundred ephedrine pills
To **** my heart
Cold sweats
Anxiousness
And I could not ***
But worse of all
I could not go
Could not sleep
Could not rest
Could not die
Though I did my best
Teeth chipped
Broken calcium
Black cavity
Shallow but painful
And Vicodin
And Vicodin
Till I had to sell them
To my suicidal friend
And Monster drinks
And five hour energy
To write
To work
To stay alert
But the worse addiction
I ever knew
Was pain
Waking every day
Never knew withdrawal
Every day a brand new pain
Every night a brand new poem
I never killed the ******
He just rode me from one high
To the next
I never killed the ******
Even though I wanted to
I never had the gun
Or the ******
The rope or razor blade
Or the ****
I never killed the ******
Even though I wanted
That son of ***** dead
Mar 31, 2015
Mar 31, 2015 at 2:24 PM UTC
I'm gonna motivate my love tractor
From the east coast to the west
Feel it's horsepower beneath my ***
The scorching heat from the exhausts
Blistering my legs
Throwing back rock and gravel
Scattering anything in my way
I want to see the ocean before I die
I want to stop at the Grand Canyon on the way
And a dozen greasy spoons
And a dozen more biker bars
It all leads my ***** *** to the beach
Might as well be the Ganges
Baptise me in that great body of water
I love huge bodies of water
Lakes, rivers, seas...but never seen the ocean
I could make it on a Harley
Overcome my fear
Do it by myself
Biker clubs are insane
They're where I need to be
I've been listening to Steppenwolf
All my life
Get that hog out on the road
The highway and the hog is all that exists
It's another of those "becoming One" situations
I can handle it
Stay on the state highways
Avoid interstates
Maybe I should start getting high again every day
Smoking **** at least 3 times a day
Why don't I think that would still make me happy?
But it's cut into my short term memory
It's been cruel and even driven me to my knees
I have a healthy fear of what it's capable of
But if I could ride a Harley cross country
Surely I could handle doing it high as a kite
Biker girls, sorry to break your hearts
I got a respectable old lady who won't sit on the seat of a Harley
We have discussed parameters
But the sum total is you won't be getting what you want
That doesn't mean you might not get something and something valuable and life-changing at that
It's all at my discretion
Because biker girls sweep me off my feet
And the "look but you better not touch" rule is a little too strict
Especially when we make it to the ocean
Our naked bodies like a school of shark in shallow Pacific liquid
Just a **** or two before jumping in the water
Feel in good, like singing with John Kaye
******* the pusher man
My Harley-Davidson's caked with mud and sea salt, dripping gooey red dirt
Watch over 'em for me
Cuz we gonna be here for awhile
Apr 14, 2015
Apr 14, 2015 at 12:52 AM UTC
My obsession lays only with Calvin Klein.
A proper noun with capitals.
A drifting strong aroma.
Another obsession in my world.
Is sometimes somewhat lighter.
I am an obsessed pusher.
Obsessed only with my pen.
If I can create an image well.
Then hell so be it.
Real people I don't like much.
It's only words I wish to touch.
Desire fires obsession.
It's just a bunch of words.
Sweet strawberries so succulent bring words of summertime.
Clouds weigh down around my head
Dark winter days of misery.
Moments when I wish I was dead.
I put my pen to work.
Writing darkness scarily black.
About bursting eyes.
Where no-one dies,
Except emotion cruelly slaughtered.
By the one known only in kindness.
As the smiling devil's daughter
Definitely no relation.
Just the mother of eccentricity.
Kindness in persona.
To be so dark.
That's very rare.
In a heart that's ribbon bound.
I write my words with tender care.
Sometimes, just to remind the world that I am still there.
Moreover, like a hornet.
I cheese you off and get stuck in your hair!
By ladylivvi1
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Dec 5, 2013
Dec 5, 2013 at 6:28 AM UTC
If there were a potion
to turn ordinary
into wonderful
I have not yet found.
If there were a medication
to take my dictations
and turn them into
Shakespeare.
If I could find some herb to season
my verbs, my nouns,
to make my sober words
renowned.
If there ever were
I would call my pusher,
wait at the curb quill and pad
awaiting
his pulling up.
my last dollar
i give him.
Nov 9, 2014
Nov 9, 2014 at 8:16 PM UTC
Esu Lanlu
Esu Elegbara
Esu Odara
Esu, the scared child of heaven
Esu, a reviled, respected,
Yet misunderstood being.
Esu, all creations dance to your best of life
Esu Dagunro
Esu Lukuluku
Esu Apagbe
Esu, the quickest and fastest one
Esu, confuser of many
Esu, the disruptor of order
Esu, the iconic one
Esu, the master of linguistics
Esu, the conciliatory peacemaker
Esu, the divine alchemist
Esu, the trickster
Esu, the pusher of those,
Who doesn't carry Olodumare's wishes.
Esu, the inseparable friend of Orunmila
Esu,
Papa Legba
Legba Atibon
Kalfou
Papa La Bas
Esu, divine messenger of transformation
Esu, ebora to luti la nbo
Esu, Okunrin ori ita
Esu, a quick responder when consulted
Esu, divine messenger of the gods
Esu Odara, the divine one of Ose Otura
Esu, carrier of the ase of sensuality and fertility
Esu Lanlu, king of dance
Esu, keeper and imparter of ase
Esu, the fundamental Orisa
Esu, the manifest of greatness
Esu, the one who is as hard as Rock
Esu Akeregbaye
Esu, the shedder of blood who knows no one's tears
Esu, the controller of earth
Esu, the special middle man between heaven and Earth
Esu, the anointed rope to success and wealth
Esu Lanlu
Esu Elegbara
Esu Odara
Written by Tosan Oluwakemi Thompson
Jul 6, 2020
Jul 6, 2020 at 8:18 AM UTC
King Herod has ordered the death of our boys yet again/ Afraid to be outwitted he must **** them before they become men/ Start with their diets, poison their bodies with fake food/ Then poison their minds with tempting tunes/ Your 2yr old doesn't hear the reaper in the speakers/ When the pusher pushes the idea that "young ****** outta move dope" it's genius/ no at home teachers/ so they reach us/ in a place we feel parents can't connect/ what they are starved of at home they settle and accept/ from others to fill the void/ I'm not saying keep them from music but teach them the difference between that and noise/
Sep 6, 2014
Sep 6, 2014 at 10:34 AM UTC
Welkins so melancholy, welkin so gray,
How mine isolation dost mock me; for
Only the lonesome make sharu fotay.
Bedchamber so hushed, bedchamber of many tears; how I feel thy ivory paint,
How I feel thy pain here.
Hallway so narrow, hallway that breathes, O' hallway, O' hallway, listen when I sing.
Grab mine hand, O' hallway of mine abode,
Mine feet do walk quietly, on thy carpet; thy soul.
Spirit O' spirit, how heavied thou art, soon shalt thou depart; for the world is to much.
Mine skin yearns for kisses, mine fingers for touch, O' many hath wishes, guess I ask for to much.
Mine hair screams loudly, to be caressed, ruffled. How gray art the welkins; when a poet's love is muffled.
Mine hand tis weak, from not having ones grip, mine lips chapped; no wetness
Nor mist.
Mine dance is off, with none holding of hips, mine glance is off; eyes pained
By watching worldliness.
Mine old worn out ninety-sixties Beatles boots art worn, tired they mourn; they've
Walked many miles; on trails I've turned.
They've walked through streets, where dope addicts fiend, I've been that pusher, that user in scenes.
I've dreamt, I've dreamed, hath had many emotions; with mother and dad, I've smoked and mind opened.
Mine hope in God strong, unearthly, outspoken; I'm here on thy globe,
To bring hope to the hopeless.
Mine garb is bygone, outstandish, I'm Irish, Scottish, two types of native American Indian blood; Chickasaw-Choctaw,
From mother's generational flood.
A Greek man's inside me, one of biblical times, with french royalty, even Charlemagne, is connected to
Family of mine.
As well french power, and kings and queens, emperor's, empresses in mine relations; who ruled Rome with
Maximus, and around
Constantine.
With pilgrim cruor from England, that came here on ships; on the Mayflower they traveled, to this place of new bliss.
Even tis I am Swiss, these art mine bloodlines, O' how mine souls old,
A gold refined.
This is me O' Lord, thy lonesome son,
O' this is me God, thy writer
Of love.
Welkins so melancholy, welkin so gray,
How much longer O' loneliness; til
Thou shalt go away.
Tonight, O' tonight, shalt be silence once again;
Thus the dream of being held, is just
A thought with none end.
© Brandon nagley
© Lonesome poets poetry
Mar 26, 2017
Mar 26, 2017 at 8:41 PM UTC
Nima's mother came
to the side ward
where her daughter Nima
was sitting by a window
in her dressing gown
looking at the passing trains.
You look no better,
her mother said.
Better than what?
Nima said,
turning to eye her mother.
Than last time,
her mother said,
walking into the ward,
and sitting in a chair
by the bed.
You look tired.
I am tired,
always tired,
Nima said,
looking away
from her mother,
focusing on a train
going by.
Her mother sighed.
You need to get better,
how is the treatment?
Ask the quacks
they're in charge
not me,
Nima said,
watching a milk float
go by on the road
across the way.
You are a very
spoilt child and rude,
her mother said.
Have you come
to upset me or what?
Nima said.
Have you seen
that boy again?
May have,
Nima said,
turning to gaze
at her mother.
Have you or not?
Her mother said
in a firmer voice.
What is it to you
whom I see?
Nima said.
He could be
a drug pusher
and you'd be back
in dirt hole again,
her mother said.
He's not a pusher,
he has nothing to do
with drugs which
is why I like him,
Nima said,
remembering she
and Benny in
the cheap hotel bed
making out
at the weekend.
Is he our type?
Mother said.
Our type?
I doubt it very much
and am glad,
Nima said.
Her mother sighed
and stood up
and walked to where
her daughter sat
and stood over her.
If it wasn't for me
you'd be in some
cheap ward
with the others,
Mother said coldly.
When did you
see him last?
At the weekend,
Nima said,
seeing in her mind's eye
she and Benny
in the bed stark naked,
curtains drawn back
taking in the view.
What did you do?
Mother said.
Nothing much,
sat and talked,
Nima said,
remembering
the landlady coming
to the door with tea
that Sunday morning
and Benny going
to the door
in just his underwear
and she(Nima) smiling
at the landlady's stare.
Sep 7, 2016
Sep 7, 2016 at 3:53 AM UTC
I think it was the spring
before sophomore year in
high school, a prelude to the
best and worst but I missed
that footnote. The previous
night was nice where romance
had intervened if at all possible
for 14 year olds. I should have
understood that devils come
at all ages in all seasons but
the stars beckoned summer
and your parents didn't know
and this was the first time I'd
ever been so secretive. Wasn't
until now I'd realized you have
always been a limit pusher, I
didn't understand then, when
you asked to stick your hand
down my shirt. I cannot call
myself stupid for being young,
but let's call it a lapse in morality.
you frowned, pulled back and
told me there was nothing there.
It has always been the smallest
things said that have injured me
the greatest.
Mar 3, 2013
Mar 3, 2013 at 10:18 PM UTC
~~~
Testimony & Majesty: Oh God, Why Do You Inflict Me?
~~~
Morning dawning...
Thickened whitened whipped cumulus
come crossing,
no frenzied froth,
moving slow royal, stately,
as if they are the pride of a
celestial navy,
peaceful ships,
crossing from my portal to your port,
traversing from my shade
of the blues,
over to you, poet,
to your personal screen-adapted
CinemaScope version sights
This wind buffets,
re-directing my
morning~borning hallelujahs
this wind, nameless,
call it chipper, fulsome and volatile,
a proud pusher selling a waking up
near-chill pill,
to accompany the real+imagined
armada of nature
it, near and nearer
to you,
to the sky we inhabit+share,
its ***** stiffening energy,
makes some
hide inside,
not me,
I'm outed by the
harsh welcome~touch of this
realized reminder -
who is the master,
who is but
an obedient servant,
choicelessly writing his
psalmist morning devotions...
another poem of sky, cloud and wind?
*Oh God why do you inflict me?
with this time after time obeisance
when I am
metaphor drained and disabled,
abject of adjectives,
simile frowning upside downing,
have we poets not done our dutiful
illuminating your bountiful works?*
yet here I am,
a soul surviving,
incapable of resistance,
your frosted creatures persistent,
wrest my visions into prose,
to add to your overly full Facebook page,
with more fawning praise...
*Angered have I, you, for now nowhere,
tropical rain squall tells all,
humans are toys,
born to serve,
silence your complaining~explaining,
and from nowhere with
rapido intensity rising,
down pours drops of scornful
water whippings,
demarcating our
incoming existence inequality...*
and yet with your
yang and yang,
a reproach for me,
for as it waterspout pours,
it also pours sunshine,
a mystifying warning
to the put-upon poet,
that in the admixture
of nature and life,
all is conflicted,
all is tremulous beautiful,
and now is the
due time...
*due, you,
to complete this treatise as
testimony to majesty...*
~~~
Nov 26, 2015
Nov 26, 2015 at 2:02 PM UTC
Months of sweating
vetting every word written
Shivering over all
that remained hidden
Rocking back and forth
Recognising the demons scream
Asking to be fed more
Inside of empty dreams
Then the words, they spill
from cracked and broken lips
bleeding onto tissue paper
inking stains of fatal trips
Then comes the rush
a verbiage of torrential pain
Crouching on a backlit screen
pockmarked with finger stains
The first spike of adrenaline
fizzes inside a broken mind
The churning end to a journey
that has completely left you blind
Collapsing in upon itself
is the high that's found a low
and when the reader is gone
You wonder where you'll go?
Perhaps you'll find a new pusher
Someone else to feed your pain
Someone that will dig that needle
deep
even deeper into the vein
Mar 7, 2017
Mar 7, 2017 at 5:12 AM UTC