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Best Drug Poems

Below are the all-time best Drug poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of drug poems written by PoetrySoup members

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New Drug Poems

Don't stop! The most popular and best Drug poems are below this new poems list.

Poetry is my drug by Harvey, Aa
Drug Abuse by EM, RHOMA
That Colourful Drug by crisp, jordan
That Colorful Drug by Dietrich, Andrea
The Needle and the Beast - For colourful drug contest by Seeker, The
Lust Drug by Nance, Casarah
THAT COLOURFUL DRUG by MURRAY, JEAN
MOST COLORFUL DRUG by Woo, San
Can't Walk Away - That Colorful Drug by Haight, Sandra
That Colorful Drug by Loo, Laura

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The Best Drug Poems

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A Long Loud Sigh

genius?
sometimes you are in its minimal spotted light...sometimes!
other times you just know you've been touched and you freeze,
moved but frozen...like a stranger it moves in, does its work and leaves.

...maybe it's been a while since you two spoke...
when the dead sea still hosted life,
the hanging gardens of babylon grew in sinc with the breath of the planet,
before the tower of pisa started to lean or mayan buildings were in ruin.

so you write words...any words...they might at least soothe your hurt
hold your heart in a protective shield.
you know how crippling unrequited love can be.
do you still dream of its hug...genius?

life and love share more than a first letter
(like the first letter you wrote under the veil of inspiration).
they also share good and evil...it's a flip of the coin.
either way is fine with you. you'd bathe in holy water or sell your soul.
life, love...passion...somewhere in there...it lives, genius.

all of nature a reflection through its transparent figure glows dark 
like the shadows live in the radiant illumination of evening rays.

so let me speak of us!
recently when i tried to hold you...
you were like a ghost in the bright of day,
a phantom out of its element...
there was nothing of you...i could embrace.
when i tried to enter you a freezing cold ran through me like a winter brook.
you exhaled me 
as if i were fog on a deserted country road invisible to absent eyes.
still you were my drug of choice.
addicted, i chased the dragon...you...genius.

memories fill me...
days when we would paint words,
stitch in a metaphor or two,
weave in music, 
write instruments to fill in the spaces,
ordain a voice.

i remember...

you wanted to taste me
i was overwhelmed 
how you put your fingers on my lips 
how you licked them...you...genius.

you were that giant pine i would climb in the dead of winter
(why do they say that "the dead of winter"? winter will die 
when hell freezes over. winter isn't death it's purgatory.)
the one with the needles that punctures human skin.

come to me again and touch me...
like the butterfly does the wind...barely but thoroughly.
(is it true that just a tiny flutter of their wings could be 
the start of a hurricane? are the icebergs melting?)
i didn't just write that out loud...did i...with you I'm shy...genius.

GENIUS?

fine!
hide.
don't show yourself.
don't speak to me.
fine!

don't bother with rising the sun today.
forget those showers you create your magic arc with,
vacuum away all the plants.
lower your wall of blue.
i'm not interested anymore in those pillowy shapes i use to love so.

i've always known it is fire that cleanses, water that burns,
it is the moon that breaks the heart,
the stars that slaps the face...with...i don't know...reality.
i've always known by the time we see a star...
in real time...it's already extinguished...already dead.

it is our friends that will use us...our heroes that will lie to our face...
our blood will betray our trust...our teachers will fail us...
our leaders treat us like just another job...
the devout that will exhibit hatred.

still i believe. no matter what else...the rose will always survive.
the petals deceiving. they will repel all that is unholy.
grab it by the neck and squeeze out its black ooze,
leaving a gentle soul there to admire its adversary.
don't even get me started on the orchid
or even the flowers all...alphabetically.

i dare confront the beauty of nature's art unframed...
canvas loose to admire...genius!

i miss you but i am out of tears.
do drop in though. 
i can offer you a cup of dry warmth...
soothing like burning logs that crackle with laughter.

or 

take you to my secret place.
behind the camouflage of forests dense,
where vines grow through spiral staircases 
made of turtle shells and dressed in discarded snake skins.
green is the theme there. it is everywhere,
unabridged, unabated, unaffected, undisturbed 
with a fuming, burning, yearning to be touched.
so let's...let's grab...hold...squeeze..
feel free from the cheap paradigm offered.

i don't think you know, even while you sleep, i hold your hand, genius.

dream a full rainbow on a fingernail moon night,
feel february twenty ninth its absolute might,
taste fully the slight of a pheasant in flight,
yearn eternal life, wish a vampire's bite,
concoct rhymes nicely fluffed with built in sight.

genius?
on this sombre morning the sun is blinding.
damn my eyes.
there is a negative entity drapes our children's world.
shame on us...shame on you...i need you.
i am reduced to an objective observer.
life glides on the little wings of its carrier,
its final resting point in the hands of the wind.
another life carried away on a worker bee,
busy stealing nectar from a succulent bud.
a stowaway hangs on for dear life to the flyers leg.
gets off at the next flower.
meets up with a companion to create a new life.

genius?,
everything changed when I met you.
was the sun rising or the mountain sinking.
was that an orange globe against a blue sky
or a lit round hole in a sad wisp of air.

i'll play a keyless piano if you'll paint me a horizon I can reach.
i'll sing you a ballad with a single note...

i walked into my life without consideration.
maybe crawled.
all the same...
when do I get a choice.
when will they stop holding death over my head.

if i could direct a few more plays with you as my guide...
my art, my life! genius i long for your influence...
even one last time to see your face, 
unite and give you one last kiss...goodnight.




April 1 2015
Maurice Yvonne
Sponsor: Linda
Contest Name:A Million Dollar Poem








Copyright © Maurice Yvonne | Year Posted 2015

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Cry of the City


We will walk then, you and I

When daylight shuts her weary eye;

Down the streets where beggars sleep

And drug crazed addicts spend their keep.

On streets that wind through thick and thin

Past monuments of broken sin

The painted whores who smile a lot

A rejected child that time forgot.

 

The evening hymn that sorrows sing

The call to prayer that church bells ring;

The sounds and smells that rape a city

The calls for help that won't find pity.

Do we have time to heal the curse

That captures all the universe

Or would it really be worthwhile

To quell the question with a smile?

 

But we have walked these streets before

And hoped our ears could dim the roar

Of silence gripping cold nightmares

That come unbidden up the stairs.

We share the night with lesser fools

Who stake their plight without sound rules

For each new challenge finds old pain

That lives to give then comes again.



Copyright © elizabeth wesley | Year Posted 2012

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''and that comes from within''


if I had all the money that I ever wanted,
                  I suppose that I could travel the world;

       live in a better home, buy designer clothes and stuff,

  if money was no object in my life . . . 

                     but you see money cannot help me,
each day my health is more delicate, slipping further away;

       and all the money in the universe will not change a thing,
                               this is my struggle and my daily reality . . . 

                                         the things I give myself are simple,

relaxing music to soothe this weary soul;
peace, tranquility and love to ease my pain,
and I ask the Lord for acceptance . . . 

             in meditation I try to fathom the why,
                                           
                      of course, with money I could go to a fancy retreat;
but a corner in my bedroom is set aside for meditation and relaxing,
and it is there I have placed peaceful things that cost very little . . . .

     perhaps with money I could get better drugs,
                but no drug is going to change this girl's destiny;

                                                this I know deep in my heart and soul, 
                       I have for a long, long time . . . 

I think a lot about my past and life so far,

                              the paths I took or did not take;
                              the things I said or did not say,
        could money have changed my journey in any way . . . 

                                     a warm bath, a cozy bed, a sweet purring cat,
                                                    paper and pen so I can write;
               my laptop within reach, a walk in nature listening to the birds,
      a loved one to hold my hand  . . . .

      these are my indulgences and they may not seem like much to you,

                              but I feel like the wealthiest person in this world;
              for money cannot buy happiness nor can it buy life,
                                      all I need is the indulgence of tranquility . . . 

                            ''and that comes from within''



______________________________
January 28 , 2015

Narrative


For the contest, Poems That Are Soup Favorites,
sponsor, Shadow Hamilton

Tenth Place 


Copyright © Broken Wings | Year Posted 2015

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Screaming at the Sky


Screaming at the Sky
Mothers screaming mournfully at a deaf sky holding their heads helplessly as they cry pitiful tears for innocent, defenseless children slaughtered in fatal cross fires, deadly drug wars drive-by shootings, and cases of mistaken identity on blood-splattered streets, senseless endless violence; but who really gives a damn, only grief-stricken mothers screaming mournfully at a deaf sky.
(Form – Enjambment posted as Verse – 8 lines with 7 words in each line. The 1st line and the 8th line are the same) 10-21-2014


Copyright © Pandita Sanchez | Year Posted 2014

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Devil's messiah

Drug addict hooker - raped violently and left for dead
Lying in a coma unaware of the seed that breeds inside
Months later a boy is born, but mother does not survive 
Unfortunate angel lets infant fall from her fragile grasp
Demons pounce to infiltrate child and slit angel's neck
What a shame he did not die inside his mother's womb
Doomed childhood lies ahead passed from home to home
Abused, raped and humiliated, voices plague demonic mind
As his foster parents molest him - virginal innocence is lost
Manic voices seduce him to murder them with brutal vengeance
No prison sentence - judge rules self defence - hellion is free
Bullied and mocked in school, voices return to haunt him
Hundreds of students die when food is poisoned with arsenic
He walks away with satisfaction - school never found the killer
An appetite to kill hungers inside him as he plots further victims
Randomly killing animals - manipulating and violating children
Thinks he is invincible perverting the streets as a free man
By chance he meets his demonic queen - to share their malady
Within the ecstasy of masochistic desires, he begs for more
He develops an acute messiah complex ready to rule the world
Demonic duo plan a barbaric killing orgy on an Halloween night
The predators ambush innocent children luring them with treats
Throw them into the basement to feast on them one by one
Hands tied and mouths taped no one can hear their cries of horror
Excited by their successful hunt - they engage in perverted gratification
Caught in a moment of passion the queen slips and breaks her neck
In disbelief and utter shock - angered he decides to set the house alight
As the house blazes - a moment of regret sets in and he tries to escape
but the smoke is too strong and overcomes him - he perishes in flames
When the fire brigade arrive they only find two charred bodies
No one checked the basement - the fire had destroyed the infrastructure
A new home was built over the damaged site - its owners unaware
The mystery of the missing children was never solved - nor their crimes
But the new house is always changing occupants - as screams echo in its corridors

The Silent One
21 October 2015






Copyright © Silent One | Year Posted 2015

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A Small Stain Of Blood

an early morning rise,
up the stairs
walk into the bathroom 
in the sink
a small stain of blood.

less than a measure of yesterday 
pulling a baby out of the womb into my arms.
on the sheets
a small stain of blood.

midwives  wrap
my first born
snug and warm.

when her mother
finally gets her initial fill
she hands me this precious
new life.

i hold her knowing
there is nothing,
nothing!,
nothing...
nothing.,
nothing-
better then this moment!,

sweet scented perfection!,
lulls me into a peaceful bliss.

as she grows,
i spend my best times with her 
and later her sister too.

my daughters own me 

lock,

stock

and

barrel.

Ali?

 i still see your
baby green eyes
reaching out to me.

i still smell your
childhood scent.

i can still taste
your hopes and dreams.

i can still touch
your youth as if it were now,
hear your tiny voice

 "daddy i love you but you're my best friend too".

there is nothing,
nothing!,
nothing...
nothing.,
nothing-
better then this moment!,

you're now twenty two.
in the sink?
a small stain of blood.

in your bedroom 
cocaine,

syringes,

...everywhere.

i clean 
carefully picking them up.

i know you know you're playing
russian roulette with your life.

the drug convinced you 
your life isn't worth living.
that's what drugs do.

they're that snake in the garden of eden
and you know eve ate that apple
and you know she sacrificed everything
for a fruit that would never taste that good again.

evil always presents itself as the only choice
while good seems too tough an alternative
but the truth is, the harder you have to work for it 
the better it feels and it holds its feel with nothing to chase.

you can't hear me
the monster deeply 
imbedded in you.

but Ali i love you
and Ali my heart weeps
and on my chest sits
a small stain of blood!



June 3 2015
Armand





Copyright © Maurice Yvonne | Year Posted 2015

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Motherland's Funeral

In the past, my country
cradled me within her womb,
but our roles reversed.
I held her in my arms,
felt her slip away.

I lost my country today.
Gave her up to synthetic medicine,
deficit spending, 
and pie-charts overseas.

They wrenched her from my arms,
took her from my loving arms
to poke, to prod and draw blood.
I prayed while watching attempts made
at her resuscitation,
as greedy hands held out pens,
prodding me to fill in the proper forms.

The world is on lithium,
the drug has defiled the last drop of clean water.
My country was on lithium,
for her, the vibrant colours turned into dull grays,
and in the end, her heart gave way 
from having spent too many decades 
trapped within a gilded cage.

She had an organ donor card -
her organs were sold off one-by-one
while she still clung onto life.
Her organs were removed,
replaced with waving flags
and roaring stadiums.

Men from every standing, race and creed,
groped Motherland's body
after causing her to bleed.
Many men had laid with her. 
Oh, how they did.
At least some men showed decency,
graced her with meaningful caresses.
But they were far and few between -
between the rape, miscarriages and spoils.

Lithium is being slipped into my drink,
into my food, into the very air I breathe,
so daily I purge,
horrified by my country's overdose.
She looks decrepit, splayed out in the morgue,
a cardboard ticket hanging from a big toe
like an empty, whorish price tag.

I will have to give her a proper burial in my mind,
for they are going to have Mother embalmed,
encase her in a glass coffin,
and put her on display.

Our Mother passed away,
yet the land is here to stay.
I will walk across clear-cut ridges,
pass through neon-lit distractions
as a gypsy vagabond.
From now on, the territorial lines
mean nothing more to me than rules to follow.
The shell of this country remains, 
Nationalism has turned empty-hollow.

I lost my country today.
Gave her up to synthetic medicine,
deficit spending, 
and pie-charts overseas.

I lost my country today,
held her in my arms,
watched her slip away,
felt her slip away.





April 30th, 2012


Copyright © Chris D. Aechtner | Year Posted 2012

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Thief of the sea

Being low class and living in poverty can sure be tough When life offers you little, the life of a pirate is an attraction Learning to deal with sea sickness was just the beginning There was no glamour living life as a thief of the sea Villainous activities are nothing like what you see in the movies The smell of death became a drug as did the greed for money But, there was never much treasure to share between us Rubbish food and poor health saw many a comrade die young Oh, it was no fun living life as a thief of the sea Most of the days were spent with menial sailing duties Life sailing upon the magnificent oceans was never easy Battling against the rage of the sea, an everyday battle I would be a liar if I said I took any joy in the killing, the savages amongst me took great pleasure in the rape of women The only think that really mattered to me was the promise of treasure Silver, gold, diamonds and pearls were all that mattered to me So, this life of a pirate was just me being a thief of the sea Now I sit here, too old and fragile for the sea, thinking about all those years living upon the ocean What has become of me? What have I achieved? I leave behind no legacy, no wife, no child, simply nothing All the treasure is gone, oh how I regret the day I became a thief of the sea A Pirate's Life For Me contest by Kelly Deschler 28 September 2015


Copyright © Silent One | Year Posted 2015

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Curse the Hour

I’ll not be the mask of your madness
I’ll not be the whip of your demands
I’ll not be the drug of your habit
I’ll not be the dough in your hands

I’ll not be the doll that’s your play thing
I’ll not be the container of your need
I’ll not be the victim of your anger
I’ll not be the object of your greed
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I’ll the bread that he feeds on
I’ll be the water that he drinks
I’ll be the cloud that he walks on
I’ll be the thoughts that he thinks

I’ll be the tent that he dwells in
I’ll be the heaven that he dreams
I’ll be the angel that he wants
I’ll be the sparkle in his stream

I'll be the star that he follows
I'll be the sun’s warmth on his chest
I'll be the moon that allures him
I'll be the treasure of his quest

I'll be the fairy of his woodland
I'll be the seductress of his need
I'll be the breast that he lies on
I'll be the dogma of his creed

I’ll be the honey that he savors
I’ll be the dessert that he craves
I’ll be the sea that he dips in
I’ll be the virgin he enslaves
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I would have been all that to you
I gladly would have made you king
But you gave all that to another
Now you must taste my bitter sting

You must watch his hands caress me
You must see his mouth devour
You must hear my sighs of pleasure
You must curse the betrayal hour

Eileen Manassian Ghali


Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2013

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A Legend In His Own Mind

Who was that masked man?!?
Brian Williams, rides again.

He was in Amilia Earhart's plane;
even rode with the Dalton Gang.

The day the Titanic went down;
In the rescue boat when Rose was found.

He went on expeditions with Louis and Clark.
Once gave his seat to Rosa Parks.

He was actually the first man in space.
That shadow on the moon........ It's his face!

The earliest woman, they deemed to be
bones in the desert they named Lucy.
She was his niece, tho she drug her knuckles,
so he really is a monkey's uncle!

He walked miles and miles on the Trail of Tears;
wondered the desert with Hebrews for forty years.

He dated Cleopatra; drank wine with Moses;
gave the Queen of Sheba a camel and roses.

He's walked with Bigfoot in the hills;
been bitten by vampires, but magically heals.

He has had great adventures of every kind.
He's Brian Williams; a legend in his own mind.

Maybe I can be one of those news cast stars.
This is Arlene, reporting from mars........ 




Couldn't resist this little tribute to the wild stories of reporter Brian Williams who was fired for seemingly padding up his stories....


Copyright © Arlene Smith | Year Posted 2015

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Wall Street

      

Set upon the new world stage within the burning fires of hell. Silently posed factions of the elite, suppress the true inherit of Mother Earth. The meek children bending over for millennium, taken spankings of bare bottoms, pelted slavery. 

Upon entry to rule, the open stage of smoked mirrors began to reflect back upon the podium of lies. Taught by scholars from university books of political science. Fearful of leadership matching mirrored images, of false pretense, babbling rhetoric. The stirring masses of discontented, individualistic, thought of as dead - enders, trouble makers, and rebel rousers, rallied aimlessly.   

With super hero, Captain Do Gooder, bleeding helpless on the floor of Wall Street. Weary lost hope combatants mustered courage, and accepted destiny. To this point, someone shouted against the wind of change. Felt by all who sensed the importance. 
"To death do us part of the purpose to which we, the united, stand for justice". 
The chant began, as Captain Do Gooder was dragged away, and cuffed, once bleeding helpless on the floor of Wall Street. 
Damn the torpedoes. Damn the torpedoes. 
Captain Do Gooder, fallen, bruised ego matching skinned knees, lays helpless. Who will save them now.

Second glances from high rise penthouses. Serving champagne and caviar. Brought iron clenched hands once hidden, to draw the stage curtain down. 

With Captain Do Gooder nowhere to be found. The voice that came from pain of pupil. Born within broken dreams of promised lands. Realized nothing was coming cheap on this occupation. 

The dusty streets found Captain Do Gooder aimlessly stepping against the winds of change, down Wall Street. The well-intentioned, arrested and broken spirited, lost hope of recycling any salvage rights taken from them by Metro. 

Was this the end of the well thought out, pushed down occupation.  
Was this the beginning, of the underground faction. Where was senior generation X hiding. Only Captain Do Gooder and the well-intentioned, world stage occupiers, hold the key to that Pandora's box of hope. 

 
The peoples across the oceans were already springing far ahead in their own, more brutal campaign. For they had no cushion on which they were raised to kneel against. Tyranny ran over them.  A lesson yet not felt, or learnt, or taught, in the new world.  No chance of city mayors issuing eviction notices. Bullets, tanks and bombs were of the order. Brought down the line, traced back to the ones our United Nations to this day, refuse to acknowledge.
While leaders there home internet shop, and pump out the lies. Everyone dies. 


In the heart of the continent of center, where unto which as mankind sprang forth, for its first and ever conquest.  
The lights kept dim, to obscure the violent cleansing. A facade to disguise once moreover, the brutal tyranny for which the greed of the elite, control the dimmer switch. Diamonds and oil fuel the fire of war and oppression, on this stage of greed and guilt. Too far away, and too many distractions upon center stage for one to see or care. Thought and looked upon by most as racially motivated.  The origins of all mankind, to be left, far too far, behind. The true forsaken people. Why is man unkind.


So..........will Captain Do Gooder raise the bar to which drinks for the house, and all around, will quench the thirst felt by ninety nine percent of the people............mother knows best.   
Yet, still, self-inflicted roadblocks of appointed destiny, drop kicked long days past. Faint light shining far ahead, within the tunnel of hell, brought up to land. Firm above the depths to which it sprang. The truth of world order.  

Wait......what do we see......do our closed eyes deceive our cries........................................

We see Captain Do Gooder catching second wind. 

She breathes deep now and all can hear her war cry, no longer whimpering softly. As in past tense situations, given way to dazed and confused wall street *****es.  
She builds momentum, as our brothers and sisters lay dying and bleeding. On the streets of some not so distant for telling, of what's to be, will never not be coming full steam ahead and plowing through the hidden agenda.  One step beyond the line drawn in the sand of time, we thought would never be crossed. Give way thoughtless future tellers, and takers. Still holding firm with paper cuts, deep into the hands who printed and prepared such slave papers, kept by the elite bankers. 

Captain Do Gooder returns renewed and refreshed. Our true Mother.  
Captain Do Gooder feels strong, as bruised knees and scraped hands heal. 


Brush of destiny sweepstakes,  allots winnings of earth shaking, volcano erupting, tsunami tidal waves, with bonus draws of worldwide chaos. Future draws are to be held with worldwide winners. Grand prize, dead oceans rising.  

The next generation have no fear digest writes the next chapter. 

 
Hold the press down firmly wall street backbiting backbenchers. Drawn into the crossfire, on her mark, place the x on the next general who dares not fall into civil disobedience.  
Captain Do Gooder has grown teeth, and she is biting down hard against the line to pipe riches, spoiled from her lands. Stolen from the first pilgrimage, fifteen thousand years old, lost empire. 

How dare you steal from, and pollute the minds of her children. Yet old enough to drink and drug and die in war.  How dare all of us. 

Meanwhile back at the ranch.  Captain Do Gooder hugs tight that tree of life, to which sprang all this elbow rubbing and diversion. Wall street huddles in her corner, painted red to match the lengths to which an end will surely bring to it. 
Painted red for all to see. 
The end to friendly letter writing, give peace a chance, make love not war, generation taking a bow, and snow birding it, to false sense of security land. Like the ostrich with its head in the sand. 




Copyright © Scott Howard Myers The Gypsy King | Year Posted 2013

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Security Blanket

Security Blanket 

No chance of rain tonight,
No bogeyman, when I turn off the lights.
A phrase I found and adore with the warmth of your security.
You are the reason I attain true maturity.

I love when you lay down next to me,
Like the high tide of the sea,
You move all the warm emotions inside.
My arms are the comfort you use to seek and hide.

Your nestle holds a true rhythm that hums its own song~
Nothing comes close to breaking this precious bond~
A sweet cradle-song only I hear,
You play my grin, without the strings of a puppeteer.

My heartbeat needs its fix and drug,
Your sweet, charming smiles and hug, 
Is all I need to succeed, 
You are, my only creed!

A kiss, I give on your forehead,
Into a poet’s world where your blanket a dulcet lullaby, 
my arms are your bed.

“Goodnight Sweet Child, Sweet Child of Mine!”

By; pd


Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2013

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Battling Addiction

.





Drug weak, dizzy alienating, boring, fading quicksand, asphyxia, tunnel, light embracing, joining, aiming eternal, paternal God
.


Copyright © Ruben O. | Year Posted 2009

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Elicit Illicit Lucid Dreams -contains nudity-

~JSLambert does not (currently:) use, or encourage hallucinogenic drug use.

    Telepathic psilocybin prescription erasing elastic depression. Competition 
wanes, just when nocturnal emission drains. Lifted poetic wing clipping. This 
party only makes sense to those encrypted with unconsciousness. Scalpel in 
hand, methodical break and entering, break dancing meninges remove 
portions of brain doin' the bitchin'. Ah, this immaculate incision! 

    Lucid dreams vacating turnstile vibrations, deteriorating horrific screams 
douching eardrums. Ultraviolet eyes fortified by THREES---Mind-Body-Soul, 
rolled up into one huge trinity. 
    
    I'm moving asses fantastic. Call me the "Proctologist of Poetry". 

    Electrify words, regurgitate, choke and vomit the crock of crap-ola. Venture 
down butter slides until the sky goes red. 

    Still too uptight to listen? (don't pretend in comments that you read this 
entire poem if ya' didn't) glisten, be kind, rewind, let liquid swords chop away 
fat weighing upon your forces. Once doors of perception swing eyes wide 
open. Devour the false to magnify hate. I love you the same. I love you, never 
in vain. Hearing your verse lifts a heavy curse carried in shame. 
    
    As a child, I had no fear of apocalypse, or world hunger. No, phobia meant 
running out of words to give, to receive, from lips. It haunts me to this day. 
Tho' the bliss of poetic language's kiss, soothes the cries. Altruistic sighs! Now 
we dance! Dancing Harmony times three equals harmonize! Tour your Third 
Eye, yir' Karma-eyes!

    To the heads that said, "NO CAN DO!"- We've weaved advice for you. File 
illicit deeds away, for in dreams we are connected, Siamese twins, at the 
wrist, spellbound paradise! Let go of doubt, negativity= below zero. Work it 
out! Crash whiplash angles 'till friggin' rectangles dangle through 
kaleidoscopes of style. Poet trees smear the cosmos. Let go! THREE will never 
be alone. Bestow the glow, thorazine vapors escape secret tombs where 
peroxide cleans wounds. Fusing two Toots in common with Nefertiti. THREES. 
    
    Elicit illicit lucid dreams gushing ejaculatory melodic screams. Orgasmic 
spasms...vas deferens between actual sacks and Staff of Ra polluted sticky 
streams. Peddle the bicycle high, annihilate attrition, like motivated Mormons, 
door to door men, on a worldwide mission. I love you, I miss you...witness the 
vision...alive in the schism!

*credit A.Horovitz, A.Yauch, M.Diamond, Billy Corgan


Copyright © JSLambert Mister ROBOTO | Year Posted 2014

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Love and Lust

I did not mean to snatch your heart
Like with the claw of a vorocious bird of pray
You fell into my unset trap 
Speared yourself upon my harpoon 
Which had only been hanging on the wall
You threw yourself into my way
stole my arrows and brandishing them with cupids blood
Punctured your heart without a thought 
Other than the whisper of my name 
You claim that I'm a siren
I've led you to your death
But it was the birds i sang to 
Your name did not leave my unforgiving lips 
With swollen eyes from crying
Filled with swirling colors of obsession 
You beg to me and plead with me 
Blaming me and cursing me  
Claiming that i drug you here
Forgetting it was you who snuck in through my balcony 
To watch me in the fountains 
And listen to my voice
To see how the animals follow me
And witness how the moon becomes my robes 
And the stars become my eyes
How the setting sun remains all night 
Within the silk of my hair 
how roses color my cheeks 
In the darkness of the cold 
And the world surrounds me 
And the beauty of the light i behold 
Where in this story did i bewitch you 
Where did i make you call my name 
Did i once respond or invite you to play a game
you claim i did this to you 
When you only did it to yourself 
did you enjoy your gaze upon the child of Cerynian
Did you think I'd become your obediant wife 
When did i claim i loved you 
How quickly you think of these blasphemous lies 
Your not in love you simpleminded mortal
Your infatuated and in lust and your lust is a lie


Copyright © Jay Loveless | Year Posted 2012

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EDGER ALL POE

Our dark founding father, of American literature,
A sinister beacon of darkness, lighting the way
Into the darkened abyss of mankind’s soul.
Within the galleria of madness, he is the
Grandmaster of the black ink, and it's
 Written words of terror.
In thus the shadow realm, does his spirit
Still roam, on the cutting edge of fear,
A fine thin line, is drawn between reality,
And fictions illusionary world.
Life's a shunned, abandonment’s creation,
The lord's misbegotten son, embraced
The night's cloak, in it's power
His only salvation unto history's
 Remembrance, is found a truth's
Justice and notability's respect.
Loves passionate compliant servant,
Dashed against the rocks of life itself,
Broken and damaged, he rose above
The waves of poverty, and the under
 Current of tragedies broken
Heart.
Some may say he wrote from the after
Effects that laid, at the bottom
 Of the bottle.
Or afterfeeds drug endued comma, dulling
The emotional nerves concept between
Right and wrong, the social exceptionable
Norm.
But we care not what others wish to believe,
For we honor him, those of us the dark poets,
As the father whom lead the way, between
Light and dark.
Dearest Edger Allen Poe, the legend, the man,
A spiritual dark representative, with pens quailed
Ink at his command.

BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN





















Copyright © cherl dunn | Year Posted 2013

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Old Age is a Buzz Kill- Two Lenses

How I loved summer fairs - the cool night wind in my hair as I twirled on the tilt-a-whirl or climbing into sky. . . then descending at lightening speed, stomach leaping at the thrill of it; I was buzzed, wishing it would never end. My fifty-ninth birthday at the state fair, I sampled again the drug I craved when I bought two tickets for rides. But my pleasure was short-lived. By the second ride and feeling nauseous, I had to accept I’d taken my last ride. Written 2/25 For the Two Lenses Poetry Contest of Sara Kendrick


Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2016

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Who Knew Your Forever Was

Who Knew Your Forever Was


Who knew your forever was eleven months and a day
me trying to keep you , buckets of love in each play
Girl, your sexy body was the drug I desperately needed
yet you went to ice cold as my hurting heart pleaded!

Who knew my faithful love, sadly was never enough
you would hit me with heartbreak and say tough
Girl, your body set my heart burning in a blaze
now your leaving sent this man into a drunken haze!

Who knew your paradise was to be a future dark Hell
deeper the false ride you gave the farther I fell
Girl, I thought to love and your life truly save
now you cast me into this dark and lonely grave!

I am just too far gone to now be rightly thinking
I sit here my mind rotting , heart rapidly sinking
Girl, your leaving rips me apart, sets me to drinking
I sit here in darkness, my broken soul all bleeding!

Robert Lindley
August 17th 1977

note: I wrote this over three decades ago, while drunk, 
 on a Saturday night. 
Beaten down by a woman that broke my soul . That cut
my heart out and ate it with relish. I tried to get
her to see her folly but no dice. Life is like that.
People run their own path picking up pleasure and 
then casting it away. Youth must suffer from its lack
of experience...


Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2014

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I Remember Fierce Storm That Blew My Life Apart

I Remember Fierce Storm That Blew My Life Apart

I remember fierce storm that blew my life away.
Images burned into a sad, finely tortured mind;
reminds me of that epic and dark fateful day,
tears falling down but no good answers could I find.

So in love with my sweetheart but soon hope gave way,
when drug induced Nirvana flew into our home.
Easy now to see it in slow motion replay,
when I groped in darkness wherever I dared roam.

Raging clouds gathered within the uncertain West
as thunder spilled over into each haunting hour.
No joy in simply knowing that I did my best,
while I saw the destruction of my wild flower!

I remember fierce storm that blew my life apart.
Its massive crushing winds destroyed my aching heart.

Robert J. Lindley, 1-11-2016

Form- Sonnet, I used 12 syllables instead of ten.

Syllables Per Line:	
12 12 12 12 0 12 12 12 12 0 12 12 12 12 0 12 12
Total # Syllables:	168
Total # Lines:	17  (Including empty lines)
Words with (syllables) counted programmatically:	 
Total # Words:	124


Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2016

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That Colorful Drug

LSD, Ecstasy, Vicodin, Meth; I've done none of these - not even weed! My dealer is a muse who pushes poetry. I get high on rhyme, tripping on words swirling colors in my mind.


Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2016

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Your Love

So much passion,
so much fire,
you're like a drug;
with you,
I can't get any higher.
Loving me all over,
I can't even breathe.
I used to be sober,
but you took that from me.
You make me warm 
from my head to my feet.
You're an angel 
sent from heaven,
I'm lost in your
perfect heat.
You radiate my body
with that smile
and those perfect eyes.
You sedate my every muscle,
when your hands
touch my thighs.
Kissing you
blocks my reality.
I'm enraptured 
by your touch.
Stuck in my head
you're the melody
of a song they
could never play too much.
I hope I never loose you,
not now or ever again.
I couldn't live without you,
you are the sweetest sin.
You make the stars 
shine brighter every night,
and every day,
the sky changes its shade of blue.
Being with you
everything feels right,
there's no wrong in
anything we do.
Skin touching skin
sparks fly and ignite.
Again and again,
we write our song
through the night.
This is how your feels with
just a few words to describe it.
When our lips meet,
I get chills.
you're perfect,
so never deny it.


Copyright © Serenity D'nae Montgomery | Year Posted 2010

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Can't Walk Away - That Colorful Drug

Listen to poem:

Can't Walk Away


Oh, this obsession, and the need
     to reach that high once I've begun;
so hard to stop, can't walk away
     till this addiction's had its run.

Oh, please, you know I cannot stop,
     I tried so many times before.
I get that urge...it conquers me;
     not ready yet, so close that door.

You know I must descend inside
     my mind to where it's bright and clear;
to see those visions that excite 
     and rev my thoughts into high gear.

Be patient now, soon I'll be done.
     It's working, see...I'm breathing slow.
My soul is feasting on this bliss!
     All comes together, see the flow?

Thank heavens now, the need is filled...
     I've reached the summit, and I won...
My poem is done!... Now, out the door...
     Okay! Let's leave to have some fun!


Sandra M. Haight

~7th Place~
Contest: That Colorful Drug
Sponsor: Lewis Raynes
Judged: 06/02/2016

"Creativity is a drug we cannot live without." Cecil B. DeMille


Copyright © Sandra Haight | Year Posted 2016

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Sweet Little Honey

"SWEET  LITTLE  HONEY"

My father had no respect for the world..
A big drug trafficker..
When I was just a little girl!
Living  for the glory of money.
He smiled and looked down at me..
Sitting me on his lap he called me his, "Sweet little honey!"
And told me, " This job is going to bring him to his death."
Handing me a back pack.
My daddy send me to what I thought was a school in Texas.
Giving me a kiss and a pat on my back.
He held my hand while we crossed the, Rio Grand.
Carrying a 10 pound educational white brick book.
I walked with a smile beyond the border into another land.
Waving  good-bye with his devilish look.
I thought of nothing and got on that bus.
5 years pass,  I'm 15  living a life like a crook.

One day I asked my dad for some money.
He sat me down calling me his, "Sweet little honey."
And told me, "It's all his fault for leading me the wrong way!"
Denying me the needs for my addiction.
I got upset and aggravated by his reaction.
I pulled out a gun with out a word to say.
Pulling the trigger was my action.
With out feeling guilt, I looked back at that one day.
He called me his, "Sweet little honey."
Handing me a 10 pound educational white brick book.
Now I'm the one waving good-bye with the devilish look..

by;p.d.


** not my story**


Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2011

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IQ Test

I could care less about the four 
corners of insults, 
That intelligence invites; 
It is always the first straw of 
grass that’s grows, 
which reveals the popular outcast; 
As a youth, I found my image cut down 
into this manufactured silhouette.

Drenched in social rain, my peers 
had never found me more alienated, 
Then when I spoke fluently of diverse 
topics; 
They did everything in their power to provide 
a verbal umbrella, 
However, the texture remains weak and 
defeated.

This stormy parade that remains’ dripping is
indeed an afterthought, 
For within this cranial mansion resides 
additional rooms, 
For the more abstract and surreal 
elements of life; 
It is that secluded gland which reveals 
the renaissance of men, who wear 
infinite Fedoras.

Now wearing the shoes of a young 
man, 
A taste of charisma resides in my 
veins; 
However this slight addiction to external 
haze, 
Comes in second to my first drug of 
choice: Wisdom. 

Membership into this fraternity may take a lifetime; 
So don’t be surprised when resistance 
knocks at your door, 
Intimidated by the lion that dwells within 
your temple; 
Indeed intellect is the misunderstood 
fruit, 
That blossoms sweeter when accepted.


Copyright © Jiril Clemons | Year Posted 2013

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Borderline Poster Child

Who am I, oh, who am I? Just a poser child Borderline? A series of bold contradictions Led on by doctors false predictions Diagnosing all the time... Angry outbursts fill the air, Throwing objects everywhere, They drug me up, because they're lazy It's too much work to help the crazy I hate the pills, but they don't care Take the drugs, and you'll feel better, We'll smoke some bud, and chill together But even if I smoked the weed Surely that's not all I need The lovely high won't last forever I get attatached to everyone, But when they get too close, I run So many arrows in my heart Cupid shoots, but then I part Not phased by all the wrong I've done So put me on more medication, I'll throw in some dedication, But even then it's not enough This emptiness is still too tough All that's left is contemplation


Copyright © Dana Smith | Year Posted 2011