Best Intoxicants Poems
Getting high is a state of mind:
and this altered sense
of reality
can be achieved;
without chemicals.
Life itself offers a natural high
free for the taking.
Running injects a runner's high:
a euphoric, feel-good
burst of energy.
And a belly laugh is
like shooting up:
instantly lifting your spirits
and leaving you feeling giddy.
Meditation calms you down safely,
helping you find your balance;
while taking you on an inner voyage
of self-discovery.
Music touches your soul
and your heart
unlike anything else can.
And yet, fueled by adrenaline,
dance can take you to another level.
Nature's natural, fragrant intoxicants,
such as lilac or lavender,
give your mind a sense of well-being.
So, if you want to feel high,
why not give life a try?
Natures Womb - Haiku
aphrodisiacs
wind carries intoxicants
Seeds spread, open wide
Generic flying, eating healthy, fly like a cockney
Like a Martial Arts beast, like a young terri'ble.
So far so good, driving force, all cards in hand, why not?
I can breath fully, stop the intoxicants.
Healthy like a peach, living well, rich, powerful.
Living like royalty, wealth, aspiration, money.
RESPECT YOUR FREEDOM
I glance through my verandah window,
Birds flying over my head freely.
I imagined myself floating like them,
In pain complicated, reminiscence shown deeply.
The afternoon breeze breeds an aroma,
Like fresh cologne of summer ivies.
Unlike bad odors always ventilating thru my nostrils.
All I see is beauty of nature’s creation down peak Lang Street.
I cease to be virtuous persuasive!
Bearing in my mind the righteousness of every individual,
But the world is never consistent to inhabitants,
And all that nature has conceived seem to be miscarried.
Felicity we used to have is now buried by the avalanche.
No matter the yokes our fore fathers burdened,
The chains they footed, we still not free, not in this degree.
Natively as indigenous but still feel like apaches.
Our roots are rooted out like weed indeed unfreed!
Visions screened in our minds succeed in destroying
Beauty of our lives in noble disguise.
We imbibe intoxicants excessively in excuse for our guilty conscience!
Will in moments of grace my pure words ever attain quality of deeds?
Freedom blinds us to the unknown!
The powers we possess lead us to temptations!
We enslave and indulge ourselves in injustices!
Yet we jeopardize our freedom through contempt and hostility!
Crime and violence generates prolonged vendetta
To our fellow white counterparts through racism and brutality.
Respect your wealth and take no part in exploitation of immature women!
Respect God’s Temple and never take part in the prostitution society!
Respect your freedom.
By Willem Pietersen
Calcutta.
Hot and unberable in the searing summer heat
and unberarable for more reasons than the heat.
In a popular tourist cafe an American widow
obsesses on her dead husband: she has a bundle
of photos, letters and other mementos to show as
she tells stories, ad-nauseum, about his now stiff
prowess as a prolific and technically perfect lover.
She moves from table to table with her bundle
of banality disturbing patrons at random with her
loneliness. This happens in the Calcutta stink of Indian
cardamon, paprika, cinnamon, sour sewer and rotted
garbage. All this aromatic decay combines with the
overpowering scent of jasmine. Mother Theresa's
favorite intoxicants.
But other smells and stenches permeate and nasuate your
senses. Certain streets are dedicated to the putrid permanence
of sensory corruption. But only the uninitiated visitor seems
to suffer insult to their olfactory awareness. The indigenous
poor are scattered on the streets and walks in somnambulist
slumber, like fatalistic, hashish soaked, discarded rags.
Children with sunken, obsidian eyes and belly-swell of abandoned
malnourishment reach out toward passing lost-eyed foreigners,
their palms-up; "Rupee please, sir, I am hungry, sir, coins please sir,
I am hungry, sir." The widow from the cafe slaps a child's reaching
hand with her bundle of deceased memories then trips over a sleeping,
legless beggar and splashes face first into the fetid stream of seminal
waste flowing from under his two exposed stumps. No one, including me,
offers to help the child-slapping widow onto her two intact feet.
Calcutta.
The evening air spreading its soft chill,
Playing with the blue mountain to nature's will,
New snow flakes engulfs the barren hills,
Taming my heart with tender warmth and thrills.
At the inn the keeper holds a lighted candle,
For us to follow with our packaged bundle,
With grace I wish to avoid a scandal,
Watch my man close the lone door by its handle.
Firewood burns in the wooded homestead,
Spreads it warmth over the snug cushioned bed,
Waits to partake in our action unsaid,
Melting moments for me to love or dread.
Delightful face turns to look up to me,
Candid sensuality in phantoms plea,
Urges me to be forthwith naked and free,
Passion denudes barriers under siege.
Anticipation now burns to aspire,
Taut space between our naked bodies perspire,
And I blush in its heat with hot desire,
Keep my eyes closed as he sets me afire.
Intoxicants flame touched by libations
Sequesters inflamed wet-lip deviations,
Within pleasure kiss gratification,
Outraging tongue's in communication.
Open my eyes to his tactile fondness,
Soon hands engage the spherical hardness,
Force me to opt with resoluteness,
And lie on my back touched by tenderness.
My desperate palms crawl over his back,
Nuptial quivers awake rapture's with knack,
Crazy teeth dig and wildly bite his neck,
Betwixt the legs he performs his attack.
In anticipation I surrender,
As he sets to probes the naked blunder,
Rave’s down the silky valley to plunder,
Unzipped by the latent strike, I thunder.
Reeling from the quick fervent thrusts I cry,
With rage responding to his sadist try,
As he pulls back to enter and defy,
Totally exposed I shudder and sigh.
Quaking with delirious pleasure I cuddle,
Both legs entrapped within the carnal struggle,
Brace quivering bottom in the muddles,
As petals rock within the moist puddles.
Smiling at my denuded enslavement,
Holding my arms in ardent deployment,
Torments my frail defiance with enjoyment,
While his knee's direct steady placement.
Seething with resistance his hardness grows,
Raw power sustaining his taming blows,
Ecstasy mows the bulging heat to sow,
Freely we climax in its cosmic flow.
Begs reprieve for his ebbed shrunken demands;
While in love he obeys all my commands.
Summer arrives and the Brooklyn Cyclones are
in first place
Saw them the other day and they won in twelve(!)
Just spoke to a friend
who wants to see the Staten Island Yankees play
Another A - Division team
Some fans won't go to see a minor league game
I think they are missing out
When in Puerto Rice I saw the San Juan Senators
play the Ponce Lions
A band in the stands and liquor being served as well
Didn't need any intoxicants - the green field, the cheerleaders
and the frozen ices and hotdogs along with the battle
were enough to sustain me during the hot New York City summer
2/1/23
Shout out to Einstein
How has it not already been a sign of the times?
What a tragedy the way that Christ died
Too real it's lifesize
To this day we got all these wise guys
Full of white lies
Critically endangered species, while humans live with nine lives
Bodies of water becoming quite dry
Or turning into a high tide
Products on a continual price rise
Looking up at the night sky
What good it did for me being a nice guy
Only to be stabbed in the back by knives
Over five times
Experienced firsthand and seen through my eyes
The corrupt continue to hide crimes
Controlling public knowledge as they disguise finds
So out of the loop as time flies
I'll admit
Across all continents
People want peace and quiet or acknowledgement
Actions come with consequence
Or the opposite
I'm always on intoxicants
Yet to permanently call it quits
Remaining off the
Took y'all long enough, do you got the pic?
Sick of hearing it, you're too soft
I don't want what you want
In my mind more important matters do haunt
Grew up a poor kid
I'm more concerned with our origin
Than taking sides with all these opposing forces
I search for evidence on Aliens
Instead of just studying *****sapiens
They're upset by my actions, but I can't relate to them
I will do my best to study the unknown
Since they deny it all when so much is shown
Constantly they just judge and drone
So quick to paint pictures
Toxic like the fumes of paint thinner
The same as taking one too many painkillers
Not even making similar pay figures
Picking fights with grape pickers
Still it's the same strictures
Auto-annihilation is stupid,
It breaks hearts,
And ruins lives,
I hate that I was ever self-destructive,
I rue the day I became entranced
By its shadowy charisma.
Ethanol is a thief of youth:
Poor Jo-Jo was right
To warn her cherished daughter
Of its insidious malignancy.
I was one of the fortunate ones
In that it didn't entirely destroy me;
But despite its lack of glamour,
In comparison to
Other more romanticised intoxicants,
It's among the most lethiferous of drugs,
And it stole from me,
What remained of my gorgeous youth.
Praise, a chronic disease
Ruins humanity
Increases sugar in blood
Spreads intoxicants in artery
Hangs a curtain before eyes
Hides truth.
Mind dips in self-enchanting
Always seeks false praising words
Credits
Clappings
Honours
Rewards
All treasures of materialistic world !
Mind guides the human
Mind commands the soul
Instigated by mind, human
Swims in the whirlpool of illusion
Hankers after pride and prejudice,
The album of achievement fattens day by day.
Praise fascinates mind
Increases the hunger of self-publicity
Ear always eager to hear
Rejoicing in the self, self-conceit grows
Touches the sky.
Mind misleads human
Wants sensual pleasure
Eyes roam over pages of newspapers
Magazines, the screens of News Channels
To see photos of praises
To hear words of self-illusion
Praise engages brain in his workshop
Deposits sheets of self-credit
Directly or indirectly, shamelessly speaks aloud
“I am the monarch of all I survey”
Thinks: he is almighty, Omniscient
Within him,
In the inner cell hibernates his soul
All alone
Sniffs the smell of perishing body
Not ready to tolerate false praises
In each unfavorable talk
Faces jealousy, conspiracy.
Soul whispers: I’m living dead
If you die, die unknown
Nobody would talk about it
Nobody would lament for you !
As adults, we have a sovereign right
To life and liberty.
Pursuent to every manner and fashion
Of that which makes us happy.
The ecstacy of intoxication
Is a fundamental right.
The euphoria of opium,
Every poets delight.
Intoxicants have been used by man
Since Time Immemorial.
Drugs have become ubiquitous,
Commonplace and affordable.
Why then, has dear old Uncle Sam
Deemed them illegal and immoral?
Sitting here
gazing out
of
my
window
hearing autos rush by
I meditate on our dilemma
Citizens of a small planet in the vast
cosmos
We spend our time
searching for love
and peace
Trapped on a one way path
to nowhere
We must find some meaning in our lives
Sex, intoxicants, music
relieve the pain temporarily
"But there is always the question"
Drowning myself in contemplation
I began to drift into meditation
Sincerity
Trust
Hope
Elation
Was my upbringing bound to permutations?
Laughter fills my thoughts,
Children play hop-scotch across an eighties playground,
Full of wonderment are our childhood memories;
I still see the steam rising from the man holes of New York
Clutching at my mothers arm waiting for the train
How about the lush beach of Tobago
My skin burning from endless exploration of the great blue
Then we grow up…..
Experiencing change and then more….
Change
Start thinking from a higher angle,
Separating innocence from rationality
We consider true light, but too early for that!
Playing starts to get reckless
When you are eighteen and living away
Far too special to sleep
Definitely too cynical to speak
I own the world
Before the first heartbreak tears our insides apart
Just like those intoxicants I had last night
Letters of failure flutter through the door
Time to go home they read in invisible ink
Denial comes to an end
Pick up the phone
“Hey Mum, Dad…thought you could help me out…”
Spring is back with its unmistakeable intoxicants.
I stand, once again, by a road that leads to another day.
My mind hums ceaselessly, one day at a time....
A cobbler displays his craft on my shoes' ruins,
With funny looking tools.
Although I hear a cuckoo's call from a faraway corner
Of the masquerading morning,
I am yet to decide: how to embark on one more day.
Like the bird's cooing my uncertain voice reverberates.
And like the shoemaker, I resolve
To exhibit my talent by writing poetry of
Forgotten buds, a memoir.
Was it on a spring day
Man landed on the moon?
I cannot even remember the year of my
First malancholy kiss.
Everytime I try to recall the past,
A smokescreen obscures my retracing senses.
I grope blindly and stumble on punctuations
On faded pages of my gypsied verses.
This day too demands, like every other day, for
Another day out of my life, knowing very well
I am not equipped with authority of calling it
A day.
So, I begin this day with repairs and losses,
Taking grey steps on a blank recto folio of my biography,
Gazing at an undefined skyline.
With my illiterate fingertips imitating a pilgrimage,
On dislocated keys of a piano called - Autumn in Spring,
Which coughs out hoarse tunes, I fumble
With rememberances of evaporated seasons.
I see, some
Rain-soaked yards away,
A home for the aged with a skyblue gate, on which
It is written - you are never too old to have fun.
I told the world about my cure
Nobody gave a damn
For a moment, I felt just like a god
I’m reminded I’m a man
That boulder that’s upon your back?
It’s a tiny pebble, bro
How big you think the audience is
To your one-man show?
In the theater of the deep escape
Nobody’s willing to pay
They just want junk and velvet drapes
And to block the crisis away
I told the world about my dream
They nearly spit out their drink
I thought they were all just waiting to hear
Exactly what I think
That guillotine your head is in?
Seems to fit like a collar and tie
And before you know it, it’s laundry day
Ain’t nobody cryin’ no soapy tears
The day on which you die
In the theater of intoxicants
No talk of want or privation
(Just) the carrying of buttery hands
From the lobby of negation
Deus de muitas formas
The god of many forms
Lights the ancient darkness
Killing European norms
So come and swoon the Soma dream!
No curtain can conceal!
Tiny vagrant aristocracies
Amid sugar and ramps of steel
The maddened wench of river escape
Kills her child to feel
Don’t you be another Lennon ape
Crying, “Nothing is real”
Don’t be another Lennon ape
Singing, “Nothing is real”