Best Methadone Poems
Well, Pop is resting now.
He didn’t get to go home on Thursday. The Oncologist
wanted him to have either Hospice or Home Health Care.
He wouldn’t sign a release for evaluation for services. Mom
said he was rude to the social worker in charge. I can
imagine. She called last night at 3:00. The nurses said he
was raising hell. He woke up disoriented and wouldn’t take
meds to calm down. He said they were peddling dope. I
asked him what it was and he said methadone. The nurses
laughed a little. I can understand that. He really sounded
like Pa Dillard. Pa was also very confused in the latter
stages. When I got there, he thought Mom and I had locked
him in a room without anything to eat all day. Said he was
starving. Wanted to know why he was in the hospital at
Archer City, of all places. Kept looking for his cap and pants.
Said it was time to go home, to Kamay. He must have
forgotten he had told me earlier they had sold the house
and didn’t have a thing to their name. Still can’t find his
cap. And now he has a trick leg. It won’t mind him. He tries
to get up, at least he wants up, and so I help. He can’t
stand. So he lies back down and tries to make his trick leg
go back to bed. I take care of the leg for him and cover him
up as he is no longer hot, but cold and shaking just a little.
I don’t think Mom will be able to handle him at home.
He has made three references to “taking care of it himself”
and the Dr. asked Mom if there were any guns at home. Oh
hell! Are there any stars in the sky? Mom has the key to the
gun safe. But, does he have another key hidden that she
doesn’t know about? I don’t know, but he can’t get up to get
a gun anyway. I don’t know where we’ll be when you get here.
Call ahead to find out. Love, Dad, Or, brother, as the case may be.
There is a state of mind known as woebegone
In which one feels like an addict on methadone
The more one tries to feel upbeat
The more one suffers mental defeat
And the mind plays on like a gramophone.
8
The boys outside the bar appeared rapscallion
Their actions were downright reptilian
Every time a girl would walk by
One would let out a loud cry
Acting just like an overheated young stallion
8
There was an old lady from New Jersey
Who recently moved to Poughkeepsie
She met this old fart
In a local Kmart
And the two proceeded to get quite tipsy
8
Roger was smug and a bit of a grandee
Others viewed him as somewhat of a dandy
The girls giggled and downright snickered
Because they knew he sought entry to their knickers
But alas, with buttons and zippers he just wasn’t handy
8
Bobby was well known for his generosity
But also known for his excessive gulosity
He would take you to lunch anytime
But always state “what’s left over is mine”
And clean the table with the utmost ferocity
8
There was this old man from Toledo
That liked to parade around in his speedo
The old ladies would giggle
Watching his sagging butt jiggle
But it did little or nothing for their libido
8
There is this retired gentleman in south Buda
Who would like to vacation in Bermuda
But his poem book didn’t sell worth squat
Now he’s stuck with who knows what
As he reads travel brochures in his pad in south Buda
8
There is this Colorado guy in the Springs
Whose Windows computer does unusual things
The damn screen turned permanently black
So he went out and bought a new Mac
Now he doesn’t answer when his telephone rings
8
I see smoke and mirrors
Deceptions of the mind
Are they just glimmers
Of what I might find
Where have they led me
Have I been left alone
Is my will still free
Or am I now a drone
I looked up and saw shadows
I felt their groping hands
Sinister as black scarecrows
And I'm sinking in quicksand
Fear grabs ahold of me
Puts it's fingers on my heart
Drags me down to the sea
Begins to tear me apart
I hear bloody screams
Makes my hair stand up
Facing my bad dreams
And I wish I could wakeup
I see smoke and mirrors
Deceptions of the mind
Are they just glimmers
Of what I might find
Where have they led me
Have I been left alone
Is that my brain I see
Or just methadone
Written 11/16/16
Johnny Thunders… Room 37.
John Anthony Genzale JR, a man that did the drugs and booze,
Not only born to live but ultimately born to lose.
Born in fifty two he loved the game of baseball,
But would never cut his hair that was his little league downfall….
That and his bad dad, but Johnny Volume would soon rule..
Along with the Jaywalkers at Quintano High School.
Then in sixty eight he would go to Fillmore East,
At a bar called "Nobody"'"s"on Bleeker Street
He would learn to drink his Bourbon ice so neat.
Then he was a sales clerk at the Da Nazz Leather Shop,
He would meet some future Dolls, then they were the "Actress"'"s."
But it was just a whistle stop..
Renamed Johnny Thunders after a comic book of the same name,
The New York Dolls were formed
His life would never be the same…
Two critically acclaimed Albums
"The New York Dolls" "Too much too soon"
But both commercially void,
Not enough to buy a Coke spoon..
In seventy five the Dolls broke up
Those trash glams all with attitude ,
Even bands today look back
With nothing but hard rock gratitude.
Johnny then formed The Heartbreakers ,released one brilliant LP
Los Angeles Mother F@kers
Know as L.A.M.F.
What an album I do decree…
Though I still love "So Alone"
A solo of such class..
He drifted here and there,
Then it was alas…
He lasted till nineteen ninety one,
His heroin a complete addiction..
But his death it was a mystery
There should have been a murder conviction!
Many rumours surround his death, I do suspect foul play.
St Peters House Hotel, New Orleans, such a great cliché.
Gangster dealers gave him LSD
Ripped off his Methadone supply..
Pretty sure they killed him,
Such a sad goodbye.
His room number was thirty seven,
It was ransacked of all his possessions,
What is known for certain,
Is there has never been no confessions..
"You can"t put your arms around a memory,
Don"t try don"t try..
You"'re just a bastard kid
And you got no name
Cause you"re living with me
We"re one and the same."
Nice one Johnny..
Sadly missed.
You are my drug,
My substance of choice,
The chemicals in my blood…
She, who calms the violent voice…
Without you; I tremble,
I stammer and I shake…
When you are near; I fumble,
Within my soul; I quake…
My addiction; that is you,
Is fire in my veins…
My affliction; I infuse,
Only thoughts of you remain…
There is no rehab for this pleasure,
No exception for this high…
A single dose cannot be measured,
In your absence I would die…
Strung out for life…
Dependant to the core…
Powder, pills or liquid,
I need you more and more…
Should I ever be denied,
Unto death I would depart…
For methadone could not subside,
These track marks on my heart…
What's going on in my home town?
I ask you this from behind my frown
The high streets full of charity places
Populating the vacant spaces.
We are overrun with taxi cabs
"You working late pal? Ya looking Shabs!"
'Cheers gadge, am on til 9, am bloody seek!' the drive whines
Junkies, Alkies, our streets they roam, what's your poison?
Cheap cider, vodka, methadone?
Part time Dads, teenage Mams
Pushing babies in their prams
Weekends out on the piss
Names climbing up the council list
Generations play the benefit game
Bleeding us dry, is their sole aim
Council house and on the sick
Everything bought on the tick
50 inch tellies, 3 piece suites
Shopping sprees almost every week
I love our town, I really do
But for now the town is screwed
Run by a council with half a brain
Shops are empty, such a shame
If it wasn't for the holiday camps
Filled up every year with ska...families from North and South
Weegies, Geordies every year
They love this place I regard so dear
So dual the A1, lower the rent
Tackle the problems with intent
A town of which we should be proud
Not cursing under a big black cloud.
William Duffy.
Kisses good-bye; waved out the door.
Sitting at the shore. The water is still rolling.
You want to know how much longer I'll be here for.
We'll all be here till death is at the door. Methadone,
morphine will squelch the pain, but for that ONE day
when it won't work anymore.
All the threads have been cut around the spool ahead.
There will be nothing but pain and nothing at the store.
People like it when I'm cheery and I don't know where to
put myself anymore.
Sit, stand, lay; I have no real reason to stay. I am warm
and cozy under this hood. My body is clean. That is
understood. My cuticles are disgusting. Is this the purply glut
they talk about in signs and symptoms of the dead and dying?
They are not the nails you see in Cosmo for manicure ads, you
know, manicures to die for.
My mouth feels mucky and brushing my teeth is a chore. I can't
remember one breakthrough from another. Holidays forever around
each corner; it would appear I'll still be around, what a drag; the wet blanket.
Dead broad walking down the dining room hall.
If I could cry and know the river would actually wash these tears away
for GOOD; I'd lay down and weep for weeks on end if it we're understood
that this would be the bloody end.
Tears aren't painful, nothing more than a wash. Not everything is as someone else says.
I used to think the long smoke filled tables of NA were the answer.
The stalks of faces nodding with my inflection, up up down downs left left right.
Like a goddamn contra code.
Happiness charted in days, two years glowed clichés rolled.
Waning white key tag applause.
I bolted before they found out I burned on the way in…
rolled straight to the methadone clinic. Grown men in in ankle length shorts and sideways hats, Whining………….clean??
I even tried to buy a few weeks out of the trunk of an Oldsmobile… wafers or sick pills, my choice…
stared deep into the eyes of socially acceptable at a scientology rehab.. Mingled with cruise and Katie Holmes, then got the boot for hoarding gasoline..
Impatient in eastern Pa, courtesy of the Canadian national railroad. I sat circled breathing from garbage bags of Freon. Sneaking from a mandated meeting to the Reeding open market clutching everyone’s night in my wallet..
I’ve never been here before though alone without prospects, no subs nada nothing…
I am all feelings now and I know
I “m still trapped inside of her, screw you sarah, your abstract cards,
7 th grade year book pictures locked together, from your mind to my stalled heart.
. I wanna run back to dark rooms your ashy cotton tongue kisses..
I need someone to water down my vodka. Ash my burning cigarette..
, Hug me.dammit. Lie to me through late night emails.. Your still speeding through, drowning in Pabst. I’m stuck my mind still sears you picture Short waves of blonde always searching for a quiet mole behind the right eye. I’m scared I’ll never feel it again. Waves of breath stolen from a line. You will always be exalted.
Work is good, but everything is missing. No rush, no rocket of feeling when I touch someone. No raised hairs from a shoulder squeeze. I can’t even find a mind to throw venom at my writing. Attacking my inability to move forward.
I must be Too sober now craving your extended leg and swinging dolce bag…
Leading you!
Close your eyes let me show you the way
Not a hit movie or child's play
Let me reveal some things to you this day
Answer questions family feuds pass my days
My ways are better than yours remember
Like Rocky shot Bull winkle twinkles December
Let me change sides arrange the lyrics to your song
Sony kicked death jam with Chris bomb
Based projects sold fences with wrenches
Battled down tears with walls called truth with suspension
Called out the wanna be's
Bees with no tree flowers with stems broke back pinned in with fig leaves
Let me separate wheat from tears
Phonies with no hairs
Traces of laces lies slipped in with truth see
Listen to me I have all the antidotes
Cable with no remotes
Change traded for stock piles without notes
Who says that I am
Cap sized skillets sticking like Pam
Pressured arteries hospitalized pumped up with methadone like shame
Discovery hidden in the dark
Let me reveal to you when light hit the chart
When man made time
Talk mess with no rhymes
Peeped game like Slick mine
Rick Ross with no crimes
Let me strip up a mid line
Crooked ways been signs
Operated chilled shine
Gold nuggets been laced
With under cover who based
Truth facts with out states
Property been paid
No money like mechanical tool base
Wait now later caught up with tooth paste
she was hooked on drugs part of her life
but has a son to help her fight
in life we never know the road we may take
but changing the course is never too late.
he had taken the same road as she
main lining and pills was all he could see
addiction is a hard price to pay
but something happened that changed his way.
I know the lifestyle all too well
for ten years my brother was addicted and went thru hell
then he had become drug free
and a drug councilor he would be.
he had gotten many on methadone
and good results it had shown.
now as you go through the withdrawal pain
think of how much you have to gain
withdrawal is not an easy task
do you want your life back? you must ask!
do you recall the birth pains that you went thru
and his life was fresh and new.
wasn't all that pain worth your while
that you had such a beautiful child.
there is no pain that you can go thru
than the pains that a mother knew.
you have to be willing to make the change
otherwise your life will stay the same.
these words are from a concerned son
the choices you've made can be undone.
(1/30/13)
louis rams :
the drug of choice
the taste in the back of throat
as it invade your veins
I survived methadone
escaping the grasp not easy on one soul
Africa came to the rescue
from the bark of a tree
illegal it was smuggle for me
and with a will to be free I not indulge in aspirin from Bayer
for an head ache
crack I smoked a plenty and that make you dangerous
as you want more never to achieved the first hit to be reach
a science you became a cook using the microwave as your new religion
but my garden full of roses I proved you wrong of no redemption
and a great motivator speaker I cure
Driving through this neighborhood
Of boarded houses, nothing good
A scary feeling wraps me tight
I shouldn't be here late at night
My brother called, I had to go
Beyond my help, 'I know, I know.'
Yet still I need to recognize
It could be me behind those eyes
Of lost forgotten souls that thrive
In poverty with hopeless lives
The future is a memory
Of things they used to think they'd be
Their thoughts were not so grandiose
A roof, a job, a life, at most
And now they go down every morn
To drink a jug of methadone
Each day begins and ends the same
They burned their bridges, their family's name
The loss we feel as we sit smug
Has deepened like the hole they dug
The life preservers that we threw
Were used as tools...'We knew, we knew.'
To drag them down to deeper depths
We watch them drown as they repent
Their children cry, their parents hurt
Their only peace comes in the dirt.
Peace on earth, peace on earth.
I see you at the methadone clinic,
in it to win it
you got a long life ahead
but only ten minutes to live it
I know it seemed like you had a lot more at the begining
but u went and traded it in for a heroin addiction
scabs lace the skin,
your face deminished and thinning
you dropped the ball again
and you ain't even finished the first inning
Intro...
1.Scotland has 20,000 methodone users-Double any country in Europe.
2.Our Government has spent 105 million pounds on it in 4 years !
3.After a 3 year programme only 3% of users ARE TOTALLY DRUG FREE.
4.Parking addicts on methadone is clearly not getting people off drugs.
Tommy"s parked on methadone,syringes all at sea.
This heroin substitute to make him drug free.
Saved from the gutter and no more petty crimes.
A body torn with needles,not like yours or like mine.
Drugs get the wrath and the public condemnation.
Now we"re spending money on his rehabilitation.
Our countries funds continue killing fellow man.
Its a costly failure,its a deathly plan.
Drug deaths happen all over this land.
Twenty thousand users,get our heads out of the sand.
We deal with the symptoms and not the real causes.
These poor wretched souls,we are poisoning their bodies.
One third of drugged corpses,contain that green curse.
From you and me given, from the public purse.
We have blood on our hands but its not too late.
Tommy"s still alive,what will be his fate?
To not be in control of my own body and soul
To beat my addiction is my huge goal
Due to my addiction I have lost everything in my life
once a devoted mother and a perfect wife
But worst of all I have lost myself
I do not know who I am today
I feel so lost
so afraid to face reality
I am ashamed of what I have become
I don't deserve the title of being a mom
Now pain and guilt is all I live with
I don't want to wake up as I lay down to sleep
The pain and fear it hurts so deep
I pray to my mom who is no longer hear
She passed away from addiction to beer
please mom help me be free of my drug addiction
Even the methadone I have on perscription
I want to feel free I long to find the real me
The loving mom I was before
To be drug free I wish for nothing more
but 23 years of this existence
age 18 this nightmare began
but I long to get clean
I belive I can
To be the mom my children cry for
as now they are older
they know the score
but the help is not as easy to get
but little goals is what I need to set
I can do this I must be strong
its going to be a road so long
it will be hard I know
and at times I will feel so low
but I sit hear now and I cry so many tears
thinking of the last 23 years
lets just pray
that my addiction will be history one day.