Best Painkillers Poems
“The Queen-Sized Bed”.
© London F. Buss
A queen-size bed was coming slowly,
down the rough dirt track.
As it drew closer,
The wheels clumsily mounted on the base of each leg,
rattled like a hospital gurney on the stones.
The bed was being pushed slowly,
ever so, carefully.
By a weary old man in tattered clothes and worn-out shoes.
as he drew closer, and closer,
I saw that he was pushing his dying wife who was,
lying in a dressing gown under the covers,
in the Queen-Sized Bed.
He pushed carefully trying not to shake the bed,
excessively.
His wife's head was supported by four pillows,
she had wispy strings of silver white hair.
She was dying.
Several I.V. Bottles dangled off a hook,
And dripped painkillers into her arm.
She was awake but barely conscious,
I wondered where they were going,
but in my heart, I knew...
privacy for an hour,
I came back as the sun was setting.
I found them together sitting on the bed,
Looking over the ocean.
The old man was holding his dying wife,
in his arms… stroking her silver hair under the sparkling,
southern cross.
They were sharing her last sunset as,
the dying embers of a fiery sun faded into the ocean.
Night fell and I walked home alone,
I had witnessed love real love,
something I had never experienced,
something I had never known.
If you’re near Cowell and you look hard enough,
You may just find the queen-size bed,
with a tattered mattress and exposed springs,
quietly rusting away outside a decrepit ruin of a barn.
Take a closer look at the legs and you will find four rusting,
gurney wheels.
and if you approach quietly on a moonlit night,
you will hear soft sobbing in the whistling wind,
as it dreams of that dying sunset,
under the southern cross...
and the milky way lights up the sky,
soaring into the heavens
as the angels sing.
Categories:
painkillers, death, for her, loss,
Form:
Free verse
Not all my wounds will heal.
Some are just too deep for that.
Sorry doesn't make things better.
I have lost more than i have won.
My head is full of broken memories.
There's no painkillers for emotion pain.
It's easy to break a heart and break trust.
But some broken things can never be mended.
Categories:
painkillers, heartbroken,
Form:
Free verse
Prozac Nation, dated September 8th, 2001
became the film that reminded some that
these days that we live in, with cell phones
that make us capable of connecting in a flash
mean we've broken our pencils and torn up
our stationary where letters once were dashed
off of the tops of our heads and sent on
with sentiments read by bifocaled heads
of grandparents who would soon be dead
yet were there for the time, there to remind us
why we're alive and we're living in a time
of Prozac and Ambian and some form of Xanax
We've become a people dependent on our drugs
where we once depended on our minds, our hearts,
the souls that sought out Jesus instead of
the cluttered cabinets of painkillers and anti-depressants,
everything that seems to replace the true person
with a desensitized, artificial, contrived individual
only surviving the times with stockpiles of prescriptions
Chopped Updated - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: craig cornish
Categories:
painkillers, addiction, drug,
Form:
Free verse
Some conspicuous lice met once or twice
With white follicle mites who came out at night
And an upside down tick who did magic tricks
That entertained maggots who shared roasted haggis
With pole dancing worms who wriggled and squirmed
Under Chinese mosquitos munching burpy burritos
Chasing cobwebby crickets selling counterfeit tickets
To shows where no sensible grubs want to go
Warning churchgoing termites that these shows were a blight
On a class of weevil whose bite could be lethal
For marbleized moths drinking steaming Scotch broth
And sanitized beetles who had pins and needles
From sharing cold baths with nonsensical gnats
Watched by camp caterpillars strung out on painkillers
Sharing smokes with loud locusts who were very much focussed
On prostrate praying mantises with suspicious practices
Categories:
painkillers, insect, nonsense,
Form:
Light Verse
Little sweet Lucy..four years..so small.
Her pink teddy bear.. and her Barbie doll.
Pushed strollers of fun. ..in traipse of malls.
Then a Topsy turvy evil.. stifles her a thrall.
She cries, " Where are my dolls? "
Crawls a cruel connive...arrives a sudden sinister.
Wrangles her hard destiny. .lurks a doomed disaster.
Poor Child, ...Leukemia is now her master.
She collapses into the arms.. of a malevolent monster.
She cries, " Where are my dolls? "
Wasn't Blood red. .that flowed in our veins?
Her's was a translucent black. ..
only strains..and those pains.
With her curly hair shaved. .the ugly doll sustains.
Syringe of thorns prick. .a rose.. to sick bed detains.
She cries, " Where are my dolls? "
Crummy " Chemo" of the 'Crab '. .
creeps on the little dummy.
There's yucky throw of food...
from her aching tummy.
Fear stricken Dad.. and a tear streaked Mummy. .
Her outstretched arms.. say..
"I know you both love me"
She cries, " Where are my dolls? "
The helpless girl.. gets weaker and thinner.
She longs for the table...sit together for dinner.
Forlorn she quirks.. in the MRI shiver.
Fighting with Cancer. .her spleen and liver.
She cries, " Where are my dolls? "
Painkillers help ..seeing windows and walls.
Doctors are elves... and Fairy nurses call.
To live without dying. .she daily sprawls. ..
She cries, " Where are my dolls? "
A desolate girl..she dreams. .playing with dolls.
PLACED THIRD IN SCREWED POETRY CONTEST by Rob Carnack
7th October 2018
A Poem of Reaction Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Julia Ward.
Categories:
painkillers, child, death, destiny, emotions,
Form:
Rhyme
Revoking Doc's License #1
A word from the State Medical Board committee
The #1 injection will always be P.D.
Doc, I am considering to slam you out of pity
I do not mess with poets whose licenses come from Hello Kitty.
You overdose my patient RED, getting down to the nitty gritty.
At this time, your practice has been revoke
For coming after me as I wear my black cloak.
I got a grip on my scythe pressed against your throat.
Pees running down your legs leaving you all soak
Doc, I got your body full of Narcotics and Painkillers as a joke.
Dropping you like a lawsuit on the examination table with one smack.
Denying you morphine as your vasectomy goes wrong in this attack
I already drove you insane labeling you a quack.
Your hand I flushed in (TRANQUILIZER), slapping you with a black Jack.
Waking up without your gems blood all over your sack.
Restrain you in a straitjacket, throwing you in a padded room.
Covered in your own s*it as you were in your mother’s womb
Poet-ing like a disco biscuit on ecstasy, before I made you go SKAT-boom!
Engraving your Poetic Doctor Degree on the outside of your tomb.
With the words that speak, P.D. was the cause of your poetic doom.
by;P.D.
Categories:
painkillers, slam
Form:
Free verse
I wish that I had choked and died
On those chocolate candy bars.
I wish my mom had tanned my hide
About those tempting cookie jars.
I wish that I'd been tarred and feathered
For the dinners that I skipped
Because I preferred to gorge my taste
On Lays Potato Chips.
I'd like of course to quite forget
The delightful sweet 'life savers'
Which turned out to be unfortunately
A roll of nice teeth haters.
I wonder why my father
Didn't put a final stop
To the in-and-out of the refrigerator door
For another soda pop.
In truth, I would have received more mercy
From a family of alligators
Than the sticky, gooey caramel
Of flavored 'Now and Laters'.
The bantering I'll put aside
For I must now reflect
On the searing pain that's gripped me
Consuming tooth and jaw and neck.
I do agree the joke's on me
Now would someone please find
The 'painkillers'; the Orajel
Before I lose my mind.
RETA PRUITT
August 8, 2016
Categories:
painkillers, candy, childhood, humor, pain,
Form:
Rhyme
Suicide letters
Or love notes to death
I an not sure what to call them
I have read so many
From my friends of course
Saying they are sorry
How they just couldn't take it any longer
How their sorrow swallowed them
The depression gripping tighter
That's what depression does
It chokes out the life in you
My best friend suffered for a long time
For at least 5 years
Until she wrote her love note to death
I still remember the erratic text scrawled on the page
The pain in each sharp edge of the harsher letters
Like T, K, and L
Each edge cutting me
Like the blade that ended her life
Like the blade stained blood-red
I don't use knives anymore
I don't even keep them in my house
My ex boyfriend Mike
Wrote his love note
To me and Death
I sat on the floor sobbing
As he told me he loved me
But couldn't take the pain
As he went on and on about the tragedy he faced
How I brought the only light he knew into his life
How I should never forget him
And I don't
I still pass his house everyday
I still look for his car
I still have the bottle of painkillers he took
It's empty of course
I just suffer through pain now
I don't want to go like he did
I miss him
Along with my best friend
But like I said they both had love letters to Death
So Death soon fell in love with them
Categories:
painkillers, angst, anxiety, death of
Form:
Free verse
Superficial Smiles by Shane Cogan
A trapped house can be worse than a prison
Cell doors open daily, a sealed house door never
Guards who snarl or smile is a guard forever
They also torture, but you found your own prism
Selected friends are such a treasure
Deselect those friends at your leisure
Superficial smiles, superficial cries
Superficial tastes, superficial wastes
Handshakes in the morning
Sour milkshakes for lunch
Diluted conversations for dinner
Repetitive dreams again for bedtime
Small talk discussions over a croissant
Alcohol dimensions under a florescent
Frantic racing is your new norm
A lost cause, caught up in a storm
Superficial smiles, superficial cries
Superficial lies, superficial allies
Silly allergies are your only sickness
You deem painkillers to be your only cure
Subscription pills for the old highs
Illegals for the new lows
What is right in one place
Deemed a disease or a disgrace
Solitude is your new pleasure
Despair is a lonely measure
Superficial smiles, superficial cries
Superficial spies with superficial eyes
Today's headline is tomorrow's forgotten story
Profits over people, with business in all its glory
Che Guevara t-shirts or Guerrilla warfare neritic?
Revolutionary heroes or a Sunday armchair critic?
Mass television pictures replacing dialogue
Mindless headline people news is our new fog
What would you do now for a taste of reality?
Do you miss and crave my sensuality?
A frank remark is better than a false smile
Our historical heroes are now sadly footnoted
No longer accepted, no longer quoted
Smiles mean nothing; a false handshake is our new style
Superficial smiles, superficial cries
Superficial skies with superficial eyes
© Shane Cogan, 2013
Categories:
painkillers, freedom, parody, philosophy, house,
Form:
Lyric
The ole diner offers twelve course
conversations salted with unspoken jargon:
one patron withholds the dialect of fed-
up-of-my-job while his buddy barely
nods, too worn-to-the-bone;
a wife texts her friend, i-found-
a-lump-in-my-breast
while her husband swallows , ah-hell-
she’s-having-an-affair.
Hear the internalized vernacular
of hooked-on-painkillers,
the lonely phraseology of my-kids-
never-visit, and the private pang of he-didn’t-
use-a-condom. Misery keeps
its six degrees of vagueness, widens
each tiny rift. It would only take
mindfulness, a willingness to stretch,
but these half-hearted translations
make for such unsound bridges —
take table three, a party of two:
he snaps, get with reality,
which means, Honey-just-listen
while she raises one finger
to her lips, signing, please-just-shut-up-
and-kiss-me.
Categories:
painkillers, feelings, language, people,
Form:
Free verse
Slow released relief from powder coated tablets.
To an ache which seems to never go away.
When I’m fighting to survive each hour, each day
I will take whatever comfort I can salvage.
My veins once rich with vital fluids
My skin once not so deathly in complexion
The recipient of my fixation
Turned inward on what I’m consuming.
For a few moments of brief relief
I’m condemned to greater sufferings.
There is a line you should not cross, and I
Have recklessly passed it countless times.
For what little anguish I have staved
Away, I have matched in dirt for my grave
Categories:
painkillers, abuse, addiction, introspection, pain,
Form:
Sonnet
Surgical operation, physiotherapy,
exercise and painkillers
(I hate every pill, they make me dizzy)
Neuropathic pain can be
violent and incomprehensible
It is subjective and personal,
an emotional experience
A short time of pain we can accept
Pain that lasts a long time
makes everyday life complicated
But it goes a little better every day
05/05/2021
Sun :) - A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
Categories:
painkillers, care, friend, how i
Form:
Free verse
The year was 1956
and I distinctly recall
my mother's lovely face
as she told me
Szererlek (I love you)
and as I seen her lovely smile
I remember her face
as she held back bittersweet tears
tying to hold the impression
that everything was alright and I
as a youth did not fully
comprehend the situation
going on at the time.......
I asked my mother
Anyu , miért sírsz ? (Mother, why are you crying?)
and she replied....
Ez semmi fiam , én rendben lesz
(It's nothing my son, I will be alright)
all while hearing the rough and
very bitter voice of my father say......
Nidia , te ribanc ! hol vagytok ?!
(Nidia, you whore! where are you?!)
all while she bitterly weeps
going to his side again, once more
in his violent tone he says......
Nidia , te kurva ! hol van az italom ?!
(Nidia, you ***** ! where is my drink?!)
all while she wept quietly
going to the refrigerator
and getting his stale
cognac and bitter wine
all while these two drinks
have not even gotten cold yet......
She serves him the drinks
he spits them out, get's up
and says.....
Te hülye kurva !, akkor soha semmit van!
(You stupid whore!, you could never do anything right!)
as again I see daddy, giving mommy
one of his usual love taps
a punch to the stomach
and a slap to the face
all to match the black eye
she has already received.....
It is 12:00 at night
I lay in my bed......
mommy kisses me goodnight
and she says in a soft, calming whisper
Ez semmi fiam , én rendben lesz
(It's nothing my son, I will be alright)
all while daddy was asleep
in the other room, knocked out from
having his usual
cocktail of painkillers,
stale cognac and bitter while
this time...... it was cold
Mommy tucks me in
kisses me on the forehead
cuts off my lights
and says.... jóéjt fiam (goodnight my son)
I..... still awake, and with
the inability to slumber
I sneak out my bedside
and witness in my mothers
hands, the Ak-47 assault rifle
that my father had stole
during the Hungarian revolution......
My father (who was knocked out)
was unaware of what was staring
at him in the face......
and my mother......
with her hand on the trigger
says in her melancholy voice......
ez a vég.....(this is the end.....)
and puts a bullet through his head.....
Categories:
painkillers, abuse, anger, anxiety, dark,
Form:
Free verse
Hollywood couples in their own dramatic way
Are like characters in a Shakespearean play
To be or not to be
That was the question you see
When they first met on the set of the "Anthony and Cleopatra" movie
But it was double double toil and trouble
When their romance began to bubble
She was a beautiful and glamorous star
Admired by fans from near and far
But their relationship was like a war
Leaving them wounded,with emotional scars
He loved his women and his booze
Painkillers is what she liked to use
They both seemed to have the blues
They would have nasty breakups
Then he would buy her million dollar diamonds to make up
Though his love for her was deep
She was not his to keep
They got married , then divorced
Then they remarried, of course
that one ended too, just like the first
He played many parts in his career in showbiz
But the best part he ever had was being married to Liz
~~
Richard Burton And Elizabeth Taylor
Categories:
painkillers, people,
Form:
Rhyme
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
Categories:
painkillers, dark, deep, life, poetry,
Form:
Rhyme