Best Poppers Poems
Your rhyme reads like a rap they say,
a rap I say,
a rap they say,
perhaps but rap is rhyme you see,
it's rhyme really,
it's rhyme you see,
this poem is not lyrical,
no not at all,
not lyrical,
'cus songs use words repeatedly,
repeat you see,
repeatedly.
We'll use that as the chorus,
it's easy and thoughtless,
lets build a rhyme fortress
with verse summersaultus,
not a word but I don't care,
eating apples grapes and pears,
seeking angles of praise from flair,
story starts now take a chair.
Out in public with clothes removed,
I've had this dream but now it's true,
a dude that's nude and on the move,
without a pube all in plain view,
swing it like a helicopter,
round and round 'til someone stops ya,
grab some weed and party poppers,
run down streets to dart from coppers,
drinking aftershock that shocks ya,
always after the shot has docked ya,
stick your head between some knockers,
wake up thick lipped at the doctors.
(Chorus)
Write it like a conversation,
it might give it a new dimension,
in that last verse you forced the rhyme,
of course that's fine in this rap rhyme,
'cus rap is rhyme it's rhyme they rap,
that is a fact a fact is that,
by it's nature rap is rhyme,
if it reads like a rap then it reads like a rhyme,
does that mean always rhyme is rap,
of course it isn't it's less than that,
now that sounds mean,
what do you mean,
rap rhymes are rhymes and rap,
rhymes just rhyme they're not rap,
well what's this verse then is it rap?
No my friend this verse is crap,
I hope they remember this is a conversation,
they're not reading you lost their attention.
(Chorus)
A third verse now this is long winded,
it's forced and pointless poets cringing,
get back to the story,
now you were knocked out,
yes and I remember nowt,
then what the hell's this rhyme about,
it's like a selfie with lips that pout,
no one cares except the poser,
that means no one notes the nose hair,
wrap this up it's going nowhere,
rap it up like you're a rapper,
this poem keeps on getting crapper,
no one's read as far as here,
in this worse rhyme you've wrote all year,
at least it flows like hip hop songs,
it flows with flow its flow is strong,
to flow like this use words not long,
here's the chorus lets sing along.
(Chorus)
it reads like a hip hop
POTD 17/10/2018
CONCRETE WALLS
The darkness crashes down all around,
Like concrete walls that keep you bound.
I've heard we're a nation of pill poppers these days,
And that psychotherapy is all the rage.
I wonder if those who say such things
Know what it's like when your heart no longer sings.
And the darkness crashes down all around,
Like concrete walls that keep you bound.
You hear a moaning, groaning sound
That seems to to be coming from underground,
But then you realize with a start
That sound is coming from within your own heart.
And you long for a pill, a shrink, a drink,
Something to keep you from going over the brink.
A prayer to God to hear your cry,
To give you wings and let you fly.
At times you see a ray of light,
And wonder could this be the end of the night?
So you crawl across the prison floor
Where you saw the light just a moment before.
But darkness crashes down all around
Like concrete walls that keep you bound.
Wounded Healer
Submitted 8/23/09
Written 8/31/08
I peer through
Into your world
I smell the fragrance
Of family
Cooking roast dinner
I listen intently
Party poppers
And Happy Birthday songs
Someone singing in the shower
I see colours and shapes
Moving reflections on glass doors
Dancing couples
A dog, shadow tail wagging
I feel the warm air
Of the inside world
Tangible moisture
Making my eyes steam up
I hear a phone ringing
Friendly chatter
About nothing important
Laughter
I peer through
Into your world
Yet, I am not to be invited
In from the cold
So I reverse
Retreat into the empty
Silent, homeless streets
Of a large cold city
The paper words
Letter unposted
Still clutched
In my calloused hand
I was four when I partied like it was 1999.
Didn’t know what Y2K meant—
thought it was a new kind of Ribena.
Mom said the world might end,
so we had fish fingers and Angel Delight
like it was our last supper.
She danced in the kitchen—
hip in one hand, remote in the other—
Prince on the telly,
sky outside grey as school uniform.
She said,
“If the world’s going to blow, we might as well boogie.”
So I did—
in jelly sandals,
on sticky lino,
thinking bombs were just what happened in cartoons.
The grown-ups were worried about computers—
I was worried about monsters under the bed.
Same thing, really.
I built bunkers from sofa cushions.
Told my teddies we’d be safe.
Asked Mom if I could stay up ‘til midnight
to see the sky explode.
She let me—
even though it didn’t.
Instead, we counted down
with paper hats, party poppers,
and a bowl of Wotsits big enough
to survive the apocalypse.
Prince said life was a party.
Mom made it gospel—
taught me the sacredness of silliness.
She sang with her eyes closed,
as if she could out-sing war.
As if dancing could un-plug the world’s doom switch.
And maybe it could.
There was a lion in her pocket too—
fierce in her softness,
roaring through a tinny tape deck.
She had a knowing in her sway,
like she understood what purple skies meant
long before I did.
Now I’m older,
and every headline feels like a countdown.
Still, I keep Ribena in the fridge
for emergencies.
Still, I dance—
barefoot on carpet,
arms full of invisible glitter,
like I’m four again
and nothing bad can touch me
while the music plays.
If the world ends again,
I’ll dance.
I’ll think of Mom.
I’ll play that song—
loud enough to shake the windows
and remind the sky
that we were here,
dancing,
as if forever still mattered.
Boxing Day
Christmas over,
Boxing day,
Snow replaced by rain,
Turkey eaten,
Presents opened,
Bones and wrapping remain.
Silent carols,
Muted bells,
The candles all burned out,
Bottle tops,
Nutshells
And gift tags lay round about.
Glittered cards,
Ribbons and bows,
Tinsel, baubles and more,
Unwanted gifts,
Stale perfume,
All strewn across the floor.
The tree bare,
Bulbs blown,
Forgotten cracker jokes,
Empty bottles,
Hangovers
Santa just some bloke.
Party poppers,
Paper hats,
Plastic Jesus in his stable,
Fallen cards,
Holly leaves
Litter the festive table.
Melancholy
Mistletoe,
The anti-climax seems sad,
But in my heart
It will always be
The best Christmas I've had.
My mind is yours
I think of you
As I stab away at your heart
I think of you
As blood spatters all over my face
I think of you
As the life ebbs out of your vassal
I think of you
As my hate grew into a flowing river of your blood
I think of you
As you stare into space with those dead eyes
I think of you
As they bury you in a poppers grave
I think of you
A childhood robbed
I think of you
The hand of god stealing an alter boys innocence
I think of you
Rotting piece of flesh in the ground
I think of you
A hateful cruel man of no honor
I think of you
No more
My closets and garage overflowing with my stuff,
I couldn't afford to rent a storage unit because of the cost,
putting piles of our old clothes and shoes in various rooms,
one day I wanted to sweep and couldn't even find the broom,
In my kitchen had old coupons and recipes and used aluminum foil,
several broken toasters, blenders, microwaves and hot air popcorn poppers,
couldn't let go of the old bills from the 1970's either,
they were stacked in the other room all the way to the ceiling,
Having only a small passageway to make it to my overflowing bathroom,
which was so packed with toiletry items I could hardly find the toilet,
in the shower had to stand sideways because of all the shower chairs,
thank God I was still pretty slim or showering could be a nightmare,
Then one fateful day I called for my husband who I thought went to the store,
rummaging my way to the front door I saw in the driveway his parked ford,
then hearing a soft rustling noise and a very loud snore,
found him under a pile of old undies from the 1970's curled up on the floor.
Addendum: I know hoarding things is considered an illness; just wanted to write a poem about it with a humorous twist.
Benny Blue Beetle ran up a limb
He knew he could fly but he couldn’t swim
Way up in a tree way out in the air
He leaped and he flew way over there
Up high in the top of the mulberry tree
He looked out as far as a beetle could see
It was marvelous all the life high up there
On the next limb was a stick that could walk
And he thought he could hear some bugs that could talk
Green flies and red ones and dragon flies too
Darting and flying all around like a zoo
There were chirpers and hoppers
And creekers and poppers
Butterflies, flies and red and white worms
And he was sure there were even all kinds of germs
He laughed as he jumped from one limb to another
When he saw another bug that looked just like his brother
Hibin, oh Hibin, is that really you?
He crept a bit closer and off the bug flew
It wasn’t his brother or someone he knew
He was amazed at all of the things he could see
Way up high in the twisted old mulberry tree
He thought he would fly to the maple next door
When he opened his wings they made a big roar
And off Benny flew around in the air
It was such fun to be soaring out there
Around the big mulberry Benny Blue Beetle flew
Way down there below was the home that he knew
Then off to the maple he was speeding so fast
But he still had to watch out for birds that flew past
Many liked beetles and ate them for lunch
Don’t let them get near me, on me they can’t munch
I’ll live a long life and find a good wife
We’ll have a big family and a long blue beetle life
Almost New Year
Tic Toc, the countdown’s started,
Another year’s nigh done.
Break out the poppers, the salt and the coal,
In with the new and out with the old,
As parties rage on across the land,
Fresh hopes emerge for boy and man.
Mistakes forgiven, mishaps forgot,
Alliances forged with every shot.
The old care not, the young don’t know,
The lovers see through Rosie glow,
Unrealistic vows we make
For ‘New Year’s Resolution’ sake, but
Blinded by hope and fooled by fear
We welcome in this brand new year.
Drink up ye hearties, make merry ye men,
Our future begins with the chimes of Big Ben.
I Do not Breath
I do no think
Of life that mocked me
I do not think
Of elders who forgot me
I do not think
Of my depression
I do not think
Of hell on earth
I do not think at all
Anymore
I shall hang from the rafters
You can all laugh now
I am as dead
As when I was alive
No difference at all
Bury me in that poppers grave
Beside the man of god who was the devils slave
He is in hell, and there shall I reside too
Taunting his perversions for all of eternity
Almost New Year
Tic Toc, the countdown’s started,
Another year’s nigh done.
Break out the poppers, the salt and the coal,
In with the new and out with the old,
As parties rage on across the land,
Resulutions emerge from boy and man.
Mistakes forgiven, mishaps forgot,
Alliances forges with every shot.
The old care not, the young don’t know,
The lovers see through Rosie glow,
Blinded by hope and fooled by fear
We welcome in a brand new year.
Drink up ye hearties, make merry ye men,
Your future begins with the chimes of Big Ben
Heather Buxton
To those of us that struggle with addiction,
It's a choice you could say a self-infliction.
You’re a slave to the substance and you’re not aware,
A heavy cross for one to bare.
All the wheeling and dealing you can muster,
your wife a Tweeker you can't trust her.
Shady characters come with a song and dance,
getting ahead in this game a slim chance.
Every night you pray for a tomorrow,
another day filled with betrayal and sorrow.
Everyone is a liar, a thief and cheaters,
junkies, pill poppers, coke heads and Tweekers.
A mirage of addicts come and go,
tomorrow someone here could be Jane Doe.
The same thing day in and day out,
sometimes there is enough others you go without.
Addiction is with you everywhere you go,
It outsmarts you, you have no control.
Addiction comes in all shapes and sizes,
hand in hand with denial, deceit and lies.
You can never really be at ease,
My name is Addiction and I'm your disease.
TURBO1904 OCT. 2021
Seems like we've all become
A nation of ruddy pill poppers
A pill for this, a pill for that
Even sex, now that's the topper
How did it finally come to this?
The doctors are making a killing
Prescribing a pill for a hang nail
And patients are only willing
Always trusted, the family doctor
Upstanding pillar of society
That was then, this is now
Seems like a lack of propriety
The code of ethics that used to be
Are forthwith being ignored
In favour of that almighty dollar
An outgrowth we can ill afford
Old rules have been abandoned
It's all about the bottom line
Say bye bye to professional ethics
From another place and time
© Jack Ellison 2013
BY STREET CRIES
MY PEN SPEAKS POETRY WITH A PASSION
RELEASING MENTAL PRISONS POSING AS PROBLEMS
PEOPLE POINTING FINGERS IGNORING PARAGRAPHS OF LIFE SCRIPTURES
PROMOTING THE PENALTY OF MINDLESS POTENTIAL
IN A PARADOX PASSING BY PEDESTRIANS
PLEASING PARASITES PUMPING POISON IN THE POPULATION
PROPAGANDA FOLLOWING PROTOCOL
POLITICS PLAYING GODS POSITION
POSSIBLY PROVOKING PESTILENCE AS A PRESENT
BECAUSE OF OUR PAST TENSE
PROVIDING A PATH PRACTICING PAGANISM AS PARADISE
PERPENDICULAR TO NO LIFE
PERSUADING PARTICIPATION IN THE FORM OF PROFITS
PURCHASING A GENERATION POLLUTED WITH IGNORANCE
PURPOSELY POSITIONING PUPPETS AS PRESIDENT
PROBING PODS PENETRATE THE SKY LOOKING FOR PLANETS
PROVING POINTS THROUGH PROPHETIC PROPHECY
PROJECTING PAINFUL PREMONITIONS
PARANOID PERKIEST PILL POPPERS PARADE IN PUBLIC
WHILE POLICE PUSH PASS PERIMETERS OF PEACE
CAUSING PICKET SIGNS OF PROTEST
FOOD FED TO THE POOR PROCESSED WITH PESTICIDES
PROTECT WALL STREET POCKETING PAYCHECKS FORM POVERTY
THAT'S WAY I POST POEMS WITH POWERFUL POTENCY
REPRESENTING THE UNHEARD CRIES IN THE STREETS
The collaboration between the street and the Y2K mutants had commenced. These 8o’s baby’s filled the night’s air with green lite smoke, and choked back opiate related dreams from white coat masters. These were the city trolls. Forced to bend to society’s creation, of the new crazed sensation. Symbolic doses, hit the millennial air, as many become ready to hallucinate the night away, with a love for everything once ignored. Now the new age scene has turned many into fossilized poppers. As the years trickled away, the rotted souls, which were bought and sold, helped to build up treacherous narcotics related, public sedated, stick-up kids. Stuck with felonious tactics, many became devious. This was now the new age past-time. It was debauchery fitted and fallen into the midnight hour.
Madness was now shared, among those celled up with bites taken out of the family’s love. Years wrinkle into the fold of existence, as the drug fiend and high and mighty pushers create tactics to have pockets full of presidential green backs. These buckeye babies were now renegades forming freelance robbery hits from city to city. This was excitement for the ages. Their dopamine rushed out onto resurrected pipes, as bloody needle points were beginning to fornicate the blue passage. Now underground these were the people infected by thrown away existence. Authors of their own free-lanced hell. A swollen deviation tears threw, like a wicked witch twister. Now crucified by the same authoritative empire they once tried to live by. No longer will family love be embezzled, nor will they be upheld to hear the cruel-hearted deepest sold-off cries.