My heart is a secret garden Poetry Contest
Silent One
My heart is a secret garden.
Make-believe guards stand sentry at the gate—
vigilant, visceral, ready
to keep out trolls, lurkers, pretenders,
and every donkey-ass from my past life.
Cigarettes, booze, and cheap sex
can wander elsewhere.
This time, my garden filters only purity.
Where pride is planted.
In my last life,
I went through the mill—
a chronic druggie, an alcoholic, a whore—
a plot overrun with weeds
and dirty secrets that still claw at my dreams.
But in this new life,
the core of my being is a wonderland:
fresh, free, first-rate, full-fledged, fever-pitched,
sans the forked tongue.
Baby elephants, unicorns, and pegasi
march six by six
through rows of bougainvillea,
through blossoms and budding life.
An orphaned lion cub is saved,
loosed into the wind—
Born Free, finding a home,
a rhythm,
a new secret taking root.
Be aware of a verb, thats emerging..From an Aussie, it has been formed, And its Now surging.' Quite
Descriptive and gritty, Aimed first off at canberra
City, where the originals (are said to be spawned?)
You don't need its description, its scar is real hard old friend' a strong
Valediction.' Of how low? You are thought in your descend.' It sends a shiver through men, and even the
Ladies.' This is way worse; than that vile
Jab..But here now I'll give it a stab' ya'know even; blind freddy will make a run, if it trends..He truly fears it.' would rather
Remain blind.' than to hear it..Mates stay awake
And your honour defend.' Be a drunk, be a druggie, thief
Or even a thuggie.' But never a TWOT..Here i' stand as
Your mate to the end.'
Pink opiate at breakfast
Two blues at lunch
A tiny green pill at break
Druggie? Just a hunch
Easily addicted
His choices now conflicted
The highs are great, the lows not so bad
He decides to stay addicted, my cousin Chad
Sue outshone her brother Lee
He was a druggie, liar, thief, a never-do-well
Sue was an occupational therapist
a wife, a mother, an outstanding citizen
Their mother put Lee on the highest pedestal
making up fraudulent accomplishments for him
and excuses when he was popped into jail
it was always a misunderstanding
Sue kept her mouth shut at first
But when the lies and preferential treatment became unbearable
she finally said something about it
Her mother disowned her
Losing Lee and his admirer was no real loss for Sue
Marijuana sommelier,
A marijuana or weed expert.
A Mary Jane professional.
Someone happy
to let the grass grow.
Not a junkie or druggie,
but a pro, a get high expert.
Weed connoisseur.
As a kid, If I had known
about this profession,
I would’ve been up there
with the best of them,
like Cheech and Chong.
But don’t get me wrong
I’m here to confess
I used to smoke
some of the best.
Sesa-million,
Acapulco gold
Hemp and haze.
As I give a dime bag praise,
those were the good old days.
I still miss having the munchies,
I would clean out the kitchen cabinets
and the refrigerator.
Eating everything that didn’t move.
And some things that did…
Hey diddle diddle
I'm the cat with the fiddle
Keeping my fiddle near
What would you like to hear
Any tune to catch your ear
Follow my sound
Lead yourself out of the lost and found
Dance to my tune
It made the cow jump over the moon
While it was the druggie that stole the spoon
The sound of my bow
Keeps the world in tow
Piper of the strings
People it brings
Following my sound
souls it will bound
Dont be a sheep
Following in your sleep
following the pretty
sound
Don't know where your bound
Believing all you see
Your mind you gave for free
Don't be a fool
Blindly following some rule
The fddle is just the tool
It is the day after Christmas and Santa’s feet are soaking.
He is not a druggie, or he might be seriously toking.
Mrs. Claus and the elves are exhausted too.
None of them are wearing a slipper or a shoe.
Their feet are soaking, and they are fast asleep.
Their dreams parading in the clouds which the angels keep.
Santa Claus worked all night with little relief in sight.
Merry Christmas to you, he said. And to all a good night.
But today is his day to drink eggnog with cheer.
Before he begins another rigorous year!
She was only a whore they said
Just a druggie on the game
Most of the papers couldn’t be
Bothered to correctly spell her name.
Just an illegal immigrant tart,
Part of one of those foreign mobs
Over here to claim our benefits
Ot take over all of our jobs.
Not one of your high class call girls
Who service the Commons and Lords
Free of the general approbation
Such elevated status affords.
Not your enthusiastic amateur
Who put it about for free
Or one of those who’ve made it
By appearing on reality TV.
Not your free loving aristocrat
Hopping gaily from bed to bed
No, just a common street walker
Who unfortunately ended up dead.
Having so dehumanised her as
Just another lump of dead meat
Who earned herself a living by
Selling cheap sex on the street
This allegedly Christian nation
Doesn’t really bother anymore,
Just turns to the sports page
For the latest footie score,
Or, the very wealthy
With no real material cares,
To financial pages to check
Returns on stocks and shares.
Some mother, father or child
Who won’t see her anymore
Are suffused with pain and grief
Even though she was only a whore.
The “Druggie” Down The Street
By: Miracle Man
4/21/2022
Oft times the thoughts he’d have caused him to fret,
and he’d sit ‘mongst wandering thoughts in deep regret.
But things long since passed he could not change,
so facts of these occurrences he’d always rearrange.
I lectured him on truthfulness and then he’d never later deny,
the response I got was, “I guess some people just like to lie”
How you going to start a new path if you keep going the same way,
How you going to change if you don't stick to what you say,
The addiction makes tell so many lies,
I cried on the inside everytime I looked in my mom's eyes,
I went down hill when my best mate and brother died,
For a year I pretended it wasnt true he was just busy I was brain fried,
A druggie a mess a coke head all this was true,
I had a good partner who didn't leave me and help me get through,
For all my wrong I'm so ashamed,
Wish I wasn't me and could be renamed,
After all the upset I coursed close ones sorry don't mean nothing,
I tried 12 times to end my life, I didn't like me I wasn't bluffing,
Now I'm trying be a good person it's never to late,
I can't wait till I stop staring in the mirror of hate.
Your friend matty d :) xx
She was hilarious, funny, perky.
Thrilling, lively, exciting and quirky.
Inspiring, frisky, and delightful.
Aspiring, whimsical, and insightful.
We all wanted to be her until drugs
Embraced her, and she dropped us for bad thugs.
Angry, despondent, living in gloom.
A grotesque shell of soul-sapping doom.
Repressed, smothered inside a self-imposed cave,
Depressed, dour, she met an early grave.
Elementary friends hugging in horror.
Hoping she’ll find relief on a distant shore.
We're born keyless.
Then given plastic keys to play with.
We earn our first key of responsibility.
To mobilize-to enter things.
To cage things-to abuse things.
Like a warden with a cluster of keys
letting the good out- keeping the bad ones in
or is it the other way around?
A steady stream of keys.
Like a bird-every key sings
,, especially the skeleton key.
Only a few keys are able to keep your secrets.
Eventually there is a chorus of keys
Most of mine(secrets) are silver or gold
Some are dirty, some are clean.
Only one of them is king
but none of them are green
We often lose them
Then a mad search commences,
Like a red-eyed druggie rooting for a quick fix,
We smile in relief when we find them,
Hugging them as if they were our children.
Keys grow old, become battered and bent
Some wriggle off the ring.
Every year we have fewer keys.
Keys are a lot like friends,
What a relief it must be to be keyless again.
I saw a homeless man the other day
He asked for change, but I had bills to pay,
So, I kept walking.
His hair was long and straggly, with old food in his beard
He dragged me out of my comfort zone, made me feel weird
I ignored his talking.
Is it my fault that this man was homeless and broke?
I worked for my money—giving it to him is a joke—
He’ll waste it for sure.
He’s a druggie and boozer, this is plain to see
A man of low morals with no morality
My motives were pure.
“If you give it to him,” said Jesus my Lord,
“You’ve given to me, this is My Word.”
I bow my head in shame.
“When I stood on the corner, and asked you for change
You hurried on by and treated me strange.
You denied my name.”
D H Loewen
April 8, 2018
All Rights Reserved
Giant dragons
And heroes with great big sword
The little boy with love to share with the world
Keeps reality behind closed doors
His huge imagination
Soars through the skies
That he says is green
Because he alters everything just a bit
Everything pretend
Is better than the pain he endures
Whenever he plays games
They are always happy from beginning to end
Because he wants to know
What love that never dies
Feels like
Whenever the game house is played
He uses his imagination to pain
The life he never had
And at seven years old
Dealing with a druggie mom
And an alcoholic stepdad
With no biological dad in the picture
Is quite saddening
Imagination has become his only escape
Because he can fly with the dragons
Away from this wretched place
Imagination helps mask the reality
That has caused his loving fragile heart
A great deal of pain
CHANCE
Condemned, sent to the cells, throw away the key as you’re a car thief.
No hope, needles found in your room and marks on your arm, druggie.
Loser, crime ridden estate, not safe after dark, they’ll have you for sure.
Reality is here, the estate I live on, St Mary’s in Oldham, like any other in England.
Don’t condemn the youth here as they’re our country’s future, time needs to be
taken to understand and learn about them, not to go to war on them.
Give them a chance, is all lost before we start or can something be made out
of nothing, the young made responsible, to do it right first time?
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