Long Medicine Poems
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overnight billionaires
our money is missing
our pockets are empty
our labours are so cheap
our doctors can't even
attend to us any more
no medicine no money
our schools are closed
our streets are dirty
our dreams are dieing
just for politicians
acts of greed
overnight billionaires
our shadow can speak
but now it muted
if not it will never exist
our loyalty is a necessity
if not we will be far gone
our quest don't count
and if it should then there
is a force
the young don't grow
the old are leaving us
with out no benefit
our teachers are
so poor
all this exist just
because some men
were too too ambitious
with out a heart
overnight billionaires
poverty every were
hardship all over the towns
in our third world's
confusion in our homes
confusion in our hearts
hopelessness now a trend
disappointment is our reward
after all our trust and support
we are only but just numbers
they got no sight for us
either do they include us
in their vision
so there mission are clear
and obvious
guess why suddenly
in our grievous deepest
moment they sims
too satisfied as they turn
overnight billionaires
overnight billionaires
they are rich
we are poor
they are corrupt
we are the victims
they are evil
we pay the price
they are never satisfied
we are their extortion
they are not for us
we are not for them
our country is their
privileges to steal
we are there chance
of an ill gotten wealth
is obvious there is
no other way
if not for the sake
of our suffering
how come Suddenly
they turn
overnight billionaires
Spiral straight away makes me think
of that time I was on the brink.
Thanks to modern medicine and more,
I am no longer on the floor.
It's love I know that got me through,
especially the love I have for you.
An uphill battle it seemed back then,
now it's hard to remember when,
communication lines were down.
I permanently had a frown.
Anger ate me up inside.
I had to wait for it to subside.
My Precious, my Puddings, my little girls,
the longer, the stronger my love unfurls.
Thanks for waiting for me to return.
Your Mammy's back, my Honeybuns.
16/06/2020
For Anything goes as long as it is about a spiral.
Sponsored by: Kai Michael Neumann.
Thank you Kia, I did enjoy it.
I see the girl
with a smile in her eyes
How is it I suddenly realize
her name I know, Nora
She appears whenever
I'm ill at ease
Her eyes they flirt and tease
I smile and all is good
because of Nora
Others I tell of Nora
how I begin to adore her
The times we spend hand and hand
always together but never planned
always with my Nora
At last this cannot be
for others never can see
and judging they doubt me
troubled my mind must be
for Nora is only imaginary
Against my will
forced on pills
Therapy to save me
from the girl
only I can see
Tears fill the smiling eyes of Nora
She left me blue and cold
for her they took and stole
It's been awhile I never smile
cured by medicine and misery
Nora I can no longer see
It's been awhile and I can't recall
what was the name I never saw
Was she just a trick in my mind
erased by cures and passage of time
Could I feel what wasn't real
Stress is strong
something so wrong
I want more
then the medication I can afford
Feeling ill I flush those pills
After awhile
I hear and see
the face with the eyes
that smiled for me
She places her hand into mine
whispers that I'm her valentine
Happy I am to see her again
forgiving me now together we will be
For I will never tell
of the one who delights and thrills
No one needs to know
of the girl my heart keeps and holds
Nora
Another lonely holiday and I can't bear to be alone.
No answer at the clinic... no one picked up the phone.
No one cares if I live or die. It's a good night to end it all.
I wonder if I'll be missed. I doubt anyone will even call.
I'm sure I have enough medicine to concoct my fatal drink.
I should wear something pretty. (Her drink left near the sink)
Dressed in the blue silk she wore for him, she looked her best.
Then she heard a timid knock. She was not expecting a guest.
Who is knocking at my door at this late hour of the night?
No fear of an intruder, she was past caring of any fright.
Through the peep hole she saw a lady standing in the rain.
What could she want with me when I'm feeling so much pain?
She opened to a smiling face and a bright and cheerful, "Hello.
My name is Rebecca and I just came by to let you know,
I was here earlier today, to share with you some good news.
I can see by your face that I've interrupted you, please excuse
me for knocking on your door so late tonight, but you see,
when no one answered this morning, I was worried as could be.
I thought I heard someone home, and then a muffled cry,
and I wanted to return tonight, so here I am, stopping by."
I closed my eyes and said a prayer, "God, can this really be?
Did You know what I was doing and sent her here to me?"
She came in out of the rain, and I asked her to take a seat.
Something in her demeanor gave me hope from my defeat.
"Excuse me a moment, but I need to take something for pain."
I took my fatal drink in hand and poured it down the drain.
From the Bible she read scriptures of comfort for my need.
I felt a glimmer of hope and in my mind I did concede
that what I had been missing was a reason to go on living.
Rebecca was a lifeline that night, instilling my faith and giving
me a new outlook on life. A visit from this Jehovah's Witness,
her knock upon my door, and my misery was turned into bliss.
December 21st 2015
Who is Knocking at My Door Contest
Sponsor: Tammy Reams
I'm sitting down on the fading couch,
awaiting the pearls to dribble off her lips.
My mixed up life seeks the comfort of words
to ease the wounds sewn by life's rips.
She spins tales from her journal of yesterday,
but nothing heals this hole in my heart.
Her ancient face trembles with emotion,
trying to give my boring self a jump start.
Numbly, I listen to these piercing sounds of advice,
sifting through the fractured thoughts of my brain.
Her mouth keeps pouring out distant sentences,
submerging my head within her long lost pain.
The medicine of relief comes when her voice ends,
and golden silences embraces my weary ears.
A secure smile strengthens her belief
that her prized advice would ease my tears.
Golden Lungs breathe in the light.
Fumes, and doom singe the open air streams death contagions disintegrate.
Pomegranate embraces the sense that walks in the light along the fences we climbed.
I wish I could keep this feeling pirouetting in the palms of my hands.
Fears cower in hunger of endless biting never able to sever the tissue.
This isn't how we are made up to be.
Vocal ideas ferment in the vat overflown, and laid to rest forgotten as cruel men are raised, and went.
Knees, elbows, and the contours of our frame walk into wilderness.
They could never find me, or let me leave.
From nightmares, to daycare, and extended absence.
Shame has long been perfected and complete.
The circles end, and the linear thoughts get up and start walking into long ranges.
Boundaries are discarded the edge of touchdowned dawn stretched across forgotten faces.
Obscurity, untouchable, included in the absentee ballots of conditions that produced us in lust, smoke, and grief.
Somewhere we were planned for.
The gentle frames painted out like alphabets on morning hung horizons.
Presence longed for in the cloudy afternoons where they recruited the best, and buried the rest in the wake of trash heaps that shower us in garbage.
Repurposed, Reselling us the same plastic we burn every night.
Igniting in our veins.
Pretending we forgot.
Pain always changes.
Standing on the edge of sonar, summer, and widening free.
Searching for the glimmers the son shines through.
I love chocolate, all sorts of chocolate,
The darker and browner the better.
I love it like the Greek love their bread,
When their bread is covered in Feta.
A shout out to Cadbury and Nestle,
The companies making our dreams come true.
Making everything chocolate: cookies, cakes, and bars,
And even making chocolate shampoo.
Some say chocolate’s a medicine, a type of food group,
To others it’s a lifestyle choice.
I say chocolate gives everyone a serious reason to smile,
A serious reason to rejoice.
It makes us feel happy when sad, confident when not,
Forgetting all our troubles and woes.
It makes us feel delighted, ecstatic, perky and tickled,
From our head right down to our toes.
And the best time of year, every single year,
The Easter Bunny hops around quiet as a mouse.
He’ll be here soon, leaving hundreds and thousands of eggs,
Eggs made of chocolate all over the house.
Imagine paranoid schizophrenia evolving
as Right-hemispheric totalitarian bipolarity
living in a rabid stress-filled ecosystem
of dismaying relationships
with human nature over-populating systems;
right-winged family
and those other terrorist aliens.
Now imagine paranoid behavior's function
finds an entirely natural schizopathic response
to an abusive
marginalizing
institutionalizing monocultural reaction against madness
wildness
discontinuous liberation of ego-identity
explored within one eco-primal Othered.
We used to call less paranoid, more manic, bipolarity
Shamans and Prophets,
witches and androgenous medicine [wu wei]men,
wizards and saintly dry sages,
wise old crones,
messiahs and muses and wise womb/men,
mystics and hermaphroditic hermits,
awesome pot heads
and opium worshipers.
Now we call such mediums
schizophrenic and really nothing more empathic,
other than paranoid, of course.
We fail to remember that economically disempowering paranoia
is co-empathic intuition
worthy of rational political merit
if "they" really have decided you are merely insane,
without any cultural or commercial value.
Our purpose
and perhaps even our sacred promise
remain clouded in unknowing.
For hyper-curious co-arising dipolarity,
a constantly stressing threat
of perpetual solitary confinement,
deep listening
in silent echoing silos
of trauma's non-communication
Ominously silent noise
followed by angry
frightened monotheistic voices
screaming prophecies of AnthroSupremacist doom
Reciting slender mythic HerStory memories
of lost panentheistic potential.
When Azrael* comes knocking, it won’t be with bony fists,
I believe, he’ll be a Doctor, with a cure,
Or a Maiden with her posies, a Knight jousting in the lists,
Or a gently whistling, mournful Troubadour.
When my time has come for leaving, I believe, I’ll punch him out,
Though I’ll break my hand in doing it, I’m sure
Or he’ll duck the blow and throw me o’er his shoulder like some lout
And I’ll have to go with him to Evermore.
I suppose he’s used to fearsome images, limned in the mind,
Where spectres, spooks and ghouls widely endure
But I think he’s just a jailer, come to open (and be kind)
The way out of a cage that serves, no more.
So, when he brings his medicine, I think I’ll swallow it,
And thank him for the friends he’s brought with him
I don’t believe he’ll be a jolly soul, although I wit
He’ll stroke my bald head, turn the lights to dim…
Or, when she shows me posies, with a certain tranquil air,
I deeply will inhale, nod, go to sleep,
And let her cool my hot brow with a hand that isn’t there,
Give thanks, she’s eased the passage I must keep.
Or, when he boldly rides at me, sharp angle to his spear,
I’ll bellow out a challenge, DING! his helm,
And keep my seat, take point through shield, ride at him without fear,
And know my lady watches o’er the realm.
Or, lastly, when he whistles a low tune that stills my heart,
I’ll join in, softly sing along with him,
As he plucks his sombre lute strings I will hum the descant part
And slowly fade away, heart in the trim.
____________
*Azrael – in Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s poem of the same name, the Angel of Death
2/28/2019
sometimes i fantasize about
driving on the highway
going eighty
and swerving into oncoming traffic
will that make the hurting stop?
walking somewhere
alone in the dark
and getting cornered by a murderer
will that make the hurting stop?
being home alone
door bursts open
an intruder with a gun pointed right at me
aimed right at my head
will that make the hurting stop?
the medicine cabinet torn apart
four pill bottles scattered around me
all once full
now empty
will that make the hurting stop?
a blade in my hand, pressed to my wrist
finally brave enough
to go deeper than just the surface
will that make the hurting stop?
going to bed one night
head laid on my tear-stained pillow
and never waking up again
will that make the hurting stop?
will the hurting ever stop?
or am i destined to live like this forever?
i'm not even living anymore
i'm just surviving
barely surviving
against my own will