Long Opiates Poems
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It's seven weeks now into my recovery,
too much couch time and lots of tv..
I stopped my subscription to CNN, no longer
in need of a biased news trend..
My local news channels have kept me in touch,
with the weather, crimes, and opiates too much..
I discovered the World Channel is just what I need,
a global perspective with the most balanced feed..
Penn State offers this broadcast for free and it
comes with wonderful educational documentaries to see..
I love learning about people and cultures I'll never see, on
our wonderful planet with such diversity.
Their journeys, their struggles, their resiliency,
restores my faith in humanity..
Tears on Mother Liberty
Plutocracy the society they created through the Trump towers, now they regret it Like Iraq having no democracy.
Theocracy seems Like the answer for now, for evil has ruined what was once a great nation, Living all hopeless and faithless.
God bless America!
Down your tools, raise your fists and continue the dream of Martin Luther King bring shame to the fiend debilitating our society.
No more shooting, instead put the blame on Putin and realize BLACKLIVESMATTER.
We can't kill each other or else the assassination of John. F. Kennedy is not an abomination, recreation these kids seizing on opiates therefore we need purple rain through the Prince of peace.
The circus in the White House like Clinton, soldier on like Hilary and let the heart of Obama infect us all with Love for one another whether you black, white, Latino or whatever we are America!
With one last sip, she starts to slip
her mind is gone, she's lost her grip.
An image came she'll not forget
of hellish anquish in a pit.
She drifted back to childhood years
when she would often play in tears -
her brother's pranks that stranded her
on creekbed rocks, became a blur.
Still farther back in mem'ry past
she saw herself as sinking fast
into a tub of pouring rain
afraid of swooshing down the drain.
And now her mind's eye takes its turn
she flags, unable to discern
her left from right nor up from down;
no color left, all things are brown.
Her hearing's next to take a dip
and then her heart begins to skip.
Her drink was laced with LSD
or opiates in poppy tea?
No real harm done, she saw red lights,
and learned a lesson, learned her rights.
Was it just luck she did not flip?
She never took another trip.
iambic tetrameter
written 4/15/2012
The bonewind speaks remiss of bone
Always pulling up and headed towards the foam
When the mermaid skins were like scales in signature
Falling off aenome or when the sea was our home
A man is awkward in his body
looking at the sky, he begins to callibrate
the waxpull of Daedulus, winged towards the narrow
shelf of the wind, pulled up to glance and speculate
When the Seasons should change, why they had ceased to change
spring into winter or fall descending
into lime or tangerine
the sasspool punks skating July like hot raindrops
Of Lemon Sugar Candy
With their Mohawk paintings, their sundial porches
Hit the Video with a privilidge so positive
Even Dali couldn't surrender his Vision to the Lord
The Surreal Elephants dancing tragically in the Wind
in the Bonewind
that had started somewhere lost
Some place Deep in the Forests of Lebanon or Antigua
Or maybe the tragedy of Dawn was no Infinite Tragedy
or Sea of Memory
with the Unwelcome Sun reminding us of the long shadow we once cast
Against the Dim Chaos, the garden of Remorse
The Hopeless Treason Against God and his Own
Once two, but not two of light
Only shadows, like shadows longing for light
Cleaved in Stone within the Wall of the Cave
Not desicatted to Gleam Brass or break the Distance from Virgin Night
But Cast in New Eyes to see more clearly now
The path of Travails and the Raptors Ascent
Incredible eagles through the veil and Hellbent
Hell of the Moon the station and the sent
The ones who knew the devils hand, what was borrowed, what was lent
Daedulus looked and there was no one left
Kept Flying up over and away the bereft
Casting the Prism with its Diurnal Motion and radiant Breast
The spectral eye spectared by the passing of worlds
Into their own unknown
path of mysterious orb and Crest
From Enchanted spins to who knows but where the chaos Goes
Out hitting into longcast Rays, the specks of Crystal
Stretching the lavender opiates with long eyes
As celestial clouds well up with obsidian aether
Making a haphazard flight out of Nightengales in the ForestSky
But now the Sun is not out
once again the quiet of Night
its black cunning and whisper of Fright
not divided, but glistening -- extending --growing in Might
The DEA will this condemn:
Some pain sufferers take Kratom
Big pharma must reign
They'll rely on chicane
To keep addicts addicted to them
Author's Note: Kratom comes from a relative of the coffee plant. The active ingredient is mitragynine. While this substance acts as a pain killer, it appears much less addictive than the opiates supplied by big pharma. Thousands of people swear by it, and have used it to wean themselves off of more addictive drugs and alcohol. Research on mice has shown that at least mice do not become addicted to this substance. So, naturally, the next step is to ban it!! Do you suppose the drug companies had something to say to the regulators? Thanks uncle sam.
WAITING IN LIMBO
Sitting on the muddy banks
Of faded realities,
Lingering in the spaces of time,
Lost souls struggle:
Seeking another Dreamer.
Powering pawn brokers,
Tighten their mogering grasp
Beyond the setting sun;
Leaving frailed victories festering
And waning in winds of change:-
White opiates coagulate,
Flowing black dreams
Of mesmerized minds;
Oblivious to fading freedoms
Chained and rotting away:-
As time and life sag on,
Let’s not be as a drooping bosom
Sagging due to incised-bleeding;
Rather, let’s be as pregnant wombs
Breaking waters of liberating justice:-
Indeed, let’s scream renewed life,
Nourished keloid-ancestral-navels,
Waxed and hardened by sarcasm
Against the trumping-musky rhetoric
Streaming against democratic equity:-
Paraphrasing Dickens
speaking of Great Expectations
through Pip's distraining voice,
Our worst religious weaknesses
and political meannesses
and self and other deprivations
are usually committed
for the sake of avoiding elitist people
whom we most actively distrust.
On the other hand,
trust invites vulnerability
as distraining poverty embraces wealth,
honesty,
integrity,
expanding democracy
and cooperative co-investment.
Oppressive religious and cultural repressions and suppressions
are opiates of multiculturing people
When monoculturing elitists
offer religious opiate addictions to domesticating ritual
thereby over-ruling democratic spiritual experience
of daily natural and cooperative liturgies.
Polycultural non-elites,
like young organic gardeners of polyphonics
and ecofeminist transgendering designers,
thrive best within an alliance
of the gentle and broken,
vulnerable and open
to new cooperative intimacies,
gentrifying neighborhoods and families
and hearts
designed by rural-memory values
for nutrition that also nurtures,
health that also wealths,
climates embracing edible and richly colored landscapes,
mindshapes
of and for regenerating
future generations
of and for polycultural cooperative EliteNetworks,
neither opiated
nor nervously nirvanaed nellies
nor disappointed
that WinLose investment
didn't turn out
as WinWin actively hoped for
through EcoPolitical Constitutions
reborn in and through each matriarchal ego/eco-doublebound
organic governing womb,
probably not so Dystopically Opiated,
at least in our moments of original cooperative conception.
Or, we could end less simply Dickens,
with Great Expectations for avoiding:
Our worst religious weaknesses
and political meannesses
and self and other deprivations,
usually committed
for the sake of avoiding elitist people
(and other divine personages,
distraining gods and goddesses)
whom we most actively,
LeftBrain dominantly,
distrust.
It would seem, that, humans,
Too sensitive to deal with the harshness of life
Prefer to fly on clouds, even if temporarily
To make themselves believe
That existing can be made of goodness!
Opiates, making of them zombies,
Accrue! And selling lords, depending on these
Turn into millionaires, selfishly patting their stomachs
After each meal they pay themselves with the dependency of
These frail souls!
Why, would it be too much to see humans self-imbibed with faith
Regardless of however such may be presented, but,
Having as sole aim, the drive and the power
Which would allow them to live their ascribed due
While keeping a mental check that everything about life
Is temporary; from pleasures to pain;
From satisfactions to miseries
From smiles to bloody tears!
Why, would those same opiate yearning suffering souls
Not have opened their wings
And spread the warmth of their soul
Across lands and seas?
Pray, Earth is a mere prison, and we, humans
Have broadened limits
Though we do have the capacities to cross borders
In the very end, we find roots grown from our feet
And fastening us to Earth’s soils
Till the winds of the unknown
Blow out our candles and take our consciousness
Gliding across realms we are yet to discover!
Being a prison, existing here is bound to be harsh
And the power that thrust us here
Shall be merciless and cruel
While expecting us to kneel in front of it
Seeking repentance and redemption!
Escaping the reality, through temporary and addictive rides
On false and colorful clouds
Will have us ending nowhere except going in circles
In an unexplained world, revolving upon itself
And binding us to the reactions of our actions!
Opiating reality, submerging psychotic abuse
Alarming concern, immersing and suffocating us
In a sea of revulsion, in which either we drown
In its waters and turn into its foams
Or, we reach the shores guided by our intrinsic
Belief in the blinking lights of our perception of a lighthouse!
so easy to fall, and so hard to break free
somehow as a child I knew
it was as if they knew my name before I had a clue
at 10 reading books about orphans
free from the church
the dignity of evil
nuns silently brought
the battle of addiction began without meaning
images crept into my head at ten
child orphans hooked on opiates
living on the street homeless
but somehow free
my time as a child skipped over
teen experimentation
no social life
and straight into motherhood
the first time I ran from myself
9 months of being a teen
happy, unknowing
thrown straight into postpartum trauma
with a child of an older man
who knew everything
gaslight dreams flickering
fading with every press
morphine drip, and 3 months asleep
surgical birth
I didn't hear her cries
asleep she was taken
my ship was sinking
bonds breaking silence
anger grew like a cancer
hurricane spiraling within
my fist at the end of the funnel
ready to blow
a target in the darkness
floating on hope
circled by the unseen voices
whispering my doom
seven years of a precious life
lost to me
“end it all”
“leave it all behind”
ashamed, grasping at threads
death refused to take me
shouting “fight with patience”
through the thick
the echoes lightyears away from my ears
20 years locked up as grown child
mentally fatigued
10 more years locked up in the standards
of what society calls marriage
an adult thing to do
pleading for help
from grandmother's psychology degree
with the words
“keep your mouth shut for your daughter's sake,
she needs both her parents”
I ran a 2nd time
chained to my abusers
demon bound chasing
with overbearing shouts
30 missed calls in a row
shaming me, nothing was ever the right thing
couldn't have me, so stole all that they could
and the only child I ever held
10 years of tears
angry and depressed
hating every new day
afraid of happiness
dreaming of death
unable to save my child
from barely escaping repeated
suicide attempts
kept away
stayed away
threatened by his constant
demanding
civil servants to tell me
no one could help
without a proper court installed judgment
hellraiser dug the chains in deep
waiting for me to succeed to the pain
that kept my nervous system alight with fire
Frankii <3 Fame
5-8-2024 1:11 am
Everyone owns a piece,
a furrowed canopy casting dimness and light,
a measureless magnitude of rapture and defeat.
We are Prince Andrew at the battle of Austerlitz,
on our backs surveying boundless lofty firmament.
surrendering to tranquil silent drifts of stratocumuli,
finding our meagerness within the scale.
In temperamental squalls,
tormenting dark wrinkles restless with despair,
fling violent raindrops, hurtling us into prolonged deluge.
But pale aqua cloudless expanses befriend us,
our golden reanimated childhoods,
our glowing ripening renewals,
our blithe, balmy afternoons.
Beneath starlight’s vaulting,
where we rejoin our secret selves,
where waltzing and weeping are partners,
where laughter and grief cohabit.
The doctors have pills for this.
Tablets paint our ceilings and plaster our cracks.
The opiates topple our towers,
Even sorrow is pickpocketed in our torpor.
We have lost our stake in the macrocosm
when the lyrics of our anima are flattened.
Our acclimation to the Santa Ana winds
is our claim,
our title to be pummeled in airspace.
Detox is our emancipation,
unleashing the motion of our atmosphere,
we inhale our azure and indigo.
It is needed to play percussion,
to thrive in rhythms of life’s glory.
Published The Opiate Mag. 04/2019