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Stuart Patterson Poem
Bliss with a kiss
A moment in time with a prick
in the arm and a rush
of confusion and infusion.
Opiate racing through my
circulation. It’s horrific
bliss with heroin’s kiss
My nose is itchy, and my tongue
is dry. Stomach retching.
Is this the high they spoke about
when sharing the wonders of poison
in brown wrapped in paper looking for
citric mixed with dihydrogen oxide?
I’m zoned out now from the moment and
life. It takes eleven years
to wake up from that prick.
A show of red in the beginning and the end.
Copyright © Stuart Patterson | Year Posted 2020
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Stuart Patterson Poem
I need a fix or ahm gonnae die
eyes drift open
and
already its
there that
horrible sick feel
crawling its way
up to my throat
the restlessness kicking
out from my knee
letting me know,
as this bully
holds me down,
but forces
me into
acknowledging
how subtly and masterfully my life
is now owned
with nose running,
head spinning
leg kicking,
stomach churning
mind wondering,
aches throbbing and
gut contents looking
to escape through to
their pipes quicker
than i can handle
“is there anything
under my
mattress? how
short am I?
are my tools able?
last time it was barbed
pulling my skin
ripping and tugging
blood from there
reminding me what
a fool I been
if no good who
is near I can
get a hit from
i need that thin
one to mill
my hope from a mix
of smack and water
and abdine with heat
through a fag end filter
drawing death on
the instal-
ment
plan
I need a fix or ahm gonnae die
I need to move and get
up but the terror grab-
bing my mind freaking
me out and convincing
me i’m going to die bef-
ore i can even get thro-
ugh the door im boxed
in by this fear in every
cell within capturing a
moment dragged out to
an eternity as climbing
the walls im draggin up
my feet to my chest and
terror grabs my throat I
don’t know what to do i
need a fix now so i drag
one foot now out to the
floor and put it down as
i force the other to foll
ow through, im pushing
the edge of my box and
then it kicks in my mind
sees the image of a wee
paper wrap just under it
near to where my hope
is sure that its gonna be
over real soon i can get
out of this box and rush
the terror and gut pull
and leg kicks and nose
runs and head knocks
i need my lighter and
spoon and so very soon
im gonna be fixed able
to get oot a this box and
oot a this room and oot
intae thae streets to get
mair cash oot a whaur
ever ah cin so ahm able
tae avoid the fear creepin
up oan me again.
ah hate bein strung oot
©Stuart Patterson 2019
Copyright © Stuart Patterson | Year Posted 2020
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Details |
Stuart Patterson Poem
So much more I could say
about everything from those days,
the times at the shops hardly touched
with hands out, but laughing
for cash for the drugs.
Or snowball fights with the men in blue
who wore black, but anyhoo.
The long weekends in Maryhill nick
cos Baird Street was full (hmm that don’t stick).
The bundles of tems hid behind the wall
When cash in my hand I sold them all.
Running about with bags of v
knowing in plain sight, the Police couldn’t see
Break ins and break outs,
Shops, cars and vans;
it was the life we lived
we all thought “I’m the man”.
So maybe another book,
might even be two
will open the door to
what I went through.
I haven’t scratched the
surface of life
with Jesus in view,
three daughters, and
a wife.
This gift of life so new
of moving on through
life in St Mark’s
Blenders and Jobcare
and Ballykeel Two.
©Stuart Patterson 2019
Copyright © Stuart Patterson | Year Posted 2020
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Stuart Patterson Poem
Where are you?
Why do you let them do this to me?
I never chose to be born
in a housing scheme.
I never chose the life you gave me.
The “friends” I am surrounded by,
the opportunities thrown my way
– you know like wandering
around steep canyons of three
storey tenements with misery seeping
out most windows–
every night because YOU deemed WE
were unworthy of anything else.
Why do you cause me to
fear the flashing blue – the
wailing noise screaming
“me get - you now - me get - you now”
causing me to search for any wrongdoings
I may have missed in my own acts.
Lovely silver bracelets tying me up
in fear because of the streets I
tread and NOT the
acts I have done –
I am guilty because of a
post code
and YOU – justice - scream
out that I must prove
my innocence –
because of a post code.
Copyright © Stuart Patterson | Year Posted 2020
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Stuart Patterson Poem
A space on the wall,
it refused to allow me
to move into the zone
and free me from
the prison of the
written words that challenged
me to be free from them.
The very act of telling me
to forget them compelled
me to remember.
How difficult
it is to drift into space.
Copyright © Stuart Patterson | Year Posted 2020
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Details |
Stuart Patterson Poem
Pause
Selah, Just a moment, Time out, Reflection, Consideration, Marinate, Recalibrate
Set off again
© Stuart Patterson 2020
Copyright © Stuart Patterson | Year Posted 2020
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