Morpheus' Most Beautiful and Wicked Daughter
I must apologise at the outset for having been awful quiet of late. This poem will go a long way towards explaining why. Essentially, long story short, I have had an impacted wisdom tooth, which I have needed to have removed for several years now, but because non-essential dental surgery is not covered under my Govt. health plan, and also because I haven't had a good enough job to offer dental coverage in quite a long time, I was essentially in a position of having to find a way to pay for the surgery out of my own pocket, as it was always considered "non-essential elective surgery".
Unfortunately, as of about a week ago, the situation suddenly blew up into a bona-fide emergency, as I developed a severe infection in my jaw, my neck, and which spread up to my ears. My face and chin quite literally looks like a lopsided version of Herman Munster, and my neck makes me look like the Michelin Man. Likewise, the swelling made it so that I could no longer open my jaw wide enough to eat solid food, and even trying to speak was absolute agony.
I eventually was booked in for emergency surgery on the 15th (as they have to try and get the swelling down enough that they can even open the jaw wide enough to perform the surgery), and I have been in an absolute physical Hell of some of the worst pain I have ever experienced in my life.
I am also doped up to the gills on Oxycocet, which has proven to be the only thing that even touches the pain. However, I am also finding out the hard way all about the very nasty side-effects and high price that Oxycocet demands for doing her job.
Hence, this poem has quite literally been written in a bizarre fog of pain and detachment...
One final bit about it, I also used a bit of inspiration from a job I used to have in the early nineties, where I worked in a pharmacy that prescribed Methadone. One day, the pharmacist passed me a note telling me to go and get her some orange juice to mix with the methadone, as she was too busy to leave the pharmacy and do it herself.
Except...
Her writing made "orange juice" look more like "ovary juice". I realised even then just how beautifully Freudian that really was, and I've been waiting for a chance to use it ever since.
So, I'll fully admit that I'm no Samuel Taylor Coleridge, and will never be, but this has indeed given me an opportunity to write a poem while chasing the proverbial dragon.
And finally, this situation is also forcing me into a situation, where I may be missing up to a week of work when all is said and done, and although I am looking at my options for accessing unemployment support, in the mean time, I am no longer able to pay my rent this month. So, I would humbly beseech all of you, who do appreciate reading my work, to PLEASE consider picking up a copy of my poetry collection off of lulu.com, because right about now, every little bit will help. (Again, the paperback is pretty cheap)
Thanks...
Now, as for the poem...
Morpheus' Most Beautiful and Wicked Daughter -©2013 by Trevor Patrick
A gift of Opium the Chinese dragon,
Borne to life with her floral tears,
From a scintillated egg laid on Paracelsus' murky banks,
Burst wise Morpheus of Dreams.
He soon took Medicine & Science,
As his happy, blushing brides,
Their eyes apple-bright, cheeks poppy-red,
They all shared the bridal bed that night.
The first of their children was Diacetyl the Heroic,
Followed not long after by Paregoric the Stoic,
Third in this family was Laudanum the Syrup-Drinker,
And the fourth and smallest of this early brood was Little Codeine the Thinker.
Each of them had their own, unique virtue,
Which often came at high long-term price,
Where the able helper transforms to the heartless slave-master,
And Uncle Thanatos always hungrily sought his prize.
For centuries they lived happily in their smoke-filled dens,
And professional offices filled with ponderous, leather tomes,
'Til the days of embarrassing Opium Wars,
And inconvenient Boxer Revolts.
And of course, in the West, we had the Yellow Peril,
From Fu Manchu to Charlie Chan...
And after all, if the Chinaman can't live without his dope,
Then we can live without the Chinaman!
By this time, Wise Morpheus and his ageless Brides,
Fully understood the danger their small family was in,
But as always, the answer came to him in constant visions,
He'd simply reinvent himself once again.
Soon enough, new children came along,
In the sterile confines of pharmaceutical machines,
Far removed from the ancient houses of literary inspiration,
And the Xanadu of Coleridge's dreams.
The first of this new, synthetic brood,
Was Methadone the Hag.
Trading her ovary juice for orange juice,
And a no-questions-asked paper bag.
Up and down the Ghetto Streets,
Just a shufflin' she'd go,
Muttering and sobbing loudly to herself:
Just Say No... JUST SAY NO!
But the most beautiful and wicked,
Of these new daughters by far,
Was Oxycodone the white bombshell,
In her TEC-35 NASCAR.
Take you for a little spin,
And take your pain away,
Though nervous, dizzy and shivering,
You think you might actually make it through the day.
You understand her increasing price,
And the other things she takes,
But you understand how awful it would be,
Should she suddenly slam on the brakes.
Priapus no longer visits,
And Sterquilinus no longer cares,
Only Crepitus refuses to leave,
Though there's no reason for him to be here.
But if this is the choice between the lonely fog,
And the higher price in pain,
All I can do is quietly sob,
And wait for things to be normal once again.
Unfortunately, as of about a week ago, the situation suddenly blew up into a bona-fide emergency, as I developed a severe infection in my jaw, my neck, and which spread up to my ears. My face and chin quite literally looks like a lopsided version of Herman Munster, and my neck makes me look like the Michelin Man. Likewise, the swelling made it so that I could no longer open my jaw wide enough to eat solid food, and even trying to speak was absolute agony.
I eventually was booked in for emergency surgery on the 15th (as they have to try and get the swelling down enough that they can even open the jaw wide enough to perform the surgery), and I have been in an absolute physical Hell of some of the worst pain I have ever experienced in my life.
I am also doped up to the gills on Oxycocet, which has proven to be the only thing that even touches the pain. However, I am also finding out the hard way all about the very nasty side-effects and high price that Oxycocet demands for doing her job.
Hence, this poem has quite literally been written in a bizarre fog of pain and detachment...
One final bit about it, I also used a bit of inspiration from a job I used to have in the early nineties, where I worked in a pharmacy that prescribed Methadone. One day, the pharmacist passed me a note telling me to go and get her some orange juice to mix with the methadone, as she was too busy to leave the pharmacy and do it herself.
Except...
Her writing made "orange juice" look more like "ovary juice". I realised even then just how beautifully Freudian that really was, and I've been waiting for a chance to use it ever since.
So, I'll fully admit that I'm no Samuel Taylor Coleridge, and will never be, but this has indeed given me an opportunity to write a poem while chasing the proverbial dragon.
And finally, this situation is also forcing me into a situation, where I may be missing up to a week of work when all is said and done, and although I am looking at my options for accessing unemployment support, in the mean time, I am no longer able to pay my rent this month. So, I would humbly beseech all of you, who do appreciate reading my work, to PLEASE consider picking up a copy of my poetry collection off of lulu.com, because right about now, every little bit will help. (Again, the paperback is pretty cheap)
Thanks...
Now, as for the poem...
Morpheus' Most Beautiful and Wicked Daughter -©2013 by Trevor Patrick
A gift of Opium the Chinese dragon,
Borne to life with her floral tears,
From a scintillated egg laid on Paracelsus' murky banks,
Burst wise Morpheus of Dreams.
He soon took Medicine & Science,
As his happy, blushing brides,
Their eyes apple-bright, cheeks poppy-red,
They all shared the bridal bed that night.
The first of their children was Diacetyl the Heroic,
Followed not long after by Paregoric the Stoic,
Third in this family was Laudanum the Syrup-Drinker,
And the fourth and smallest of this early brood was Little Codeine the Thinker.
Each of them had their own, unique virtue,
Which often came at high long-term price,
Where the able helper transforms to the heartless slave-master,
And Uncle Thanatos always hungrily sought his prize.
For centuries they lived happily in their smoke-filled dens,
And professional offices filled with ponderous, leather tomes,
'Til the days of embarrassing Opium Wars,
And inconvenient Boxer Revolts.
And of course, in the West, we had the Yellow Peril,
From Fu Manchu to Charlie Chan...
And after all, if the Chinaman can't live without his dope,
Then we can live without the Chinaman!
By this time, Wise Morpheus and his ageless Brides,
Fully understood the danger their small family was in,
But as always, the answer came to him in constant visions,
He'd simply reinvent himself once again.
Soon enough, new children came along,
In the sterile confines of pharmaceutical machines,
Far removed from the ancient houses of literary inspiration,
And the Xanadu of Coleridge's dreams.
The first of this new, synthetic brood,
Was Methadone the Hag.
Trading her ovary juice for orange juice,
And a no-questions-asked paper bag.
Up and down the Ghetto Streets,
Just a shufflin' she'd go,
Muttering and sobbing loudly to herself:
Just Say No... JUST SAY NO!
But the most beautiful and wicked,
Of these new daughters by far,
Was Oxycodone the white bombshell,
In her TEC-35 NASCAR.
Take you for a little spin,
And take your pain away,
Though nervous, dizzy and shivering,
You think you might actually make it through the day.
You understand her increasing price,
And the other things she takes,
But you understand how awful it would be,
Should she suddenly slam on the brakes.
Priapus no longer visits,
And Sterquilinus no longer cares,
Only Crepitus refuses to leave,
Though there's no reason for him to be here.
But if this is the choice between the lonely fog,
And the higher price in pain,
All I can do is quietly sob,
And wait for things to be normal once again.