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Psychedelic Poetry

A Friend with Weed  Is a Friend Indeed



The Stoner’s Cross

Marijuana monitors and maintains stability, 

In terms of mood and mentality, 

In actuality it’s a controlling agent, 

To calm the mind and ease dissent,

Money spent on borrowed time,

Time well spent within my mind,

The bent of my character takes me there,

And all the time I’m more aware,

Not even scared, oh isn’t this fine?

To have an herb so warm and kind?


One Good Night I’ll Nicely Bake

A drug that works to ease life’s jerks,

Is a staunch ally against frequent hurts, 

Aliases taste of just desserts,

And all types of personality quirks,

Whether it’s Purple Haze or Blue Dream,

I puff puff my days, if you know what I mean,

I hop on a train, flying through the slip-stream,

As I blast off with a head full of steam,

A fast cough and I’m bursting at the seams,

And my head is full of vivid dreams,

So it seems, it seems to me,

What it is and what it can be,

When I make the time to take the pain,

It’s my own mind I do regain,

I'm stirred not shaken, reawakened,

When my head breaks open I’m merry making,

It’s the icing, I'm the cake, 

One good night I'll nicely bake.



Spirals Hold Power


An Overdose of Chaos

A day before a move, a friend and me in tow,

And two bags of mushrooms for things to know,

I took a drink first, a foolish thing to do,

This caused many hurts and I know it is true,

Soon into the trip, The Fear encroached,

And on the horizon the sunset approached,

Back into the car to drive around town,

What a night to remember the things I had found,

My head blasted open, total loss of control,

And since then I’m hoping I will be made whole,

My words and my arms spinning frantically crazy,

While tornadoes of thought would erupt and not phase me,

The energy amazed me, but I was all lost,

And my sanity and humanity is what that night cost,

Blue and red lights of a sudden at night,

Throwing up out the window far out of sight,

So many words had I heard on that evening,

And my thoughts have now changed into something less pleasing,

Much madness and more had been caused due to this,

And yet gladness and scores have still brought me much bliss,

I know now for sure that my mind won’t desist,

And it has an allure that I cannot resist,

Doors opened, the spirit travels,

And in its own time, reality unravels,

Until a day comes when I lay down in bed,

And soon drift away to sleep like the dead.


A Three Day Prayer

My words, warrior poetry,

So absurd, they don’t know it’s me,

Thinking of God, a spiraling doom,

They were all awed, by me and my mushroom,

I stayed wide awake, throughout those three nights,

My soul was at stake, and their minds in a fright,

And then my delight, watching on TV,

A political prayer circle, I knew caused by me,

I’d used telepathy, and warrior poetry,

To incite the world, and let The Spirit be free,

These people know not, these things that I’d done,

And the ticket I bought, my efforts had won,

A humbling moment, for the high and the great,

Who held hands in hands, and ended debate.




Long Silly Days


The Merry-Go-Round was Found out of the Ground

One long evening, beginning in daylight,

We dropped three hits each and were out of sight,

The Simpsons were on, half hour from ground zero,

And already my dawn was a youthful hero,

I laughed like a faun, and danced with such energy,

Generating more, just being freely,

The hilarity was a score, but it was more than that for me,

At those times I adored the conditions of reality,

In actuality I abhor my wasteful teenage mentality,

And rather deplore, my devastation eventuality,

But at those times I was more, and the ultimate destiny,

Was for me to hit the floor and lose what was best in me,

We walked all over town, stopped with a friend for a six-pack,

And sat on the ground, drinking up with our chronic sacks,

Onward we went to the center of town,

Where delinquents were wrecking a merry-go-round,

I ran full bore, ramming speed in my high,

Then jumping around from side to side,

They were pushing it up from one end to the other,

Until the big bolt in the middle was uncovered,

I was dancing and diving all over in joy,

While all these huge guys were just playing like boys,

At last we all lifted, the center bolt snapped,

And we dropped it at once, and stopped for a laugh,

The final result was a roll down a hill,

Into a streambed where it lay down still,

The clang rang our heads, and we knew we were done,

We knew when to run when we’d had all our fun,

The crazy thing is, the police station in town,

Was just then in sight of that raucous young sound,

All this loud noise, these girls and boys,

Destroying this spinning, whirling toy.


The Squirrels in my Brain

A two day camping trip, and we brought along,

Five hits of acid very strong,

The last night there at four a.m.

I returned to our campsite and woke up my friend,

“Let’s take the hits,” I said right then, And in a bit, we did it again,

At first the fire’s ashes glowed,

In dim twilight in the ever-groves,

Sifting like sands of time in the pit,

Where once before we’d cooked on spits,

The day breaks, our heads break, and then it begins,

What was at stake is my confession of sins,

I ranted and raved while I paced round so madly,

And I had behaved at that time very badly,

On our neighboring site a man climbed from his tent,

And looked at us knowing our minds had been bent,

I was going in circles, going on and on,

How I was a drunk, in that far off dawn,

“I’m a living monument to alcohol abuse!”

Pouring beers on my head like my mind had cut loose,

 And playing my guitar, my friend going insane,

Yelling, “Squirrels, squirrels, squirrels…squirrels in my brain!”


Mockingbird Spirit-Guide

One day with two friends, we went to the woods,

With a vial of acid that was strong and good,

The liquid in eyedropper, the silent world-stopper,

And we did what we did because we knew we should,

Finishing the whole thing, three ways it went,

Eleven hits each and our minds were bent, At first hilarity, a little bit of weed,

And then a bird’s song so my soul was freed,

“Come along,” it did say, and what did I do?

I followed it away to see if it was true,

Leading me into the woods all around,

And singing a song of the places I’d found,

Reading between the mockingbird’s lines,

I hear words of English deep in my mind,

It taught me a lesson, about my own life,

Like God’s voice singing about all my strife,

My life was a mess, so it said to me,

And though it did not show me my destiny,

It loved me, I believe, and it took me then back,

Back to my friends the bird’s song I did track,

It’s absurd, but is it?  The Native people know,

These things are quite real and it’s always been so,

In this way I healed, my wound was then closed,

It’s strange how God works, like nobody knows.





Delightful Mental Treats

Deep Mystical Trance

Death Medium Tapestry


A Potion for Emotion, A Tonic for the Nerves…

A potion for emotion, a tonic for the nerves,

A magic hat, a bit of a laugh, a touch of the absurd,

A tincture for tinkling waterfalls,

A daydream dropsy sip,

A simmering stew of things we knew,

A youthful energy hit,

A bubbling boiling broth,

Simmering stewing hot,

A Goddess? Yes,

And She’s the best,

Ayahuasca hits the spot.


Waterfall Cascade Effect

The rushes and reads, the endless good deeds,

Being real is the seed of the feelings you need,

The touches make much and much more to be free,

And get me into this reality,

A wash of the senses, awash and intense,

Not dense or relentlessly bent on Intent,

A moment too fine to not be so divine,

Better than wine I always will find,

In my mind She will go and I reap what I sow,

And She wants me to know that Her fate is sublime.


The Healer and Diviner

A cure for many of modern man’s ills,

Things that in this world I must treat with pills,

Depression, despondency, despair, disillusionment,

These things will then pass like its heaven sent,

Insomnia, psychosis, the absence of love,

These things can be cured, with help from above,

The Grandmother of the people, Ayahuasca is She,

And strong in Intent and Her divinity,

A will bent on positive, good energy,

And a lesson to learn, to set my soul free,

A teacher of things, both unique and sublime,

Like how to feel Spirit, and step out of time,

How to live healthy and know thine own self,

How to reap in funds of spiritual wealth,

Like lucid dreaming, enhanced consciousness,

And moments so perfect that stretch out in bliss,

Good spirits to draw on for comfort and solace,

And when I can hear it I like to be flawless,

The ability to see, like “the sight” that is known,

By many it seems to whom truth has been shown,

A light in the darkness, a flood of good feeling,

A way to find help when at times I am reeling,

A path to choose in this world so mundane,

A way to let loose and yet not go insane,

A source of inspiration about infinity,

A way of regaining your lost destiny.



Old Man Mountain Is my Grandfather


Cactus Jack

Cactus Jack, oh cactus Jack,

Went on a trip and never came back,

His vacation extended beyond his years,

Beyond the laughter and the tears,

He ran farther and faster than all of his fears,

And left behind all traces of peers,

Cactus Jack, oh cactus Jack,

He went a long way, and never came back.



The Crashing Boom is the Mark of Doom

I wandered about, holding in my own pain,

My mind went down south, and I did it again,

The bang in my house in the room of creation,

And I had no doubt, it was my demonstration,

The old man and the mountain, in the hills of the North,

And all of the hosts of the ghosts will come forth,

Things that go bump in the night can be frightful,

But often results are awesome and delightful,

Shining rings of light, and Seeing things brightly,

Tucked in and tight, this happens to me nightly,

The pain sunk in once, with the cactus so plenty,

I was a dunce; it was not really meant for me,

But the pain went away with the Buddha in mind,

And compassion held sway over aching in kind,

I drifted that day, alone in my room,

The price that I pay which is always my doom.


Bright Colors, Candy Cake Boxes

I boiled down the buttons,

Hours and hours in the dark of early morn,

Until the sun rose,

And dawn broke around me,

Drinking the brew was easy,

Bitter but not to be sick,

Then came the waiting,

A voice rose from the dark sea,

Compelling, conscious,

It took form as a man,

And seemed to be a tyrant,

I laughed in his face,

And out my door I went,

Driving around,

To the grocery store,

Where I saw the lights and colors,

I remember stopping to pause,

Upon boxes of cake,

So bright the colors were!