Posts Tagged ‘stoned’

Fried

Posted: August 8, 2017 in poetry
Tags: , , , , , , , , , , ,

fried

 

I want to get fried under radiant skies

Toasted like heated bread

Stoned like a rock

Folded like a sock

Smashed like a broken bottle

Trashed like Shane MacGowan

I want to be high like a cloud

Weird like an anarchistic alien

Bent like a coat-hanger

Blasted like a rocket into space

Wasted like a wastrel

Till all pain is gone

And all anxiety vanquished

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Somewhere inside her madrigal mind

She hears sacred voices and longs for coitus

Somewhere inside her madrigal mind

She envelopes each moment and bangs against consumption

 

Henry wanted a moment where earth burned slowly

Henry wanted a crimson woman to listen to his bullshit

But she turned her face away

And took her lovely ass somewhere else

 

Henry ached in his hooligan wounds

Henry got baked and howled at the moon

Henry wondered if getting stoned all the time enhanced his fuckability

And decided that it didn’t

 

 

cannabis-cup-640x401

Cones make patterns in my brain

Cones will never fuck your veins

Cones make music shimmer and sing

Cones make life a better thing

Cones make sex a funky thrill

Cones are much more fun than pills

Cones will clear up your depression

Cones will help your self-expression

Cones are crumbly, cones are green

Cones will never make you mean

Cones have brought me stoner friends

Cones will make your suffering end

We smoke cannabis

Posted: December 20, 2016 in poetry
Tags: , , , , , , , , , ,

bud

We smoke cannabis

It’s so good for us

Pull another cone

And get really stoned

Have a shot of smack

And get really wacked

Do some LSD

Then some ecstacy

Please stay off the ice

It’s not very nice

I like doing drugs

Sometimes I see bugs

Tripping out my head

I will soon be dead

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I’ve been having feelings
Feelings I can’t put into words
If they are feelings
Not words
And they don’t come
All at once
But in instants,
Momentary lapses
Quieter than breathing
Seeming non-existent
Not becoming
No names or motions
Not God or air
Not normal
Not decent
I’ve been having feelings
Blind bat-like
Leather death thoughts
Esoteric nothings
Worrying particularly when stoned
No meaning
Feeling empty
Then they stopped
After a couple of weeks
I’m still not sure
What they meant

cellophane_ambernew

Cellophane trousers and corpulent kisses
Right on your bottom my hooligan love
Come to crescendo then meet round the bend
Just so invigorating doing your friend
Beaten and broken and bust and contused
Never beginning and always confused
Newspaper thoughts in your sand-paper mind
O how I wish I could leave you behind
Magnificent dreams and magnificent schemes
Comingling violence and grinning obscene
In desert, in rainbows beside the grey earth
How much does my brain cost?
What is it worth?
While crows pick the eyes from a four year old child
Life is haphazard your essence is wild
Feed me explosions and flowers and beer
Take me out dancing and let me be weird
By growing a subtly stoned grey hipster beard

piggies 037

Piggie furry piggie sweet
How I love your little feet
Piggies wheeking piggie songs
I love my piggies more than I love my bong

Martha, Mary, Molly and GP
Just some of the piggies who’ve loved me
Piggies with their own personality
Always enhance my stoned reality

stonedcharlie

Overcome, she lowers her tear-soaked eyes
Her painful soul is in shadows
Her hooligan heart hurts as if wounded physically
‘You’re always fucked up on drugs’ she says
‘I don’t know who you are anymore’ she says
‘I’m me. Just chemically enhanced’
He replies with a grin
‘Well I’ve had enough of it’ she says
‘You’re never really there,
You’re always out of your head.
I don’t want to see you anymore.’
His words stumble like a creek over rocks
‘But I love you’ he says
‘I don’t love you’ she replies
‘You’re just another stoner freak’
An image full of feeling flashes on his mental screen of her naked and curled up against his body.
The swell of her buttocks against his loins
Gone all gone
He is day-dreaming of that feeling of safeness and synergy, not sex
She glares then turns on her heel and exits the room slamming the door behind her
A tear runs down his cheek.
But he can’t show her what he feels
He can’t show himself what he feels
So he hides his love away
And gets stoned

party

Will you be there?
I will be there with my many friends
I will get drunk and stoned and run a humungous muck
I will hit on all the single women and attempt to be interesting
And some woman may find me interesting
Come on, it has happened before
Occasionally
There will be some cool bands there churning out distorted indie goodness
It will rock like a hit of cocaine
In an intimate vein

Will you be there?
It is likely that someone will choke on their own vomit
Which is a nasty way to go but better than choking on someone else’s
There will be rivers of alcohol and forests of weed
Tobacco and pot smoke will be thick as the conversation
People will exhibit joy and fascination
With each other and with the moments of togetherness
Which grow into an ecstatic peak through group synergy
Then subside into nothingness as everyone goes home to their hangovers

lonelyperson
Fuck this shit
I like women
Women don’t like me
It’s a conundrum
A paradox
Who the fuck wants to fuck a middle-aged fat bastard
Who the fuck wants to cuddle up to someone sweaty, bloated and pointless
How much longer will I self-destruct:
For love
For the sake of pain
For madness
For joy
For kicks
For blitzkrieg insanity
For lack of a good woman

I like women
Women don’t like me
I am:
Too fat
Too lonely
Too desperate
Too maudlin
Too pathetic
Too weird
Too stoned
Too drunk
So I have another beer
And I have another cigarette
I have another cone
Occasionally I have a shot
And exude infinite soul-longing for silent death-bliss
Which will come on like a shot of smack and euthanize my emptiness
And set me free to roam the realm of Spirits
With angel’s wings