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Jenny Gordon Mar 2019
Haha,



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCLXXXIII)


Of leprechauns and clover, yes...t'avail
I've neither, am in green to match fr'intents
Mine hazel eyes, and how blue heavns wear thence
Such fresh-washed golden light in sweet all hail
O me!  I'd feign go down which wooded trail
To hunt the early violets?  Mushrooms dense
Wi' import are sought out and sold for sense
Or lurid dreams, but I want that detail.
Wee white-striped, purple faces none bestir
'Cept wildest breezes, whitest virgins too,
With purple stripes across their miens in tour--
I'd love to bend and finger them anew!
Sip twa espressos, joking of, in poor
'Scuse, "faux" things we oft cherish, as all woo.

17Mar19a
...trying to mend that in texting my friend regarding leaving for that poetry gig well,....that's a topic for another stanza.
Athena Feb 2019
I want to drown myself
in ecstasy tablets
I want to fill a room with
marijuana smoke
so thick you can't see past your fingers
and fall back onto the bed
forever
I want to eat mushrooms
and lose myself
in a whole new world
and sit on the front steps of freedom
as the sun
sends cotton candy clouds
into an explosion of falling birds
I want to drink chemicals
straight from the vat
so that I can watch myself **** blood
and wonder what happened
last night
as I lay puking my insides out
all over the bathroom floor
I want you to blow smoke in my ears
and bake brownies
to fill the hole
in my stomach
and I want you to sit down with me
and watch everything
melt
Life is a drug, so party
He Pa'amon Jan 2019
what if i just was?

when you zone out, where do you go?

if you look at anything long enough it turns into exactly what you were looking for.

i am looking for nowhere.

hiding in what was.

i want to be in between the lines of my childhood memories,
in between the folds of time
in the solid swaths of color

huffing on emotional echoes.

i want to be in the stills from a movie, but not the running film.

where do ditzy people go when they ditz?

i want to live in the moment before you wake up, when you nuzzle into the void between consciousness and unconsciousness

the in between inhale and exhale

how do i know what words to let out of my
brain
mouth
?

who is the author of my thoughts?
what is making me write this?

i want to be mad
delirious

just be.

i am.

its okay.
a poem written while tripping apparently to let sober me know how to get back there
Aaron LaLux Jun 2018
No rules,
coffee and ******* at midnight,
killing common sense but in my defense,
I’m an uncommon guy and I’m not having kids,

subtracting erratic additives,
adding eccentric adjectives,

and with this we carry on,
where are we at and why would we mourn,
in Petaluma ignore the rumors,
not coming home ‘till 6 in the morn,

sick of the ****,
I need a medic that’s right I said it,
something’s wrong what’s going on,
everyone and everything’s uncut and unedited,
full steam ahead no sedatives,
don’t know who said what,
or why they said it quick,

but I don’t care either way anymore,
‘cause I’ve got no fcks left to give,
told you before,
this is uncut and unedited,

no cares,
no fcks,
no rules,
so what,

know what?

I lost my marbles but got girls by the car full,
plus I’m too fresh to rust but still got a few screws lose,
not a Scrooge Goose or a fat duck,
I’m The Man AKA That Dude,

and I play the Game yeah but I don’t play by the rules,
so I don’t have to choose between engine and caboose,

I’ll take the whole kit and caboodle you boys’re out your noodle,
getting it all all the time in a New York state of mind with a happening aptitude,
half reckless half recluse and add a nothing to lose attitude,
and I know it all looks outta control but don’t worry we’ve got this glued,

sippin’ on gin and juice trippin’ on cid and shrooms shout out to Snoop,

no rules,
coffee and ******* at midnight,
killing common sense but in my defense,
I’m an uncommon guy and I’m not having kids,

subtracting erratic additives,
adding eccentric adjectives,

and with this we carry on,
where are we at and why would we mourn,
in Petaluma ignore the rumors,
not coming home ‘till 6 in the morn…

∆ LaLux ∆
Lyish Apr 2018
Poetry has always spoke to me
Makes me feel like it was suppose to be
The way to express, explain and complain
Without feeling the all of the pain

Because the softness of these words aren’t here to create fame
And in all honesty, I think that ***** pretty lame

I’m tryna tame my ego
Let the mind flow
Fly higher than imagined
And feel free, you know?


But every time that journey comes close
Even a tiny bit near
There’s that high demand of
Doubt
Redemption
And of course…
Fear

****, there is goes again
Writers block
Got me thinking of words that rhythm with
****
It’s like when I try to catch my trail of thoughts
My brain just wants to lock

I’m contemplating galaxies and the forth dimension
The idea of;      
  love & affection
The meaning behind time
And the answer using my mind
Something that I still haven’t been able to find

I’m calculating the distance between our hearts
& why its taking so long for you to comprehend why we grew apart

I’m tryna focus on what makes me grow
& in spiritual terms
What makes me glow?

What’s the real way to open my heart and soul?
Cos shrooms and LSD seems to be all that I know.
in a magic land of purple static
with a hint of blue and green,
ghastly shadow figures stand tall
and dance in the background
of delirium and madness.
quadrilateral patterns hang
netted in dinosaur shaped trees
surrounded by lizard tin foil
windows and roosters crowing
in the moonless midnight.
watching cowboys puke peyote
in the plateaus of the Sierra Madre,
as white dragons couch surf through
the waterfalls of decrepit old women.
fingers bend back and melt into the
ice cube ashtrays and flowers bubble
up out of bedsheets as your waving
hands leaves behind black trails of
indiscretion.
three headed old man sits alone by
the campfire adjacent from moats
of mossy grass glistening in the
silver stars.
distorted magnets hang on refrigerator
doors as pumpkin heads and cancer
patients sit around candle lit tables.
twinkling treble clefts leave gentle,
somber imprints as the tunes float
out of the music box.
blue and gold caps tie intestines
up like a twisted pretzel.
unsavory flavors linger in the mouth
from styrofoam textures.
intensifying citrus awaits the
elephants gates of psychedelic
hallucinations.

                                  I
                              have
                           one thing
                        to say about
                whiskey and shrooms
             .... I miss my friend Kennie
                             every
                             single
                             day....
Jason Comeaux Jun 2017
Come on friend.
Let's take a vacation at home.
Unleash our minds
And follow where they want to roam.
Hold out your hand.
Here is the key,
A funny little fungus
Called psilocybe.

What a beautiful world.
Was this here the whole time?
Something sacred and old
Hidden deep in the mind?

There's patterns on the ceiling and the walls have started swaying.
A purple haze is forming but old Jimi isn't playin.
Now hands are reaching down from that vibrant purple mist.
They want me to go with them
And now fear replaces bliss.

I stand up and I pace around.
Get it together man.
It's all imagination.
Are you really scared of hands?
Just sit down and relax a bit
And let the show unfold.
The music sounds amazing and there's beauty to behold.

Hey man do you feel that presence that is in the room?
Someone else is here now but I don't know where or who.
It's a woman and a mother.
That much seems very clear.
She's been with us the whole time.
I can't see her but she's near.

I don't know what you mean man.
I don't get that sense at all.
All I see are patterns and the breathing of the walls.

Remember the boy you were and the man you wanted to be.
He's still inside you son and only you can set him free.

© Jason Comeaux (6/20/17)
I think this one is pretty self explanatory.
bradley martin May 2017
I return to that ocean cliff every day,
looking on
trying to
find
a hint of those raging sunflower rapids
hidden in
time
it was supposed to be Blue at first
        but yellow sunflowers devoured

                day on to find
                         rapids in time
bradley martin May 2017
i am going to bed bungray,
so that one day,
when hungar is no longer served on my plate
i will know what hungar was
and i will be full
and i will be thankful
the word
     and words such as
hunger
     invoke such emotions.
hungar seems more satirical in practice.
svdgrl Jan 2016
I am your favorite red lipstick
that got away,
the expensive one your mother gave you
because she had an extra.
I used to grip the sheen of your swears,
while you pressed me against
dinner napkins before meals.
I know the words you'd like to say,
the curses you'd breathe.
I taste your grief.
You want me to return,
you won't come to terms
with the thought that I might think
I just look a little better on her
pallid pallid skin.
You've inhaled spores today,
it's your day off and you're trying
to forget you ever lost me.
Writhing with our friends.
You're afraid of blood.
But you love the sauce.
Your skin is crimson,
flushed from the heat.
What a shock
to know,
it was you
that came on
a little too strong.
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