I finally figured a piece that could fit
     Decent enough to mention
          That gets deeper with each visit
     And though it wasn't my intention
       We invented vivid scriptures Shakespeare would weep to
           Crackheads could sleep to
       That's just the calm of absolution as it creeps through
         We never needed a deity's forgiveness or god to bear witness
   To this **** that we do behind closed doors cause in these moments I'm finally yours

      And that's all that should matter

I don't know if I treat myself the way I do
because of me
or because of you.
But, I sure as hell know the feeling of being half-******
is better than the feeling of being alone.

I lived through it,
The up and down times
When I sold ***
And did other petty crimes.
I was there when
Hot girls were really guys
Hiding floppy secrets
Between their nyloned thighs.

I loved through it,
Saturdays that started
On Tuesday morning
When I first departed;
Two packs of cigs
And a week’s doobies,
By then a value
Almost that of rubies.

I laughed through it,
A **** *****, your jokes
Were so funny if
You were providing smokes.
I flattered and flirted
Whatever it would finally take
To score a bit of ****,
Even the skimpiest shake.

I lolled through it,
Lying buck naked in your bed
Or with your guests
Whatever you originally said
Because you scored,
You were the source of dope.
Without your patronage
I didn’t have a moment of hope.

I hitchhiked through it,
Long trips back from Malibu
When I had worn out
My welcome to the world of you.
I hope the ride might be
Another adventure; more ****,
Or some food and drink
To satisfy my every begging need.

Sorry, dude. I must admit
I find it more than pathetic
That you experience life
With sorrow about some of it
That you don’t have a drug
To take to help appreciate
Something that is amazing
And really needs no chemical
To help you exaggerate
What is really going on
And pretend it is better
Or somehow transcendent
As if water can be wetter.

But it is as if time warped
And I have gone backward
To talk to myself about it
And then zapped forward
To see what a saturate
What a wet-brained fool
I was back then, it’s true.
I was a tin-plated tool.
I measured my existence
One dime bag at a time
Giggling with stoner friends
About my forays into crime;
Selling backs of skunk ****
When nobody else had any
Good stuff or bad stuff.
And I was the one with plenty.

Walking through Hollywood
With stoner friends and flakes
Singing as we stumbled along
About life and what it takes
To satisfy *** hounds those days.
***, drugs and rock and roll
And pride in our half-witted ways.
Learning how to roll pinners
Of a buddy’s stash on the sly
While he was taking a whizz
And couldn’t ask me why.
Learning how to properly treat
The remaining sticks and stones
And confiscating the roaches
When the others left them alone.

That was the cannabis coalition
The Sativa Society at its height.
We worked in the daytime and
Got ******* most every night.
And sooner or later, on the job
In the bathroom or on the roof.
I didn’t think of it addiction.
I still needed further proof.
I needed to try to buy ****
From a government man I met.
Fortunately I bailed on that
Before adding one more big regret.
Life has gotten better since then
No more outside dependence.
I quit before the drugs became
The entire focus of my existence.

I'd ask you if it looks real but you're nowhere to be found
     I call your phone
           It rings
   But that's the only ******* sound
       I wonder the man I'd be if you had chose to stick around
             As I'm smoking on these rocks and not the ones thats off the ground
                 The ones that cut deep and not just bare feet
     The kind the police always be searching for with the hounds
        I don't sleep or eat I feel cold in heat
        I can't ******* think unless I'm surrounded by a cloud
      But I start to crack, I'm not safe but claim I've got it on lock
             I was taught how to smoke by the boys up the block
            See they were there in your place and I forgot your face and its to the point the only thing I love is my squad
          I'm done talking to God
          And my dealer won't pick up
          So I keep up the facade my smile is not a mirage and my desert of cracked lips actually budge and the muscles push up and it isn't that hard
          And I'm talking just to myself
          Watching as I grin
          Trying to make a fake into perfection

A small single apartment
That is all I really need.
The result of low ambition
And a paucity of greed.
A kitchen for cooking
A comfy place to sleep
Just great for meditation for
Thoughts that don’t go deep.

It was close to my buddies
That good old gang of mine
I go there, they come here,
As long as there was wine.
I was serving jug wine
And vintage it was not.
I had to switch to *** when
My stomach started to rot.

I also served cheap beer,
The cheapest I could find.
Between the wine and beer
It’s lucky today I’m not blind.
And food was also frugal
Mostly chips and salsa hot.
Stoners aren’t that choosy.
Gourmands we were not.

Of course we all had our own
Personal marijuana stash.
Its quality depended on
The amount of available cash.
But one of us was a dealer
Or sometimes there were two.
They always brought a supply
To sell, that’s what they do.

We laughed and roared and
Someone always had a guitar
It is nineteen seventy two
And that’s how conditions are.
Some of us had jobs back then
But most were floating around.
It’s hard to be a stable soul
With no feet on the ground.

Anodyne eye's
Narcotic lip's;
Analgesic kisses
Tranquilizer hip's.
Soporific eyebrow's
Lashes Heavensent;
Skin anesthetic,
Relieving me of
Death. Morphine
Amour', ***** bliss,
Painkiller door's; to
Thine soul I feedeth.
Thy voice a sedative,
Thine hair calmative,
As thy nose maketh
Me warm when I'm cold,
As an expensive wine, or
neuroleptic. I'm higher then
The universe, inside of thy
psyche; it's cozy there, none
Place to compare, I'm at home,
Simply: wherein all is right.




©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Earl Jane Nagley (Filipino rose) dedication

First, let’s talk about some of the lies
Uttered by the nefarious and unwise
Of a peculiar type of mindless insanity
Created and backed by the inanity
Of the Madison Avenue careerists
And hordes of conspiracy theorists
Who have taken the issue of a ****
And buried it in misconduct and greed.

It is important not to fall for the joke
That it is quite all right to smoke
Because smoking anything you pass
A dose of something called cyanic gas
Into your lungs, and perhaps minimal,
It’s the gas they use to execute criminals.
But, other uses for this homegrown stuff
Can help people whose lives are tough.

But the whole shooting match is a dodge
Started out by rich men in their fancy lodge
Fueled by ignorance and false piety
Written into law by a strangers to sobriety
That somehow had no problem with drinking
But thought being ****** was stinking thinking.
So they created movies and legends galore.
But repression is all the lies were ever for.

(There’s an old joke about a boss’s decree
About employees drinking ***** daily.
He issued the rule on the smell-free *****
That was drunk at lunch time by his crews,
Because he didn’t want customers hazy
Thinking his employees were going crazy.
He preferred they know they were inebriated
Rather than a staff full of the grossly pixilated.)

It was that kind of thinking that created
A fervor that up until today has not abated,
That named an easily grown garden plant
Into some kind of major anti-***** rant,
While opiates are endorsed by the AMA.
And hundreds of versions are here today
To cure the same ailments as cannabis
Without the side effects that are a nemesis.

Medical science is finally ignoring
A sacred cow that needed goring;
Suggesting to the country as a whole
That this simple plant can play a role
In helping those who need relief
And are being criminalized by a belief
That, accompanied with such sadness,
Was the true definition of ****** madness.

Does anybody know the time?
Thanks, but a.m. or p.m.?
We sent Romer out for beer
Has anybody here seen him?
He’s got our money and my car
Doesn’t it seem like a long time?
Or am I losing track of things here
And all my reason and rhyme?

Put another song on, guys
I am sick of the Grateful Dead.
I’m thinking it’s all the same song
Running right through my head.
Freakin’ Truckin’ making me crazy.
I like the song but jeez, guys
There must be another one
You can find one if you try.

Does anybody know the time?
Thanks, but a.m. or p.m.?
We sent Romer out for beer
Has anybody heard from him?
He’s got our money and my car
Doesn’t it seem like a long time?
Or am I losing track of things here
And all my reason and rhyme?

It seems like a few hours ago
Just hours of Hotel California;
The Eagles singing loud, us too.
Dancing, nearly getting a hernia.
And didn’t someone say something
About some tacos and some guac?
If I don’t get something to eat soon
I’m going to get up and try to walk.

Does anybody know the time?
Thanks, but a.m. or p.m.?
We sent Romer out for beer
Has anybody heard from him?
He’s got our money and my car
Doesn’t it seem like a long time?
Or am I losing track of things here
And all my reason and rhyme?

Spoof song: sung to the tune of Five For Fighting's "Superman"

Kermit
I can't stand when high,
I'm not that naive,
I'm just out to find the better part of green,
I'm more than a bird, I'm more than a bear,
I'm more than some frog in piggies underwear
And it's not easy to  be  green...

Wish that I was high,
****** and half asleep,
Find a way to lie about my jones on Sesame Street
It may sound absurd-but don't be naive,
Even Muppets can smoke too much green,
I may be disturbed but wont you concede,
Even Muppets croak upon skunk ****,
And it's not easy to  be  green...

Once again I'm small-I'm small and green, well it's
All right, we can all get stoked tonight, and I'm not
Blazing...or anything...

I can't stand when high,
I'm not that naive,
Drugs just get you fried,
On hash and buzzed on ****
I'm only a frog on Jim Henson's knee
Wearing pink lingerie on this one way street,
Only a frog on Jim Henson's knee
Looking for older guys who flirt with me,
Yea flirt with me...who flirt with me, yea who flirt with me...
WHO FLIRT WITH ME...
I'm only a frog that's diggin' the green,
I'm only a frog on Kronik 7 Leaves
I'm only a frog who's puffin' on green
AND IT'S NOT EASY...  wooohooohoooo...
It's not easy...to be-he...greeeeeen...