"bongs" poems
Some people hate the smell of smoke
To me smoke meant early Thursday morning bongs rips
And the sun fighting it's way through the curtains
His 8 AM shirtless skin against mine and his face in my neck
The way our lips would play and tease each other, longing and smoke on our breath
Until we drifted back into dreams
Because we weren't about to let the morning win
To take that away from us
Mar 11, 2015
Mar 11, 2015 at 12:40 AM UTC
Good king Selassie looked out
on the feast of Marley
When the kush lay round about
dank and green and sticky
Loudly bumped reggae that night
As the king did turn
When a stoner came in sight
Gathering kush to burn
"Come here boy and stand by me
if you know this then say;
where would that young stoner be
at the end of this day?"
"My King he lives quite far away
rather close to Babylon
where exactly I can not say
he surely lives in Zion."
"Bring me kush and fine hashish
bring me bongs and paper
You and I, his base shall reach
bringing dank kush vapour!"
Island boy and Selassie
went across great Zion
eyes all red and mouths all dry
They rode upon the lion
"King, my eyes are growing white
and we smoked our last spliff
I fear that I may die tonight
play me one last reggae riff..."
"Island boy you don't recall
who it is you roll wit
unto me JAH trusted all
of the kush on this planet!"
So Selassie I was blessed
they were high once more
the stoner was offered the rest
of what they had in store
Therefore rasta men be sure
if you have that dank kush
share it with your brothers poor
and find yourself with more bush
Dec 11, 2014
Dec 11, 2014 at 11:12 AM UTC
On the third day of Reggae Christmas
My boombastic love gave to me:
3 beautiful bowls
2 boombastic bongs
and a brand new marijuana tree.
Dec 3, 2014
Dec 3, 2014 at 8:06 AM UTC
Baa, baa, Green sheep,
Have you any kush?
Yeh, mon, yeh, mon,
Three bongs full;
One hit for ma tyke,
And one for ma ****
And one for the batti boi
Who lives by caribe.
Baa, baa, Green sheep,
Have you any ******
nah, mon, nah, mon,
no spliffs mon;
Dec 3, 2014
Dec 3, 2014 at 1:17 PM UTC
End,
The True Tip of my Tongue,
(Enchanted Bronchial Tree),
holding out the
Cavern of Soft Sultry Silhouettes
that hug the walls.
Clinging to their influence able nature,
tendency to allow pink purity
to fall
to the black blistering blasphemy
of dirty-watered bongs.
Inhaling the Damnation of god
And Magic Meal of
Those residing in Gehenna,
Limbo,
And those scouring the pearly whites of
heaven for their 72 ******
***** Calls.
The desperate stench
Of religion
crawling down
my needy trachea
to attach its
sticky suction cup sermons,
trying to trick
My larynx into
Hallelujah’s
And
Hail Mary’s.
Hoping repetition
will etch it into
our subconscious
like a gravestone
set in stone.
So repent,
saunter back into your pen little sheep.
False Anarchic Prophet,
Pretend Goat.
Throw your brain back into the box,
The Individuality Dishwasher,
They built for your mind from the
Start.
Nov 26, 2012
Nov 26, 2012 at 3:19 AM UTC
You think you are someone of great strength in mind,
as you belittle all the people around you,
for the sake of not appearing kind,
because it was the only thing you knew.
Taught to be tough and a big boy,
you can go and use a gun as a toy,
become accustomed to the ability to destroy.
As you see nothing wrong from stealing the light in one's eyes,
being the artist of their demise,
as you ruin their families lies.
BANG, BANG, BANG,
goes the gun in your hand,
over a dead body you stand,
just as you planned.
Put that hit on that sonofabitch,
it went off without a hitch,
now you a man who put someone in a ditch.
The only sacrifice is morality,
but you are so young, you don't see the brutality,
only the gangster mentality,
so you can live in the violent normality,
not realizing that you have lost touch with reality.
But that is a life that no longer belongs,
replaced by coke, *** and bongs,
you will never know that what you do is wrong,
until you hear the bell's gong,
and it is you who is gone.
Oct 27, 2014
Oct 27, 2014 at 5:25 AM UTC
On the fifth day of Reggae Christmas
My boombastic love gave to me:
5 smokin' spliffs
4 grams of purple
3 beautiful bowls
2 boombastic bongs
and a brand new marijuana tree.
Dec 5, 2014
Dec 5, 2014 at 8:11 AM UTC
On the second day of Reggae Christmas
My boombastic love gave to me:
2 boombastic bongs
and a brand new marijuana tree.
Dec 2, 2014
Dec 2, 2014 at 8:20 PM UTC
Surrounded by many,
stuck in a crowd.
Midst numerous persons,
midst noises so loud.
I’m often in groups, in herds, in throngs,
meeting new people- Punjabis or Bongs.
Laughs and greets
as though in trance.
dancing on beats
as though having a chance.
I seem to be calm, normal and happy.
I’m far for thus, I feel so ******
Truth be told, I’m the classic case
of being alone midst many a face.
But when the darkness surrounds and
helplessness sets in,
I remind myself
of what it takes to win.
We come into this world
single, alone.
Exit the same way,
ensuring it shone.
Keep up thy spirit- it’s what counts the most.
Ensure your life deserves a celebrated toast.
Apr 12, 2014
Apr 12, 2014 at 9:32 AM UTC
On the eleventh day of Reggae Christmas
My boombastic love gave to me:
11 ragin' reefers
10 lightin' lighters
9 hefty island boys
8 bowls of cereal
7 dabs of oil
6 blazin' bubblers
5 smokin' spliffs
4 grams of purple
3 beautiful bowls
2 boombastic bongs
and a brand new marijuana tree.
Dec 11, 2014
Dec 11, 2014 at 8:38 AM UTC
On the eighth day of Reggae Christmas
My boombastic love gave to me:
8 bowls of cereal
7 dabs of oil
6 blazin' bubblers
5 smokin' spliffs
4 grams of purple
3 beautiful bowls
2 boombastic bongs
and a brand new marijuana tree.
Dec 8, 2014
Dec 8, 2014 at 9:52 AM UTC
On the ninth day of Reggae Christmas
My boombastic love gave to me:
9 hefty island boys
8 bowls of cereal
7 dabs of oil
6 blazin' bubblers
5 smokin' spliffs
4 grams of purple
3 beautiful bowls
2 boombastic bongs
and a brand new marijuana tree.
Dec 9, 2014
Dec 9, 2014 at 11:14 AM UTC
When kids pop more pills than balloons
at a fair, take more rips from bongs
than Beyblades, shake hands with *****
dollars and plastic bags, steal more money
than hearts, are in more mugshots than family
photos, **** more than war, sell more ****
than lemonade, read more billboards than books,
go through more girlfriends than socks in a week,
text more than they write, inject more ******
than flu vaccinations, drink more beer than fruit punch,
put their lips around more pipes than Popsicles,
and die more than live;
then we'll know we've failed them.
May 11, 2014
May 11, 2014 at 12:31 PM UTC
Bongs,boobs, and *****
No ***** given,
Dumb doobies taking a snooze
Only one true love though.
Touching me in heaven,
Making me feel beautiful yo
Society, seclusion, and ceremonies.
No blessings given,
Hippies hang Uno the key
Typos, trends, trumps.
Everything is so intertwined y woven,
I gotta get outta my slump
Only, one, and unto.
The end a *****
For you I do
The surprise of my life.
My lucky # 7,
For my love, my past life.
My universal heaven,
I would take any slated knife
Mar 5, 2016
Mar 5, 2016 at 5:46 AM UTC
On the tenth day of Reggae Christmas
My boombastic love gave to me:
10 lightin' lighters
9 hefty island boys
8 bowls of cereal
7 dabs of oil
6 blazin' bubblers
5 smokin' spliffs
4 grams of purple
3 beautiful bowls
2 boombastic bongs
and a brand new marijuana tree.
Dec 10, 2014
Dec 10, 2014 at 1:07 PM UTC
On the sixth day of Reggae Christmas
My boombastic love gave to me:
6 blazin' bubblers
5 smokin' spliffs
4 grams of purple
3 beautiful bowls
2 boombastic bongs
and a brand new marijuana tree.
Dec 7, 2014
Dec 7, 2014 at 1:21 AM UTC
the morning after always hurts the worst
hazy brain
summersault stomach
and where in the hell is my car
i want a pizza
or two
it was nice to see you
i've missed your smile
and condensed stare
and the shape that your lips make while you confess your love to the beer bottle's neck
that explains the jameson
and all the beers at the bar
the beer bongs at the after party
and why i could stomach the strippers
it was all you
so nice to see you
why do i always feel guilty when the sun comes up
no one got a black eye
i didn't grab the mic
and my clothes stayed on until i was safely home
although
the cab driver may have caught a glance
to think
i'm "all grown up"
i'm not at all sorry
not for the whiskey gut
or the fire i'll throw up
or the kisses that i didn't plant along your collar
i'm still the same floral-print ship-wreck at the bottom of the bottle
my mother once said that the only people worth clinging to
are those who see all of your greatness outweighing your flaws
you still see the holes in my tights
and my falling hem line
not the honey sweet legs they shape
or the hips and thighs that the denim hides
i'll be just fine as the german genie in the bottle of irish whiskey
witty
and slack-jawed
and ready to kiss the lips off the face of the clock
and two shots away from dancing with the cops
i look great in hand-cuffs
i'll whistle the whole way to jail
small victories weigh the most
and right now
i feel like muhammed ali
thanks, babe
here's two asprin that glow better than your eyes
and they're mine
waiting to chase away the pain that came up with the sun
here's to endings that aren't a safe bet
here's to sleeping alone
here's to new mistakes
just waiting to happen
water never tasted so good to me
Jan 11, 2013
Jan 11, 2013 at 1:39 PM UTC
I wanna Play this trumpet
louder than you
quicker thank monkeys
flinging their poo
daylight, nighttime
anywhere at all
****** up **** ups drop and crawl
for me
to blow my horn
like you blow ****
brass, *** grass
and **** that’s sick
drunk off beer
and question marks
evil smirks
in trailer parks
cigarettes
and jacking off
hitting bongs
until I cough
choke
i spoke
too quick
again,
*** brass, and **** that’s sick
Mar 29, 2013
Mar 29, 2013 at 4:33 PM UTC
walking through the big flea market
off of highway 19 north of Tampa
looking for whatever and something
curious and kitsch or campy
merchants selling in the parking lot
used blenders and old cameras
burnt out or faulty devices
DVD cases and game cartridges
old rednecks shout out opinions
in a cacophony of drawled signifiers
representing visions of despotic rulers
reigning a tyranny of taxes and decline
old glass containers and windshields shine
scattering high afternoon sunlight in the Sunday sky
sitting and resting used and content waiting
waiting for the wear and reduction of time
the market continues into indoor aisles
criss-crossing within a ramshackle structure
plywood walls supporting sheet metal roofing
an aroma of every greasy food wafting into one
people wrapped in worn fashions
whites in Ts and denim
muslim women in headscarves
a black deputy strapped down in uniform
the deputy enforces commerce laws
around the alternative marketplace
a variety of commodities are still available
bongs and e-cigs and incense and **** ****
parakeets cry out down one aisle
a stack of blue aquariums drone a bubbling hum
the stench of cedar and rat **** and hamsters
reptiles basking in the arid glow of heat lamps
all is right in America’s America
the flea market is the floorboard of that promise
an opportunity for anyone to begin
or start again and over and over
a liberal conservatism can be guarded well
with rifles or tazers at bargain rates
a conservative liberalism is applied openly
in the atmosphere of everyone for anything and everything
the dream of the flea market
a black market and a carnival
all of America’s cheap art on display
its people swirled into one
equal in their struggles and desires
reaching for resources and derivatives
buying low and selling higher
stealing and selling short
walking through the big flea market
on a hot and cloudless Sunday afternoon
looking for whatever or something
it’s a fun thing to do
originally posted to my blog https://sublimeobscenities.wordpress.com on 4/27/2014
Feb 17, 2015
Feb 17, 2015 at 1:17 AM UTC
freezing garage grav **** hits
hands shaking, lungs quaking
drunken moms vomiting dead center
in king sized beds on graduation night
fast girls climbing wildly out of little sister's window
once the street lights lay low
dark basements full of ***** boys, and bongs
building our bad habits
homesick, always homesick,
for a place that doesn't exist
Jan 12, 2013
Jan 12, 2013 at 1:38 AM UTC
a political party that supports
the legalization of Mary Jane
is bound to be the first one
to sprint down the winner's lane
the constituents shall be busy
potting many a dope seed
so they've got a sufficient supply
of ye olde happy ****
to-day bongs and reefers
will be lit in much jubilation
as the smokers get high
on Mary Jane's elevation
Nov 4, 2014
Nov 4, 2014 at 5:30 PM UTC
A clock bongs out its chime
As we look at the time
That's never really acknowledged
until the hour is running out.
Cast sideways glances
never full attention
except for the ones
who have no intention
Around in circles I go
the same old same old
just counting up
then down
then up again.
And I grow weary
my movements becoming dreary
but time is moving faster
as around and around in circles I go.
Until I finally stop
with my one last tick-tock
and time is lost
until the batteries are rebooted
And I start new again
my cycle of endless circling
I'm 1, I'm 2, I'm 3, I'm 4
Ticking away to the end once more.
Dec 15, 2012
Dec 15, 2012 at 11:39 PM UTC
wind was sweeping darkness
clouds cluttered the horizon
in all directions
encircling clear, midnight sky
foreshadowing the full moon
shiny, twinkly things beamed brightly
in pollution’s absence
mulberry, guava and palm
swayed in silhouette
dancing to wind chime songs
soft clacks, tinkles and bongs
fragrant breezes carried ocean
like a sweet smelling memory
gently stirring the stillness
Mar 28, 2014
Mar 28, 2014 at 3:08 PM UTC
On the twelfth day of Reggae Christmas
My boombastic love gave to me:
12 tangy totos
11 ragin' reefers
10 lightin' lighters
9 hefty island boys
8 bowls of cereal
7 dabs of oil
6 blazin' bubblers
5 smokin' spliffs
4 grams of purple
3 beautiful bowls
2 boombastic bongs
and a brand new marijuana tree.
Dec 12, 2014
Dec 12, 2014 at 9:50 AM UTC