"grams" poems
*be ever gentle to thy words
treat them, your tools, well,
cleansing and protecting,
wrapping them in cloths of chamois and moleskin
that they may be well conditioned and
pour forth with a temperament clear and viscous,
reflecting their high honors and a noble lineage,
they are well-intentioned to exist far longer
than your meager temporal life,
upon this ever hasty, ever perpetual, orbit
give them all respect, their fair due,
they are treasure immeasurable,
for which you have been granted guardianship,
custody received from others to be gifted onwards,
yours, but for the duration
so oft we trifle words,
expel them from the country of our body,
without passport and earnestness,
as if they were the cheapest of footnote filler,
day tourists, to be treated as leavings,
refuse for daily discardation,
barely noting their fast comings and faster disappearance,
but leaving not, a mark of distinction
more truffle than trifle,
find them in the dark forest of your life,
use them sparingly, just for soaring,
take them from the roots of your trees,
shave them with a paring knife,
counts them in bites and measure them in grams,
even in grains,
for words are the seasoning of our lives,
agent provacateurs that can modify the moment,
bringing out to the fore
the flavor of the underlying
speak them slow and distinct,
for they arrive slow to you,
a trickling of refugees for your sheltering,
harbor them as full companions,
protected by natural law,
provision them well,
prepared and ever ready for a quick departure,
moor them at the embarcadero,
for the next restless leg of endlessness,
which they themselves will inform you
will last longer than eternity,
long after there are no humans to speak them*
Oct 10, 2015
Oct 10, 2015 at 6:01 PM UTC
I asked you
If you thought
You were capable of hurting me
You said you weighed 115lb
But a sliver of glass
Cannot weigh more than a few grams
Look what that can do
You are a shattered pane
That is all I feel
Your little slivers under my skin
You are not my mother
But I hear her in your voice
You have a mother's touch
It stings all to familiar
You broke the skin on my face
Open like a ripe peach
I suppose we are all capable of terrible things
But you burdened yours as love
Pressed it into my skin
And let me rot in silence
Apr 24, 2022
Apr 24, 2022 at 10:25 AM UTC
. @
@ @
@ @
@ @
@ @
@ @ @ @ @ @
america, americultus, americate, dubiously **********
::: our gold-flecked bodies.
blackbirdian danceparty, i'll go.
washed-up beach bottles and all our feet amongst them curling time.
teens dream in orchid; they wait for stars and dark and los hombres of good dust.
they wait on eyes, and on embers, on belly belly.
jellyfish flashlight shrine.
we eat acid and strawberries and butter in the cemetery,
and feed foxes lizards face first :::
us lost ghouls on school-nights.
flash tag jazz, and yellow bicycles.
::: that hot eternal light.
that candy colored smoke don't smoke; go south on her body.
then thoughts form thoughts form action, form twangs all tuned to air.
& we, as notes, we notes harp like light
to dust.
our glistering hormonal thrusts beneath sheath of liquid love. her eyes,
with those multi-speckled strands
infinitesimally drunk :::
seed from my ****
pearled halo: smoke above my head.
::: waves and machines and weekends. filtered by the long ****
of existence.
boys wait in rooms of hotels for more drugs, and the girls bringing them.
like caterpillars on silky thin treadways,
with nothing but the flavor of our passions to ignite the way. we
exacerbate the boundaries of our intentions. we
curl under sheets, bending sheets of light and sound. we
flakey emaciated flakes. [sequence suffered time in motion] we
dirt. it’s what we are; dirt.
we are druggernauts, tasting ourselves along the iridescent brim.
::: we crawl up cross-glowing hillsides toward portals and faraway
bleep-blorps of hot god-head calibration.
we sticky-crackle go burn. [nature puzzles]
the brain shifts back; twenty-one grams they say the soul weighs.
they say things.
cherry blossom tree tips in the dark.
tele-portal surfing with an intergalactic pizza priest, and his satchel of secret sauce.
he heaves in the corner; rebirth :::
tendrils pulled tight, everybody **** chung…
Apr 3, 2014
Apr 3, 2014 at 3:44 PM UTC
I sold my soul
for those bony hands
and you stomped on it
for a couple grams
Dec 10, 2018
Dec 10, 2018 at 6:23 AM UTC
drip... drip ..drip
feel the cold water
hit your empty stomach
just take little sips
stomach growls lull me to sleep
i don't like a full stomach
i don't care that it makes me weak
i don't see a cookie
i see 120 calories
22.8 g carbs, 14.4 g sugar
this is my daily life I'm not a rookie
water has zero grams
of sugar,carbs and calories
so I drink water
i have water for dinner
and for a snack
i avoid the scale
i don't weight myself anymore
cause it makes me feel more like
a beached whale
i don't eat breakfast
i eat one meal at 3pm
some people notice so
i just lie and say I'm fasting...
Mar 1, 2019
Mar 1, 2019 at 1:51 PM UTC
I used to have an issue with my body.
Three years ago. 2015. The year of horrors.
My weight was 60 kilograms and I don’t remember if I had a few grams more, but it doesn’t a matter. The issues is that I was a bit fat. I have never been fat. I was sad about it and I had a lot of problems more in that year.
My principal problem was that when all of my girlfriends developed their body, I had a little girl body. My body begins to develop and that was when I turned fat, I didn’t like myself, personal problems, more issues. I increased 15 kilograms. I was really depressed. I started hating me more.
Between 2016 and 2017, my body started changing. I lost weight, I hadn’t got issues with me anymore. That was really amazing.
End of 2017 and this year (2018), my body changed completely. I don’t have the body that I used to own in 2015. I am thin and happy, but sometimes when I look at myself in the mirror, unconsciously I see myself as I was in 2015, fat.
That kills me.
Kills me more knowing that I couldn’t talk with my mother about it, because she didn’t understand it. But I could talk with my best friend and with my auntie because they understand it. I’m thankful about it.
What more kills me is the fact that I know that my body it’s thin but my mind shows me another thing, which I hate and makes me sad.
But today, July 25, 2018. My weight is 48 kilograms. I see the real me. I see myself thin. Now my unconscious accepts that I’m thin again. I’m really happy now because that is the body that I had all my entire life, that is the body that I want and which I’m in love with. I’m glad that I got back what I always wanted.
Jul 26, 2018
Jul 26, 2018 at 2:08 AM UTC
Leave my Nan out in the rain, it'll be right.
She's having veg later with some meat, on a bone but meat.
No gravy, she's too lazy. She will not thread it.
So what do you think? Shall we fold it the other way?
Do it tonight, it won't be today and not quite black but definitely not grey.
If it smells like cheese, just wear one and keep one eye open!
Then, we may even finish third.
Remember, listen for the sound.
It's crucial, like a twenty pence piece.
Dust! Always dust. Grams and ounces of the dustiest dust.
Never before six and never after six.
Just continuous with no bends, bubbles or any of that material you really like.
Because when he'd finished speaking (The Italian) I didn't understand a ******* word of it!
"Sorry, I don't speak Italian", shrugged my shoulders, did that thing you do with your bottom lip and ****** off.
THE END
(FINITO)
May 28, 2018
May 28, 2018 at 3:01 AM UTC
Welcome to the con! The con starts with the author, Dr. Seuss.
He's no doctor. And that's a fact (and no it's not the only truthful
thing in this diatribe of mine). He used the doctor moniker to
sell more books!
That guy in the book pestering the other guy to try "Green
Eggs and Ham"? Turns out to be the ham and egg salesman,
Sam I Am.
It's a motivational selling "won't take no for an answer"
how to sell book disguised as children's literature.
And Sam I Am is psychotically relentless in his pursuit of a
sale. He needs a restraining order slapped on his ***
"Would you eat them in a box? Would
you eat them with a fox. Would you eat
them with a goat. Would you eat them on a
boat". Would you eat green eggs and ham,
would you eat them Sam I Am?
Dr. Seuss
And on and on. Sam I Am goes stalking him from page to page.
I had a friend of mine, Mustard Joe, ex war veteran with more
than twenty kills (you don't even want to know the things he's
seen) take a look into this green eggs and ham food source that
Sam I Am is pushing so hard. Here are some of the ingredients
he may or may not have found.
Ham -- 30 grams of sugar (questionable )
-- 15 grams of caffeine (untested)
Green eggs -- Trace amounts of nicotine ( not verified)
-- Handfuls of ******* (rumored)
As you can see, It's not an exact science.
People. When eggs turn green, that's mother nature trying to
warn you that your food has gone bad.
But in the end, Sam I Am gets the fool to finally try the green
eggs and ham and he absolutely loves it. Maybe the books lesson
is about to not be afraid about things you don't understand or
never tried. But I still believe there is insidious deception and
evil in the book. I have to think that way. Because after all -- I'm
Willoughby !!
Nov 15, 2018
Nov 15, 2018 at 12:12 PM UTC
I wove my own web and netted my prize,
I cold-pressed my words and refined my disguise.
I goggled at life and faced up to that book,
I tumbled and tweeted and baited my hook.
I blipped and I blogged, I bantered and blushed,
I followed and friended, I grovelled and gushed.
I doled out the instant, ten grams at a time,
To fuel my addiction for caffeine and rhyme.
I reshopped my pic, I swiped left, I swiped right,
I pinned and I posted deep into the night.
I gloated and gossiped, I chatted and cheered,
I logged in and logged out without favour or fear.
For is it not fun - this mad media storm?
Viewing and voting from dusk until dawn.
Yet love me or like me, let it never be said,
That despite how it seems, it’s gone to my head.
Dec 22, 2018
Dec 22, 2018 at 6:17 PM UTC
As a child, our feelings ran free!
But….
in the way of this world
as we grew into adulthood,
we were told that our feelings
are not as significant as reason.
As we grow,
we are taught that showing feelings
is childish
we are told to control our feelings…
Don’t let them see you cry,
showing feelings can be dangerous,
it can show weakness
making us seem too sensitive.
And because of what we are taught,
we don’t always understand them
or even know how they come.
But, they do come, knowing us better
then we know ourselves.
But I know that feelings matter…
Love, pain, joy, hurt, happiness.
Sometimes they can be small,
like when I smell cookies baking
and I miss my grams.
And sometimes they are massive,
like when my granddaughter
died at birth and I watched her
come back!
However, if you are fortunate
and I mean, really fortunate,
that one feeling will come along
that will change everything!
I remember such a feeling,
and how it flooded my heart years ago
when this guy invited me to his community
and showed me his kind and loving heart.
And not so long ago,
when I looked into his eyes!
And those are the same feelings
that I have right now….
The feeling that you are him,
my future, my love, my heart, my life!
And this feeling, I trust, I believe in
more than anything I have ever trusted
or believed in, in my life!
Because with you, is the only place
I have ever felt was home.
Jul 8, 2018
Jul 8, 2018 at 9:32 AM UTC
warthogs for men singing amen
i ink my scars with a ball point pen
buffalo grass and ******
they want *** but won't die
i want *** but it's not me
they tell me that I'm pretty
i smoke **** in a blazing forest
i feel as rubbery as a curious tourist
and plenty of coke goes in my nose
i bleed headaches, when it rains it snows
i'm dreaming of a white christmas, i suppose
with my squad when i don't want to feel alone
i make lies but can't hide like room raiders
i cut up coke for all my haters
with a side of oxy
tells me that I'm foxy
right before he knocks me
my brain goes on high alert
i can taste my stomach
because cake was yesterday's desert
i say that we're proxies
i take the red pill
some like oxys
some like bikini ****
some nights aren't so chill
some brains are mentally ill
but he doesn't like to feel, y'feel
tell me if you want a
*** flavored banana
a broken heart from havana
or to drink my coke flavored blood
dragging me through the mud
whoops
son of sam
touch my **** like we're not fam
drug me if you want to slam
my head off the coffee table
i'll choke on fear until i'm not stable
i pretend i'm in a fable
this can't be real
does he not feel
break it off and shove it down my throat
cut me into pieces
make a blood moat
oak splinters suffered through winters in my spine
find you in jail and you ask if i'm fine
i break off rhymes like i break out grams
shaking because of a spiked promise
i wish i wasn't here
i wish i wasn't here
sham in the garden of clouds. when you 'fuck' you want people around
when i cry, you hear no sound
buffalo grass and ******
they **** off but ask why
my box in their face
i don't want to be in this place
Dec 29, 2014
Dec 29, 2014 at 6:32 PM UTC
I have a right to stand
I'm claiming it now.
Turangawaewae; 'a place to stand'
Is a deep empowerment from the land
Learnt through ancestral connection
Strengthened through ahi ka; 'keeping the fires burning'
Well, my ancestral stories ain't so impressive
There were few battles
Though my granddad worked for the air force in world war two
- As an accountant
We didn't encounter the gods or try to bring down the sun
Though when my Grandma arrived here she built up the soil
Soul of the Earth
For 70 years
As the city sprang up around her
And my mother aged 11 played follow the leader with a goat in the next door construction site
Where her house is now
My uncle found an old mans false teeth in a cup
Climbing through an abandoned house
My aunt visited James K Baxter's Jerusalem
She wasn't a fan of his poetry
But his wisdom spoke to her
My other aunts jumped through the neighbours trees
Who threatened to shoot them
My father followed my mother here
After her O.E with my sister in the oven
He ******* about John Key as much as anyone
And praises this land; it is home.
I stood on a windy cliff surrounded by pohutukawa and learnt the whisper of the sea
Roughing it on an island I tried determinedly to turn into a pukeko
I got my first cut, bruise, scrape from this land
My first breath, poem, touch of a violin, my first kiss was here
I know the rough patches, the fringe scene, where the best soil is
(It's at my grams house)
I know how to spot a drug house, which cafes will let us jam, where the open mics are 5 days of the week.
I know Kirikiriroa.
My fires have been burning
And I have a right to stand
I have learnt through my own evolution
Through Janet Frame's railroad country
Through a history
Cities growing and spreading
They weren't just here
As it has always seemed to me.
The countryside, what was here before?
Landscapes of forest and mountain
Familiar yet unknown to me.
When I go away I will know the difference
When I return I will know this land
The depth recognized through contrast
Defined by difference
As the sun and moon complement
Light and dark
Sorrow and joy
And,
As in yin and yang
I will know nothing is completely separate.
When I go away I will know
So fully
And I will return and say:
This is my place to stand
My turangawaewae
My Aotearoa
Nov 16, 2014
Nov 16, 2014 at 7:24 PM UTC
A dying man does nothing easy,“Lock and load. Let's do it”,said G.W. Green
Right before Jack Pursley sent 3-5 grams of sodium thiopental coursing through his veins
in Texas. Sticking with the states motto it was probably 5. As lethal drugs flowed into his arms, he used an obscenity to describe life, gasped once and made no further movement.
Imagine his brief confidence in the face of this adversity, before the heart’s blood
Settled in the ventricles.
Some have called such confidence a monstrosity titled, “Hubris”--
Alexander of Macedonia thought it necessary, to cross the turbulent river against fear
-ful odds. For destiny demanded imitation of his exemplar Achilles
Quickly eroded was this by the pleas of Parmenio, who reasons it would be,“failure at the outset.”
Imagine Alexander reciting the words of G.W. Green, instead of heeding to this squelching caution
How quickly we’d throw this decisions bones in the pile, with ******
In Stalingrad & Nixon in Vietnam
All to be shoved in to, a mass grave of faulted zealots.
Covered with soil, bitter compost not to be forgotten
Rosemary sprouts next to a burning
bush in Iraq.
Dec 25, 2012
Dec 25, 2012 at 5:36 AM UTC
The voices inside my head are taking over.
These u-u-uncontrollable quirks I have.
My eyes twitch as many times as a heart beats after doing a triathlon.
In my head of runs a marathon of thoughts that don't belong,
things I can't do because they're wrong.
Within my blood stream flows 1.26 grams of dopamine given to me by doctors who don't know how to fix my situation,
only mix prescriptions to intensify vexation. Pharmacists eyeball me fearingly because I appear to be nothing but someone with chemicals wandering around into the little bit of a brain I have left.
Serotonin to regulate my mood, appetite, and sleep but I still only wish for all of this to be nothing but a dream.
All of this making my intestines mutilate, slowly dying inside as if I had Irritable Bowel Syndrome. Otherwise known as I.B.S. but I know for a fact that this is all just a bunch of B.S.
My enterochromaffin cells may just burst, I am often told.
If only I could tell what was real from what was fake.
For I also have A.D.H. - whoa! What's that?!
Sorry, where was I?
Oh. Tourettes Syndrome.
I guess I just twitch it off.
Maybe these are all figures of my imagination from the hallucinogens.
Who knows?
After all, I am a schizophrenic.
Apr 22, 2015
Apr 22, 2015 at 8:24 PM UTC
Too many bottles of this wine we can't pronounce
Too many bowls of that green, no lucky charms
The maids come around too much
Parents ain't around enough
Too many joy rides in daddy's jaguar
Too many white lies and white lines
Super rich kids with nothing but loose ends
Super rich kids with nothing but fake friends
Start my day up on the roof
There's nothing like this type of view
Point the clicker at the tube
I prefer expensive news
New car, new girl
New ice, new glass
New watch, good times babe
It's good times, yeah
She wash my back three times a day
This shower head feels so amazing
We'll both be high, the help don't stare
They just walk by, they must don't care
A million one, a million two
A hundred more will never do
Real love, I'm searching for a real love
Real love, I'm searching for a real love
Oh, real love
Close your eyes for what you can't imagine, we are the xany gnashing
Caddy smashing, bratty *** he mad, he snatched his daddy's Jag
And used the **** for batting practice, adamant and he thrashing
Purchasing ****** grams with half the hand of cash you handed
Panicking, patch me up, Pappy done latch keyed us
Toying with Raggy Anns and mammy done had enough
Brash as **** breaching all these aqueducts; don't believe us
Treat us like we can't erupt, yup
We end our day up on the roof
I say I'll jump, I never do
But when I'm drunk I act a fool
Talking 'bout , do they sew wings on tailored suits
I'm on that ledge, she grabs my arm
She slaps my head
It's good times, yeah
Sleeve rips off, I slip, I fall
The market's down like 60 stories
And some don't end the way they should
My silver spoon has fed me good
A million one, a million cash
Close my eyes and feel the crash
Oct 10, 2016
Oct 10, 2016 at 12:06 AM UTC
Life is just a series of rooms
You spend time in
full of all the people
You shot grams or
smoked a dime with.
Full of all the people
You laid next to
to rest your head.
Full of all the people
Who would end up dead.
Life is just a series of questions
You gotta answer to.
Like how did God decide
On All the people
He gave cancer to?
Why some things you never had
Will be the best you'll never have?
Why all the good things in life
Gotta Hurt so bad?
Rooms full of questions in my head.
Dec 28, 2015
Dec 28, 2015 at 12:36 AM UTC
The river runs it runs with greed
The fast cash of the lucky
Makes it's way to sea
And poison floats with this poison greed
The will of millions, cry out silently
Because they have no idea
about this poison greed
Nurotoxicity
Poisoning our cities
The doctor tells the single mother
To eat an apple everyday
Which only supplement her daily
Methlyphenidate
Neurotoxicity
And baby was born just few pounds light
The tired mother relieved
Baby swaddled in a sheet
Of polybrominate
Neurotoxicty
But all ends were it began
The conspirers of greed
Don't have to loose a thing
The toxic poisonous sludge doesn't run through their garden greens
Somethings
Fish-y
Or is it all the mercury?
East of the railroad tracks
The man smoking crack
Behind a tree
Now breathing PCB's
From car exhaust and factory
Poor ****** breathes
Neuroxicity
And the lucky on lookers equipped to
Notice such a thing or anything
Watch in disbelief
They should all find relief, the poison is fair
It flows through everybody, everywhere
For nothing makes the people sing
Like a mix ethanol and manganese
Neurotoxicty
Spin round and round and sing
This is called brainwashing
Drink your mix of ethanol and manganese
Watch your team throw the polyethylene
Trickle down, trickle
Your loosing the cells right from your brain
While a doctor writes you a prescription to go insane
After years of manganese and PCB's
Jimmy B is lost in the sea of toxins
But mom knows best
He's a hyper brat
Takes him to the doctor to get him
Correct
Doctor gives Jimmy a prescription
The devil's speed
Dextroamphetamine
Jimmy was focused
Jimmy didn't bother
Jimmys brain a couple grams lighter
The doctor intrigued gets a free meal
To switch Jimmy's speed
Four more Jimmies
Doctor can vacation expenses paid
By the sea
Jimmy keeps on taking his pills
Then over night
Jimmy hits his first pipe
Now that's some ******* good speed
And the story goes
Without relief
The government we know
Deligates neurological slavery
Aug 5, 2015
Aug 5, 2015 at 4:20 AM UTC
Don’t put me in a box, I am my own teacher
I don’t worship TV idols, I have other preachers
I don't toss a poem to come across as known
friends crossed me, don’t know my own home
I don't speak for an arrogant cause
Or do self-righteous acts just to merit applause
I don’t make scenes to be seen as a person of God
What you see as a skill, I see as a character flaw
I don't use a hype man sell grams to buy fans
I don't scream to get attention other ways for lungs to expand
I don't ********** my talent for people that bystand
Or try to trick innocent people more desperate than I am
Sell a line, sell a book
Sell a dream, sell a scheme
Sell a brother false hope you control his self-esteem
Let a brother talk **** I won’t get mad at all
I’ll just throw a couple stabs like my cousin at the mall
So please tell me what’s worse
being broke or broken?
but before you answer that let me ask you this first
In the place you live, can you quench your thirst?
Do you have enough time to finish a verse?
Remember our time here was borrowed, can’t reimburse
Parasitic
a chemic I been it
I pen it, I penetrate my a pen all day
To descend and mate
My inner state is in the state
to keep on straight,
administrate and illustrate
What people haul with haste till it's in his face
So in the case where i’m in my space
my focus is to chase
Yeshua’s face is faced with the waste of people sending hate
Intimidating to people claiming contention
ostensibly incoherent was air for my ascension
It's plucking a hair ain't it?
who painted the P.I.C cell
in pixels, the pig sells
the witch who picks spells, got hell
Tie a boar to a tree transmitting this
free him a year later he'll stay in the same radius
Maybe it's in the tears
Maybe it's just kinetics
Maybe I do love attention
and writing is how I get it
encapsulated beneath the surface the desire is unknown
You think this a joke
Get shot in your funny bone!
Jan 21, 2015
Jan 21, 2015 at 2:41 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
Are you relieved to be normal?? It's something only you see.
Wasting away with a false impression we're all as strange as can be
I take some consolation as light reflects differently before passing my eyes and disguising inside mistaken identity
Spooked by our shadows safer with backs against trees
Wandering hopeful in vast space kicking round autumn leaves
Vanish like Houdini chained in a box at the bottom of the sea.
Just like smoke through every vent caught by any breeze
I think a part of everyone resides somewhere else
The 21 grams we lose in death
We've all wondered what it was in the corner of our eye
Maybe you looking back at you now you've died
Say there was no answer just questions?
Would we stop looking for them in the bottom of glasses?
Something seems strange but I'm not sure
It's not a disease there is no cure
It's not a house of cards or castles made of sand
But a poisonous web spun by delinquent human hand
Sunny days and weekend stays in places far from home
Meet the locals to say goodbye before you've even said hello
Leaves in trees so eager for a breeze to fall
This is no life at all.
Its one or two things that remind me it's a game
The tedium like nails at scabs and the blood it'll bring
A slice of lemon is all I need to add a little colour.
Perhaps a banksy on my garden wall.
Having a door held for me.
Strawberries for breakfast.
Punctuality.
Four feet at the foot of my bed.
Not waking contemplating regret.
Sun on my face
Sand in my shoes
A different kind of saltwater kisses.
Grandstand welcomes from close friends.
Tearful goodbyes everytime.
The magic must happen when I blink or during the blackouts when I drink.
Aug 25, 2013
Aug 25, 2013 at 6:09 AM UTC
i.
Sto mystikó kípo sas,
Where thy purple rose shalt be;
Where thy flower bed wilt hath many roses, where thy breathe
Shalt Never cease.
ii.
Sto mystikó kípo sas,
Where hue's and tints hath life;
Thy husband wilt be with thee,
Guiding thee into God's light.
iii.
Sto mystikó kípo sas,
Where petals never fall,
Where the angels sing, their voices ring, bouncing to and fro the pearly gates; painting melodies in the spirit form, colliding back to temple walls.
iv.
Sto mystikó kípo sas,
With a palace for a queen;
The queen is thou, window's thou canst look out; where glass is clear, as there's no fear, inside thy garden
Of majestic scenes.
v.
Sto mystikó kípo sas,
Tha sas xanadó;
That's to say, I'll seest thee again soon one day, in thy secret garden,
Where thy love wilt always grow.
©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Rita Mae nagley dedicated( golden grams) rip grams, I'll meet you at your new heavenly mansion in your secret garden.
Dec 2, 2016
Dec 2, 2016 at 9:03 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
Gram had an old piano
It sat in the front room
There was a scorch mark on the top
Made by a cigar from the past
It always sat there silent
I never ever saw it played
But, I heard of all the parties
And the music from gram
She told us kids "don't touch it"
"Just leave it all alone"
So, we left it like she told us
We did as we were told
Even though we'd heard the stories
Of the music and the parties
And the fun that used to be
We watched as Gram would sit
Close her eyes, and fade out
To the parties and the music
And the good times of the past
She'd leave us to our own devices
Of which one, was not the piano
She told us it had been there
Since about nineteen sixty four
And to me, that's a long time
Especially for a piano to not be played
It had to be out of tune by now
But, we'd neve know
She'd tell us of the parties
How the neighbors would drop by
How the music would be lively
Then, she'd fade off once again
Back to the parties and the past
There were mice living in the piano
At least if not now, there once were
You could see droppings in the corner
And the scratches by the pedals
But, we never saw the mice
I guess they knew the piano was out of bounds too
As we got older and time passed by
We wouldn't go to Grams place as much
And she never moved the piano
We would still hear the stories
Either on the phone or during the visits
Both were more infrequent as we all aged
We knew she'd fade off
Sometimes during our chats on the phone
Sometimes during our visits
Back to the past
To the parties and the music
Gram passed last year
While she was sitting in her chair
She went to the past
And stayed there while I was making tea
I ended up with the piano
I can't play, not that I ever would
None of the other could either
But, I was the oldest
Now, every so often, I'll fade out
Back to the stories of the parties
That I never went to
And I think about the music
That I never heard
But, I remember how she said it was
How it must have sounded
The fun they had
The fun she was reliving
Grams piano sits in my house now
In the hall never played
It sits with its memories
Announcing what we all had missed
It sits, silent, and it's me who shares the tales
To all who will listen when they visit
I got Grams piano and I didn't get the mice
Feb 20, 2021
Feb 20, 2021 at 5:38 PM 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
When most people think addiction,
They think cigarettes and nicotine,
They think Alcoholics Anonymous and pain killers gone wrong,
They think gambling, *** and ****
They think addiction and they think of use versus abuse
After all the dictionary definition of addiction is:
"a strong and harmful need to regularly have or do something"
Something
Maybe that's why it's so hard for people to see that my lack of use is just as much abuse as the overuse of something.
They don't know that it is just as addicting to keep refusing food, as it is to keep drinking alcohol.
They don't know that keeping too small clothes in the back of the closet,
Hoping that one day your body will mold into them again,
Is just as dangerous as meshing oneself into someone else just for the night, but someone else the next.
They don't understand that counting the calories is just as consuming as counting the grams.
So don't tell me that my eating disorder is not as addicting as drugs, because cravings to be thin can be just as strong as someone's cravings to be high.
The feeling of an empty stomach, can be just as great as the feeling others get while watching ****
Don't say that my eating disorder is just for attention, because just like addiction it could very well **** me.
Feb 25, 2015
Feb 25, 2015 at 3:59 PM UTC