"potheads" poems
Highland Park is the stoner park, everybody knows that. You go to Highland Park to smoke **** you don't take your kids to Highland Park. Well, you might if your kids are total potheads but then you'd have to buy a lot more ****
-Belle B. Blazed
May 19, 2014
May 19, 2014 at 6:58 AM UTC
Whenever you think or you believe or you know, you are all a lot of other people; but the moment you feel, you are nobody but yourself.
-E.E. Cummings
Jan 12, 2016
Jan 12, 2016 at 11:38 AM UTC
Free concerts
are full of potheads,
they get all in your ear
and start talking about
the land of milk and honey,
DENVER ******* COLORADO.
The beers cost
15 bucks
for pisswater
and barely a pint.
The girls
all wear pink spaghetti straps
sagging acid-wash jeans,
and a smell like
old milk.
The old people
dance.
the old people dance;
there wrinkly
pterodactyl arms
flapping as they swirl the air
with bad knuckles.
The air smells,
like sweat.
Sweat smells like
toilet water.
Free concerts are usually outside,
so hope to ******* Gaia that it doesn't rain,
because you're stuck there,
drunk and yelling
dancing and laughing
******* and falling.
Matt, Dang and Me.
We spent our summer going to free concerts,
because the girls that go to free concerts
think tattoos and ************* and toilet humor
is more ****
than money.
The old people dance with you
performing some type of necromancy
in the air
that brings dead things inside of you
back to life.
And the bud,
it's so ******* sticky,
and it causes a hacking
paroxysm of coughing
to the point that you can
taste the blood in your mouth,
because those people from
DENVER ******* COLORADO,
really know their ****
Nov 20, 2011
Nov 20, 2011 at 12:05 AM UTC
At the party,
I saw faces
painted passionately
In smiles and laughter;
Eyes sparkling
like Crystal
In every hue of inebriation;
Hands clapping
Extended waves
Of cheerful celebration;
Lips smearing
lavish layers of
Love on captive ears;
Friends toasting
The Life
With Ciroc, Moët and beer;
Hollywood wannabes rocking
Bootlegged Ray-bans
In the dark;
Buzzed ex-lovers
waging battles
Of the heart;
15's smashed
into 10's,
Flashing rolls of flesh;
Uncle Johnny
in his Walkin' glory
Stumbling way past 'when';
'83 Hustlers
in furs and fedoras
Feasting on free treats;
Soul Train rejects
moon-stalking
On two left feet;
iPhones and Samsungs
Making memories
For the curious web;
PotHeads
in the smoky loo
Getting bloodshot red;
At the party,
The living colors
of life
Piqued my creative core...
And
I saw
poetry
in motion...
~ P
(#AtTheParty)
3/3/2014
Mar 3, 2014
Mar 3, 2014 at 7:12 PM UTC
The youth of our nation,
Modern civilization
Young people dying in every city
Reflections of their own self pity.
It's sickening...
Friends selling each other deadly drugs
Pillheads roaming around giving fake hugs
Cokeheads blowing out their mind
Potheads in search of their next find
Tweekers wigging out for no reason
Junkies living in the same dark season
Crackheads stealing even a cent
Addicts never paying rent
Mothers giving up their kids
Selling them like an auction for the highest bids
People ******* for their next fix
Prostitutes on every corner turning tricks
Next thing you know,
It's almost the end of the show.
You are broke, homeless, and full of disease
Can't wake, can't sleep, only cough and wheeze
Your body is aching
While family and friends' hearts are breaking.
All this wasted youth, for what,... another high
Just to get you by
Yet another day,
Should you live this way
You will next be seen six feet deep
Forever is your place to sleep.
It's just sickening...
All this wasted youth.
WAKE UP!
Sep 15, 2013
Sep 15, 2013 at 10:12 PM UTC
A screaming pierces the serenity of the river valley.
Overturned wreck of a car and splattered, shattered, scattered glass.
A fresh-cut gouge in the dirt embankment where he clipped it
and in retaliation it flipped him on his roof.
He staggers from the chaos
moaning not from pain, but from the Jaeger, Keystone, and regret
of totaling his mother's car.
He flees the scene with his homies, his fellow drunken cronies
and the witnesses are left behind, scratching heads and raising brows.
I among them contemplate the carnage
and I try remembering a different time, ten years ago or so...
This place used to be so beautiful
before the partiers and potheads and Varrio Locos took it over.
Shallow waters filled with algae drifts and interspersed with boulder bridges.
Sandy beaches, nature trails, wild grapes, and fishing holes.
The last free-flowing, undammed, undamned river in the state...
Now it's bloated with beer and blood and bad decisions.
Not a bare rock face remains, each one caked up in graffiti makeup.
And the air, once frequented by the heady scent of sycamore
is far too thick with marijuana anymore.
Santa Margarita, choking on smoke and dope and disrespect,
once my heart and home and refuge, now and forever a cheapened wasteland.
Mar 19, 2014
Mar 19, 2014 at 1:11 AM UTC
That smell is almost as entrancing
as it is disgusting
and the roar of the freeway
that never seems to leave
Hearing a lot of things
that just aren’t there
and I sat in my seat
and felt the building
fall to its side
Hallucinations
are skipping outward
from our dreams
and quickly into our waking life
surely they’re quite friendly
I was once chasing a man
that I knew never existed
and he could run from one closet in my mind
and into the opposite corner of my eye
He dropped his hat,
confused, bewildered
(more or less psychotic)
tripping over it,
my sanity
falling through the
hole in the ground
Right, running:
I was sprinting, actually
my arms are red from the
fences I climbed
barbwire tangled on my ***
Never run through the
wilderness bleeding from
the hands:
mosquitoes
sharks
hungry bears
(agitated potheads)
I chased the man
through the woods
and onto the street
of his apartment
Tackling him
on the
stairs
and burning a large candle
over his feet
so he wouldn’t move
Duct taping pills to his mouth
and trying to keep his face
from getting *****
Jogging from his
body
and to the new stand
quickly grabbing a magazine
I was going to capture him in
Unfortunately
he left his legs
on the
stairs
and crawled into his
room
So I lit his hat
on fire and prayed to gods
that I was now freed
Oct 11, 2010
Oct 11, 2010 at 9:40 PM UTC
An obvious homage to AG
America it is time for an update.
I am still sick of your insane demands,
just shut up and try to listen.
America, it's 4 AM. November 5th, 2016
and you have become a shambling giant
crushing us all as you stumble on.
America we have come to a parting of the ways.
America your founding fathers
were rich white men who sold their truths
for power and then ***** their slaves
and whipped the People into shape.
America Clinton and Trump
really are the best you have to offer.
America I am voting NO!
I no longer accept your vicious lies.
The Wobblies and anarchists were right.
To rise from the ashes something
must first burn and die.
America I am holding a Zippo.
America I am thinking about you.
Your cities are scoured by ******
your heartland drenched in ****
Your jails overflow with potheads.
Your police have become assassins
who cry like little girls
when their victims shoot back.
Your banks have stolen
all the money in the world
yet I am broke as usual.
In the 60s I actually thought
there was some hope of redemption.
Youth and drugs create such illusions.
Now I live alone with a sociopathic cat.
My friends are dead or scattered.
I am a poet in a country that can't read.
America your brainwashed minions
stare into their TVs, awaiting further orders.
America I don’t own a TV.
America we are well and truly ******
America once I fought a war for you.
I would never do that again.
America you have turned your guns on hope
and devoured it, feathers and all.
Now that is a Thanksgiving dinner.
America don't you ever weary
of eating your citizens' dreams?
America let me get to my angry point.
I am declaring my independence from you.
I am in you but not of you.
Stick your baubles up your ***
You have enough slaves. You don't need me.
So long America. I gave you an honest chance.
America, don't call me, I'll call you.
Nov 5, 2016
Nov 5, 2016 at 5:42 AM UTC
The morning light ignites my brain
as i ignite my bowl
The only way that i can rise
and climb from slumbers hole
Through rain and rays i hear birds sing
Their notes dance in my head
But fog rolls in
On brain and whim
And potheads back to bed
Jul 30, 2015
Jul 30, 2015 at 4:37 AM UTC
Trees we hike dark coal
"Horror"
He whispers blade eyes
Cut her not to like
White drizzle wedding
ghostly take a hike
Her bare skin shivers
Knocking on heavens door
Those skinheads hit her floor
Life's cruel wicked costly
Silver bullets hit the smoking
potheads
Chattered teeth hearing sound's
He shifted so close desirable
( tasty mound's)
The Stranger Billy don't B fool
joker
Dark-love complicated **** it
Computer slammed her fingers
All Choked up Elvis twist
Deep-house music strangled rope
seated,
Touching a nerve dead-beat
Harvest-hair Rocky horror seat
Trembling in your
Rocking Chair
No flair black tears red tip check
of word fears
Elevated you deadly crumb's
in a row nothing to show
Blood was dripping
Someone's eyes pop-out fixated
Dark brain felt polluted
white chalked her stalked
You were being watched
Eye's stalked daggered
Rows and Rows
Cosmic dark Gothically
Webs caught in webs
black tears
satanically
Parasite horror website
Bood ***** bite
Loud drips from the sink
discolored
Wrinkled Hand's Slime Sticky
Her long neck lastly tricky
Rocky-Road yellow brick
lightly pricked Emerald city
Eye's melt fingers slipped
The poppy, eyes I tripped
He's no lover of mine cheaply.
Dec 3, 2016
Dec 3, 2016 at 10:40 AM UTC
I'm A Poet, Writer Of The Highest Order. When I Put Pen To Paper, There Are No Borders.
I Can Introduce You To The Amazing, Vaccinate You With Hope. I Can Clean Your Thoughts Like Pope-On-A-Rope.
I Give All Of My Innards My Deepest Insides, All Of My Tears And My Purposeful Pride.
Thoughtlessness Is A Common Malady, You Should Think Twice Before It Infects Me.
Jan 11, 2016
Jan 11, 2016 at 2:12 PM UTC
engaging the clutch
smoothly transitioning through the gears
easing the accelerator
speeding into a new experience
dust trail follows behind
holding the past
in a fuzzy grasp
clinging
to lost ideals
fading in the rearview
unknown curves lie ahead
dangerous slides
rocky passes
potholes
filled with potheads
trading progress
for papers
pushing through the normal modes
I find myself in uncharted territory
new lands
strange formations
exciting prospects
prophetic
seeking unridden waves
and buried caverns
I explore my new surroundings
as a university graduate
Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 5:38 PM UTC
I'll pass the joint another time around,
5 years gone by, I can't even frown.
The piles gets larger,
The arguments few and far between,
Life is getting easier,
Maybe it's just me.
Cause in my head, this plant is What I got,
But Bradley died young, I can't give up.
All my friends are potheads, my family gave up,
just another year, stuck in that rut.
Nov 23, 2013
Nov 23, 2013 at 6:43 PM UTC
Get down rock round and round
Love to her you moan mm girl thats the sound
Dap a pound
Feeling so ****** pick me up off of the ground
Feel the bass up in my chest
Music calling me this ain't a test
If you think you better boy give it a rest
Only got 3 tatts
Spurs hats
Living big you should know it says it on the mat
Of my crib when you first walk in
You know when I walk in the party has begin
We gonna get ****** up all night there just isn't an end
But to much just got me in the morning sick
Them girls saying they want me and want me ****
But I don't wanna **** I tell em to keep them jaws thick
Swerving them lanes
Turn off the lights when I see a gang
Drive pass by and my glock goes BANG
Purple smoke not original dank
All purple even my drank
We call ourselves potheads ***** what the **** do you thank
Nov 5, 2014
Nov 5, 2014 at 7:56 AM UTC
Hey there, Maurice
This man could take the **** outta pistola
Tall as Yosemite
and twice as wild
Then here's Greer,
Man's... a little queer.
Drinks carrot juice with carbonated soda
Says its good for joints and inertia.
Don't quite know what that means,
But here--You don't gotta know a thing.
We smack the back of railroad tracks
Zoom down the 8 to the 102
And great! Who can we appreciate?
Pretty ladies and dancing lights
red eyes our fill of delight
These guys walk with a gun to their stride
claim to humane:
use hollow-point.
Infused with botanicals
Drinking gin
Beefeater talking heads
Drowning sins
You laugh at them now?
Bunch of rowdy gamblers
Playing dice with life
Spinning their chambers
Faster than you probably could.
there they are!
On Downey street
The place where the hackers and potheads meet
They deal in prose and green cloth!
words and promises and fear of light,
Man, these guys are outta my mind!
And I hither to and fro their
Business stand and hated flair
Told me the world would set me free
That perhaps we'd all get there eventually
But in that mean time
Hollow-points hang their claim
Grasp for cloth and modem dollar
Shackled by a diamond collar
Dreaming of fancy little rocks
A yacht of metal, a house of blocks
I dream of simple things
Of green and flowers and Poppy seeds
Wherein I find that happy guy
and revel in warm alibi
Maurice and Greer
Me and her
She and I,
We'll be there
And there is here,
There I despair
And watch awake with placid eyes
The drain choked with misplaced hair
May 18, 2018
May 18, 2018 at 6:52 PM UTC
She used to flaunt around with whispers of whiffs of **** and cigarette smoke sunken into her sweaters and wavy locks.
When she left, he longed for the smell of what he once had, so he started hanging around the potheads and chainsmokers of the campus
But soon, he realized that it was not just the smell of scorched planty fibers that he longed for,
It was the smell of her without and before the addictions,
How sweet and sticky it was in the late summer nights,
How her breath toyed with the hairs of his neck.
But he mostly just missed the presence of another being that could make him realize he is
still here.
Still alive.
Still able to be.
Jan 27, 2019
Jan 27, 2019 at 8:36 AM UTC
I can't talk
even if I could why would I?
no seriously, give me a reason.
I mean, when I'm high I can give you every reason in the world,
but in times like these, the lows, I just don't know.
It's like all of a sudden nothing matters except how beautiful the world is
and how badly I wanna **** everyone in it for ruining it.
But that's school shooter talk, my friends already think I'm suicidal, well, they know I'm suicidal.
Sometimes, well times like this, it scares me to know that most, if not all, of my happiness comes from a drug.
Not just any drug. But the most harmless drug of all time, which is illegal for some reason.
I'm not dependent though, I can live without it, I just don't think it'd be very healthy for anyone around me.
I don't want to be another liberal who ******* at society for not accepting what I'm going through and pandering to me,
but it would be nice if you did.
I mean could you imagine it? a world full of people like us.
The "bad kids", rebels without a cause, just chaotic for no reason.
The potheads, loners with the mind of stoners, shaggy and scooby almost every season
The weirdos, multiversal misanthropists with our hearts so mischeavious
The killers, scared kids who just wanna be left alone, but the world keeps ******* with us.
Weird;
first time I'm talking to you and not sounding like a love sick puppy.
I mean everyday I get closer to the voice in my head, the good one, the one who wants me to **** myself
and I can feel myself getting closer to that state of **** it, where I actually do it and take a classroom with me
guess that's why I've been typing this whole thing with my middle fingers.
but I'm not that evil...
...yet.
Dec 18, 2017
Dec 18, 2017 at 4:57 AM UTC
This plan right here is foolproof.
Ima kick back under a cool roof,
With my eyes closed and my
Blunt packed.
So there's no room
For my family to talk smack.
And I'm a real friend,
But I'm lonely.
I gotta let this warm food
Hold me.
Because who else will?
That's a good question.
All my trauma has taught me
Lessons.
And the best one
That I've learned yet,
Is there's no freedom
If you ain't hurt yet.
And maybe I'm a little
Biased.
But you'd be too,
If right behind your eyelids,
Were eyes that
Seen such violence--
That you begged to become quite
Blinded.
Because this shit's real,
But your dreams ain't.
Eat your meals three times
On a green plate.
It reminds you
To be a cheapskate.
You need full pockets
To dine on lean steak.
I done told them,
And I done warned you,
That all of America is scorned too.
The politicians and the
Potheads.
Your family tree looks more
Like a cobweb.
Your addiction is the way
You numb pain.
Your *** your drugs, your
Slot games.
You hate it, but you hate this
Life more.
You pray? Do you pray to the
Right Lord?
Do you force yourself,
Just like me?
Don't feel bad. Inside we're
All just dying.
Aug 5, 2018
Aug 5, 2018 at 1:31 PM UTC
There were better nights than this. Better than cropping people out of your photos and throwing everything that you are into a cardboard box you lit on fire and watched burn, and coming to the decision that the piece of **** that hurt you was never going to do it again. You can't do **** about that. But what the **** do you know because by the time you were twelve years old you'd never actually been a child. Since the time you could barely walk you've been on a sinking ship and it was every man for themselves. You would rip your hair out and then cry about it, you've been clinically depressed for ages, your parents had been long gone strangers, and you moved more than any military family you knew of. You didn't see a point in making friends so that made you a ****** person but you didn't know how to be an unshitty person because you've never met an unshitty person. You knew potheads and people who did ****** and never thought anything of it because that was all you knew. That was how you were supposed to grow up. You'd never "found god" like a lot of people seem to. And school just seemed to make you even more of a ******* Everyone you had ever trusted bailed or snitched so you just stopped giving a **** about anybody else but yourself, and you didn't care if that was selfish because you were just trying to survive. There were better nights than this.
Aug 17, 2018
Aug 17, 2018 at 9:24 PM UTC