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Puff the magic dragon
Lives by the sea
We know him from our childhoods
Living down in Hona Lee

Little Jackie Paper
He loved that dragon puff
But, he's grown up  and he's moved away
He's too old for all that stuff

What happened to the dragon?
What is Puff doing these days?
Few children come to visit him
He's still swimming between the bays

Puff is writing stories
Of his time so long ago
He uses a computer now
For his writing was so slow

Little Jackie Paper
Is a doctor in Duluth
He doesn't think of Puff at all
He won't accept the truth

His imagination
Disappeared as Jackie grew
Puff was not a living thing
As far as Jackie knew

Puff is making money
But, longs for old pursuits
Like sealing wax and other things
And kids in rubber boots

Jackie came to visit
He brought his family to the beach
Puff was there in hiding
And he stayed just out of reach

Jackies son, he saw him
told his dad of dragon Puff
Jackie said, it isn't real
"Of this talk I've had enough"

Puff the magic dragon
heard this and he did cry
He missed his Jackie Paper
He never said good bye

Jackies son kept wanting
To see the dragon by the shore
So, Jackie took him down again
To find the dragon friend once more

Puff, he saw them coming
And he made his way on out
And to his little Jackie Paper
Puff, gave out a shout

He shot fire from his nostrils
He splashed water with his tail
He even showed Jackies young boy
How he could harness wind and sail

Puff the magic dragon
still lives by the sea
One day Jackie will notice him
And his mind will then be free

A child's imagination
Must be nurtured as they grow
Harness it as they grow up
Maybe they'll put on a show

Never, tell your children
to stop playing around
Play along and you will see
Puff is there still to be found

Puff, the magic dragon
Lives by the sea
He still frollicks in the autumn mist
In a land called Hona Lee
Steve Feb 2017
The ultimate Dragon Poem and a childhood favourite of mine which still sends shivers to this day...

Puff, the magic dragon lived by the sea
And frolicked in the autumn mist in a land called Honahlee
Little Jackie paper loved that rascal puff
And brought him strings and sealing wax and other fancy stuff oh

Puff, the magic dragon lived by the sea
And frolicked in the autumn mist in a land called Honahlee
Puff, the magic dragon lived by the sea
And frolicked in the autumn mist in a land called Honahlee

Together they would travel on a boat with billowed sail
Jackie kept a lookout perched on puff's gigantic tail
Noble kings and princes would bow whene'er they came
Pirate ships would lower their flag when puff roared out his name oh

Puff, the magic dragon lived by the sea
And frolicked in the autumn mist in a land called Honahlee
Puff, the magic dragon lived by the sea
And frolicked in the autumn mist in a land called Honahlee

A dragon lives forever but not so little boys
Painted wings and giant rings make way for other toys
One grey night it happened, Jackie Paper came no more
And puff that mighty dragon, he ceased his fearless roar

His head was bent in sorrow, green scales fell like rain
Puff no longer went to play along the cherry lane
Without his life-long friend, puff could not be brave
So Puff that mighty dragon sadly slipped into his cave oh

Puff, the magic dragon lived by the sea
And frolicked in the autumn mist in a land called Honahlee
Puff, the magic dragon lived by the sea
And frolicked in the autumn mist in a land called Honahlee
I read somewhere that some one did an illustrated version of the song where the final illustration saw Jackie bring his young daughter to the cave and introduced her to Puff. That will always be my ending.
Robert Guerrero May 2013
The new motto for our generation
Puff Puff pass
So if you decide to keep
The beloved joint I just rolled
Prepare to get your *** kicked
It's not the addiction of marijuana
That keeps the freshly rolled joint
In between my lips
It's the fact that I can ******* do it
One puff Two puff
Here you go
I'll share with you
Because I don't care about anything
I'm getting high
So maybe when it wears off
I'll crash from the height
Skydive with no parachute
And kiss the ground just before I die
One puff Two puff
The reason the joint is here
Is because I want to be like my mother
Pops always said "You're just like your mother"
Lucky it isn't a needle
Samri Apr 2014
5:45 am.
promise me, you won't do anything stupid.
okay mom, i get it.
no smoking,
no drinking.
i have to get going. NOW.

8:00 am.
look what we got for us!, she says.
as we climb onto the bus
J.D and a pack of cigs.
nothing to hesitate about,
we're no longer kids!

11:00 am.
i taste the filter- with care.
heavy lumps on my throat as i fight to find some air.
my tiny lungs bloat, still fighting for air.
i resist.
imagining how much mom would be ******.

4:00 pm.
i'm almost on my fourth.
i let go.
let it get to me, slowly.
let it do its magic.
and let it **** me inside, slowly.

my first ever smoke.
been there. done that. not doing it again, hopefully.
Matthew Harlovic Dec 2014
Take a little
puff, puff,
before you
pass, pass

© Matthew Harlovic
Eddie John Oct 2017
I puff and puff and hope to forget. The pain she brought and all the ****. She ****** me up and here I sit. just wishing She never through that fit. I punch the wall, once then twice. A thousand times flash before my eyes of the things I said that weren't my lines. I wish I could take them back but the rage I felt took over my body and mind. I lay here wishing that I hadn't messed up what I had. Cause if I hadn't said those stupid things I would still have that life. When I see you smiling having a good time it makes me hurt because you used to me mine. I used to be your joy but now I'm nothing to you but an old toy. So here I sit and puff and puff and hope to forget..
This ones about a toxic relationship, and the inner dynamics of feeding off each other's unhealthy habits. Destroying each other and ourselves.
Devon Demon Dec 2017
Puff puff, I take another hit.
The smoke is so thick She can't breath,Let alone leave.
I ain't never seen a girl so far gone,
As to flee from the air we breath just to pass the pipe and do it all again.
Puff puff, this ***** so good it could last the whole night.
Drowning in the air  we breath, we
won’t try to swim so we choose to sink,
sink in to the reality that stares us in the face.
Life is like fine lace, it's full of holes, ways to get around the laws that were there to put us in place.
Puff puff we may have had enough but the nights still young, So we continued on
Puff puff its almost morning  nearly passed out, you could tell people were mourning
Mourning for the loss of their life.
The one they never had and the one they never will.
Puff puff now I know we've had to much this **** ain't good anymore for the addictions to strong, we’ll regret it in the end.
Mara Kennet Sep 2013
I wanna smoke a cigarrette with Obama

We’ll lower the sound on Futurama

He will hand me a pack of Marlboro or Newport

He will puff I will puff

Life will be like a resort

We will talk about politics and in vain

Puff again puff again puff again puff again

We would smoke and we would quit

He will swear again

For six years ”no cigarrettes lit”

I will quit smoking too

We will play peekaboo

And turn the volume back up on Futurama

I will boast to my friends

I quit smoking again with Obama
Daisy C May 2014
Take a hit
blow it out
***** up time.
Take a hit
fall out of your head,
invision things
that aren't even there.
Ruin your life
just for a feeling.
False Poets Oct 2017
does the moon get tired?

~for the children who never tire of moon gazing upon the dock,
by the light of the fireflies,
till the angels are dispatched by Nana,
to sprinkle sleepy dust in their eyelashes so long and fine~

while walking the dog I no longer have,
a happenstance glanceable up over the River East,
there you were, mr. moon, in all your fulsomeness ,
surrounded by a potpourri of courtier clouds,
all deferentially bowing, waving,
passing past you at a demure royal speed on their way
to Rebecca's northern London,
of was it south to grace of  v V v's Texas^,
in any event,
the cloudy ladies, all bustling and curvaceous,  
all high stepping in recognition of your exalted place,
Master of the Night Sky

the word careless, poets excessive,
sometimes called silly poppies, old men,
left footed, still crazy after many years,
most assuredly poets false all of us,
without a proper prior organized thought train,
bludgeon blurted,
an inquiry preposterous and strange,
strait directed to the sombre face,
to mister moon himself!

tell me moon, do you ever tire?*

the obeisant clouds shocked
as that face we all uniform know,
unchanged anywhere you might go  to gaze, be looking upon it,
watched the moon's face turn askew.

He looking down at our rude puzzlement,
with a Most Parisian askance,
a look of French ahem moustacheoed disbelief,
while we watched as the moon cherubic cheeks
filled with airy atmosphere,
then he sighed

so windy winding, was it,
so mountain high and river deep,
that those chubby clouds were blown off course,
from a starless NYC sky
all the way past Victoria Station,
only to stop at Pradip and Bala's
mysterious land of
bolly-dancing India,
on their way to Sally's Bay of Manila,
magic places all!

Mr. Moon looked down at this one tremulous fool representative  
(me) and in a voice
basso beaming and starry sonorous,
befitting its stellar positioning,
squinting to get a closer look at the
who in whom
dare address him in such an emboldened manner!

Mmmmm, recognize you, you are among those
who use my presence, steal my lighted beams, my silver aura,
my supermoon powered light, borrow my eclipses,
reveal my changeling shaped mystery without permission,
only mine to give, you tiny borrowers who write that thing,
p o e t r y

head and kneed, bowed and bent,
I confessed
(on y'alls behalf)

we take your luminosity and don't spare you
even a tuppence, a lonely rupee, no royalties paid
to you-up-so-highness,
and we hereby apologize for all the poets
without exception,
especially those moon besotted,
only love poem writing,
vraiment misbegotten scoundrels....

with another sigh equality powerful,
mr moon pushed those clouds across the Pacifica,
all the way to the  US's West Coast,
up to Colorado,
where moon-takings from the lake's reflecting light
so perfect for rhyming, kayaking,
and moonlight overthrowing,
once more, the moon taken and begotten,
as heaven- freely-granted

yes, I tire
and though  here I am much beloved,
usually admired though sometimes even blackened cursed,
seen in every school child's drawing,
in Nasa's calculations,
of my influential gravitational pull,
moving human hearts
to love and giving Leonard a musical compositional hint,
and while this admirable devotion is most delighting,
would it upset some vast eternal plan,
if but one of you once asked,
you fiddler scribblers
my prior permission,
even by just, a lowly
mesmerizing evening tide's tenderizing glance?

yes, I tire,
even though my cycles are variable,
my shape shifting unique, my names so at variance
in all your many musical sing-song dialectical languages,
my sway, my tidal currents so powerful a deterrence,
unlike my boring older sunny cousine  who just cannot get over
how hot looking she is,
I,  so more personally interesting,
yet you use me as if I were a fixture,
on and off with
a tug of the chain string,
never failing to appear,
even when feeling pale yellow and orange wan,
and worse,
mocked as an amore pizza pie,
do you ever ask how I am doing?

yes, I tire,
of my constant circuitous route that changes ever so slowly,
but yet, too fast for me to make some nice human acquaintances, especially those young adoring children
who give me their morn pleasurable squeals when they awake and my presence still there,
a shining ghost of a guardianship protector still
watching over them

how oft in life do we presume,
take for granted
grants so extra-ordinary
that we forget to remember
the extra
and see only the ordinary

how oft in life do we assume,
the every day is always every,
until it is not,
only an only
a now and then,
till then,
is no longer a

oh moon, oh moon,
our richest apologies
we hereby tender and surrender,
our arrogance beyond belief,
what can we offer in relief?

silence heard loud and clear,
mr. moon was gone,
a satellite in motion,
so our words burnt up in the atmosphere

we did not weep
nor huff and puff,
blow those clouds back to us,
for we knew
the extraordinary
would return tomorrow,
we will be ready,
better another day,
to prepare
a lunar composition,
a psalm of hallelujah praise,
for mr. moon
of which
mr moon will never tire,
for filled with the perma-warmth
of our affection
for the one we call mr.moon
False Poets is a collective of different poets who write here, in a single voice,
hence the confusing interchangeable switching of the pronouns.    sorry bout that.

^ HP - give them back the claimed  V name!
Robin Carretti Aug 2018
Breaking up is hard to do
       let's rise take it easy
       Waking- up don't be lazy
My morning glory spiritual stretch
Soothe me like a tranquilizer
His words are my pacifier
The shooting star sprinkling shot

Stars work dot to dot
They connect get rid of all
broken heart subjects
Soothe me star even if there
is nothing to do

We need to do something
Earth wind and fire just
Don't lock me and throw away
the star key is it going to Key- West
 Daylight no broken light in my
        Star stuff- sight
Light to the dark twilight

Those zillions of stars my
eyes closed I suppose
Take another look lovely rose
The same spot share the good stuff
I saw the soothing words
Star pointed toes who knows
or to out-win the odds?

Not the starry night
Going through something
It's been a hard day night
One star light years to fight
Breathe in and soothe me
It was up to me not to blind me
My cool spirit meditation table

The New York soothing menu
Rendezvous all talk but delicious
She is tough walking
The hardest avenue
The *Positive me
even if its the
broken up me that's the only me
No one can take his place to soothe me

French fondue it suits her another clue
Red White moody blues the statue
Do you all agree? Another feel good
shopping spree are the stars true
I cannot even say soothing-word
Your home is your oasis love stuff

Sooth me star stuff no one to minus

The hard stuff is to better yourself
The feel-good smooth flowing
Even if you missed your star
You're the no star he's is always late
Soothe me star may be my fate
Cafe warm running lattte late

The forever flight hit so hard
  Got_  Thrown brick harder
They say remorse is the
poison of life
And divorce could be the best
change in someone's life

OH! Lord The new? Hard cushion/night

"The winding rough road see the light"
*It may be tough but make it good deed
Athletic Girly curve walk
The pep talk she had the tough birth
The Preppy he's training the puppy stuff
You don't have to be a star it doesn't matter

Who you are
Never get in the middle of a dare
Show the whole world you care
Puff the magic dragon
Harder side of logic is the mission
Been Moonstruck light flick
Both mouths a volcano

Hard star stuff ham and swiss hero
Exploring new stuff
Please take it from pointed star
She walks like she is hot stuff
Those color forms of love stuff
Things and stuff
Stuff and things

Walking through the end of
the exit
It a hard position of the angle
Tough to be single even more
to deal with lotsa stuff to be married
Being the first online
I am getting a handle on my stuff

Indie Pop like Ice Queen Pop
Going mainstream
She's Brook long stream
He's under the influence
She doesn't nearly have
the up to par patience
Gifts of curiosity

Adjusting to reality
Hard life too much focus
On our happiness
He's coming home
breadwinner of money
Just one loaf of
bread she blossoms
Disavows humanity

The harder the words
How it challenges our sanity

Dark crayon hard stuff
Wild Hawaii Say Hi to all our
blissfully but soothing hearts
She is like a hard sandpaper
He is so cool reading his
worldly carefree life

He is inside the newspaper
Big Ben London guard
How mindset like Hallmark card
Too much Holiday Turkey going
****** tunes when there is I tunes
So powerless word hard ingenious
Be thankful for what you have
But feeling too much
of the dry spell that rain fall
Going to that heavenly gifted secret
Like an Elephant, you are

the tough one the smart one magnet
No-one is perfect to be the
brilliant one
The star way of the fantasy
Nothing fancy doesn't make you jump
Presidential Trump Roger Rabbit
My lucky tower rabbit foot
Between a hard rock meets her sexuality

Having bad luck long shot solitude
Hallucinations all dark things hurt
My imagination world is sometimes
belly overstuffed Santa Claus
I love the hard candy bitter- sweet metal
Who gets the Metals and honors
The Terminators better leaders

PJ-Clarkes Princeton NJ
Superman Clark Kents
We need more therapy events
Princeton pancakes no remakes
And tons of maple syrup
***** Tonk women at the rodeo
Her horse lucky hoof sooth me

Stars real stuff
New York City roof ruff ruff
A hard rock and critters
And then you wake
back to the hard stuff

Soothe your pain the goodness of the rain
Hard life or its way too easy what is truly better I know my moods change in this hell of a gun weather. Let's keep our spirit high and heal our minds to get better don't you want a better life or something in the middle of the road make sure you don't kiss deeply inside of a hard binding book of the fairy tale. You are worth so much more than kissing a toad but we are talking about the hard stuff please go easy on me
Life's a Beach Jun 2014
I sniff and laugh
I've passed someone smoking ****

I've never been able to tell
the smell before, can't
Risk, a lingered puff.
I've always found it hard
to tell
when's enough
So I don't dar, but sometimes
I feel tempted to stare

Toxic yeti Jan 2019
She kept going
Around and around
On the carscell
At the airport
A soft
Fluffy flame like puff
Is beside the girls

She was looking
for her bag
As the flame puff comes around
The girl notices
Scoops up the tiny puff

What luck
A girl finds a puff
A cute puff
As she leaves with her new pet
The puff nuzzles the girl
“What a loving pet”
The girl thought
Then it’s when
The girl names her
The looks at the she puff
And asks

“How can something so loveable come
From an airport?”
About my pet puff ball.
Eli Grove May 2013
I tried to quit smoking last week. And my best friend died for eighteen hours. Such a deep loss has only been felt by rose hips, in the early winter, after the petals have fallen to the ground, like snow, like jumpers from high-rise buildings, like a maiden, after that last, fatal step off the plank, with swords at her back, and the horizon calling to her, the song of the Sirens drifting up from the ocean floor. Dropping, like petals, caught in a harsh winter breeze. The left-overs, the carcases of the flowers that were and are no more, watch with eyes of sorrow and hearts of lead, as each friend, companion, lover, even casual aquaintance plummets, to land on the already frozen soil of a dead, snowless, Colorado winter.
I died with my friend. My roots were tangled, and with each second that passed, a million axes took bites out of them, feasting on my identity. The axes were only gold-plated, it would seem, and not pure, unadulterated precious metal. Engraved in the paper-thin facade was a name, a face, and a hope, all of which were merely a poor excuse for an excersise in willpower. The cold, iron blade shone through the thin, gently curved lines of lip and ear and eye made of nebula. With each breath that passed between loosely parted lips, I felt myself fade, giving my everthing to the world (hope, name, face) that had, only moments before, murdered my closest companion.
My eyes grew steadily hard, increased stone-content. By 6:30, I had been staring into the eyes of my mistress, Medusa, for at least two hours, my head filled with love songs and daydreams, clutching straws and holding out for the one perfect moment that would shed a brief light on my life, which is, in all reality, the afformentioned pirate ship, but void of lamps, candles, or any other means of illumination.
Questions flowed to the surface of my disjointed mind in a stream, a river, an oceanic current of molten rock and sloppy second guesses.
(Will one hurt? Half? Just one puff? Why? Why? Why?)
And as I turned to stone, I finally found the courage to answer one of the questions that my brain shot itself with, injected into its own blood stream. The question was the sole bullet in a revolving, high-stakes betting game, the answer, the fourth trigger pull, with only two chances left anyway.
(Because... I don't know why...)
So stand up, go to the place you have thought about two-million times, and, yes, smoke, smoke, smoke that cigarette.
As my friend rose from the dead, pushing aside the boulder blocking the entrance to its tomb, which everyone knew was just a temporary tenement, and we were reunited, we spoke of fascists. Well, I spoke of fascists, it listened. I spoke of the kind of fascists that exist in grayscale television commercials, spewing ingnorant words about the untimely deaths of beloved family members, who give me ***** looks in public, and have forced me into alleyways, across streets, out of sight, out of mind, to the back of the bus, as if non-smokers live forever, as if everyone can accomplish said impossible feat, if not for the evil plant, the evil spiritual plant that poses a threat to the well-ordered religious structures, pyres built for martyrs and long-dead saviors.
I have only begged for eternity once, and I was very young, with years of rocks and hard places ahead, only pink clouds behind, and eyes incapable of foresight. This boy ate apples, and drew on his arms with black pen every Sunday. Go into the church clean, bathed, come out with temorary full-sleeve tattoos. This boy was made of wonder, myth, and blind acceptance. No longer.
I have now gazed into an eternity made of open graves, lost loves, and harsh, barbed-wire truths, punctuated with sharp, jabbing exclamation points of brief pleasure that only seem to make the reality of eternity worse. I am a *******, and even I don't want that. A body can only function for so long without sleep before the motor wears out, the radiator breaks, the gasket leaks, and the marbles flee from the growing insanity of their owner. We all need to rest eventually, and in my secret mind - the one that grimaces with sick pleasure and only shows its teeth in the lines of a poem, slightly blurred by metaphor - I long for that sleep. I am tired, but the day is only half done. But each sun sets, and we can not deny it that truth, that sensation of finality that settles upon senile eyes like a cataract, that snuggles against warm, pink lungs in all its black, tar-like splendor.
Truth, like so many other things in this solar system, only takes shape when under the eye of a microscope, with a passive viewer sewn to the end of it, with the sole intention of passing judgement before shouting "NEXT," and repeating the process untill they either run out of things to judge (blame, think, guilt-trip) or die.
So, smoke, smoke, smoke that cigarette. Puff, puff, puff it and let us hope they never get to either of us, old friend.


The name is George Washington, but its the general to you,
or you could call me president one, not three or two,
and you probably heard a lot of silly stories about me,
but let me lay it down how raw it really used to be

I got a hemp operation back at the plantation
selling the stickiest **** around the new nation
so come run and find me if you wanna get high
***' honestly I got the bombest I cannot tell a lie

Pick it dry, of course I'm gonna try
bag it up and brick it and then just let them buy it
and if the Brits wanna come take a piece of the cut,
I'll raise a whole ******' army let em see whats what.

The kings like "yo I gotta get payed"
I'm like "tough ***** 'cause y'alls a whole ocean away
and you can try send some ships to come and make me pay up
but that's an awful long way just to **** deeze nuts.
You get my ******' message son?"
Take it, Thomas Jefferson

Sell drugs, run guns,
nail ***** and **** the law. (**** the law!)
We're Founding Fathers; we're Rushmore ****
and we were all high as *****.
The Declaration of Independence
I wrote so high I'm surprised it makes sense
but we find these truths to be self-evident:
it goes puff puff pass and next round you get skipped.

Abe Lincoln; I know what y'all thinkin':
Greatest president ever, I'll have what he's drinkin'
Ah-ha, yeah, well see, that's where you'd be wrong
'cause if you wanna chill with me you'd better go and grab that ****
or an apple or that can, see you do not understand
faded 24/7 'cause that's just the way I am.
I can see you're having a little trouble believing me
but check this letter I wrote it down, recorded in history, ahem:

"Two of my favorite things are sitting on my porch
and smoking a pipe of that sweet Hemp," of course
that's a quite that I wrote when I was still in office
but enough of that, I am too high, I have to back up off this.

Where is my horse, I think I need to go and ride him home
I was supposed to leave about four score and twenty rips ago;
you see my hat? I like it, I kinda think it looks like a stove.
Scratch it; pass it one more time and let me hit it for the road.

Sell drugs, run guns,
nail ***** and **** the law. (**** the law!)
We're Founding Fathers; we're Rushmore ****
and we were all high as *****.
And don't let 'em try and tell you we grew it just for rope
you can check what we wrote down in our harvest notes:
we separated seeds that we found more potent,
in layman's terms we were in to getting bent.

Smokin' out the Continental Congress,
everybody's ******* be like all up on us.
Patrick Henry's in the corner, lookin' pretty spent
Ben Franklin got so high he forgot to be President.

Your girl just said she never had it hit so good,
smoked so many trees my ******' teeth turned wood
and if they make a monument to me when I die
it'll be a giant abstract Joint up in the sky, ha ha!

But, you know they're gunna whitewash me;
make up some corny **** about me choppin' cherry trees.
It's hard to control a people if their Founder's a ****
so they'll just teach that I was all prayers, puppies and hugs.

But, that just ain't the way it was
we set this whole place up with a hell of a buzz;
so next time they try and to tell you that this stuff is wrong,
look at a dollar, light a blunt, ******' sing my song:

Sell drugs, run guns,
nail ***** and **** the law. (**** the law!)
We're Founding Fathers; we're Rushmore ****
and we were all high as *****.
The Declaration of Independence
I wrote so high I'm surprised it makes sense
but we find these truths to be self-evident:
it goes puff puff pass and next round you get skipped.

We're the Founders, and we found this
and we found this on Cannabis.
We're the Founders, and we found this
and we found this on Cannabis.

Mount Rushmore Crew;
A stone monument to some monumental stoners; a-ha-ha!
G. Washington, T. Jefferson, and A. Lincoln
and **** that other guy; Calvin Coolidge?
Whoever the ****...
We history.
Robin Carretti Jul 2018
She moves with
The Gracious meeting in denial
He's the baron of beef delicious side
Reproduction picture full slide
The most
   Casual face

Met the eternal masterly
    Artist face
Saying Oh! Grace
The other side of midnight
     Mask Face
She could overjoy anyone's
Heart in the right place
    Deceiving Face

The miracle of love principles
Such skepticism could it be overjoyed realism

But a hell of a time with heavenly bliss
What a shock when he gave me my kiss
His Crooked face to longevity nose
Hiding place A-Rose

Beachy trance-set face

Highlands of Scotland,
anybody would want her
     *Joyful face

He's the baronial
Secluded caves but risky dives
The turn only If?? I
could turn back the time
The events strictly

Her apple cheeks bathing suit
He is picking her fruit
So soothing the fiddle
Tinman whistles the ladies harps

Their medieval moment's help!!!
The swords  bust to his manly chest
Sleeping Inn New castle west
Their best bedrest

The cupboards open overjoyed
invitation decorative cans
Of greens, pinks, purple passion

And flourless chocolate cakes
Powdered lips love his reaction

She was seductively awe-inspiring
The top hills of Ireland grass
vividly raised her legs
The bowl next to her
The Rose blush wines
Bare it Fruit and figs

The baronial tug of war wigs

Melodious birds the
Grand One
The thousand piano words
Overjoyed but
under the {Baronial} weather

So lordly new threads tailored
carpenter pants
Men of the herds
She's the
Caron French boutique

There ****** desires
The creature within
Wildly mating like critiques

Her perfumes so extinct
Overjoyed her heart
So cultured violin strings
Dollhouse Castle to restore
With her unique touches,
he wanted more

The steps tiring like a killed deer
every muscle he could hear

Over elaborating how people are dating
With a  stamped from the very
heart  approval
But hard times such laboring
Sitting in her
overjoyed chair
His face all Scrooged
no gifts of flowers
What are the odds of this pair

Over and over again her rainbow
her sensitivity we need longevity
The  endless walls are caving in
We are not so overjoyed by
this monster garden
She had her first breakdown
Going up the
Jack and Jill Ireland hill
In the longtime what long run
Way too short
It didn't come from above

The vintage oldtimer
radios sitting
together with
family listening
so long ago
So commercialized
The crazy shows
Where do you really want to go,
you just want to shut everything off

He called her the powder puff
Waiting for the nocturnal star
Those scrubs and hot rubs shower
Over my knee-high boots so in
love cahoots

Oh! It's her
The smart student
Owl Hoot whats to boot
Eating her shepherd's pie
so lordly full lips word-me
Ireland Holy Land
of love and beauty

Overly scrupulousness
The time of blessings

But the baronial loved to be
overly entertained
And she would sit there  
Blue-blooded royal dishes
Got flushed away no wishes

Like the hardest love
of multiplication
The ****** overstimulation
Over embellished
But you're still positive
But why did she
want to vanish

Destroyed her
Apple jubilee computer

Spiritual Zen
Or new lover Amen
Ever touched by Ireland maidens
Like the crimson and clover
I do believe in the
Four leaf clover Face

Like the only thing she picked
were the weeds
More beauty of life and deeds
Or tons of sorrow wondering
how she
would feel tomorrow?
We will never know
Overjoyed by so many things have the beauty Ireland is amazingly beautified or everything feels unnecessary gloomy or horrified you rather pick of ripe blueberry or cherry or blackberry living like your in the castle being summoned on by the Scrooged type Baron
RW Dennen Aug 2014
I wish I was in Colorado.
Where  puffers stand in line
to have a good-old-time.

I wish you were in Colorado
and puff away your blues,
and have a restful snooze.

Where people laugh
out loud and make their puffers' cloud.

And people stop and stare
into thought provoking air,
and talk about the deeper things
in life.

Sensuous summer fills
my mind
between my munchies
all the time.
My tastebuds shout in glee
with popcorn near my reach
and soda made of peach.

Colorado, Colorado,
I hear you callin' me
forget about that tree
of good and evil be.
And smoke away-at times-
those nasty nursery rhymes
cramped between
folders made of black.

I wish I was in Colorado
to get a mountain high.
Where puffers' stand in line
to have a good-old-time...

Since not allowed to light
we're allowed to write:
"Let the **** reign forever"
Ayin Azores Sep 2015
Grind, roll, light, burn
Puff, puff pass
And it goes on

Every single day
From the moment I wake
Until before I lay

My mind is in cotton candy world
My body is in a state of Euphoria
My soul is alive, I feel alive

Grind, roll, light, burn
Puff, puff pass
And it goes on

My eyes burn fire
My stomach is growling from hunger
Can you please give me a burger?

My feelings, gone astray
But I still feel alive the most
I have lost it all, I have burnt it all
Butch Decatoria Jul 2018
A Passersby-“J”

A Passerby’s “J”

Good for lookin’ out

These harsh / hard times

Endangered kinds

Hanging tough love

Peace up

Peace pipe

A Passerby’s “J”


For lookin’ out.

Puff puff give—

Adam Childs May 2015
I am soft and gentle
and bring a clarity
to the dark night.
I wear a loving darkness
like a comfortable cloak.
I am the vanishing vampire
puff puff you see me now i
am gone.
For I am the creature
of the night.

When your world caves in
your emotions turn to
Just listen deeply and
you may hear me flutter
in the blackness.
For you are not alone
as your friend I am here.
A gentle creature comfortable
in the night.

I am the sometimes the forgotten
hidden in the corner in my cave
there i hang.
We live our lives upside down
sometimes living our teens
in our thirties.
As we slip into caves through
cracks often hiding in places.

We light the night with
sound, magic and our
emotional moon.
Soft and angelic we are
so innocent in nature.
In this topsy turvy land
we turn the world upside
down and find GOD also
lives underground.
So we never fear or
feel claustrophobic this
darkness is our home.

I never waste my time
looking to the future
to me it is all a blank.
And there i find my freedom
no burden or expectation.
I am the deep sleep that
has no dreams.
Perch with me in my cave
I will give you silent night
I am your greatest ally
in the darkness.
As I fly into blackness
with speed and purpose
There in the moonlight
I detach myself
spread my wings
find my freedom

Out of site I vanish
from the world
for only
those who look into caves
their darkness will ever
have a chance to find me.
Sometimes I fly high
breaking into the night
turn of my sound
and just disappear.
I relax sit back
into the my void
have a break
from myself.
Puff puff i am he vampire
who has just gone.

Remember when your world
caves in turns to darkness.
Do not panic just disappear
into blackness.
You will hear me flutter and
know I am near.
For with a little bat
becomes very clear.
One of my animal poems just exploring
Alexander K Opicho
(Eldoret, Kenya;

Once upon a time in the city of Omurate
In the southern part of Ethiopia
Omurate that is on Ethiopian boundary with Kenya
There were two prosperous animal families
Living side by side as good neighbours
in glory and pomp of riches
Each family was ostensibly rich
And rambunctious in social styles
They were the families of African rat family
And the Jewish cat family; the city belonged to them
They all enjoyed stocks of desert scorpions from Todanyang
From the savanna desert of Northern Kenya,
The two families also enjoyed to feed on desert locusts
On which they regularly fed without food squabbles
                               Locust themselves they flew from Lowarang to Omurate
From Lowarang a desert region in Kenya, to their city of Omurate
Sometimes the Jewish cat family enjoyed an extra dish
In form of puff adder flesh, especially the steak of the puff adder muscle
Puff adder were cheaply available in plenty at the lakeshore,
Lakeshores of Lake Turkana
At point which river Ormo enters into Lake Turkana
So the cat was happy and relaxed
Even it rarely mewed,  
Neighbours never often heard its mewing sound
The rat also enjoyed plenty of milk with no strain
Easily gotten from the rustled cattles
Cattle rustled by the Merilee; a warrior tribe in Omurate.

That day the cat had gulped milk since morning
Even its stomach was bulging
Like that of Kenyan state officer
The rat had milk all over the house
In the kitchen, milk allover
In the sitting room, milk in abundance
In the wash, room milk all through
On the bed, milk and stuffs of milk
The rat was bored with nothing to be enticed
Sometimes plenty of milk can become a bother
The rat mused to itself in foolish African empathy
That may be the cat is starving in pangs of hunger
With nothing to drink, or may be it has no milk
When the milk is rotting here in my house
It is un-African for food to rot in your house
When the neighbour’s belly is not full,
On these thoughts the rat washed its legs, and hands
Finished up with its face,
Put on its white short trouser and a green top
It stuffed its tail inside its white short trouser,
The rat poured milk into two pots,
each *** was full to the brim
It carried one in its left hand
And balanced another on its head
In its right hand was an African walking stick
For the elders known as Pakora
The rat took off to the home of the cat
In full feat of animal love and philanthropy
Whistling its favourite poem;
An Ode to a good neighbour,
Walking carefully lest it spills brimful milk,
It entered into the house of the cat without haste
Neither knocking nor waiting to be told come in
In that spectacular charisma of a good neighbour,
When the cat saw the rat it giggled two short giggles
And almost got choked by indecision
For it had been long since this happened,
Since the cat had dine on milk leave alone rat meat
The rat said to the Jewish cat that my brother
Have milk I have brought for you
Have it and sip here it is; the real milk,
In devilish calmness the cat told the rat;
Put it for me on the table, thank you,
But my friend Mr. rat don’t go away; there is more
More for you to help me in addition to milk,
Continue my brother Mr. Cat, how can I help you?
Don’t call me your brother; bursted the cat,
For it is long since I ate the rat meat
And you know rat meat is our stable food
In a frenetic feat of powerlessness the rat was confused
In attempt to save itself
it pleaded that my dear elder, I was
Only having plenty of milk in my house
And to us African rats, it is a taboo
To have a lot of food in your house
When the neighbour’s belly is not full
So I only brought you the present of Milk
Please have it and drink,
Without taciturnity the Cat retorted in persistence;
I know and I am thankful for your good manners
But remember with us Jewish cats it is heinous sin
Forget of a taboo, it is blasphemy against the living
God for one of us to leave the rat free from our house
For you rats are the only stable and kosher food God blessed for us
The Jewish rat family all over the world
So shut up your mandibles, I am to eat you first
Then I will take milk later as a relish.

With its herculean paw the cat crushed the rat
With mighty of the leopard culture
Throwing away the white trouser
And green top from the torso of the rat
The cat ate the rat with voracity of the devil
After which it punctuated its mid day appetite
With slow and relaxed sipping of milk
Slowly and slowly as it felt its internal greatness
And hence the African proverbial cry that;
Behold foolish angst kills the African rat!
Jess Brady Sep 2015
Always acrimonious about allowing anyone around.
Baneful behavior caused by a belligerent boy in the background.
Crack doesn't **** if you're careful, they coerce.
Don't do drugs and use your dollars to disperse.
Elude every emotion except empty and exhausted.
Forget every feeling that he fabricated and fostered.
Glassy eyes look guilty and glimmer groggily.
Halcyon is halted, heave into havoc hazily.
Iniquity makes insatiable impulses inherent.
Justify joints with Jane as joy jaunts without judgement.
Killer Ketamine kisses knock-out keen knowledge.
Lovesick, lonely, loveless, led towards the ledge.
Marijuana manipulated meditation makes musing mystical.
Nebulous nadir needs nicotine for nostalgia and nirvana neurochemicals.
Oxycontin as an oasis for obtrusive obstinance.
Panacea is a parody of popping pills, the provinence.
Secret street corners selling shrooms and speed.
Troubled tired teen talks about truth and tragedy.
Ubiquitous umbrage under unfathomable urges.
***** vacates vulnerable verges.
Wail and woefully wallow in **** while waning my whit.
Yield and yearn for yao, yes you can stand it.

Puff puff pass.
Puff puff laugh.
It's funny how the drugs lasted longer than our love has.
A poem exploring the use of drugs to escape heartbreak.
When something perturbs me to such a point
I have to step back and take the whiff of realization
The opposite of one that ***** smokers take
The puff of fresh air
The one that heals instead of one that stays stagnant
And become the mouthpiece of optimism
Because God could of put me somewhere far more hellish than this
I have to wake up every now and then, i'm just getting quicker every time.
Nova Born May 2018
Up one hill, down another,
perfectly fine til my car makes a splutter.
Crip crack go, puff puff puff,
**** it, this road may have been to tough.
My legs ain't as good as they used to be,
so I guess I'll just have to postpon my trip
to the coun'try

Flat land, low land, what my br'ain fails to understand
is how i'll ever see this place ag'ain.

Up one hill, down another,
perfectly fine til my car makes a splutter.
Crip crack go, puff puff puff,
**** it, this road may have been to tough.
My legs ain't as good as they used to be,
so I guess I'll just have to postpon my trip
to the coun'try

Sea life, cut the rope with your new knife,
slice, slice, slice

Up one wave, down another,
perfectly fine until my boat starts to flutter
woosh woosh woosh, do boats have a caboose?
My swimmin aint good as it used to be,
guess I'll see you someday, please,
will you say hi to coun'try,
for me?
Frank Ruland Aug 2014
I will not smoke ****
I do not care
under peer pressure
or on a dare

I will not smoke it
in your car
I do not care
who you are

I will not burn trees
on a rainy day
out of boredom
despite what you say.

I will not kiss that *****
Mary Jane
I will not get lost
in your cloudy haze.

I will not pass the joint
circle's are too
square for me
please, just let me be.

I will not roll one up
if it's legal or not
I won't watch your reruns
of a ******* yellow sponge

I will not get high
not even if you beg
not if you're my friend
or some bear named Ted.

I will not take a puff
not if it ****** you off
go and get lost
and leave in a huff.

I will not smoke ***
even if it's for free
I do not like the idea
can you not see?

I will not let my brain rot
just to get a buzz
I do not want your ****
no-- I really think not.

But, if you're drinking beer
then hey, let's get together
alcohol is my second language
crack one open; let's get wasted.
Stephen E Yocum Aug 2013
Went to the County Fair today,
I have always liked to go,
So many animals,
and things to see,
It's truly quite a show.

The Carnival Games are fun,
But certainly never free,
Most are surely rigged,
You hardly ever succeed.

There are Side Shows galore,
Some bring, right out in the open
******* clad young women for
perusal, to tease men into arousal.
But you need to pay to go inside,
To get a better peek.

Best of all though, for me,
Is the vast array of Junk Food,
Right there on display,
for everyone to see.
Forbidden none healthy stuff,
that the rest of the year,
I never get to eat.

While walking around,
The sights and the sounds,
of these many prohibited treats,
Their enticing smells do so delight,
That my stomach begins to growl.

It does not help, that huge colorfull,
signs, on each food stalls does adorn,
Advertising it's tantalizing offerings,
making them all the harder to ignore.

The combination of these deeds,
of visual, and nose sensory sensations,
Can doubtless render this person,
incredibly weak in the knees.

Next up jumps a big dilemma,
Which one thing should it be?
Pop Corn, with lots of salt and  butter,
Better yet, that fresh corn on the cobb
I see.

Look over there, Oh MY!
It's fried dough Elephant Ears, I spy,
Sprinkled with honey and cinnamon,
I seldom, almost never pass them by.

Oh YES, Bright Red Candy Apples!
A boyhood favorite of mine,
and a sure win.
An apple a day, they say,
Keeps the Doctor away,
The candy is just there for a grin.

Fried Chirreo's and Corn Dogs on a stick,
Both I could do, making that combination,
a bona fide Hat Trick.

Nachos dripping with melted cheese,
Oh sure, that's bound to please.

Pulled Pork on a bun would be kind of fun,
But the Barbeque Sauce gives me gas.

One that I'd almost forgotten,
How 'bout Candy Cotton?
A marvelous Incantation,
Sugar dropped into a machine's
whirring vat, spun like magic,  
Puff, just like that.
No slight of hand required.
Really quite a sweet sensation.

I've spent now over an hour,
Just wandering all around,
Looking at the stalls and signs.
And yet,
Still can't make up my mind.

Racked with indecision,
This perplexing dilemma,
Rests with no other,
This one is all about me.
Yet another half hour,
from the clock has expired,
and still no decision is rendered.

The day is ending,
it's nearly Six,
Not long 'till Supper Time.
Before I left home,
My wife did inform,
"It's *** Roast tonight,
your favorite,
Make sure you're here by seven!"

With a certain hesitation,
And twinge of remorse,
Disappointment etched on my face,
I turn listlessly towards my car,
With slow pace resignation,
Still pondering all those treats,
I might have had,
If it weren't for my procrastination.

Decision making,
I've been slow to admit,
Has never been my forte.

Well perhaps, No for sure.
Maybe, I'll probably come back.
Tomorrow, or even the next day.
It could, or might possibly be,
That by then, I will have thought,
this all through,
And come to some decision.
And we know he won't, poor guy,
his sort never can.
Which of the treats would you have
picked? Bet you can make up your mind.
That's an easy bet. Writers make instant
decisions all the time.
P Diddy, ha
I remember him as Puff Daddy good or bad he
was the bom, but
P or not to Puff a point and be the Diddy play a joint or two down in Brixton town or up in Crewe,
do you give a krap for rap by any other name but puff the last out blast your brains out, sing and shout, his name, is Puff, no magic dragon drags him down, he burns the stage,  he wears the crown and I am still in London with a clown beside me on the number eight, a bus because I finished late and the underground was shut, but the clown tells me it's all a joke and then I wonder was it him that spoke or was it me, I blame it all on Mister P and puff my chest out anyway.
Finished work at 01.05 got on the N8 bus at 01.12 and some sleepy mumbling drunk had to sit next to me and so I wrote this..which has nothing to do with the bus or the drunk really.
Hands Feb 2011
We can escape, now,
it's smoky with a chance of curtain drawn,
our minds won't tramsit light
from our empty, covered windo- the train is here.
I'm ready to go.
And though I'm leaving on a train
with room for only one,
I'm hoping you can catch a cheap ride
hidden in my pocket.
Nobody checks your person, anymore,
Nobody cares;
Homeland Security lovingly fed
us fattened falsities
As the fat cats in suburban alleyways
tore off the thickest
pieces of marrow from the national animal
of our Fiction States of America.
I have known this
because I have seen it from my seat
in coach,
thank god, too, because the train is packed.
So fill up
if you aren't going to hop in,
wishing to distort
your mind with all of their public drugs,
community opiates
transmitting across electrical wires hidden
in the ground,
the trees,
the air itself,
stitched into the layers of
dark matter and cosmic foam insulating
our fragile and overdone Universe.
I hear their static,
that pantomimed reality,
caught inside carbon fibers running through everything,
running through me,
running through you,
running into and out of your brain like
a thief without pause or moral.
We could run, too,
the heavy bass notes of the
nurturing ocean could shield the screech
of the battered train's wheels;
the wheels need a rest from screeching, anyway.
While the conductor isn't looking!
The wires will tell him you're here
until you're gone,
hidden in my coat pocket
inside a layer of my inner smoke.
Well, if you insist,
I suppose you may leave,
but once the wound of knowledge opens,
just know it never closes.
It will fester and
with the fetid odor
of truths turned into lies.
I know I'm talking
to myself, now, but I don't
want to let you go,
though I'll stay here,
in the train carriage,
hidden in smoke.
the train heats up,
breaths out smoke from its burning
and throbbing pipe.
The engine has built up
an overdose of heat,
trying to throw off the weeds trying
to grow inside.
They tried to enter me,
and they will soon enter you,
without my smoke to shroud you,
to leave your naked wound
easily hidden in
paranoid dreams.
the wheels screech out,
ready to go,
ready to run,
to run down the track,
to run through all obstacles,
to run through everything,
to run through me,
to run through you,
to run in and out of your brain,
blown away in a puff of smoke,
my memory has burned away
and blows off as ash
and smoke.
death wants more death, and its webs are full:
I remember my father's garage, how child-like
I would brush the corpses of flies
from the windows they thought were escape-
their sticky, ugly, vibrant bodies
shouting like dumb crazy dogs against the glass
only to spin and flit
in that second larger than hell or heaven
onto the edge of the ledge,
and then the spider from his dank hole
nervous and exposed
the puff of body swelling
hanging there
not really quite knowing,
and then knowing-
something sending it down its string,
the wet web,
toward the weak shield of buzzing,
the pulsing;
a last desperate moving hair-leg
there against the glass
there alive in the sun,
spun in white;
and almost like love:
the closing over,
the first hushed spider-*******:
filling its sack
upon this thing that lived;
crouching there upon its back
drawing its certain blood
as the world goes by outside
and my temples scream
and I hurl the broom against them:
the spider dull with spider-anger
still thinking of its prey
and waving an amazed broken leg;
the fly very still,
a ***** speck stranded to straw;
I shake the killer loose
and he walks lame and peeved
towards some dark corner
but I intercept his dawdling
his crawling like some broken hero,
and the straws smash his legs
now waving
above his head
and looking
looking for the enemy
and somewhat valiant,
dying without apparent pain
simply crawling backward
piece by piece
leaving nothing there
until at last the red gut sack
its secrets,
and I run child-like
with God's anger a step behind,
back to simple sunlight,
as the world goes by
with curled smile
if anyone else
saw or sensed my crime
Big Virge Oct 2014
Ya know .....  
I have one now ... !!!  
but ... hear the sounds  
of people complaining  
in different towns  
A woman one day  
had this to say .....  
"This ***** keeps saying  
all types of things  
on my Facebook Page  
as if my thoughts  
shouldn't get airplay !!!!!"  
Well to me ... Her Lines  
meant Facebook ... Shine ... !!!  
Why ... ???  

Well ... because her views  
play a different tune  
to them and those  
who drop ... THAT PROSE ...  
which ... CLEARLY ... shows ...  
what's up ... Their Nose ... !!!!!!  
Something .... BROWN .... !!!!!!!!!!  
What's with these clowns ... ?!?!?!  
Folks ....  
It just goes to show ...  
that ... ******* go ...  
with ... BIG EGOS ... !  
Could it be ... Crack ... ?!?  
that's got her on ...  
"Facebook Attacks !!!" ...  
Well ......  
Here's ... My Pitch ...  
to you ... Facebook ***** ... !!!  
Unhook yourselves ...  
from where I dwell ...  
but ... Don't Dismiss ... !!!  
These here ... Lyrics ... !!!  
When you see ... My Posts ...  
Please ... just do this ...  
Adopt ... That Pose ...  
and yes ... Double Click ...  
where you see ... " QUIT " ...  
and make ... Your ... EXIT ... !!!!!!  
A ... Nice ... Quick Fix ...  
for your obvious ... " Glitch " ...  
to act ... " Foolishly " ...  
before you ... " THINK " ... ?!?  
which is a ... Habit ...  
You ... NEED TO ...  
... " MANAGE !!! " ...  
Is this ... what you ... REALLY ?  
Have one ... for ... ???!???  
to wage ... Cyberspace War  
with ... Lyrical Swords ...  
that aren't ... Sharp Enough ...  
to cut through ... The Stuff ...  
that Clearly gets you ...  
... in a ... " Huff " ... !!!!!!  
So you ...  
" Huff and Puff " ...  
All ... Facebook Tough ... !!!  
But ....  
That's NOT ... Tough ... !!!!!!!  
All it proves ...  
is that ... Your Moves ...  
are ... Shady, Hazy ...  
Thought waves ... CRAZY ... !!!  
thinking that ... befits a ... " Baby " ... !!!  
Facebook hype ...  
has got these types ...  
acting like ...  
" They've Lost their Minds ... !!!!! "  
Girls and ... Guys ... ?!?  
Women and ... Men ... ?!?  
Hiding behind ...  
Facebook pretense ...  
Their Facebook Friends ...  
and posts contrived ...  
to prove how wise ...  
and ... EVER SO ... Nice ...  
these people are .....  
who have ... " NO LIVES " ... !!!  
2000 friends .... !!!!!  
on ... Facebook ... Yes .......  
Very ... Popular ...  
like a piece of ... "****" ... !!!  
that likes being ... licked  
by ... Any Old Chick  
or being ... " Sticked ! " ...  
by .... " THOSE ! " ....  
"Naaaarrrsssttty *****" ... !!!  
Is this what you ...  
REALLY .....
have one for ... ?!?!?  
"Really man ...  
don't you ever use it ...  
to try to uplift ...  
and share something ...  
that helps our kids ... !?!  
" Oh right, You DO !!!!! "  
You ... "FaceTime" ... yours ...  
now they're ... abroad ...  
because they ... RAN ...  
away from ... YOU ... !!! "  
"Oh your fam and friends  
in far away ends ...  
that's how you stay  
in touch with them !"  
"Okay that's cool  
but tell the truth ..."  
"It's once a year  
that they call you  
to bend your ear  
about THEIR issues !!!"  
Now ....  
Calm down your mood  
and don't be rude  
it's just ... MY VIEW ...  
on Facebook crews ...  
Who ... think they're cool ...  
Posting this ... and ...  
Posting that ...  
Until someone ...  
points out some ... FACTS ...  
or ..... Even worse ...  
Points out the ... FLAWS ...  
in post they've made ...  
that have ... No Cause ...  
than to get people ...  
to message you ...  
and say,  
"Hey dude, your post was cool !!!"  
" Vacuous CRAP ! "  
that just ... attracts ...  
the flies who ... Lie ...  
in ... " Venus Traps "  
Hoping to escape  
when they've .......  
Long since made ...  
A page of ... " Farce " ...  
to build a ... " Facade " ...  
that proves their thoughts ...  
come out their ........... ???? ............  
.... " Perverted Minds " ....  
You're bound to see  
****** imagery ...  
I think ... You'll find ...  
on their ... Timelines ... !!!  
It is what it is ....  
This Facebook thing ...  
Built to consume ...  
Peoples' thinking ...  
and built to ensure ...  
Egos get .... Poured ............................  
It's a ****** disgrace ...  
don't you people ...  
feel ... " Ashamed ?!? "  
Such forums should be ...  
used for more ...  
than ... waging war ...  
or trying to impress ...  
these ... " Cyber ****** " ... !?!  
This question I guess ... ???  
is for ... " Face-Hooked " ... hoards  
Is this what you ...  
REALLY ... have one ... for ?
Social Freaking Media ... !?!
Drowning in a cesspool of wishes
Destiny swims no farther than fishes.
Diligence seduces the tide,
She elopes, makes her a bride.

The singing bird sings,
The humming bee stings.
Inactivity kills the sweet dreamer but
Also exalts not the lazy ****.

Puff your blunt, roll up your sleeves
Kiss your tools, empty your sheaths
Pray your hands grind the right mill,
Your hustle will have you chill.
Specially Dedicated to A friend Kcee.
Jonah Lavigne Dec 2013
Take it out the bag
Pick the seeds out
Put it in the grinder
Gring it up
Sprinkl it on the paper
Roll it up
Lick it
Light it
Pass it to the next guy
Body goes numb
Head starts spinning
Then you eat
And eat
And eat
And eat
Then you pass out
Most fun you can have
Only thing that makes it better
Is ***
But I'm done with all that
I gave it all up
I'm clean
Got to admit
It's fun though
T'was the night before Christmas, And at the back of the bar

Sat a man all alone, Lighting up a cigar

The waitress ran over and waving her hand

You can't do that here, Smoking is banned.

If you must smoke that thing, you can go to the street

And stay away from the building, by at least fifty feet

The man took a puff and with a voice like a croak

He said, "You're kidding, right miss? You're making a joke"

I'm sorry, but sir..I'm afraid that it's true

But the law is the law, and it's not only for you

That we must say **** out, please extinguish your smoke

So our place can be filled with other fine folk

For ninety two years I have walked on this earth,

I have broken no laws and you know what it's worth?

Bupkiss, no nada it's not worth a thing

Would that law still apply if I was a King?

I've been coming in here for 60 odd years

And I think I've consumed a truckload of beers

I've smoked in this corner on many a night

Now you say **** out, I don't think that's right.

I fought for this country at the end of the war

I came home with a war wound, and you know dear...what's more

I came to this bar to have drinks with my friends

Who all weren't so lucky and met terrible ends

They died on the beach, heart as big as a house

Taking on the unknown for their country, their spouse

They battled for honor, the right to be free

And they all weren't as lucky, to come home like me.

I was here in the sixities when Camelot died

I was here with my son, and we both sat and cried

It was that night in November, I remember it well

That my son said he'd joined up and was heading to hell

He had joined the marines and was all set to fight

For freedom and honor and he knew it was right

Because I'd gone before and stood with others like him

And I said just be safe, and come home Jim

In the years he was gone, I came down here to think

Of why he was there and I shared smokes and drinks

With friends, all now gone from this world of distrust

Now they all lie beneath us, decomposed back to dust.

My son made it back and we came right down here

To spend time with our friends, both from far and from near.

The years passed us by and my grandson joined too

And we sat and we prayed in this bar, for we knew

He was fighting for freedom and the rights we hold dear

Like having some fun, over smokes and some beer.

He never came home from his war, don't you see

That's why we're sitting alone here, just you and me

Tonight is the night that his letter arrived

Saying "We regret to inform you...that no one survived"

So, each Christmas Eve I come back to this bar

To savor my memories and to drink from this jar

And I finish each year thinking of what now is gone,

Of my battle scarred boy and his now deceased son

Now, you come and tell me that I must go outside

To continue my smoking and so I'll abide

'cause for 92 years that I've been on this earth

I've broken no laws and you know what that's worth

Then the waitress reached back and she pulled out a match

From a box on the bar with a rusty old catch

She said Sir, I am sorry I didn't mean to offend

For this one night each year, the law I can bend

So please light one for me on this Christmas Eve Night

And Thank you from all who continue the fight.

Merry Christmas and HAPPY NEW YEAR 2019
A Christmas Eve Poem that was posted earlier, I have not added much, but, I think it is fitting to read so those of you who haven't seen my older works, and The Street Poems, may get a chance.
GfS Jul 2015
I guess, if you would ask me
"Do you smoke?"
I would probably, jokingly say
"Yes, I do"
Because, I have this need to have it
in my lungs once in a while
(the smoke, I mean...)
Especially, when my lungs
couldn't handle it anymore
and the overbearing stress
overwhelms me

I have my "cigarettes" with me
all the time
and when I need to take a break
I would usually pull it out
and take a puff of the bittersweet
air that fills my lungs

There's that satisfaction whenever
I'd take a puff
It's like my lungs finally breathed in
real fresh air

Sometimes, when I need a stronger dose
I would resort to a more "mechanical"
kind of cigarette
Kinda like your bongs and ****

I too make those ephemeral patterns
most of the time, from my mechanical cigarette
and sometimes, with my mobile one
just for fun

People do worry for me as well
the "non-smokers" that have that
same curiousity of
"What does it feel like?"
"How often do you take a puff"
"I wanna try, but it seems dangerous"
And I too feel that annoyance where
people tell you to take better care of
yourself whenever you'd take a puff

So, I guess..
Yes, I do smoke
Just a different kind of smoke
You take in your smoke
I take in mine
The only difference is
I'm not killing myself
From the 1990s to 2010s
Asthma had a worldwide mortality rate
of 250 million people.
We are a population of people who fight our number one obstacle DAILY..
sometimes unsure if today would be our last
and yet... It saddens me that there are people, blessed with healthy lungs, ruin themselves because
"It looks cool"
"Because other people are doing it"
"I'm really stressed out"
You have the one thing that I have been jealous
about, ever since I was a child, and here you are ruining it
and here I am stuck in bed suffering a persistent asthma attack
thinking that death would be kinder
Robin Carretti Aug 2018
We spread all over the continent
Your underwater girl event
So many times we
spoke curled up in
each other
I heard your getting
married to my
friend's brother huh?

Best friends acting silly
Girly- Goose rhymes
Girls with special

Like the magical tales
All the males get
better wages

And we are stuck
The unfurl girl
On fuel she got
The longer life eyelashes

The Gossamer
Pink Owl it's her
The Consumer Male
Play Bill

The pink lady fussy-Playgirl hat
The dreamer what's new Pussycat
Her body lined all sheer inside
the curtain's play pretend
he calls every time
Her pink slippers are on

Mystical time of men
Lucky Red dragons
* She Opens up pink for him
She's around all He's
Kitchen pink polka dots
In her Galley pink apron
He's in Las Vegas winning
the slots
Pink Mustang Sally
The dark magenta
Pink sugar pop
Mary Kay
Faraway Fay Dunaway
Powder Puff Maina Delray
Jekyll and Hyde
I'm certain I see him, Sir
She's in the Girl furled State

"It's a girl thing always
showing up late"

Girly whirly Artsy celebrate
Like a party pink
Pink pillow talk naps
Spinning bottle
Oh! her brassiere

Girl gone Genie
in her tutu
The Girly gathering
Coffee and brunch Kong Fu

Whats up with her menu
Eye opener Pirates Carribean
Had her Jungle Jane meal
Those feminine smiles
*** appeal
A million stars of
masculinity the rough shave
Pretty in pink ladies
never behave

Girl's of pink pearls of
Let's bury the hatchet

Unfurl Girl Girl

Her Pink/Gold locket shines
Boys and Girls rocket
Spa creamy
The religiously told prophet
Easter Bunny Jack Rabbit
The habitats of the fervor my
Godly savor
The girl goes overboard
Femininity ****** creatures
not Saints we cannot be
what we ain't
We got the girly features

Many people despise the rose crush
We are a naturally sweet  whole bunch

The pink feminine gift
Be careful in your
girly ways look to your left
Let us change our evil days
Unfurl Girl Girl her path to the right
Prayers become artificial
Materialistic Girl talk should be realistic

Animalistic our instinct ******
The girly specimen up to date
The sweet and so modest
She's the divine
A kiss on the hand
Smelling all sweet

Elizabeth violet blue voice
She symbolizes
Grace so sweet the papers
For a real divorce
Wild untamed unfurled
All softly curled and loved
He looks at her the way
she looks now
But here to Eternity, she looks
amazingly well
Shes the girl-girl unfurl
He's handsomely tall she
is the Princess dressed frilly
Pink champagne ball
Their girly wishing well
who wants to tell?
Unfurl so many twists then body curl or the cheese curls but we are "Girls" having fun what we do best  the world turns but we are girls in swirls spinning twirls we do what we are told to learn? We love feminine smells of perfume and masculine smells of men perfect balance how we look at it remarkable gift we all have

— The End —