"sativa" poems
I like playing with words
Sometimes drinking coffee
I imagine I'm a ballerina drawing swords
To make my mind flee -
I need no drugs
But the little man in my coffee cup shrugs,
He whispers
'try some sativa'
I am stubborn
I pick him by his toes
And feed him to the bugs
'Viva!
The independent mind!' Says Shiva!
I'm now a samurai...
doing ballet moves.
Aug 30, 2016
Aug 30, 2016 at 1:12 AM UTC
The good thing about being a gypsy
is its wild sativa;
the bad thing about being a gypsy
is its tamed alcoholic.
The good thing about being a gypsy
is its endless freedom;
the bad thing about being a gypsy
is its slavery to freedom.
The good thing about being a gypsy
is its philosophic heart;
the bad thing about being a gypsy
is its down-regulation of joy.
The best thing about being a wanderer
is its search for silence;
the worst thing about being a wanderer
is its capacity for noise.
The best thing about being a wanderer
is the free meal;
the worst thing about being a wander
is the free meal.
The best thing about being a wanderer
is the love of night;
the worst thing about being a wanderer
is the love of day.
The best thing about being a gypsy
is the wandering heart;
the worst thing about being a wanderer
is the gypsy heart.
The best thing about being a gypsy
is its magic book;
the worst thing about being a gypsy
is its accumulated curse.
The best thing about being a gypsy
is its varied muse;
the worst thing about being a gypsy
is its lack of one.
Jan 8, 2016
Jan 8, 2016 at 1:15 PM UTC
And on the third day he rose
eyes red from creation
a sativa-induced resurrection
And though many searched for him
he was not there
he was already philosophy and smoke
Now, centuries later
millions roll themselves in his dogma
with hopes of getting high
Apr 19, 2014
Apr 19, 2014 at 9:18 PM UTC
Drifting....
waning, wandering away from myself....
electric pine and turquoise eyes unfold,
greeting me,
a jade leopard winks with those eyes,
an inside joke
in the new moon darkness lighting the room.....
I watch myself levitate into conscious caverns
in my gray matter canyon
wind tinkles and chimes
( ( ( ( v i b r a t i n g ) ) ) )
the moist, fleshy rocks...
memories of sativa green Canada echo--
a family of strangers
humming, buzzzing & drumming rhythms
tattooing heartbeat sigils onto each other
amidst a sonic amethyst campfire
moonbeam embers glow
indigo guitar strings sing hymns
swaying and swimming in cuddle puddles--
a new age baptism.
My wings shimmer,
visions simmer and chill
the darkness returns
left with myself again
I flight right into another lightbub storm
as trebble trouble words rain bows of colors
atop white lilies reaching for stained-glass clouds.
Distantly, native flutes flourish
like rippling water rises slowly
into incandescent tides...
sweet, filagreed foam tickling-
washing
bubbles popping over pores.
and I rejoice!
a homecoming for an ocean's drop rejoined--
rejuvenated!
berserk bongos bump 'n thump
a raucous rumpus of blissful voices
vicariously lift my visage into everyone
at once!
astral silhouette forms cajole and conjoin and
we laugh ourselves into ******
And for a fleeting moment...
I reminded of the celestial infinity
that surrounds us,
where time isn't measured in promises
and trees aren't groomed to be currency.
Here, I remember the why of my existence,
only to momentarily forget,
upon opening my eyes,
until delicate deja vu echoes intermittently remind me
once in a while.
Jun 13, 2015
Jun 13, 2015 at 3:14 PM UTC
It kills my high
when venom is spit
This enclosure,
unlike mine,
comes with a ****** narration
Mine hears birds and owls
wolves and crickets and bats
and sees quite often starlight
smells burning wood
regrettably the occasional crisp arachnid
Commonly scents of Cannabis Sativa, rarely Indica
Incense, and punks
There are sights of resin tables,
half-inflated air mattresses,
and ***** on the fence
Cling of fence gate
Car
Cry of relief or adventure
heat
sleep
aimlessness
Jan 29, 2013
Jan 29, 2013 at 10:10 PM UTC
Feel the fire on your flesh, burning, transforming your entirety
Keeping all your secrets, forever hidden from the ones that you choose to deceive.
And if you feel that he is getting too close, run away…. Far away..
Never be too far away from home, to truly leave.
There in the distance, there is a siren beckoning for you.
She has her hands out to embrace you, only to crush you.
Her velvet dress is plunging down, so deep you can see inside her.
But, it’s never enough to make her want you as much as you want her..
Listening to the folk music in the distance …
I can feel the agony coming on to me again..
Could it be real “?? Could it be my fault, again.?
Seeking revenge through the strangest of ways.
The rocks are so real, that the sailors think they are seeing a mirage
But in reality, they think they will truly live past this day
Gorging upon the flesh of the past in the true spirit of the future
Bent, solemn, tragic, metamorphisis of the human character.
Dig deeper, into the humanity that is no more.
Lifting my eyes to the stained, blackness of their souls
Freedom beckoning from a distance for miles
Sativa and honey dripping from the demons, black. toothless grins
As I ***** my empty stomach and wretching, green nothingness, human bile.
So go upon your merry way and sing while you die
Feel the ******* anger and bitterness eating your insides.
So then, you walk the plank, knowing your end is near
Never giving in to the blanket of fear.
Tell tale signs of forgiveness, that is rarely real.
Stop the ******** you don’t know how to feel.
You lost your soul a long time ago, gave it up for a bag
Now your eternity is forever evil and you’ve lost your true life’s zeal
Dec 28, 2012
Dec 28, 2012 at 1:36 PM UTC
What kind of drugs was he on
When he saw the unity of all things?
Which type of kush was he smoking?
Was it indica, sativa or hybrid?
This is a lazy man's enlightenment
To let the plants lead your mind
So whatever you may find
It was shown to you
How many shrooms did Moses eat
When he went up on that mountain?
What stage of schizophrenia was he at
When we thought he talked to God?
Could I jump three rings of density
If I get really high?
Fifth, sixth, seventh and the octave
Clear into a bigger sky
What was Siddhartha smoking
When he sat beneath that tree?
To see all faces in an instant
How he's linked up with me
Nov 26, 2018
Nov 26, 2018 at 6:05 PM UTC
Home was having my best friend
hold my hair back
because I'd had one too many shots.
Home was listening to him
play a combination of notes
that told the stories of lovers' pasts.
Home was kissing a beautiful dark-haired girl
and laughing because
her saliva tasted like sativa.
Home was a place of sunshine,
peasant skirts, reggae.
Boys covered in dreadlocks smiling up at me from their yoga.
Home was falling asleep
on Vicodin
and sadness.
but now I am just lost.
Oct 19, 2013
Oct 19, 2013 at 5:54 PM UTC
Best of all, there are lives in every skin. They know the words to your favourite language and the aching corporeality of smoke wisps as overused poetic analogy-- sativa with grapefruit, the particulars speak in toungezzz and sometimes I smoke **** and I'm so hungry, but I'm not hungry.. 6 o'clock and Dionysius means what the heaven needs **** done, it's awful-- no misfit twists and yab blam undeclared winter this year we call Fort Summerforever, BLANK, BLAM, expressive bottom-line, you don't look around anymore and check the bookshelves of your lives for those lucid Lucy detailers, trailers a warmer word for tracers, do the replacement parts fit all of the models and every time I went back to Trippy's it was the same guy, $70, oh the whole **** with the slide and all flattened preference to how in-this we are, how imagine how mystical, hanging those mushrooms on the wall, that weird pipe, cover ashes I dunno. In here it was I / thou and the digital paper-- I climb behind the eye and continent for a moment and hear see do 'it was a huge *** bag just filled with all this weed' bazooka balloon. crick the neck to create a feeling, oh but you'll listen to be come and be
Jan 27, 2014
Jan 27, 2014 at 2:28 AM UTC
Sorry, dude. I must admit
I find it more than pathetic
That you experience life
With sorrow about some of it
That you don’t have a drug
To take to help appreciate
Something that is amazing
And really needs no chemical
To help you exaggerate
What is really going on
And pretend it is better
Or somehow transcendent
As if water can be wetter.
But it is as if time warped
And I have gone backward
To talk to myself about it
And then zapped forward
To see what a saturate
What a wet-brained fool
I was back then, it’s true.
I was a tin-plated tool.
I measured my existence
One dime bag at a time
Giggling with stoner friends
About my forays into crime;
Selling backs of skunk ****
When nobody else had any
Good stuff or bad stuff.
And I was the one with plenty.
Walking through Hollywood
With stoner friends and flakes
Singing as we stumbled along
About life and what it takes
To satisfy *** hounds those days.
*** drugs and rock and roll
And pride in our half-witted ways.
Learning how to roll pinners
Of a buddy’s stash on the sly
While he was taking a whizz
And couldn’t ask me why.
Learning how to properly treat
The remaining sticks and stones
And confiscating the roaches
When the others left them alone.
That was the cannabis coalition
The Sativa Society at its height.
We worked in the daytime and
Got ********* most every night.
And sooner or later, on the job
In the bathroom or on the roof.
I didn’t think of it addiction.
I still needed further proof.
I needed to try to buy ****
From a government man I met.
Fortunately I bailed on that
Before adding one more big regret.
Life has gotten better since then
No more outside dependence.
I quit before the drugs became
The entire focus of my existence.
Feb 6, 2016
Feb 6, 2016 at 6:32 PM UTC
after you drink, enough as i have, you get the strangest
recipes enter your mind...
and you're not as lazy a marijuana smoker
either... you really start imagining things,
that aren't, or shouldn't be there, but later materialise,
and are actually there.
like tonight,
**** me... getting drunk can really give
you the munchies...
i was like: it can't be as simple as crisps
from a packet... it can't be ready made, there,
at an arm's reach... so it began:
bacon,
cherry tomatoes...
garlic paste...
crème fraîche!
parsley to garnish!
pickled chilies!
turmeric!
kashmiri chili powder!
processed cheese! (laughing cow type)...
i swear i missed something...
oh yeah... brassica juncea - or mustard greens,
something a bit like lettuce...
but if packaged, also includes red cabbage snippets...
plus arugula (eruca sativa), also a plant / rocket...
and the carbohydrate canvas to serve it on?
a tortilla!
i swear, i should either stop drinking,
or stop drinking up recipes, when drunk...
either that, or what i'm tasting, when drunk,
tastes really good, or that... well... if someone sober
would dare to eat what i conjure up drunk, would simply puke...
don't know, i conjure this recipe out of my ***
and it stays down... it's not like i'm frying a dog's ****
all of a sudden...
if it stays down, and you get to digest it?
it can only be as bad as it sounds, with you not having
****** around with the stated ingredients, to whatever palette
of proportion that your palette's suited to entertain.
don't know, i swear no marijuana smoker would
go as far as to invent something like this...
you drink... you do get hungry...
and then you experiment,
for some ****** reason that no one seems to be able to explain.
i get right into cooking something up,
primarily because when doing chemistry
at university, the most enjoyable chapter was organic chemistry...
and that was like cooking...
i can't say i'm boasting... i don't know if a sober person
would find this recipe appealing...
but having made it drunk, i'm pretty sure
another drunk would eat it and conclude the same as i:
****** genius... never take me to a kebab takeway... ever again!
oh gee me... clap clap.
by now i might as well insinuate that i'm faking
sniffing lines of ******* by the buzz of positivity i'm feeling.
May 6, 2017
May 6, 2017 at 8:12 PM UTC
I owe my grandma 2 grand, the chronic abusing man
Drinking straight liquid THC if I can
Agent Cryptic the heart stroker
Thought provoker, the ATF sativa smoker uh
I like to praise Jesus in my stanzas
And these cheeks I'm turning em
The modern bard, throw down hard
With the Dialogues in my library, your philosophy is contrary
I'm not a shy Jew, for I am in service to you
When I fall in love, I can only go up
Ask the Lioness, only left cause of stress
She tried to help, then I put the Chuck Bukowski on her
(Why you wanna... choose drugs over me?)
Girl you crazy? The details, hazey
No time for manipulative ****
Mess with me I'll toss you in the Tartarus pit
My emcee act it's, hella bombastic
These lyrics I spit make your soul ecstatic
So if you wanna know how I flow, these Phi seeds I sow
With the bass low, making your speakers blow
Then let me get down
Dec 13, 2014
Dec 13, 2014 at 4:07 PM UTC
This rolled growth of sweet Mother Earth,
now between my fingers I hold
her breath, bated, much like my worth.
Barefeet and barebones, renewed dearth
of repose, sanity consoled
by role - growths of sweet Mother Earth.
I’ve worked sweat from my brow, my girth
diminished. Love sits in green bold -
her breath, baited, much like my worth.
We consume each other. Rebirth
my sunken pulse from mellowgold,
this growth of mother. Rolled sweet earth,
up in smoke around Cheshire mirth.
With numbed senses, today I’ve sold
my bated breath, much like her worth.
And so we journal language, like Firth,
while The Sativa Saint extols
this rolled growth of sweet mother earth,
her breath, bated, much like my worth.
Jul 11, 2010
Jul 11, 2010 at 2:45 PM UTC
I got up late and left the house at eight.
To some that might be early but it’s not.
The cloudless day surely would be great
I wanted to see a friend who I found hot.
Right before the bus stop I heard someone
Calling out my name, a voice I knew.
Asking if I wanted to have some great fun;
He could be counted on to follow through.
We went around the corner to a buddy
One I was sure I had never met before.
His front yard was wet and very muddy
With marijuana plants there by the score.
We went inside and after a few doobies
I asked him if the cops left him alone;
After all those plants are not jujubies.
He didn’t answer me, but dialed the phone.
A little while later I heard someone knocking
Our host went over, let the new guest in.
I guess my face betrayed something shocking,
Because I heard the laughter of my friends.
Standing in the door was a policeman
Full regalia, face as stern as a warrior.
I got up, almost straight enough to stand
When our host said don’t call your lawyer.
Relax, he said, the cop is my kid brother
And he does not believe in this law;
He thinks the rules against *** and hemp
Are dumber than a script from Hee Haw.
We sat there with him and passed the joint.
He told us not to worry about his sergeant.
He smokes too, so that’s a good point.
*** heads with a policeman friend is pleasant.
I never made it over to my friend’s place,
The one I started out today to see.
He didn’t expect me, so it is no disgrace.
How the day turned out was okay with me.
One of the nice things about cannabis use
Is the happy acceptance of one’s fate.
Not caring where you’re going is a good excuse
To stay longer and not care if you are late.
Jun 29, 2015
Jun 29, 2015 at 10:06 PM UTC
Senhor da Guerra, há quem diga que teu convite é
momento de lírica destruição, outros não.
No entanto, tua embriaguez sativa, num boteco lado norte,
evoca atmosferas oníricas bem como o gosto maravilhoso
do éter no ar.
Sorte lançada, põe sob a mesa teu mistério particular,
arranca teu olho direito e migra para o luto mineral,
potência comum & iniciática.
Bem ao estilo Venusiano, crepúsculo forja flor entre cinzas
& plasmas siderais, sem dúvida uma nova era.
Essência de difícil captação, tua oração evoca Papoula
criativa, bronze no banho-maria, o pó projeta pedra
líquida no sublime espírito do vinho.
Feb 26, 2014
Feb 26, 2014 at 10:06 PM UTC
The bills you get from an ATM located in a Headshop called the Refinery in the Valley are not going to be the same that you cash out of your local Wells Fargo.
They've been used before.
You can almost imagine the staff feeding the all-cash green you give them back into the machine (once a day when things are slow).
These are just facts.
When you say you don't want a 3:1 you want a 3:0... They show you a 3:1 anyways.
You know, the marketing system has really changed.
I get a discount for bringing in two newcomers.
My coworker keeps saying we are buying 'drugs'.
I tell her 'it's not "drugs";
even before the legislation passed, all you needed to say is that you had cancer and they would drive away ashamed for asking'.
I tell the staff I want something that will get me through the day,
nothing too crazy and I don't want to fall asleep.
I end up with a 3:1 CBD hybrid again.
I pay my 101.00 for the hybrid and a bit of gummy 50/50 Sativa and indica hybrid 'for the road'.
She giggles.
I remind her we have a whole department dedicated to this **** now,
she should act more professional as she selects her joints.
My other coworker gets a salve because his joints have their own problems.
Just another day with the work-family.
Jul 21, 2019
Jul 21, 2019 at 1:52 AM UTC
hehehe
tumble roll
roll a joint and
pack my bowl and I've got
a bit of mental lag so it's a
little hard to pack my bag 'cause
I'm a little fried maybe a little
charred even, totally
baked, I'm a cake frosted
but I haven't lost it,
Sometimes I'm a little confused
but I'm still baking!
whole wheat **** infused
chai tea orange zest cookies
yummy sativa,
a dash of indica but
whoa!
mmm they're
dangerously delicious
and one, two, three,
oops! that's four and
one more, they're just
so good! if only I could
stop!
but yummm
sat nammmnomnom
Feb 26, 2015
Feb 26, 2015 at 1:17 PM UTC
The point known as the beginning
Can only come in play
If something is causing it to begin
Therefor the big bang
Could not be the point of origin.
And we haven't got a clue
So I moved on from fixating on this subject.
Nov 28, 2015
Nov 28, 2015 at 8:27 AM UTC
ah yeah
beautiful ladies
stretching up to the sun
what a gift
this little ****
see uh I been a grower
for some time now
grow that types a ****
make ya mind bow
gettin lower
on that cheeba
no not cheva
this is a killa weeda
so many strains
make ya heads spin
you like to stay up late
or get all locked in
see it don’t matter
which way ya wanna go
indica or sativa
I treat ya right, bro
see here in Oregon
we do things different
work a barter system
help each other pay rent
call me a socialist
like a give a ****
you be at my door
when ya havin hard luck
I’m a medical grower –
Son, I grow medicine
stopping censures
killin cancer
out my freezer
alcohol extracts
make all ya'll relax
no mo heart attacks
rushin like the train tracks
I grow medicine –
I grow out door
like that plant was meant to be
no chemicals
let that ***** grow free
feed em organic
lots a guano
watch the buds rippin
from the back po
see I’m a real farmer
have a long patient list
always lookin to add names
get the money makers ******
so I don’t charge much
just cost no overhead
I aint in this to get rich
that’s why I got this rap bread
I’m a medical grower –
Son, I grow medicine
stopping censures
killin cancer
out my freezer
alcohol extracts
make all ya'll relax
no mo heart attacks
rushin like the train tracks
I grow medicine –
Apr 2, 2015
Apr 2, 2015 at 4:06 PM UTC
ink bleeding all my love out
most thugs dont just run towns
i remember what my pops told me
before i ever held pounds or the mammaries
your mind is whatever you put into it my spawn
so i only put sativa fry coldwine and this bullet
and the darkness fading fast-Satan lasts on my own
now
yet im bound to out grow it
holy enough and banned from heaven
im the reincarnation of second tries
life to waste on avenging the rest of nine lives
seven taken out and passed around by the gods
sew me back together and try to sober me up
in big bold gothic lettering
peace in the name of the lord
words that are worth only remembering
by the pain on my back this pain that is
peace
and being a servant of the lords
cast out of society by the mark of the serpent
Dec 5, 2013
Dec 5, 2013 at 7:49 PM UTC
(cuz ma life iz such a drag...
this **** kin “FAKE” hemp
pyre aye roll out to you dear reader).
As a double jointed mathematical abbot
and amateur chemist
specializing in cannabinoids
my favorite delta-9-tetra
hydrocannabinol (THC),
isolated and synthesized in 1964
weeding thru bathroom rag
while athwart the *****
i.e. measuring adequate perforated
square roto root er, sans
regular toilet tissue paper
prior to completing important
private business matter
on the sacred porcelain chamber ***
Mary Jane made a token appearance,
and boy she looked smoke kin hot
asking if I wanna marry (Jane) her attired
in drag at a joint where Billy Bong
banged on by the hands of
a phenomenal drummer
taut as a hemp knot
with music in his blood
while blowing fractal rings – holy Scott
the immediate utterance,
and rather creative bon mot
found me stock still like stone wall Jackson,
who unfortunately got deprived a hit,
nonetheless got shot
unwittingly by his own (confederate troops),
whose demise an awful blot
per southern cause during
the Civil War and if anachronism
to receive medicinal aide available
instead of primitive treatment he got
(as well other wounded soldiers
of misfortune on the battlefield),
whose faith the any almighty power
could do little to save their roach invested lot
yet availing my imagination
to twist time like that Mobius strip
mortally wounded rebels and Yankees
free from facing death on a cot
might be successful hemp
entrepreneurs cultivating a little spot
of land hemp would outstrip cotton
as king as export to trot
orange you glad I avoided
the analogy with a kumquat?
Jul 19, 2018
Jul 19, 2018 at 1:26 AM UTC
Me and u thats two
And some **** dats three
Lets smoke these trees
You know u wanna **** with me
We could get lit
Burn higher than the sun gets
If u can make it
I never fake it
Come to this real ****
I am no basic
Ill give u mosaics
Of sativa,thc,cbds and vapors
Just light the papers
And ignite the embers
Turn this smoulder ablaze
You can get this 808
Can u feel the bass
You make my heart race
You make me flushed faced
You make me nervous
Butterflies in every space
And i could float away
Thought of u carries me high
We could be higher
So lets ignite these papers
Lets light the embers
And relax together
Mar 8, 2018
Mar 8, 2018 at 2:27 PM UTC
black circles traced his eyes
and a headache for days,
he forgot all he used to be
replacing those lonely nights
with tears to keep him company
he took everything he had
and soon went missing
not from the world
but from himself
smoking sativa
to try and bring him down
from the fog
of the clouds
a backpack full of
broken dreams
and bottled memories
he crushed them
and threw them into the tide
waiting for the waves
to turn them into seashells
May 16, 2019
May 16, 2019 at 3:14 AM UTC
I keep secluded in voids
I don't belong in anyone's heart
My haphazardous thoughts consume me
I consume trouble
In the wind like game leafs in autumn
Worst case scenario there's no **** in my system
Washin' the dirt down with saliva
Always needing sativa
Always needing a woman but lust ain't helping me keep her
Nov 7, 2017
Nov 7, 2017 at 1:55 AM UTC