Marijuana
That idiot constable
of the South African Police
who was your colleague
gave you a Marijuana cookie
to eat with tea
and you thought
that he was only joking
and ate it
along with some of your girl friends
who were eating some too.
The psychoactive ingredient,
Tetrahydrocannabinol
made you suddenly hear voices
was followed by giddiness, euphoria
and lost in reality and fragmented ideas
and that drug
really went to your head
and sometimes I wish
for that foolish constable
to be affected by it instead.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
Casebook Of Oliver Cyriax - Case 1# The Burning Bush (Part 2)
The smoke from his pipe
rose up like a small cloud.
For a long time afterwards, t
he fire in the barn
was referred to as a ghost fire.
The next ghost fire happened
almost six months later to the day
in the midst of the summer sun.
A passing tramp had rested
for a while in a field
and fell asleep against a tree
as the grass around him suddenly came alive
with flames that burnt close to his feet.
The local Constable was riding passed
saw the flames and dismounted from his bike.
Racing into the field,
he tried to beat out the flames with his jacket.
Still the flames danced around the tramp,
whom was asleep and unaware.
The Constable yelled at him,
but the tramp did not arouse from his slumber.
The Constable looked around
and off to his left noticed a stream.
He ran across to it and filled his helmet with water.
Running back he threw the water over the tramp.
The tramp woke up startled and looked around.
He stood up and asked the Constable,
just what he thought he was doing
throwing water over him.
Watch out for the fire
the Constable shouted back.
The tramp scratched his head
and asked what he was talking about.
The fire, the fire, the Constable replied.
What fire? The tramp asked.
It was only then that the Constable realised
that the fire was no longer there.
He was mystified how it disappeared.
It was about six months after that,
another ghost fire occurred
in the very Inn where I was staying.
The bar was crowded
when suddenly against one of the walls
a fire started and seemed to burn ferociously.
The first thing the customers did
was to start throwing their drinks against the wall
in hope to dampen the flames.
They met with little success
and the fire brigade was called.
The bar was evacuated
and the firemen came in with their hoses,
which like the drinks had no success on the flames.
As with all the other incidents
the fire raged for several hours
before dying away of its own accord.
The investigation that followed
found nothing had been burnt or scorched.
There seemed no earthly reason
for the mysterious fires that engulfed things,
but never harmed any of them.
Then last month the burning bush began.
When it was discovered,
an attempt was made to extinguish it,
but failed like the ones before.
Presently each night ever since
the bush ignites itself and burns for several hours
before disappearing again.
Oliver paused for a few moments,
stroked his chin
and puffed a couple of times on his pipe.
To be continued…
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Psychoactive
Hey little sister, I dont understand what you did
Im hot enough to blister
Maybe this is just some kind of foolish game my mind is playing
One voice it cries a warning
Half of mes already there and half of me aint got the stuff
My love its out of control
I tell you because of what she does to my soul
With all these fantasies shes triggering
Psychoactive, that girl is hypersexual
She knows how to fire my imagination
Shes got to be psychoactive
The fact is everythings a fantasy
Makes that offer so attractive, cause that girls so psychoactive
Hey little sister, I still sleep alone in my bed
Whats wrong with this picture
Could be this is nothing but my fantasy
Am I crazy? one voice says its trouble
Part of me just wants to run and part of me just wants to fight
Split decision again in my bed
Another sweet vision coming on in my head
Imagination shes triggering
Psychoactive, that girl is hypersexual
She knows how to fire my imagination
Shes got to be psychoactive
The fact is everythings a fantasy.
Makes that offer so attractive, cause that girls so psychoactive
(she said she loves you -- she said she loves you)
My love its out of control.
I tell you because of what she does to my soul
With all these fantasies shes triggering
Psychoactive, that girl is hypersexual
She knows how to fire my imagination.
Shes got to be psychoactive
The fact is everythings a fantasy
Makes that offer so attractive, cause that girls so psychoactive
song performed by by Rick Springfield
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
In the inner square
In the inner square
just outside the police station
a little group stands around a drum
in which coals are burning
and flames are shooting up
in the dark night.
Between them a man is standing,
holding out his hands
to get them warm
and above them the stars are bright
like lights in the night
but the moon
has a strange colour that particular night.
A woman constable walking past
stops and asks the man:
“Are you not one of those wild men
who are following the prisoner? ”
It’s as if the eyes
of every policeman around the fire
like search lights fall on him
and he shakes his head decidedly
and draws the cap lower over his head
to get hot and avoid their stares.
“I really do not know him. Do not even know
the reason why you have captured him. Just came
to get some heat from the fire
and what injustice lies in this? ”
The women constable frowns
and walks away with swaying hips
and he remark about the way
that she walks,
which makes the other men around the fire laugh
and through the open door
of the police station
he notices how somebody inside
hits the prisoner through the face
and it’s almost
as if he feels it in his own face.
“Friend, you are not from here
and looks just as ruff as him, ”
one of the constables says jokingly
and his tooth glitters white
for his own joke.
This time the man is much more definite
and worry is eating at him:
“No. Constables, if I would know him
by this time you would know me too?
You probably know
his accomplices? ”
A constable that was at the arrest
comes and stand at the fire
and the flames flares up more brightly
causing him to see the man
between them clearly.
“You talk in the same dialect as the prisoner?
Were you not at the arrest? Surely you were there? ”
Every policeman and even
some of those in the police station
is now staring at him.
“Truly, no. He is totally strange to me!
You cannot lay the guilt
of that man’s deeds onto just anybody.
Just because we maybe comes from the same place.
I can say under oath that I do not know him.”
His gaze catches that of the prisoner
and he sees love
and no condemnation
and on that hour, minute and second
a cock crows
and pain rips through him
that he has just betrayed the Son of God
and the man walks away from the fire
into the night, just blindly
and he cries
while rain is falling around him
and he wonders what it takes
to stand for the truth
while lightning bolts hits blue-white around him.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
At the Railway Station, Upways
'There is not much that I can do,
For I've no money that's quite my own!'
Spoke up the pitying child--
A little boy with a violin
At the station before the train came in,--
'But I can play my fiddle to you,
And a nice one 'tis, and good in tone!'
The man in the handcuffs smiled;
The constable looked, and he smiled too,
As the fiddle began to twang;
And the man in the handcuffs suddenly sang
With grimful glee:
'This life so free
Is the thing for me!'
And the constable smiled, and said no word,
As if unconscious of what he heard;
And so they went on till the train came in--
The convict, and boy with the violin.
poem by Thomas Hardy
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Constable
Crafty copper
Moments arrested
Portraits in custody
Come along there
Broken cart
You need a stay
In my oily cell
Up to prison London
You shall go
At owners pleasure
To rest and consider
Your pretty crimes
Prisoners tour Paris
So well behaved
A gold medal royal
Gains John
As is his dew
Up to London
Constable finds
A necessary means
To make prudent friends
But fortunate are we
For his real
Pastures, views and
Sublime scenes
Remain on the loose
In Constable country
No grammar school for them
No mercantile father
But free
For you
And me
poem by Jason Palmer
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Obession
Can i feel your hair soft on wet skin
Deep inside i bleed from the blade within
Can i reach the burning, burning moon
Can i change this madness, lust consume
Breathing out and breathing in - begin
Suddenly i wake from a calling sweat
Blood red water on my head
Was i only dreaming the flesh so real
What would another good sin reveal
Breathing out and breathing in
I can't fight the drug within
Feel the first hit to the heart
You're my shot, your my obsession
Hear the voices say
I can't turn and walk away - yeah
You're my shot, your my obsession
Hear the voices
Oh - how i need to hold onto fire to win
Pumping through my veins love's adrenalin
Can you hear those voices
Breathing out and breathing in
I can't fight the drug within
Feel the first hit to the heart
You're my shot, your my obsession
Hear the voices say
I can't turn and walk away - yeah
You're my shot, your my obsession
Hear the voices say
song performed by by Asia
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Obsession
Can I feel your hair soft on wet skin
Deep inside I bleed from the blade within
Can I reach the burning, burning moon
Can I change this madness, lust consume
Breathing out and breathing in - begin
Suddenly I wake from a calling sweat
Blood red water on my head
Was I only dreaming the flesh so real
What would another good sin reveal
Breathing out and breathing in
I cant fight the drug within
Feel the first hit to the heart
Youre my shot, your my obsession
Hear the voices say
I cant turn and walk away - yeah
Youre my shot, your my obsession
Hear the voices
Oh - how I need to hold onto fire to win
Pumping through my veins loves adrenalin
Can you hear those voices
Breathing out and breathing in
I cant fight the drug within
Feel the first hit to the heart
Youre my shot, your my obsession
Hear the voices say
I cant turn and walk away - yeah
Youre my shot, your my obsession
Hear the voices say
song performed by by Asia
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Drugs (Mcat)
Your lost in your head
going down a road
that will lead to your death
Reality is this world
not the drug world
in your head
False friends
lead to false dreams
they are the problem
drugs are the cause
Don't go down a road
with no cars
don't screw it up
this drug will take your life
poem by Dave Alan Walker
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Once I was foolish
Once I was foolish—
I thought I could nurture
A garden of flowers
In a desert
Once I was foolish—
I thought I could clad
A desiccated tree
In its lost foliage
Once I was foolish—
I thought I could restore
A bird missing
Back to its nest
Once I was foolish—
I thought I could swim
The length and breath
Of the oceans
Once I was foolish—
I thought I could ease
An aching heart
And wipe the tears
Once I was foolish—
I thought my dreams
Will bloom into colorful petals
That I might sprinkle in you way
I want to be foolish
Again and again…
22 Oct 2010
12.52hrs
poem by Indira Babbellapati
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Cookie Cutter Shudders
The cookie cutter shudders.
Quivering in disbelief,
The taste of cookies prepared...
No longer meets the satisfaction,
Of those seeking originality.
An ingredient wished is missed.
That shake and bake appeal,
Has lost its zest and zeal.
People of substance hunger for it.
And the cookie cutter shudders.
Since a recipe used,
Was discovered to be illegitimate.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
I think people need to be educated to the fact that marijuana is not a drug. Marijuana is an herb and a flower. God put it here. If He put it here and He wants it to grow, what gives the government the right to say that God is wrong?
quote by Willie Nelson
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
Vote! | Copy!
A Little Mistake
’Tis a yarn I heard of a new-chum ‘trap’
On the edge of the Never-Never,
Where the dead men lie and the black men lie,
And the bushman lies for ever.
’Twas the custom still with the local blacks
To cadge in the ‘altogether’—
They had less respect for our feelings then,
And more respect for the weather.
The trooper said to the sergeant’s wife:
‘Sure, I wouldn’t seem unpleasant;
‘But there’s women and childer about the place,
‘And—barrin’ a lady’s present—
‘There’s ould King Billy wid niver a stitch
‘For a month—may the drought cremate him!—
‘Bar the wan we put in his dirty head,
‘Where his old Queen Mary bate him.
‘God give her strength!—and a peaceful reign—
‘Though she flies in a bit av a passion
‘If ony wan hints that her shtoyle an’ luks
‘Are a trifle behind the fashion.
‘There’s two of the boys by the stable now—
‘Be the powers! I’ll teach the varmints
‘To come wid nought but a shirt apiece,
‘And wid dirt for their nayther garmints.
‘Howld on, ye blaggards! How dare ye dare
‘To come widin sight av the houses?—
‘I’ll give ye a warnin’ all for wance
‘An’ a couple of ould pair of trousers.’
They took the pants as a child a toy,
The constable’s words beguiling
A smile of something beside their joy;
And they took their departure smiling.
And that very day, when the sun was low,
Two blackfellows came to the station;
They were filled with the courage of Queensland rum
And bursting with indignation.
The constable noticed, with growing ire,
They’d apparently dressed in a hurry;
And their language that day, I am sorry to say,
Mostly consisted of ‘plurry.’
The constable heard, and he wished himself back
In the land of the bogs and the ditches—
‘You plurry big tight-britches p’liceman, what for
‘You gibbit our missuses britches?’
And this was a case, I am bound to confess,
Where civilisation went under;
Had one of the gins been less modest in dress
He’d never have made such a blunder.
And here let the moral be duly made known,
And hereafter signed and attested:
We should place more reliance on that which is shown
And less upon what is suggested.
poem by Henry Lawson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The addiction
The addiction to writing
Is worse than drug
Addiction to
shabu
Or marijuana
You want solitude
You do not talk
You shy away from friends
And your wife
Misunderstands your silence
As coldness of a lover
“Do you still love me? ”
it is worse
there is no hospital for writers
there are no rehabilitation centers
where they diagnose
you for an addiction for a certain
precise disease
why this man prefers solitude
why he does not dance
why he does not talk anymore
there is no drug prescribable
to this addiction
there is no doctor
there is no cure
meanwhile the symptoms keep
manifesting
looking beyond the window in deep thought
sleeping late and waking earlier than usual
He lives too far from everybody
Kin, friends, lovers, and country
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Old Black Joe
1 Gone are the days when my heart was young and gay,
2 Gone are my friends from the cotton fields away,
3 Gone from the earth to a better land I know,
4 I hear their gentle voices calling 'Old Black Joe.'
5 [Chorus] I'm coming, I'm coming, for my head is bending low:
6 I hear those gentle voices calling, 'Old Black Joe.'
7 [Solo] Why do I weep when my heart should feel no pain
8 Why do I sigh that my friends come not again,
9 Grieving for forms Now departed long a go?
10 I hear their gentle voices calling 'Old Black Joe.'
11 [Chorus] I'm coming, I'm coming, for my head is bending low:
12 I hear those gentle voices calling, 'Old Black Joe.'
13 [Solo] Where are the hearts once so happy and so free?
14 The children so dear that I held upon my knee,
15 Gone to the shore where my soul has longed to go.
16 I hear their gentle voices calling 'Old Black Joe.'
17 [Chorus] I'm coming, I'm coming, for my head is bending low:
18 I hear those gentle voices calling, 'Old Black Joe.'
poem by Stephen C. Foster
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Maids of the Mountains
In the wild Weddin Mountains there live two young dames
Kate O'Meally, Bet Mayhew are their pretty names;
These maids of the mountains are bonny bush belles,
They ride out on horseback, togged out like young swells.
They dressed themselves up in their brothers' best clothes,
And looked very rakish as you may suppose,
In the joy of their hearts they chuckled with glee -
What fun if for robbers they taken should be .
Just then the policemen by day and by night,
Were seeking Frank Gardiner, the bushranger sprite;
Bold Constable Clark wore a terrible frown,
And thought how Sir Freddy by Frank was done brown.
They sought for the 'ranger, but of course found him not,
When suddenly Katy and Betsy they spot;
'By Pott!' shouted Clark, 'that is Gardiner I see!
The wretch must be taken - come boys, follow me.'
'Stand!' shouted the bobbies in accents most dread,
'Or else you will taste our infallible lead.'
But the maids of the mountains just laughed at poor Clark,
And galloped away to continue their lark.
The troopers pursued them and hot was the chase,
'Tis only in Randwick they go at such pace;
Clark captured the pair, then to show his vexation,
He lugged them both off to the Young police station.
The maids of the mountains, the joke much enjoyed
To see their brave captors so sadly annoyed;
Next day they still smiled as they stood in the dock;
Their awful position their nerves did not shock.
But Constable Clark did not look very jolly,
He had no excuse for such absolute folly;
He admitted the girls were just out on a spree,
And hoped that His Worship would set them both free.
And so the farce ended of Belles versus Blues,
Which caused no great harm and did much to amuse;
But the Burrangong bobbies will place in their cells,
No more maids of the mountains, the bonny bush belles.
poem by Anonymous Oceania
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
My Lord Is Always Joking At Me
My lord is always joking at me.
When I asked for a bicycle
he gave me a car.
When I asked for a computer
he gave me a mobile phone.
When I asked for a book
he gave me a pen and a pad of paper.
When I ask for money
he gave me some trees.
When I asked for a bedroom
he gave me a house with a garden
that has many flowers....
My lord is always joking at me!
Though my lord is always joking at me
I know he loves me, anyway.
poem by Marites C. Cayetano
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Idiot Son Of An Asshole
He's not smart, a C student
And that's after buying his way into school
Beady eyes, and he's kinda dyslexic
Can he read? No one's really quite sure
He signs stuff and he executes people
Maybe that's why, he doesn't have any friends
Cocaine and a little drunk driving
Doesn't matter, when you're the Commander in Chief.
Idiot son of an asshole
He's the idiot son of an asshole
Idiot son of an asshole
He's the idiot son of an asshole
Put on some make-up, turn on the 8-Track,
I'm putting a week back on the shelf,
Suddenly I'm the President, of the United States,
But then I woke up, and realized I'm still me.
He's too dumb, to eat pretzels, apparently smart enough to fix an election.
Moved boldly into the White House,
but most people voted against him.
He likes naps, He really likes naptime, A couple of naps and then a nap and then he's ready for bed,
He may be from Bush decent, but he's always gonna be the unpresident.
Idiot son of an asshole
He's the idiot son of an asshole
Idiot son of an asshole
He's the idiot son of an asshole
Idiot son of an asshole
He's the idiot son of an asshole
He's our president!
song performed by by NOFX
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
The Perfect Drug
The perfect drug
I got my head, but my head is unraveling
Cant keep control, cant keep track of where its traveling
I got my heart but my heart is no good
And youre the only one thats understood
I come along but I dont know where youre taking me
I shouldnt go but youre reaching back and shaking me
Turn off the sun, pull the stars from the sky
The more I give to you, the more I die
And I want you
And I want you
And I want you
And I want you
You are the perfect drug, the perfect drug, the perfect drug
You are the perfect drug, the perfect drug, the perfect drug
You make me hard, when Im all soft inside
I see the truth, when Im all stupid eyed
The arrow goes straight through my heart
Without you everything just falls apart
My blood wants to say hello to you
My feelings want to get inside of you
My soul is so afraid to realize
Every little word is a lack of me
And I want you
And I want you
And I want you
And I want you
You are the perfect drug, the perfect drug, the perfect drug
You are the perfect drug, the perfect drug, the perfect drug
You are the perfect drug, the perfect drug, the perfect drug
You are the perfect drug, the perfect drug, the perfect drug
You are the perfect drug, the perfect drug, the perfect drug
You are the perfect drug, the perfect drug, the perfect drug
(whispering)
You are the perfect drug, the perfect drug, the perfect drug
You are the perfect drug, the perfect drug, the perfect drug
You are the perfect drug, the drug, the perfect drug
Take me, with you
Take me, with you
Take me, with you
(continues in backround)
Without you, without you everything falls apart
Without you, its not as much fun to pick up the pieces
Without you, without you everything falls apart
Without you, its not as much fun to pick up the pieces
Its not as much fun to pick up the pieces
Its not as much fun to pick up the pieces
Without you, without you everything falls apart
Without you, its not as much fun to pick up the pieces
song performed by by Nine Inch Nails
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
African Spokesman
I am the African Spokesman and,
I have something for you;
Because, the muse of my African Stew tastes different from yours!
And, it is infused with a special ingredient from the African Soil.
I am the muse that you are reading and,
I am the African Child with my words so sweet! !
And like the love of your mind without the wars around you;
Because, i am always for the peace of this world.
I am the African Spokesman and,
I am presenting the muse of my mind from Africa to educate you;
For, mankind had now made more amumunitions for war!
But, we really don't need them when, we talk about peace on this earth.
Listen and look for peace around you always,
Learn and care for others around you always,
For education is not always about degrees! !
Because, the very professors are the very ones who made these weapons of war.
The African Spokesman is what i am,
Along the streets of Africa and around the hiding places of the ghettoes!
For, i have seen many things in my life and, i have more to tell to you;
But, like the colours of the rainbow,
We need to love each other in the name of the colours that nature gave us.
I am the African Spokesman and,
I have something for you;
But, if you listen very carefully, you will feel the muse of my love around you!
Because, this world is now being captured by the weapons of war than peace.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Idiot Son Of An Asshole
NoFX - Idiot Son Of An Asshole lyrics
He's not smart, a C student
And that's after buying his way into school
Beady eyes, and he's kinda dyslexic
Can he read? No one's really quite sure
He signs stuff and he executes people
Maybe that's why, he doesn't have any friends
Cocaine and a little drunk driving
Doesn't matter, when you're the Commander in Chief.
Idiot son of an asshole
He's the idiot son of an asshole
Idiot son of an asshole
He's the idiot son of an asshole
(***not in the video version on The War On Errorism****
Put on some make-up, turn on the 8-Track,
I'm putting a week back on the shelf,
Suddenly I'm the President, of the United States,
But they I woke up, and realized I'm still me. )
He's too dumb, to eat pretzels, apparently smart enough to fix an election.
Moved boldly into the White House,
though most people voted against him.
He likes naps, He's good at naptime, A couple of naps and then a nap and then he's ready for
bed,
He may be from Bush decent, He's always gonna, gonna be the un-precedent
Idiot son of an asshole
He's the idiot son of an asshole
Idiot son of an asshole
He's the idiot son of an asshole
Idiot son of an asshole
He's the idiot son of an asshole
He's our president!
song performed by by NOFX
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!