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Best Blow This Joint Poems | Poetry

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The Best Blow This Joint Poems

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A Night On The Town

A Night On The Town

While searching for a book, one that I hadn’t yet read
I stumbled upon a critter and this is what he said:

Although the library is quite cozy and nice;
Could you fancy a night out for the right price?

Howsabout we meet by the bibliotheca shrub?
A groundhog as I adores a good Punxsy pub.

Grab your coat and throw on your hat.
I’m ready to have a friendly chat.

I looked him in the eye and asked him his name
With delight, he said, 

“You’re unaware of my fame.

My friends call me Phil, so I suppose you should too
Let’s blow this joint”

And away we flew

We wandered the streets of this charming town
Visiting shops and pubs, up the street and down

We feasted on grub and guzzled much drink
Then, Phil looked at me with a very hard think

“My friend, it’s been fun but it’s three in the morning.”

And he tottered down the street without any warning

I watched as he burrowed under the library steps
Down on my knees and behind him I crept

His words fell on my ears as he waddled out of sight

 “My friend, it’s time for you to go as the sun soon brings light.

You see, I don’t mean to complicate.
But in the morning, I must prognosticate.

Meet me again: fight your way through the mob.
That tree over there; in Gobblers knob.

In just a few hours, at the light of the day;
Meet me again; and don’t delay.”

I did just that; I waited on the lawn
When Phil came out with a stretch and a yawn

With a wink and a smile, his eyes met me with regard
Then a man handed me a note.  His name was Gerard.

“This note is from Phil.  Don’t tell anyone he can talk, or find you I will.”

I took the note from this cryptic subversive
And found it to be written in splendid cursive

"Thank you for the night, full of libations and cheer
Let’s do it all again.  Meet me same time next year."

Copyright © Maureen Leuba | Year Posted 2015

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Saul Grills Marilyn at a Seedy New Orleans Jazz Dive

Saul’s twinkling eyes took it all in – the platinum hair framing a first-class face, the silvery sheath dress wrapped around a figure that was out of sight, but in plain view. She was definitely the classiest thing in the joint -- Bannister’s by name, a jazz club just off Camp Street in New Orleans – and she was leaning against the side of a very lucky piano, crooning a sultry tune as Saul watched her from his table at the other end of the room, nursing some straight-up rye and taking puffs off a Lucky Strike – which wasn’t half as smokin’ as Marilyn. The ceiling fans didn’t put much of a dent in the muggy air, but that didn’t stop a cold chill from making its way down Saul’s backbone as Marilyn belted out the last few bars of her suggestive little ditty.

When she was done the patrons roused themselves from their stupor long enough to beat their hands together like they meant it, and Saul did the same, then motioned a cigarette girl over and whispered in her ear, dropping a fiver onto her tray. The girl swayed her way over to Marilyn, who was having a tête-à-tête with her piano player. After a few seconds he split, disappearing through a curtained doorway, and Marilyn perched herself on a stool at the far end of the bar. The cig girl muttered the message, jerking a thumb in Saul’s direction, and Marilyn started to shake her head as she turned toward him, but the moment her baby blues locked on his, the “no” turned into a “yes” and she crooked a beckoning finger. He picked up his drink and made his way through the clouds and the crowd till she filled his field of vision.

“Hello, handsome,” she said as she gestured at the stool next to hers. He parked his keister on it. “I understand you’re a private peeper, come all the way from New York City just to talk to little old me.”

“I’d have come farther,” he said, “just to get a good look at you.”

“Aren’t you the charm boy,” she said, producing a Kool from her silver handbag. He lit it. She puffed. So did he.

“Actually,” he said, “I’m in town on another case, but when I found out you were here I thought I’d kill two birds with one stone.”

“Good thing I’m not a bird. So what do you want to talk about? Dicky Delgado?”

“I didn’t know you had a mind-reading act too.”

“Mister, if I could read minds I’d be slapping your face right about now.”

He grinned. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

“I know this. Delgado’s in a jam and Barry Bason is defending him and everybody knows you’re Bason’s pet gumshoe. I’m just trying to decide which I like better -- the tall, dark, handsome one or the lighter version. You and Bason are a couple of dolls. Although your pictures in the paper don’t do you justice.”

“Thanks. Neither does yours. And you’re right about Delgado. I’m investigating all his enemies, trying to figure out which one of them framed him.”

She crossed her legs. The oh-so-tight dress parted, nearly up to her waist, revealing the shapeliest shins this side of Betty Grable.

“You think it’s a frame job?” she said.

“Could be.”

“And you figure I might’ve had something to do with it?”

“Did you?”

“Oh come on. Sure, I resented that heel for giving me the boot, but I landed on my feet. In fact, I’m grateful to Dicky for setting me on a new career path. I’m moving up in the world.”

Saul glanced around the small, seedy nightclub. “This path leads up? Looks more like a dead end.”

“Hey, don’t let the decor fool you, handsome. This is one of the top jazz joints in the country and the boss pays a lot better than that skinflint Cuban. And a girl could get noticed here if she plays her cards right.”

“I’ll say.”

“I mean by record producers, smarty. All the big shots stop in here looking for new talent. We’ve already gotten a couple of nibbles.”


“My husband and I. Bobby was the guy tickling the ivories during my number.”

“Quite a cozy arrangement. Was it that way with Delgado too?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I wonder if you and Delgado sang a few after-hours duets. And when the lyrics got too hot for Dicky to handle he changed his tune to the wedding ring blues. That casts the brush-off in a whole new light, doesn’t it?”

“Is that what he told you?”

“No, but Bason figures it’s an angle worth pursuing.”

“Which proves that brains and beauty don’t often go together, especially in men.” She blew smoke in his face. “Bason is all wet. And you can tell him so.” She got up off the stool. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to go change my tune.”

“Hold on, I’ve got a few more questions.”

Someone tapped him on the shoulder. He turned. Bobby Trope, blonde piano player and annoyed husband, stood behind him, along with a burly bouncer with anchors tattooed on his biceps.

“This quiz show just got cancelled,” Bobby said. “Time to sign off, shamus.”

“Hi, Mr. Trope,” Saul said. “I hear you barely made it back in time for Marilyn’s show last night. Your flight out of New York got delayed due to engine trouble.”

“Who says I was in New York?”

“The girl at the TWA counter at the airport who sold you your round-trip ticket. Why did you go there? To tend to some unfinished business?”

“Unfinished or finished, my business is none of yours.”

“You got something to hide?”

“Nope. I just don’t like nosey questions from private dicks. But I got a question for you. Are you gonna blow this joint under your own power or do you need a little breeze in your sail?”

Saul glanced at the bouncer, then stood up and turned to Marilyn. “Nice meeting you, Miss Leeds.”

“It’s Mrs. Trope to you,” she said. “Now blow.”
(This is an excerpt from my mystery pastiche novella, "The 'I Love Lilly' Murders"

Copyright © Stanley Carter | Year Posted 2016

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deadly sins

Shattered, busted
Broken pieces
Sinner, lusted
Crisco creases

White noise
High pitched screams
Girly boys
Wet dreams

Blood red stains
Off white gown
Pistol rings
Chalk on ground

Lethal needles
Veins blown
Better feels
Than being stoned

Strip club love
Ketamine rub 
Nose bleeds

Masked face
Girl at gunpoint
Steps retraced
Blow this joint

Hep C
Painted skin
Seven sins

Copyright © Anna Hopper | Year Posted 2017

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When the hell did I grow up? I mean where the hell did the time go?
My wallet shrunk, responsibility grew and none of it went slow

I’ve been wondering why I feel so old and worn down
I would try to blow this joint but im too sore to skip town

That was a joke but man I’m really feeling sore
Two toddlers run my house and got me working to be poor

I got a boss at work and he’s never all that bad to me, but then I go home and get run ragged by the other three! not to be dramatic sometimes I’d welcome a lobotomy, I get the feeling that they’re after me, like setting me up for fraudulent things because I refused them both their sucker rings!! 

But while this is all in good fin and we could all use a smile
If I had to be trapped, I’d hope I’m trapped here a while

Copyright © Eric Schojan | Year Posted 2018