Marijuana came around
LSD went to town
Cocaine in his brain
His life down the drain
Hashish to ease the pain
He turned off the running water,
soaped his face not glancing at the mirror,
a long night ahead.
He had four shadows
on the four walls of this rental,
not a good sign.
When later he turned the bedside light on,
the glowing silhouette of his head on the pillow
burgeoned, swelling upwards until
it pancaked on the ceiling above.
Still groggy after the hashish
still psychoactive,
he got dressed.
Out walking the dark Luxor streets
he found a coffee shop still open.
The thick sweet brew was served to him,
a lime green dwarf
sporting a banana yellow fez.
Never again he thought,
patting his pockets hoping to find
some curative cancer sticks.
I’ve heard tell of some suicide cult in Kenya;
Poor folk pledged to starve themselves to death
For God’s glory, and so malevolent surgeons
Can harvest their organs for profit in trade.
Well, I’ve been to Kenya, and I can say this:
Mombasa seemed quite exotic with its
Sculpted elephant tusk archway granting
Unfettered access to the Year of the Cat.
The open road to Nairobi was a safari adventure in itself,
Needing no explanation other than a quarter pound
Of the finest black Afghan hashish this side of Kandahar.
While in Kenya, I never once thought of killing myself.
But I did determine that it would be unsafe
To pass out drunk in any public venue
For fear of waking up with a pain in my side
And find I’m missing one of my kidneys. Kenya, dig it.
It was my much despised dish
But I ate it with relish,
Because of a granted wish
To be served Mackerel Fish
And treated to a glimpsed quiche
But that was rather childish
To a friend acting British
All of a sudden snobbish
And I hated q wished fish
Like Devout Christians Hashish...
Then, I'd been the quite sheepish:
Unstable Saul Son of Kish
For accepting The Despised
After it was a bit spiced.
Smuggling of drugs from Afghanistan into Pakistan via Pak Afghan Border is one of the most lucrative business in that region, apart from smuggling of weapons. In fact,narcotis smuggling has lately into an art form,a lump sum amount of money allows driver to take as many as he can..Allegedly smuggling is being done with the help of mohmand agency khasadar force and tons of morphine, hashish,crystal ice,and marijuana enters Pakistan each month from afghan transit route..Mohmand agency is the birthplace of famous Underworld DON
and The Big Boss Of Elite Class Mafia..
Note.ANF and NLC should take strict action to control smuggling..
The Quiet Earth we watched that day
A film where the world ends
Two young friends were with me
I said to one of them
She has chucked me
We were high on hashish
He said 'Why not kill her'
The other friend said 'go on here is the knife'
Handing me his father's Ghurka
I got into the car and sped to three towns away
Four separate things tried to stop me.
A traffic policeman, A lollipop lady, A dustcart
And her brother in a car coming down the drive.
I got out of the car and walked to her
She was standing by a washing line
I had the knife in my hand
She said, 'Why did you do it?'
I stabbed her six times and slit her throat.
She collapsed and died.
Smiling slightly.
I went to the car, ditched the knife as I was driving
And went to the post office.
I bought an interail ticket and left for Europe the next day.
6/6/1994
"What is this strange place we find ourselves in
Trapped in the open, we are free within”
__________________________
Stars shine in the milky way, weaving
a matrix of how you say it
moving your tongue, I watch through the lips
In the ocean bay, dawn lifts the night
leading our eyes to the mystic sight
The little cones reveal, raising bowls
Yellow, red, and green scents for our soul
Birds feeding their young
The day unfolds in its own matrix
Your tapping fingers, the hashish
the virile violin playing
Debris of Ukraine nonetheless
April 5, 2022
There was a chef famous for his quiche
Crowds came in and paid lots of baksheesh
Feds came into town
they busted his crown
for his quiche was sprinkled with hashish
It's getting late; time to leave for work,
Where we've lost our first to the red Wuhan curse.
I'll be strolling the halls with his freshly minted ghost.
Hopefully it won't loathe me; I pray it leaves me alone.
Everyone's masked and macabre-tinged.
Management is working remotely from home
but giving us free soda and chips.
With a side of ham and Corona on rye.
All this fluff for risking our insignificant lives.
I'm starting to make more mistakes.
Taking days off for the most trivial things.
I'm getting old, and soft-I'm suffocating.
Every day is just another bluish Monday.
But we plow on-there's loved ones to feed.
My psyche is quickly thinning.
The mind swirling like a 70's mood ring.
With pinches of low-grade hashish.
My faith sure could use a good cleaning,
To rid its spinning prayer wheel of debris.
So it can start spinning freely again.
I'm already beaten down and have a migraine.
Lunchtime is still two and a half hours away.
needles and nettles
thistles and thrushes
thrashers and hashish
each has a has as each
a brother and sister
a mister and missus
a this and a that is
their there and
they're there
and no
where
to be
found
finding
all is lost
what cost
freedom we
shall overcome
We used to pinch Kathy's hashish.
One little trip at a time so she wouldn't notice.
It really didn't matter, as we had total immunity.
Because she'd never go whining to the cherries.
We'd light up in the bushes beside the train tracks.
Amidst the bum litter, bottle caps, and broken glass.
Getting paranoid and sillier with each puff.
A couple of tie-dyed comedians giggling in the brush.
We'd roll out of our hashish cloud, smiling wide and red-eyed.
With a raging case of the munchies and acute cotton mouth.
We'd devour bowls of mac and cheese while watching M.T.V
Waiting for the sweet sandman and his nickel bag of sleep.
That was a thin slice, a pink puppy phase in my life.
I stumbled into a brunette angel and got out just in time.
Kathy graduated from hashish bowl to heroin spoon.
Spent two decades gathering pieces of her broken mind.
The huntsman’s horn in
The School Boy is non-
native. But he likes the
poem, hears a snake-
charmer’s pipe vicariously,
empathizes with Blake’s
boy’s love of innate
freedom, and then doodles
in boredom. Next period,
he slips down from
the top of Pythagorean
theorem. He snoozes in
the Neolithic Age at noon.
His brain balks at learning.
Teachers avoid pain with
peace of passivity. ****
virus infects his inner
system. Parents are too
busy to install anti-virus.
He draws obscene pictures
with a charcoal, as if raping
the urinal wall. He rises
up in the hashish fumes
and floats in the space.
Holes in the thought-layer are
invisible to him. He runs
wild, celebrating impulses.
An unrefined man is
a malignant growth
from the negligence.
First printed in The Literary Hatchet
You can take strong drugs and write verse
You can avoid strong drugs and write verse
Either way you will enjoy getting published
Some people say that poets are sick!!!
But you out here in "soup" land
Know better
Hashish is a powerful drug
The French had clubs where they imbibed it
But I feel that I shall avoid strong drugs for a while
And enjoy Thanksgiving
There's a space in my heart that sings
Spills over and tells tales of hayring
Of magic and chance
Heartbreak and romance
and old times.
Sounds of rippling rivers, sunlight and earth
Moorland on rock and winters warm hearth
Shambles of nettles ,of Bluebell's and brambles
and ghosts of the past..
We scrambled through...
The years....
Births and deaths and fun from before
Mists in the morning ,promising more
We danced through our fears and laughed off our tears
Scratches and tumbles, curry dinners and crumbles
Stone floors well trod
With snow,mayhem, mushrooms and mud
Afgan hashish and rugs
Music and birdsong
And we sang.....
Of Hayring country and new times
The rivers roared and the winds chimed
Of memories to last
Whistling blasts from the past
All of our joys and our sorrows
From way back then,through to all our tomorrow s
Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent – 59
Does Nature dispose at random by whim or wish
In all probability by set built-in laws
Part of free will which wills ill makes karma punish
Will good works against Nature’s grain admonish
Can living beings alter the Big Plan strict laws
Does Nature dispose at random by whim or wish
Should Nature keep house for the tenant in anguish
About who’s the owner of the wind that blows
Part of free will which wills ill makes karma punish
Nor for those who refuse house rules to distinguish
Turn not fire down let hot water run indoors
Does Nature dispose at random by whim or wish
Or when the owner’s preparing to cook hashish
The tenant goes out to dine dance with rich in-laws
Part of free will which wills ill makes karma punish
Nature sets the rules of the game in his hospice
The guest who knocks late from revelries stays outdoors
Does Nature dispose at random by whim or wish
Part of free will which wills ill makes karma punish
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2015
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