Outside any object apparent
Absorbing an alternate zone
Poet trip travels are inherent
World beyond words - honed
Inviting keen readers to enter
Realms they undeniably knew
Existed, concur are meant for
Everyone's joy, not a mere few
Riding wave of sheer abandon
Sheltered from danger's effect
Poet makes assertions candid
Fence sit wish wash he rejects
Places horrific, stances to stun
Gifted writer recklessly reveals
Outlandish acts, on paper done
No ghastly side shyly concealed
Paradise blooms as alligator jaw
Heaven is for having with breath
Spectacle no actual eye ever saw
Is witnessed with contextual jest
Humour a flower flows from jib
Tickled imbibers tastily believe
Brain transportation, a best gift
Breaks obvious, grants reprieve
28th November 2020
Written for Contest : Where Do We Poets Go?
Sponsor: Silent One
I haven’t toked in many years
And though it’s just as well,
In Amsterdam three years ago,
My nose picked up that smell.
I breathed in deep and reminisced
About my younger days,
Those weekend nights engulfed in such
A mellow stoned-out haze.
These days in New York City, though,
A scent pervades the air.
It’s weed, I’m told, but to the old stuff
It does not compare.
In fact, its noxious odor
Comes the closest to a skunk.
I wonder if imbibers
Are aware they stink, stank, stunk!
When we partook so long ago,
The ways that one could tell
Were our beatific faces
And our cravings – not our smell!
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