Long Hallucinogenic Poems
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I stand tall on the windy mountain side.
Look down on mankind’s world
And snort in depreciated disgust.
Let death embrace me in its jugged jaws.
I'm not afraid, just tired.
This flagella of torrid life,
The gross garbage of man’s past,
The insignificance of the insecure future.
Time has no meaning.
A hallucinogenic rhythm
Of the quintessence of nothing.
Bring on the rumbling war drums,
Raise up the sharp guillotine's blade,
Let the cacophony begin,
Let me dance to no rhythm
Of preconceived dreams.
For since the beginning of time
When humans invented drawings
Of men killing men, and sang
Songs resonating of rape and lust,
Of slander, conquests and plunder.
The day will come when we must
Give an account of our misdeeds.
We turn our backs on good and evil,
We just don’t really care what happens
To unfortunate beings, our neighbors.
The writing is on the wall.
The seer chants: the end is near.
Yet something in me stirs.
I refuse to let go. For look
Not far away on this cold mountain
Is a rainbow, way up high,
As bluebirds happily fly on the other side
Of the shimmering bewitching hues,
A consequence of a prism of raindrops.
One day, all our dreams become reality.
Hope reigns again and all dreams come true.
To see the unknown is to grasp the strange
struggle with hallucinogenic disbelief of the deranged:
To arrange and rearrange the disarray of a mind
nonplussed by a puzzlement of imagery that binds
one in loops of madness bound by the optic nerve’s
impulses pulsating upon the high seas where red curved
like the waves that swerved my dehydrated inebriation
as they distorted my auricular balance into a drunk vermilion….
She’s appeared only at sea, always in striking shades of scarlet,
as if to break the monotony of endless boring-blue ~ a starlet
eclipsing my dilated pupils when she bled the moon,
slicing off a smooth round piece, as I, in my cabin cocoon
gaped thru the port hole at the bleeding sickle left
suspended, animated, tween the midnight and dawn ~ swept
into the black hole that fell into the dark’s abyss:
an oceanic psychedelic trip of a brain reeling remiss…
The glitter in the velvet dissolved into the ebon nothing
The wind no more, as infinite jet swallowed frothing
And there, not ten yards away, floated the cerise ball!
I rubbed my dozing orbs, but still, I was in lunar’s thrall
(3/15/2018 Repost for sailing contest)
Love is a corpse,
a slab on table and a checklist of finds,
6’ 2’’, rich, educated, white, slim,
a post-mortem on a body still fresh
Love is a casino,
a gamble in bright lights,
a bargaining of chips falling where they may,
an under-table sleight of hand
Love is a firework,
a hallucinogenic bonfire blaze
that spirals and swirls with a forever
waiting, a waiting for the bang, the explosion,
the sizzle from cosmos down to earth
Love is a house
with a cupboard for stale secrets
and a creak in an old spine staircase,
flagging passion hung out to dry above
yellow grass in need of water, can rusted
Love is silence is shout is cry is shake
is laugh is let down is let up
is cloud is volcano is dormant is erupt
is triumph is disaster is trust is tryst
The Magic Mushroom
I wonder in galaxies of regret if I could have loved you differently
of course a little, just a bit, one thread of dream more in the universe
you were the oddest of all the fallen stars that crashed to earth
I bought you hallucinogenic mushrooms when the world wanted blood roses
you were the sweetest of all the shattered dreams that ever broke
without makeup on your face and your hair uncombed in the free wind
I don't want don't want don't want your love to dissolve into ether
I'm hurt you're hurt but I want the pain to orbit eternally
we're floating on a fractured planet in a cosmos of melancholy
my mind levitates in interior spaces without any gravity at all
ever since we've been apart I no longer feel whole in reality
I walk on an endless and solitary road through dimensions unknown
toward a destination unknown lost in existential fog and mist
I call your mobile phone when loneliness swallows me completely
with hope that we can repair time and continue the journey on
but you keep sending me to the phantom voicemail in the void
because you don't want to talk to me anymore in this parallel universe
I wonder in galaxies of regret if I could have loved you differently
of course a little just a bit one thread of magic more perhaps
but the psychedelic mushrooms now grow alone in the garden of forgetting
Send me your crazy
You’re lazy
The hallucinogenic hazy
The sick mother F***ers
Who wanna see you pushing daisies
Gimme your sinners
Gimme your saints
Gimme that 9 you use to fix problems
You claim to never propagate
You got no patience
You got no hope
No way to cope
The only skill you offer
Is slinging something to smoke
Be it from a barrel or pipe
Your failure is F***ing ripe
So whacha gonna do?
Join me in the grave?
Or live in a cage?
Either way you’re a slave of rage
The deeds of yesterday
Write today’s page
Is this sinking through the layers of insanity?
Or is it blinded by worthless vanity?
Come tell me your sad tale
Your miserable story
Your existence that you fail
It’s ok that you’re worthless
It’s ok that you’re hollow
It’s quite easy to see
That it’s evil you follow
From the beginning
To the present
You never had a chance
It was always failure
That you had to romance
I don’t blame you in your need
To feed your greed
Though I do question your methods
Upon which you proceed
Do you ever look at the pattern that you follow?
Indeed nothing new
And quite violently hollow
Ever wonder if you’re better than trash?
Or is the need for quick satisfaction
Seem rash?
I have always wondered
About the need for recognition
Is it really satisfying?
To recognize one’s self addiction?
Thoughts to contemplate
Of your self worth’s fate
A lifelong pursuit
Of green paper’s debate
Such a trivial pursuit
I rate
Eric (and sometimes not)
Madness, the Hatter blinks.
Madness, Oz's link.
Repercussions of concussions.
Madness was Portnoy's complaint**,
Madness must reciprocate!
Hallucinations filter by....
Leary* winks at Dali's eye.
A house lands on Dorothy's thighs...
Chicken Little wanders by.
"Madness," Hitler's honcho’s sneer.
Madness splices genes with fear.
"Lobotomize!" becomes the cheer.
Kellogg’s* enema's find waiting rears.
"Are you the ass? Or is it me?
Have I ears and a nose? What do you see?"
"Hehawww," said Pinocchio's friends.
"Heeehaw," said Darwin* back again.
Round and round went Steven Hawkings*.
"Madness," said Lenore's raven* squawking.
"Madness," said Einstein* in a blink.
"Reciprocate!," said the missing link.
Reference Poem Knock Knock by The Archaic Poet - topic madness
* Art by Salvador Dali
* Portnoy's Complaint by Phillip Roth states
if you know you are crazy than you must be sane.
* Timothy Leary explored LSD and other hallucinogenic drugs.
* Kellog [of cereal fame] proposed enema's as the cure to
all health ills, plus loads of sex!
* Darwin proposed man evolved from apes.
* Edgar Allen Poe was mad when he wrote The Raven.
* Einstein had aspergers syndrome a type of
* Steven Hawkings is a wheelchair bound scientist who autism.
extrapolates on the edge of mathematical reality.
Ott's (lots) chrysanthemums in bloom
Highland Manor Apartments
affords quick jaunt
veritable exotic getaway
scant miles away
Schwenksville establishment rooted
at least last half century
local tropical paradise beckons
passer(s)by to saunter
imbibe fragrant aroma,
espy splash of color on hillside
ease hilly draw painter with palette
photographer, musician, scrivener...
especially during dead of winter,
indoor botanical garden
bounteous, capacious, herbaceous...
topography exquisitely, heavenly,
incredibly... landscaped flora
to dazzle sense and sensibility,
inebriating, intoxicating, invigorating...
metaphorical cathartic ambrosia,
potent fragrant blend
wafting within englassed green acres
buzzfeeding, kickstarting, spellbinding
pollinating, germinating, birthing...
analogous natural stimulant,
holistic, magically therapeutic
without deleterious hallucinogenic,
nor harmful narcotic qualities,
also terrific soporific,
a soothing environment
to gravitate, meditate, ruminate...
healthy psychological restorative
hypothetical scenario to heal
mental, physical, and spiritual wounds
to strengthen body,
mind, and body triage
woke benumbed atavistic
primitive *****sapiens
nihilistic grim outlook (mine)
housing grim prognostication
foreboding bleak aggrievement
impossible submission toward
apocalyptic trend to escape.
There's a story, I would like to sing,
Listen kids, if you've a moment free,
Concerning how I found myself
On the white sands of Waikiki.
One night, I got so roaring drunk,
I was sloshed for more than one year -
A wild party, I got lit like a skunk,
And met a lovely woman there.
Someone must have spiked the punch
With a hallucinogenic drug -
But she was truly beautiful,
So, we cut a crazy rug.
Her long hair was a raven black -
Black as leagues below the sea.
Her skin was soft and white -
Is there a thing called silken ivory?
Her lips were of a cherry red
And sometimes they were raspberry -
Whichever on a given day,
They tasted like heaven to me.
With her cat's flashing, laughing eyes,
I don't know what she saw in me.
I was not really seeing her, but
An image of my fantasy.
For the first time, I looked close at her,
And she looked so close at me -
And that is when we sobered up
On the white sands of Waikiki.
And so, finding we were mismatched,
Two of God's precious creatures, we -
Each went on our separate ways,
Leaving the sands of Waikiki.
Your mother will probably warn you
To avoid such parties, so wild.
She might even go on to say,
"It can cost you dearly, child."
But I will fondly remember
This lass who, my heart, did beguile.
The very reason for that is -
She taught me how to smile.
(an All Poetry feat to walk in
the poetic feet of Robert Frost)
Bucolic New England, circa
Early twentieth century New England
awash with dynamic harmonic leisureliness,
when much of North America favored rustic
visual whirled wide webbed watercolor
waiting afield at dusk, the thrum
of nature all abuzz didst feed thine
dizzily green jovial mien
unlike mean Gary Lewis
veritable innocence and naiveté
rollicked with mine lanky frame
relishing ambling into my own quietude
an infinite breadth, length and scope
of infrequently trammeled near virgin
woodland paths grown over with brambles
nonetheless a faintly trussed harbinger
marked by weatherbeaten
for sale signposts
with here and there an abandoned plow
long since given over
to rust when the pasture
seasons elapsed since
farmer(s) left unharvested
fecund fields absent
the cloven hoof,
and deprived enrichment
manure, sans ungulates
ceased sufficing healthy
free ranging bovines,
where etudes punctuated
the terribly gross fresh air,
now no longer audibly quickening,
snapchatting, nor twittering
with the last word of a bluebird
deathly silence now 'cept
the wind in the willows
whispering woebegone laments
tree tops pining to cradle
idle youthful dreamers
boughs devoid of
psalm quivering romantic songstress
clattering debris merely
delivering echoed whooshing refrains
continually disintegrating among
in a disused graveyard
prescient ken aches with nostalgia
hallucinogenic nightmare slams
irrevocably shut the door in the dark
closed for good upon the onset,
wrought genocide against
the vanishing Red man,
a ghostly scarification meaningless ritual
wrested, removed, and highjacked
from indigenous peoples
without rhyme, nor reason
as fraternities no
longer pledge allegiance.
On the street, it is known as “angel dust” colloquially.
It has a formal moniker in pharmacology.
The name is rather long, but is abbreviated to “PCP”
It was first synthesized as a dissociative anesthetic.
Among its side effects, it is hallucinogenic.
More seriously, to the nervous system, it is toxic.
Junkies can inhale it, ingest it, or it can be smoked.
With its use, the brain is adversely provoked.
What are often produced are hallucinations.
Sometimes, the drug fashions delusions.
There is numbness of pain, but distortions of reality.
This cannot be anything to use for you or me.
Thanks to wikipedia.org online encyclopedia for information I obtained to write this poem.
Robert Pettit
October 8, 2012
For Gail’s “Angel Dust” contest.