Long Marijuana Poems
Long Marijuana Poems. Below are the most popular long Marijuana by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Marijuana poems by poem length and keyword.
long after a full moon
had thrown its arms around the sky
I stood with Al Stone
ignoring the futility in our lives
adolescence gave way to manhood
or so we like to believe
our ideology stifled
from a serious lack of dreams
with the care of a midwife
removing a child from the womb
a marijuana cigarette was born
then quickly consumed
our reality now disfigured
discolored and frayed
the sound of a revolver pop-pop-pop
felt like a siren calling our names
along the asphalt we strode
where graffiti had not taken over
the corner of lesson and life
pondering the tips of our noses
underneath that streetlight
the story we all must tell
misplaced direction
led to a portal of hell
our lack of caution
our upbringing tossed aside
opened the door for the siren
that revolver in our eyes
angels decided to sing
that melody an alarming sound
wheels of society turned and screeched
leaving tire tracks on the ground
the order was given to freeze
alternatives held tight in their hands
one placed directly at my temple
a transition from boy to man
Prime Minister of Canada, Justin Trudeau,
was born on Christmas night, I think under a star;
and became the 23rd Prime Minister of Canada,
and leader of the Liberal party;
son of former Prime Minister, Pierre Elliot Trudeau.
Justin is a kind, polite, fun loving man,
he was a snowboarding instructor, night club bouncer;
was a teacher, a boxer when younger,
and legalized marijuana in Canada to shut down illegal sales;
he wrote his memoir in 2014, a bit early Justin.
As Prime Minister, he apologized on behalf of Canada,
to the Indigenous People for wrong doings through history;
and also to other communities for transgressions of the past,
he has no fear to stand up to the USA President, any leader;
during his election campaign he always remained the gentleman.
Some, may find him too passive- I see his inner strength,
he is a wonderful representative for Canada;
with his movie star good looks, easy smile and laugh,
I love his upbeat personality and positive attitude;
and I am proud to call him my leader, my Prime Minister.
______________________________
February 5, 2020
Poetry/Ode/To Prime Minister Justin Trudeau
Copyright Protected, ID 20-1223-268-03
All Rights Reserved, 2020, Constance La France
Written for the contest, Ode To A President, or Politician or Leader,
Past or Present, sponsor, Sheri Fresonke Harper
Fourth Place
tomato
I used to pick them in my parents’ Iowa garden
we sliced them and put sugar on them
that made them delectable to me
tomato sauce
we used it on our Chef-boy-ar-dee boxed pizzas
it was all bubbly and sometimes burned my tongue
or the roof of my mouth
tomato
a term I used to hear applied to a young woman
meaning luscious, ripe, sexy,
this term originated in the twenties
when women began wearing form-fitted clothing
tomato
can mean marijuana
or a stupid act or a stupid person
I frankly have never heard tomato used either way
and I hope I never do
tomato
I love it hot, and I love it cold
it makes my chili delicious
I love adding slices to my grilled cheese sandwiches
The naked truth of present youth is pathetic and non-poetic.
Some are searching for Nirvana in other’s ideals
others have given up.
In bottles and pipes, we find a few, if we actively seek them.
But who does? Few care.
Youth of today slithers through alleys,
like cobras searching for big rocks.
Rocks that will tell them what to think, and who to beg money from.
Poverty parades around in their plastered minds.
Not all, but some.
Some make a posse and hang upside down in a backyard forest.
Entrusting their flesh and madness to nicotine and marijuana.
Time spent pursuing things that keep them on the edge.
I turn my head, trying not to notice.
Pseudointellectuals are making fun of the status quo.
No surprise there; they do not fit, so they bite it with snake venom.
Ripping it apart. Not only in America, but worldwide.
Disappointing their established parents.
Fishing through any needy soul
For God's only purpose
We search for the goal
On Hideous bible planes we reach
And love and learn and
Cry and teach
We are far gone
In whiskey and gin
strangers long for
Sweet brandy and sin
But strong we love and
That love we hate,
Pulls us nearer to our
Ultimate fate.
Planet revolves
And our plainest desires
In pitiful wishes
And missing requires,
Dedication and plunder
At once and in sync
For the loss of a soul,
For the want of a drink
In mystical whisps
Our features do curdle
Like grapes on a vine
For some winter infertile.
Pictures of boys
In centuries dated
Clapping beats of high praise
To the tune ne'er created .
The spinning of years,
On calendars pasted
On years and of joys
On days smudged and wasted,
In seventeen years
We turn sixty nine
Clicking our throbbing
Heartbeats, molesting our crimes.
In our necks we slouch South
to find our straight spine
That we mortgaged for
Cocaine, marijuana and wine.
Be you Irish or English
Italian or Jew
Or Spanish, or Polish
Or mongrel or Shrew:
Neither time nor your will
Nor pleading or sob,
Can save you from payment
Of not completing your job.
“Sweet Cheeks”
by Positive Mark
There was a time when I’d still buy a mango,
not in remembrance of you, but most definitely in celebration.
Sweet cheeks,
with the doors locked.
Each grip
was a cork popped.
Consequences mixed with the nectar in your kisses.
Mouths full of forbidden fruit, each time the serpent hisses.
Walls are patched in old huts, and temperature increases.
The amputated left to bawl, and howl like other species.
The moth-adjusted breeze came from the sway of slender hips.
The energy was transferred through a pair of spongy lips.
A shrimp boat at a sports bar, and a stick of marijuana
can turn an SUV back seat into a leather sauna.
A curse, caught in a gust of wind, can turn wild spirits loose.
They laughed each time your kisses filled my mouth with mango juice.
At times,
I’d buy a mango,
At times,
I’d speak your name.
The rum would slur your syllables.
I’d readjust my aim.
Immeasurable passion kept the two rogue lovers warm.
Caught in Dante’s Inferno, now we’re hurled by vicious storms.
I felt as if that fruit would manifest your swift return,
but no amount of sweetness could deter the scathing burn.
These days I sit in neon rooms,
when darkness steals my day.
The mangos are no longer here.
I fight another day.
NO FEAR OF MR EXCESSIVE FORCE PRAWLING THE CITY FOR VIOLENT FEMALE OFFENDERS MEETUPS IN THE MOST NONSUSPECTING PLACES HIS FAVORITE MEXICAN MAN DIE HE PAYS HER FOR PERSONAL FAVORS WITH DRUGS IRONICALLY SENDING HER TO COMMIT HOME INVASIONS WHILE SHE'S AN HABITUAL REPEAT VIOLENT OFFENDER HARD DRUGS MANUFACTURER FRAUD IDENTITY THEFT MR EXCESSIVE FORCE PROVIDES A REVOLING PRISON DOOR FOR ALL HER CRIMES FEEDING HER COCAINE HEROIN AND MARIJUANA FROM POLICE LOCKERS SHE THEN GIVE FALSE STATEMENTS TO FRAME ENTRAP INNOCENT PERSONS BECAUSE SHE'S JEALOUS SHE ACTUALLY HAD RELATIONS WITH MY EX ABUSER HE ATTACKED HIS FAMILY ON CHRISTMAS EVE MAN DIE BRUTALLY BEAT HER OWN CRIPPLED UNDOCUMENTED MOTHER WITH HER CRUTCHES AS HE GATHER MORE FEMALE VIOLENT OFFENDERS FOR HIS TWISTED CAUSE HE STOMPS AND ON THE STREET HE IS LABELED THE SPECKLE PIG MEETING MAN DIE IN SECURE PLACES WHERE HE SHOULD BE PROVIDING SAFETY SECURITY GUARDED BUT HE CAN'T BECAUSE HE IS BUSY WITH CONJUGAL VISITS ON ELEVATTORS HALLWAYS BATHROOMS IN LOCAL BUSINESSES MAN DIE BRAGGS ABOUT HER POWER WITH MR EXCESSIVE FORCE ALLOWING HER TO CONTROL THE LOCAL FEMALE STREET GANG AS QUEEN PIN OVER MORE REPEAT FEMALE VIOLENT OFFENDERS FINALLY GIVING HER A NOTHER EARLY RELEASE FOR GIVING FALSE STATEMENTS AND COMMITING ONGOING HABITUAL REPEAT VIOLENT CRIMES NO FEAR OF YOUR SCUM SPAT SPAT TRULY SAD ABUSE OF POWER HAVING CONJUGAL VISITS ACROSS THE TOWN ON THE ELEVATOR IN LIBRARIES HOSPITALS YMCA TRAIN STATIONS APARTMENT BUILDINGS
GOD BLESS AMERICA
"I'm talking in rhyme during our weekly group session
about panic attacks, schizophrenia and depression.
I can't stop rhyming, it's becoming an obsession.
I can't stop rhyming during our weekly group session.
Hello Carl, Hello Barbara, Kathy and Donna.
Want to talk about smoking marijuana?
Perhaps a different substance abuse?
Oh what the hell, what's the use?
I just can't stop rhyming during our weekly group session.
Let's talk anger issues or maybe passive aggression.
Will I ever stop rhyming during this weekly group session?
And hey, did I happen to mention
that I can't stop rhyming during our weekly group session?
How are you today Kamar?
What do you think of all this so far?
All of my rhyming during our weekly group session.
Will my condition get worse if I continue to converse
in poetic verse during our weekly group session?
Would medication do the trick or would it just leave me sick?
Sick here still rhyming during our weekly group session.
I must get in control of this soon or I'm mentally doomed.
I'm exhausted from rhyming during our weekly group session.
I can't take this anymore. I'm marching out that door.
I'm relieving you all of this annoying obsession.
Please don't take this personally but I'll keep on rhyming obsessively
if I spend one more moment at our weekly group session.
I think I just learned a very valuable lesson.
I should never speak in rhyme during our weekly group session,
because as you all can plainly see I ramble on endlessly
whenever I speak in rhyme during our weekly group session."
...then I walked out the door and said no more.
Superman walks round my neighborhood
Dirty cape, crooked cane, ain't too looking good
Hit by a Mac truck, Highway 43
He's on a medical marijuana disability
Everyday's the same old struggle and strife
Happiness, is just a state of mind, mine's a beach
Where the starfish chime, in the sun
Where the starfish chime
Where the starfish chime, in the sun
It's not the end of the world, things could be worse
Batman's broke, lost everything he owns
Had to sell the batcave, had to hock the batphone
Batmobile's tied up in a title loan
Batgirl's on the corner, Robin's on the methadone
Everyday's the same old struggle and strife
Happiness, is just a state of mind, mine's a beach
Where the starfish chime, in the sun
Where the starfish chime
Where the starfish chime, in the sun
It's not the end of the world, things could be worse
Donald Trump, now he's the President
Gonna make America great again
Gonna drain that swamp gonna build that wall
Haters gonna hate, you can't please them all
Everyday's the same old struggle and strife
Happiness, is just a state of mind, mine's a beach
Where the starfish chime, in the sun
Where the starfish chime
Where the starfish chime, in the sun
It's not the end of the world, things could be worse
©2018. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
As coffee cups go mine's very pretty
With butterflies and flowers thereon
Not very masculine I must admit
But sure welcome at the crack of dawn
Stumbling my way down to the kitchen
At six o'clock right on the dot
Dragging my body bumping into things
Arms flailing as I reach for the pot
The first sip goes down kinda roughly
I shake and shudder giving thanks
My body tingles right down to my tootsies
That stuff can sure turn my crank
Been thinking of taking it intravenously
That's when there's no turning back
When you fall headlong over the precipice
And have serious withdrawal attacks
But to top it all off this substance is legal
How cool is that my good friends
When stuff can give you this much of a buzz
It's bound to be illegal in the end
So far so good and until further notice
You can drink it openly if you wish
But as soon as it goes the way of marijuana
That's a whole different kettle of fish
© Jack Ellison 2013