Bubba Kush and lemon haze
All these flavors I wanna blaze
Pass the grinder and my tray
Wake and bake to start the day
Sour diesel and blue dream
A hybrid makes a good team
These two strains are so harmonic
Now let’s sit and burn the chronic
Grandaddy purp and wedding cake
Puff puff pass for my own sake
Ride the high ‘cause I need a break
Munchies! Time for a chocolate shake
Maui Wowie and cotton candy kush
Spark that baby up and light that bush
It doesn’t even matter what strain
The green goddess hides the pain
Yes we love you Mary Jane
As you flow right through my veins
“But she’s not good for your brain”
Ignorant people are such a drain
Inhale, exhale, drop the ash
Even when the weed is trash
It doesn’t hurt to keep a stash
The only green as good as cash
I've smoked Panama Red
And some Panama Gold
I've smoked Panama bought
And some Panama sold
I've choked down all the Brown
Coughing up an Owie!
I've Sparked life from fat bowels
Of sweet Maui Wowie
No Ghanja is better
No Sensi is sweeter
Friggin' THC count
'Soff the friggin' meter!
Her big-boned spirit
was a fine-spun sprouting
of prairie brome,
threaded through with engine oil.
Her home was a rickety refuge
for wayward cats.
Upon her tangled porch
poems grew in small pots
muddled with the stale air
of Maui Wowie.
She wrote on the back of her mouth
with cigarette smoke.
Her poems were the rain-filled footprints,
of Jack Kerouac.
She had pronouns after her name.
Her fame became legendary
but only between the gaps in her thoughts.
Her love for possums and racoons
was almost romantic.
Some still write about her ghost
as if she still lived.
Always Prepared
Ready
Freddy
The Untamed
Feral
Ferril
What’s in Frankie’s Pockets?
Frankie’s
hankies
Patriotic Guy
Yankee
Frankie
Of the highest Quality
Fraser’s
razors
Small Eater
Grazer
Frazer
The Warlock
Pagan
Fagin
The Brilliant One
Star Glow
Fargo
Something’s About to Happen to Him
Herald
Gerald
Poet
The bard
Gerard
The Mimic
Parrot
Garret
Who Needs Pudding and Pie
Georgie
Porgie
Good Grief!
Lordy,
Gordy!
Best Things in his Garden
Gerrett’s
carrots
The Stoic
Steely
Greeley
What People Always Say to Him
Really,
Greeley?
The Generous One
Sharin’
Garen
Thrill Seeker
Gnarly
Harley
So Angry
Snarly
Harley
Embittered
Soured
Howard
Not Brave at All
Coward
Howard
What’s in Henny’s pocket
Henny’s
Pennies
The Pest
Vermin
Herman
What Herman Gives Each Sunday
Herman’s
sermons
Why Can’t He Just Stay Home?
Roamer
Homer
Better Than Ice Cream
Sherbet
Herbert
Get Him Band-aids
Howie’s
Owies
Nonsensical
Phooey
Huey
Always Amazed
Wowie
Howie
The Overly Sentimental One
Gooey
Huey
It was late Christmas Eve
When awakened by a noise
I was hoping it was Santa
With a hefty bag of toys
Peeking from my bedroom
Caught a vision really wild
Santa covered all in tinsel
And giggling like a child
He spun around the floor
As if nothing else to lose
Stripped down to his boxers
Wearing ballerina shoes
Still whirling like a dervish
I guess he couldn't see
After tripping on the sofa
He crashed into our tree
But still he kept on laughing
As though a great big joke
He then lit up his pipe
And blew out a cloud of smoke
There was such a pungent odor
I could tell it wasn't holly
It smelled like Maui Wowie
No wonder he's so jolly
She was big-boned. Her spirit
a fine-spun sprouting of prairie brome
threaded through moss and engine block.
Her home was a pine and beatboard camp
for wayward cats.
She would discourse from her tangled porch
where poems grew in small pots
muddled with Ramen noodle and Maui Wowie.
Her life often vacationed to a studio apartment
on the east bank of her right eye.
She wrote on the back of her mouth
with cigarette smoke.
Her poems were the rain-filled footprints,
of Jack Kerouac.
She had pronouns before and after her name.
She wore a local fame, made legendary
by the gaps in her thoughts,
thoughts she shrewdly refused to fill in.
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