ad.divinum
New Member
Found these laying around on my hard drive in an old folder, thought you guys might get a kick out of them. I wrote them before I really started writing, so the quality isn't very good, but they are still decent. Probably several years old.
"peace of pot"
this is what i got,
a peice of paper and an ounce of pot,
should i draw or should i write?
should i put the bud to flame?
should i just call it a night?
and let tomorrow be the same?
somethings got to change,
i cant live this way forever,
everything's so strange,
fuck it, i'll write, whatever..
but what to write, i must know,
should i write poetic verses?
or should i write a song,
full of clever curses?
i think it'll be a song this time,
but nothing i have to write about,
so i continue the senseless rhyme,
i just cant spit it out...
so many things to say,
and i cant say just one,
i guess i shouldn't delay,
this song's already done.
©Chris Wolf 2005
This next one, I remember writing when I was very very high, it's not very good, but it has it's moments...
"quarter past one"
we were cheefin' a joint,
at a quarter past one,
quietly chilling outside,
and having some fun.
rolled up our hooter,
from the yellow pages,
and we prepared our poor minds,
for a trip to the dark ages.
sat in our patio chairs,
next to mine windowpane,
it was a horrible sight,
mass brain cells were slain.
we climbed back inside,
and thats where we be,
and now a wonderful feeling,
has come over me.
i sit in my chair,
unable to stand up,
and i need to put more water,
in my empty cup.
theres no food in reach,
and im stoned as fucking shit,
but i fear i cannot move,
for i am stuck in a tar pit.
this poems only this long,
because i cant move,
so dont tell me its bad,
because i have nothing to prove.
my body feels so good,
and my head is surely spinning,
and im fighting to get up,
but i fear gravity is winning.
chilling in my chair,
feeling 100 percent nice,
with 40 ounces playing,
as my trip device.
there's only one answer,
so i go and take that walk,
i'll 40 oz to freedom,
from my freezer stock.
they lead me on outside,
to go and hit the bong,
and get a little bit higher,
than i've been all along.
i must step out real quick,
lets have an intermission,
so i can step right outside,
and quell my reefer addiction.
i'll be right back though,
you wont even miss me,
but my grammar may be off,
by some small degree.
i cook myself some food,
macaroni and some cheese,
i think it should be enough,
to put my munchies at ease.
now im back again,
as i eat my late night entree
my ass is on this chair,
and its here to stay
turn the sublime up,
and im sippin' off my cup,
and now ive got a buzz,
that needs a big time beefing up.
i must say farewell,
i need to get some sleep,
tomorrow's friday-
and i have appointments to keep.
©2005 Chris Wolf
This next one is my 420 poem..
"Stoners"
when i sit on my sill and smoke,
at 20 past the fourth hour,
i'll never sit in fear,
you'll never see me cower.
its only me outside tonight,
kickin' back in my chair,
yet I am not alone,
there's stoners everywhere.
on all the city streets,
on every country road,
you'll find a stoner at his house,
with a bowl that you can load.
and, most likely I can say,
if you knock upon his door,
he'll invite you in to toke a bowl,
and you'll end up smoking four.
we follow unwritten laws,
in our unspoken brotherhood,
and we've always kept the peace,
when nobody else could.
prejudice dissapears,
the racial barrier is gone,
theres something about us stoners-
we will always get along.
the sacred rule,
as our brotherhood has shown,
two stoners together,
'tis better than two stoners alone.
thats how it's always been,
and it will stay that way too,
if theres enough bud for me,
there'll be enough for you.
©2005 Chris Wolf
hope you guys like them, or at least got a laugh! peace!
"peace of pot"
this is what i got,
a peice of paper and an ounce of pot,
should i draw or should i write?
should i put the bud to flame?
should i just call it a night?
and let tomorrow be the same?
somethings got to change,
i cant live this way forever,
everything's so strange,
fuck it, i'll write, whatever..
but what to write, i must know,
should i write poetic verses?
or should i write a song,
full of clever curses?
i think it'll be a song this time,
but nothing i have to write about,
so i continue the senseless rhyme,
i just cant spit it out...
so many things to say,
and i cant say just one,
i guess i shouldn't delay,
this song's already done.
©Chris Wolf 2005
This next one, I remember writing when I was very very high, it's not very good, but it has it's moments...
"quarter past one"
we were cheefin' a joint,
at a quarter past one,
quietly chilling outside,
and having some fun.
rolled up our hooter,
from the yellow pages,
and we prepared our poor minds,
for a trip to the dark ages.
sat in our patio chairs,
next to mine windowpane,
it was a horrible sight,
mass brain cells were slain.
we climbed back inside,
and thats where we be,
and now a wonderful feeling,
has come over me.
i sit in my chair,
unable to stand up,
and i need to put more water,
in my empty cup.
theres no food in reach,
and im stoned as fucking shit,
but i fear i cannot move,
for i am stuck in a tar pit.
this poems only this long,
because i cant move,
so dont tell me its bad,
because i have nothing to prove.
my body feels so good,
and my head is surely spinning,
and im fighting to get up,
but i fear gravity is winning.
chilling in my chair,
feeling 100 percent nice,
with 40 ounces playing,
as my trip device.
there's only one answer,
so i go and take that walk,
i'll 40 oz to freedom,
from my freezer stock.
they lead me on outside,
to go and hit the bong,
and get a little bit higher,
than i've been all along.
i must step out real quick,
lets have an intermission,
so i can step right outside,
and quell my reefer addiction.
i'll be right back though,
you wont even miss me,
but my grammar may be off,
by some small degree.
i cook myself some food,
macaroni and some cheese,
i think it should be enough,
to put my munchies at ease.
now im back again,
as i eat my late night entree
my ass is on this chair,
and its here to stay
turn the sublime up,
and im sippin' off my cup,
and now ive got a buzz,
that needs a big time beefing up.
i must say farewell,
i need to get some sleep,
tomorrow's friday-
and i have appointments to keep.
©2005 Chris Wolf
This next one is my 420 poem..
"Stoners"
when i sit on my sill and smoke,
at 20 past the fourth hour,
i'll never sit in fear,
you'll never see me cower.
its only me outside tonight,
kickin' back in my chair,
yet I am not alone,
there's stoners everywhere.
on all the city streets,
on every country road,
you'll find a stoner at his house,
with a bowl that you can load.
and, most likely I can say,
if you knock upon his door,
he'll invite you in to toke a bowl,
and you'll end up smoking four.
we follow unwritten laws,
in our unspoken brotherhood,
and we've always kept the peace,
when nobody else could.
prejudice dissapears,
the racial barrier is gone,
theres something about us stoners-
we will always get along.
the sacred rule,
as our brotherhood has shown,
two stoners together,
'tis better than two stoners alone.
thats how it's always been,
and it will stay that way too,
if theres enough bud for me,
there'll be enough for you.
©2005 Chris Wolf
hope you guys like them, or at least got a laugh! peace!
