The Grim Reefer - A Poem...

The Grim Reefer

His age underestimated,
The strength of his hand,
He rolled one with ease,
A skilled craftsman...


With a match, he lit,
And fired up his joe,
Took a mighty hit,
And felt his head grow,
Expanding his mind,,
Beyond belief,
Like the sun-shaped ridges,
On a Cannabis leaf.


He smoked up a cloud,
And looked at the crowd,
Standing, staring,
Not really caring,
About the reefer...

A wizened old man,
A forlorn griever,
With a joint in his hand...

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I've created another blog.
One that will feature just poetry...
Chances are I'll end up spending more time there, than here because poetry comes quite easily to me nowadays...
Moreover, I don't really have much to ramble about, let alone make sense...

Visit me there;
http://verse-inverse.blogspot.com/

Dear Dark Lycan - A Poem

Dear Dark Lycan...

The forest, a vast expanse,
Lost in the Guynd, *
Where the leaves dance,
To the whistling wind,

Her bare feet on wet earth,
Echo with mirth,
The wind tussles her hair,
A clandestine love affair.

The moon on silent water,
On a lake so wide,
A thousand eyes watch her,
From where the shadows hide.

Taken aback by surprise,
She gazes into the dark grey,
The light from her undying eyes,
Seem to say,

" Dear Dark Lycan,
Not a moment too soon,
Throw back your mane,
And howl at the moon. "

He the predator, she the prey,
Sharp teeth white, on a face grey,
On his skin, etched is the rune,
' We are the tribes of the moon. '

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* - Guynd (Pronounced: g-ind, Rhymes with 'wind')
Meaning: The Gaelic word for a high, marshy place.