Of my first smoking pot, and of the buds
All numberless that have since then been packed
In pipes and bongs, and rolled in blunts and spliffs,
Of days spent well at ease, and of the po
Who seek to thwart enjoyment of the herb
Sing, muse of the days left somewhat hazey
And of the hours lost from feeling lazy,
Who through the sixties' flow'ry air dids't flow:
By all that grow in Surrey their great plants;
Fast by the blessings of all-greatest Jah
Invoke I now thy aid in this my tale
To sing of British Columbian weed
Of varied sorts of exploit and of deed;
May I assert eternal bluntedness
And justify we stoners to the Man.
Say first, of how the toking came to pass,
I had been many months and weeks in class
When through a random conflux of events
I found myself heading out to the beach
And there sat several of my friends on logs
Around a fire, with sticks and some hot dogs
And Lo! As well a cooler full of beer,
Some steaks, and shishkebobs, and HP Bold
And it so happ'd that some were meeting there
Who also from our school took their reprieve
And so the crowd about the fire swelled
As barbecue-scent wafted through the air.
When time had passed and food was running low
And beer and cider somewhat ceased to flow,
A friend, as close a friend as one could wish
Approached me as I sought for backup liqour
And asked me with the ease of drunkenness
If I would like to have a smoke of pot.
"Of course!" spake I: the magic time of summer
Which to some only lives in fantasy
Is an amazing thing to live in once
Much less for many months times many months.
In this state joyous I smoked my first of joints
And second, and much later on, some more.
The stars were bright, the surf was loud and porous
The sand was soft and yea! the night was warm
Around our dying fire relaxed and easy
Our number sat and basked in pleasent summer
When came a cop across the long smooth beach
Said he, "Have any of you kids been drinking?"
To which some answered "no", and some "maybe"
He shone his flashlight on the ground beside me
Where lay some empty bottles of MGD.
And then fortuitous! he turned, and leaving
Demanded that we have a pleasent night
Surprised, we said "some cops, perhaps, are decent"
Though rare phenomenon it seems to be
Perhaps the summer spirit caught him briefly
Who is to say? But we did not dispute
The blessing of the fates which we were granted,
And amusement still continued to pursue.
Hurled arselong and cleaving thro' the air
With surprised yelp and waving of mine arms
Onto my mom's chaise lounge, there long to dwell
Lay I quite blazed and shirtless in the sun:
In much this manner I did pass away
The heat and comfort of many a summer's day
And nights spent looking at sorts of trippy shit
Blacklights that spread not light, but blueness visible.
Soon, all too soon, the summer's time had passed
And stoners everywhere returned to class
Not gladly, and certainly not on time
But still I sat and learned meter and rhyme
And read of Wordsworth and of Willie Blake
Who spoke with angels, and was wont to make
Long epics on the poets I would take
High language from, and use it to relate
Tales of various ways that I got baked.
And so it came to pass that I arrived
At school one night with friends all at my side
And we had a large backpack full of beer
And sat down in the field to drink our fill
So while we drank, to while the time away
With glowsticks and a football near at hand
We taped the sticks upon the pigskin well
It wobbled much but gained a greenish light.
And when we had grown bored and realized
That a basketball game was going on inside
We met some girls and others who showed up
And kept watch for security and such.
Now out of beer, we turned to smoking bud
Of which had, though little, still enough
We gathered round outside the school doors
And made a tent of someone's sleeping bag
Which happened to be there, and underneath
We smoked our pot and boxed it as we could
Then wandered down the path intoxified
And falling over, until the night was late.
For several months we smoked pot chronically
While skipping class, at lunch, and after school
On weekends too, and when we had a spare-
Whoever had some weed would surely share.
At Halloween there was some sort of dance
And rumour had it that the food was free
So off we went to scope the situation
And hid the bong nearby beneath a tree
Our luck, it seemed, had turned towards the worse
For while inside and munching on free cake
The Principal found out our implement
And being quite a square, threw it away
Now quickly onwards came the cold winter
And with it also came my birthday too!
To celebrate I bought a pipe of glass
For smoking ease, and psychedelic too
Though it was small, it got a lot of use
And swiftly turned a dark and trippy blue
This first of pipes began the sad tradition
Of lasting but the very briefest time
Before befalling some bizarre misfortune
And being lost to use quite soon indeed
But first we had an interesting time
When walking in the mud and pouring rain
We broke into a small construction yard
And boxed the small cab of a small backhoe
Yet dark times hovered near over my head-
A time, though now it quite amusing seems,
Which then caused some destruction quite extreme.
It was the midst of dullest February
When I ran into friends while buying coffee
They claimed to be preparing quite a party
And asked if I would come and chill there too.
When I arrived the weed-sack was well swollen
An ounce or slightly more was therein packed
And in the fridge a large amount of liquor
Was present and accounted for: alack
For that would prove to be mine own undoing
And that of several more of us besides
We sat in the jacuzzi and relaxed there,
And smoked a great fat blunt of several grams
It was quite near perfection, and so tasty
As the wrapper with strawberry was well flavoured
We smoked some from the pipe, and then some more
And decided to move on back inside
'Twas then I felt ye olde hot tub effect
And for those of you who know it not
I now relate the problems it entails, for
Constant heat like that thins out one's blood
Causing issues with intoxication: I found it
Rather difficult to walk.
And so it came to pass that on the carpet
I fell down, and found nearby a leaf
Which I proceeded to smush in my eye
So as to see the world in shades of green
And while I lay there shirtless on the floor
Some girls showed up and walked on past my head
We went back to the hot tub for a time
And smoked more pot, and listened to Sublime
And when we found the liquor in the fridge
It wasn't long before I found myself
Drinking Smirnoff from a flower-vase
And Bacardi shots 'till I was quite shitfaced.
Exactly what amount of rum I drank
And vodka too, and smoked of potent dank
I could not say, nor can I to this day
But this I know: I passed out on a couch
And it was leather, and was rather nice
'Twas there I puked, and stumbled up the stairs
Towards the bathroom: I was rather impaired
I turned the shower on and lay me down
Fully clothed, and passed out, there to lounge
For several hours while ran the water over
And wrecked the drywall thoroughly: my bad.
'Twas a while later when I learned
That others had been sick in random places
In kitchens and in empty garbage cans,
And gardens, and all over their pants.
This matter for posterity engraved
In the annals of my yearbook still remains
These words present for us a written record
Of the sorts of things that did that night transpire:
They say things like "Peter, I shan't forget you
Barfing on my bag, you drunken ass."
It was this night that I found I had lost
My Starbucks Card, five dollars, and my watch
As well my socks, and also had to pay
To fix some of the damage I had caused
By flooding the upstairs, and so I lost
That first of pipes, my first I'd ever bought:
I ransomed it over this incident
And saw it not 'till many moons had passed.
For several days I felt under the weather
To use a simple term; perhaps it's better
To say I felt as if a mob of dwarves
Attacked my skull with axes, or a horse
Was kicking me with a great deal of force
I questioned if my chosen path was right,
(The lighting was far from comfortably bright)
And wondered if I should give up the drinking
And smoking pot, and stick to random thinking
And so for quite some time I did but little
But while on holiday in San Diego
I found myself a part of a peace protest.
The smell of pot was drifting on the air
Hippies shouted slogans everywhere
My shirt had emblems of the leaves of ganja
Which got startled reactions from the crowd
They worried that I didn't know the States,
And when I told them I was from B.C.
Their eyes turned slightly, oh so slightly wider
I knew I had a land to represent
And what is more, I really missed the blunts
On my return to rainiest Victoria
I went out and I scored some cheap, good dank
And smoked it with a friend up on a hilltop
Which overlooked the city, and the lights
Shone out amidst the dusk and misty rain
All welcoming me home, and home again.
Now in this time I simply got my weed
Downtown, where all the dealers made their way
And skinned up next the City Hall, and sold
Their grams to all, the young and to the old
And so the time did come around at last
A time which as I write grows near again,
'Twas April 20th, the time for smoking
And I went out in search of weed for toking
I met a guy on board the public bus
A hippie bum, who sold me several grams
And as I made my slow stoned way along
I met a friend who biked along the road
And we went off downtown to celebrate
4.20 with the homeless and alleviate
The cold through happy stoned community
And buy more buds from some wierd sketchy guy
The night rolled slowly, pleasently along
And we stopped buy some girl's house to see
If she would smoke with us, and so we wandered
To a trestle looking o'er the lighted quay
We passed the night in stoned 4.20 bliss
And so the days to come were passed as well
I made acquaintance with some friendly dealers
And toked heavily from the gravity bong.
Now all this time, I might neglect to mention,
I was in school, and likewise all my friends
Though we were little troubled by our studies
And gave our time a more relaxing bent
We left class to smoke up, and came back later
With red eyes when the Visine turned up empty;
We blazed nearby the creek instead of Acting,
And came back smelling herbal, and forgetting
The lines to all the plays we were rehearsing;
We stashed a plentiful amount of herb
For the Grad trip: three days on the mainland
We smoked it very quickly there indeed
And ran out, forced to return soberly.
Indeed, those last few months of class are hazy
But several images stand out distinctly
Most clear, of toking from the old GB
And forgetting movies in their entirety
Indeed, the pot was potent in those days,
And it was blazed both early and quite late
And in those lazy days I tried expansion
In terms of consciousness, through eating mushrooms
But that's a story for another time, perhaps
My story is of ganja here, and so
The trip report in verse shall be let go
Until I write of Mushrooms Agonistes.
Yet here let it be said and said quite plainly
Through all the smoking pot and being lazy
When finals had been finished and all classes
Had been completed on the eaves of summer,
When at the aftergrad there was disputing
Over the blatant evidence of drinking
And when all school'd come to its last close
My marks far higher were than most of those
Who'd condemned all the smoking of the herb:
I vindicate myself, and call such claims absurd.
Ah, how to state the brilliance of summer?
For few of incidents stand out specific
'Twas rather a time of joyous relaxation,
Of tender sunning and of vegetation
From where I stand now, poised upon another
Long and lazy, stoned and hazy summer
The last is as an archetypal myth
From Hollywood, or deeper still engraved
Upon the teenage psyche, something sacred
A gasp of innocence and Western peace
A blanket thick with images in fleece
Of green, and yellow, blue and white soft clouds
Of purest beauty, joy and smoking weed
All meshed together softly to create
A wondrous tapestry of simple bliss
Perfect simplicity, inexpressible happiness.
I shall describe a typical summer's day:
The waking happened 'round at 3 o'clock
And shower, eating, all of this was done
In time to round up friends and meet somewhere
Weed was plentiful, and all would share
As at 4.20 we'd pack the first of bowls
And pass it 'round, and pass it 'round some more
Till cool calm night came on, and all would gather
At someone's house, or in a car, or rather
At some green park, or on a nearby hill
And smoke some more, and just sit back and chill
It was the time we felt as if the story
About the man from old Ontario
Who died and went away to pearly heaven
And with St. Peter saw there many people
All chained and manacled amidst the clouds.
He asked, "Why are these souls
Locked up in perfect paradise?" St. Peter
Said quite sadly, "Good sir, I must explain:
You see, these are the British Columbians
And I've told them that heaven is fine
But try as I might, they heed not my words
And keep trying to make their way back."
'Twas this we believed with all of our hearts
In the beauty of Victorian summer
A perfectly beautiful time it was,
And it's ending proved rather a bummer.
In this tapestry of all things sublime
There were still some mighty good times,
Like Canada Day, when we celebrate
Our victory over the national enemy,
The threat of American beers; on this day
We made our way downtown, and our liquor
Made it quite explicit: for upon the side was emblazoned
These words: "I Am Canadian." But the cops
Who were proving quite piggish, and angry
Took most of our beer, though we purchased some bud
And we smoked it, with drunk hotties all up from Seattle
The night, it proved quite entertaining
And many amusements were had
The whole city was turned to a party
New Orleans, I think, never had it so mad.
Now I'm tired, and so my head sinks to my chest
And to me the herb's being quite kind:
Thus my verse grows a little bit woozy
And my meter's a little bit slurred
But I shall press on just the briefest time further
To tell of some days in the summer
Like the time when we wandered the whole city twice
Buying weed, mushrooms, more weed, and a pipe
Then more weed, for we travelled a distance indeed
And of herb, it turned out, we had a great need:
The day was a good one, as I'm sure you'll imagine
And many more like it were had.
Or the time we were smoking at night at the lake
And skinny-dipped and swam a great distance
We met some nice girls from the College and blazed
And from the middle of the lake you could hear people fucking.
Or the time spent with people who used to be friends
But had to be blatantly ditched
For reasons involving their being cracked-out
And on that sorry note, the summer did end.
As the bright sunny webs dwindled down to September
I found myself thrust back to class
University presented yet another adventure
Which with the help of the ganja, I kept moving passed.
This tale neglected long I now resume,
Referring to events now so long past:
For in that fair September it was soon
Time to begin a higher sort of class.
'Twas in those days that rainbow Ecstasy
Was for the first time wryly given me,
When sneaking to a rave at the Uni:
It caused me to talk uncontrollably.
But it proved quite unfortunate for me
Being ne'er the biggest fan of acting strangely
Or losing massive chunks of memory:
I prefer my drugs to be more resiney.
But lo! I found myself busy!
The work came swiftly from the faculty
Of essays, and of Aristophanes
Which precluded searching for my lost rollies.
And so the time rolled slower than before,
With tedium thick, and class often a bore
Until bright spring began to tinge the skyline
And pills finally faded from my mind.
It was mid-March when I came home from class
Finals drew near, as well did smoking hash
And on that day Almighty Jah my plight
Took pity on, and showed the place my pipe
Had long reposed, since that past summer day
When missing it had gone, to my dismay
But now my spirit rose up like a flare
I shouted praises, and clutched at my hair
The pipe of old, at last returned to me
And yea, so soon before the day 4/20!
So passed my finals, swiftly as a blur
For with skill I manipulate the word,
And easily turn it to my devices
And in my high marks once again delighted.
But now things of a great importance
Demanded swift and skilful preperation:
4/20 drew nigh quickly, and the nation
Ceased to use any sorts of chronic ration.
It was 4/20 eve, and we were sad:
Though great indeed proved our anticipation
Our native hockey team, our bright Vancouver
Had stumbled with the injury to Cloutier.
And thus with heavy hearts we lit our blunts
In tribute to that late fond memory
Of Naslund going end-to-end heroically
And in disgust at blatant treachery
When Gelinas gave Calgary the vict'ry.
The next day early I arose
The patron day, indeed, of getting stoned
To honour St. Hashish of Dank B.C.
With blunts that stretched out longer than my hand.
So to a dock far out a remote lake
A troop of stoners thus did gravitate
And in a circle we did meditate
O'er bong, and blunt, and pipe, and thus got baked.
And when, at last, I late at night 'termined
To get a slurpee and assorted Hersheys
Remained there but a gram, perhaps, and half
Of what the night before had been an ounce
And that small nug and bottoms I did smoke
At 7-11, where sat some in hope
That, even at dark 3 am would come
A fellow stoner to smoke up with them
And thus ended another April 20
And let it long be said, 'twas bud in plenty.
And now the summer came! Bright happy time,
The one great cease of rain that's in this clime
And everywhere the outdoor crops began,
And free time joyous fell on every man
Until the money started to run low
Financial stress engenders naught but woe!
And thus I hauled myself most unhap'ly
To the devilry that was the Bakery.
I toiled there stoned for three weeks less a day,
Selling my soul's joy for quite measly pay
When came a friend there also to apply:
And when we entered in there, we were high
But yea! He was hired anyway
Though of the herb we smelled quite potently
And so for weeks on end we worked the night
Strug'ling to stay stoned 'til the daylight
Until the day came to my mind at last
I could no longer spend thus my repast
The summer sun I had but barely seen!
And so I quit, preferring dishwashing.
The hours were harsh, but this relief I had:
Tourists from America were sad
They'd heard the weed here was of kind most exquisite
But knew of no locations whence to visit
And what could I, but offer them a toke?
Indeed, it turned to something of a joke
For those from Georgia, and yea, even Toronto
Would pay outrageous sums, and then flee pronto
Of course an honest stoner never stated
A price so high, myself I almost hated!
But when a US $50 is the offer,
For eighths, not quarters! who's not to take what's proffered?
The summer is a golden time for business,
When with tourists the olde downtown is flooded
And restaurants, sightseeing and good chronic
Are all by the mass of foreigners demanded
'Tis time most languid, and to glee remanded.
So spake one stoner of the vast multitude
Well pleased, to give to Jah his gratitude
For ganja, the Lord's healing gift to nations
As glorious a creation as there be
Since Eden drowned so long beneath the sea.
I ask ye, be there a thing else in creation
That maintains the perfection of her station?
For though we live in dark, unhappy days
This herb, I trust in Jah, will guide my ways.