Samhain

Cleansing and renewal and wonder:
Waning day and a waxing Salmon Moon.
Mindful, centered before the swell of streaming
Ocean beneath vermilion rays of a declining sun.

There is observed
Profound stillness commingled with the waves.

There is observed
Breath to breath, tide to tide,
A procession of small and measured steps.

Moonrise on my left shoulder. Sunset on my right. A piercing
Icy wind. A body of water soon choked with floes. Poured out
My cup is never empty. What is not to be grateful for?

Beneath sinuous aurora, I turn
And proceed once more, knee deep in autumnal debris
Toward cloud-flocked mountains,
Toward falling snow.

- copyright 2002, Michael S. Queen, all rights reserved

You are my sister
Though I don't know your name
I knew it once
But years have passed
We exchanged letter
Within your soul shone bright
Over time I forgot your face
But not your inner beauty
I treasured the sharing of
Your thoughts and feelings
When we met again
I didn't recognize your face,
Your outer image faded
Only later, after causing you pain
I realized who you were
I looked at a letter
And connected body to soul
I never meant to hurt you
I always treasured what you shared
We met briefly in person
But you opened my eyes to much
I miss the connection
so much goodness and love to share
Thank you for sharing
those special pieces with me
I've lost your address
I no longer know your name
My only hope is you read this
Recognize yourself and me
I miss you
You are my sister
Though I don't know your name

Sara Ganton
SIMCO
5405 W Flaming Rd
Las Vegas, NV 89103
(702)873-7474
ganton@simconv.com

Smoke Off

In the laid back California town of sunny San Rafael
Lived a girl named Pearly Sweetcake, you prob'ly knew her well.
She'd been stoned fifteen of her eighteen years and the story was widely told
That she could smoke 'em faster than anyone could roll.
Her legend finally reached New York, that Grove Street walk-up flat
Where dwelt The Calistoga Kid, a beatnik from the past
With long browned lightnin' fingers he takes a cultured toke
And says, "Hell, I can roll `em faster, Jim, than any chick can smoke!"

So a note gets sent to San Rafael, "For the Championship of the World
The Kid demands a smoke off!" "Well, bring him on!" says Pearl,
"I'll grind his fingers off his hands, he'll roll until he drops!"
Says Calistog, "I'll smoke that twist till she blows up and pops!"
So they rent out Yankee Stadium and the word is quickly spread
"Come one, come all, who walk or crawl, price â€" just two lids a head
And from every town and hamlet, over land and sea they speed
The world's greatest dopers, with the Worlds greatest weed

Hashishers from Morocco, hemp smokers from Peru
And the Shamnicks from Bagun who puff the deadly Pugaroo
And those who call it Light of Life and those that call it boo.

See the dealers and their ladies wearing turquoise, lace, and leather
See the narcos and the closet smokers puffin' all together
From the teenies who smoke legal to the ones who've done some time
To the old man who smoked "reefer" back before it was a crime
And the grand old house that Ruth built is filled with the smoke and cries
Of fifty thousand screaming heads all stoned out of their minds.
And they play the national anthem and the crowd lets out a roar
As the spotlight hits The Kid and Pearl, ready for their smokin' war
At a table piled up high with grass, as high as a mountain peak
Just tops and buds of the rarest flowers, not one stem, branch or seed.

Maui Wowie, Panama Red and Acapulco Gold.
Kif from East Afghanistan and rare Alaskan Cold.
Sticks from Thailand, Ganja from the Islands, and Bangkok's
Bloomin' Best.
And some of that wet imported shit that capsized off Key West.
Oaxacan tops and Kenya Bhang and Riviera Fleurs.
And that rare Manhattan Silver that grows down in the New York sewers.
And there's bubblin' ice cold lemonade and sweet grapes by the bunches.
And there's Hershey's bars, and Oreos, `case anybody gets the munchies.
And the Calistoga Kid, he sneers, and Pearley, she just grins.
And the drums roll low and the crowd yells "GO!" and the world's
first Smoke Off begins.

Kid flicks his magic fingers once and ZAP! that first joint's rolled.
Pearl takes one drag with her mighty lungs and WOOSH! that roach is cold.
Then The Kid he rolls his Super Bomb that'd paralyze a moose.
And Pearley takes one super hit and SLURP! that bomb' defused.
Then he rolls three in just ten seconds and she smokes 'em up in
nine,
And everybody sits back and says, "This just might take some time."

See the blur of flyin' fingers, see the red coal burnin' bright
As the night turns into mornin' and the mornin' fades to night
And the autumn turns to summer and a whole damn year is gone
But the two still sit on that roach-filled stage, smokin' and rollin' on
With tremblin' hands he rolls his jays with fingers blue and stiff
She coughs and stares with bloodshot gaze, and puffs through
blistered lips.
And as she reaches out her hand for another stick of gold
The Kid he gasps, "Goddamn it, bitch, there's nothin' left to roll!"
"Nothin' left to roll?", screams Pearl, "Is this some twisted joke?"
"I didn't come here to fuck around, man, I come here to SMOKE!"

And she reaches 'cross the table And grabs his bony sleeves
And she crumbles his body between her hands like dried and brittle
leaves
Flickin' out his teeth and bones like useless stems and seeds
And then she rolls him in a Zig Zag and lights him like a roach.
And the fastest man with the fastest hands goes up in a puff of smoke.

In the laid-back California town of sunny San Rafael
Lives a girl named Pearly Sweetcake, you prob'ly know her well.
She's been stoned twenty-one of her twenty-four years, and the
story's widely told.
How she still can smoke them faster than anyone can roll
While off in New York City on a street that has no name.
There's the hands of the Calistoga Kid in the Viper Hall of Fame
And underneath his fingers there's a little golden scroll
That says, Beware of Bein' the Roller When There's Nothin' Left to
Roll.

- poem by shel silverstein

 

But freedom dies
As my cold hand writes
This hot hearted truth
Of right anger
Burning like the fire
In Jefferson's ink
Burning like the fire
In Washington's strength
Burning like the vision
And burning like the light
Of my own childhood
That said "this land is free."
Burning like the vision and light
Of my youth which said:
Free at last! Free at last!
As we learn and as we wake.
As we brave up to freedom!

But now it dies
The He and She of it.
The Us and Them and We of it
As bars and lies and cops
And courts and law destroyers
Gag and bind freedom itself!
And folks and their souls likewise!

And worse! trifles and dumb nothings
And fantastic fears and frivolous
Pseudo ideas instituted of paper piles
Made trails by rivers of red tape
Where all human's best impulses and loves
Are slaughtered in bureaucracy's blades
So that the great beautiful story of life
Is doled out as some blood soaked comic book
As if the ages never taught the wisdom
And as if the heros and the people
And the wide eyed little child
Never learned the lessons of life
That pain hurts, that love heals,
That people are good, that life is sweet,
And that freedom is the name and engine
And oxygen and language and cause and effect
And work and dream and fuel and home
And alpha and omega of everything human.

As freedom dies,
Humanity perishes.
As freedom dies,
America dies.
My hands are cold.

- By Pomesque

Harbored dreams of tribal living, doing away with socialist anxiety,
conscious connection evolution doesn't involve technology, methods of
purity, clearly
organic species with an eternal quest, help clean up this so-called
civilized mess
Our SOURCE is worth more then materialism, worth more then millions
Science proves mans folly, SPIRIT exposes human iniquity, natural cycles
of
Life proving natural equality, planting seeds of perfection in holy
ground,
within our ALL-SEEING substance perfection in attained,
time to overcome illusions and fear, misleading interpretations of what
life is,
This gift precious and perfect, values of virtue, Moments of eternal
bliss,
How can creatures so fragile fight against itself, correction of chaotic
perfection
why oh GOD do we live through this hell, worries age our souls, when can
children play again, Suicidal twins, exposure of inorganic psychology
causing mass hallucinations, government ignorance has caused family
carelessness,
We create this dream Unity undivided we team to see universal gain
lean on each other to help our MOTHER the essence of love,
How can GOD divide, why are their lies? We try so hard
Like a child in a dungeon, faith is my protection,
lead your children in the direction of light don't let us be misguided.
For the days are coming when all will choose,
All were called but few were chosen.

- From Jesse Aaron Quindt, aka Universal Level

 

 

THE END IS COMING, YAH, WE KNOW,
WE ARE ALL JUST WAITING FOR THE LIGHT SHOW

NEW WORLD ORDER IS SETTING THE STAGE
MY GENERATION'S SCREAMING IN RAGE

WE WANT A WAY OUT, IT'S TO DARK TO SEE
WISH WE COULD GO TO DISTANT GALAXIES

PRINCES, PRINCESSES WHERE HAVE YOU GONE?
KNIGHTS AND NOBLES, CAN WE HEAR YOUR SONG?

CHILDREN OF LIGHT YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE
OUR FORCE NEEDS TO UNITE, NEAR AND FAR

 

 

I was awake
yet the dream continued.
Fascinated, I saw myself inside a museum
where all the memories of my childhood were on display.

The moon of a wild land
filtering through the bamboo bars of the window
plunged the young man into a deep sleep,
where the dream continued,
the thread of water
on a serene autumn lake.

My friend, why offer a poem to a singing bird,
to a pebble in a clear stream,
to a fish swimming freely?

What a magnificent morning
on this clear, blue planet!
At this very moment when the multitude of stars
melts into the celestial dome,
children,
children by the thousands,
children of all colors,
climb up the mountain
and look down below, with utmost attention
they are watching me.

But I keep on sleeping.
without opening my eyes,
I stretch my body peacefully
and wait for the surprise to arrive!
Why offer a poem
to the little hut
hidden in the bamboo thicket,
to the sunflower unfurled against the wall,
to the sleeping dog curled in the courtyard
to the cat dancing with sunbeams
high upon the haystack?

- A poem by Thich Nhat Hanh - The Rainbow Children

 

 

Daybreak
dose not resemble a new page in a book.
It is a symphony to rebirth,
with it's full array of sounds and colors.
Each dawn is an ode
to twenty-four brand-new hours.

 

WE LOVE YOU!

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