This is a poem from my published book Lyrical Madness/Entering Madness: A Book of Poetry. Order your copy today at www.bn.com, www.publishamerica.com or www.amazon.com. Thanks for the support, fellow enthusiasts!

Green


Green like you, little brother
Was the sack you held in your hand

Without it you were a fireball
Mean like the dusty wind

But as its smoke filled
Your asthmatic lungs

You'd sit like a Native 'round a bonfire
And I joined in on the ceremony

Toke, toke, toking on your hand-made pipe
An expert on your shop-class special

You were three years my junior
Yet more experienced than me

Dirt under your fingernails
From breaking down the bud

Rolling perfect cylinders
Round and fat like fingers

You wouldn't be broke from buying the bowl
Because you could still sling it swiftly

And bads would fly from your hands
Into the lungs of your friends

Sweet smell of sticky and shake
Smoke shimmies its way to my nose

We talked, predicted, and became philosophers
Da Vincis and Ecshers in our own world

The fighting would cease between us
And peace came at those moments

We knew we loved each other
Though our words were sometimes harsh

This is my apple pie in life
These are the days I'll never forget

When we're old we'll look back on these times
When we were in the green of our lives

written 2000, published 2007 by PublishAmerica