In the Garden

420 days a year,
Eight days a week,
I climb high trees
& live in canopies.
I water, divined,
My vegetable mind,
& reach my peak
Where clouds career.



To Every Beamish Child

The day began at 6 PM;
   At 6 PM it ends.
At 6 PM a cherry brehm 
   Will puff with harey friends.
O frabjous day!  Callooh!  Callay!
   I chortle in my joy!
A madly glad Mad Hatter Day
   To every girl and boy!

At 6 PM I drank some tea;
   At 6 PM drank more.
At 6 PM the Tumtum tree
   I smoked, then went to snore.
O frabjous day!  Callooh!  Callay!
   I urkel loud and wild!
A madly glad Mad Hatter Day
   To every beamish child!


A Suite in Honor of National Coffee Day


Hazy and lazy…slow of registry…
Yawning and looking round me in a fog…
All the day long a traffic jam-like clog
Of thoughts congealed and thick and movement-free…
Were you not there each dawn to liven me—
To perk my senses, set my mind a-jog,
And give my sluggishness the whip and flog—
This jello-minded zombie would I be!
And afternoons I’d feel a lethargy:
I’d faintly flag, and laggardly I’d slog
And trudge and drudge and grope through sludge and grog
Were you not there to fill me with esprit.
You turn me on and leave me all agog!
You are my princess: Kiss me! I’m your frog!


I've heard it said
To quicken the dead
A voodoo rite perform.
But hear me well:
You need no spell
The dead to wake and warm.

You need but take
A coffee break
And wet a corpse's lips
With drops of Joe
Until it show
A thirst for little sips.


I need it when I wake at dawn
And when I wake at noon;
I need it when I wake and yawn
Beneath a silver moon.

And then my thirst cannot be slaked:
I drink a couple pots,
(Or more if when I waked I baked
And downed a couple shots.)

And never dare you give to me
A cup of voltless Joe!
You'll quake with fear to watch and see
The hissy-fit I'll throw!

Coffee, I say! Give me a cup!
And fill it to the brim!
Give me a cup! I'll drink it up
With vigor, verve, and vim!


To get to baseline I need a drug
Delivered to me in an oversized mug;
And if I need it, and I can't get it,
Holy mother of hell, I regret it!


If you desire some stimulation
I'll brew you a cup of tea;
And if you desire some relaxation
I'll make it caffeine-free.

But spiked or not,—black, green, or Grey,—
No matter how it's took,—
Tea's best enjoyed on a rainy day
In a threesome with a book.


More than Love

The loveliest one in all the world
   Is her, the one I love;
And when I lose myself in dreams,
   It's her I'm dreaming of.

I think of her all workday long;
  She never leaves my mind;
And when I go back home to her
   I leave my cares behind.

I love to take her in my hands;
   She's sticky on my fingers.
And I love the way her sweet perfume
   Around about her lingers.

Sometimes she smells of earthy herbs;
   Sometimes she smells of flowers;
Sometimes she smells of spring-fresh grass,
   And, sometimes, summer showers.

I'll light her fire and set her ablaze,
   Vaporize her, or eat her,
To have her taste upon my tongue:
   I've tasted nothing sweeter.

She wears a furry, fuzzy fleece,
  Like flakes of powdered snow,
Or dewy crystals made from mists
   Where magic mushrooms grow.

And on those rare days when she's sick,
  She's flat and dry and brown;
And I just hate to see her so!
  It drags my high right down...

I love to see her vibrant, green,
   And purple, red, and blue,
And wearing long her orange hair,
   And sticky as hash glue.

The loveliest one in all the world
   Is the one who keeps me sane;
And we love with a love that’s more than love,
   I and my Mary Jane.


A Nocturne

How sweet it is to, deep into the night,
    Let percolate your dreams in dripping suds
Of glowingly inebriate delight
    Distilled from honied rills and amber floods,
And then in threads of starlight finely spun—   
    All witched by frozen moonlight, pitched in black—
Suspend your limbs (made heavy by the run
    Of daily cares), and lay relaxed and slack
Till, saturate with drowsiness—and high
    Within a space of jewels and gems and jet—
You fall into the black hole's empty eye,
    And all the world and all yourself forget.
How sweet it is to all your life forsake,
Forgetting you had ever been awake.