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In The Comfort Of The Stoned

by Walter Jones (Age: 72)
copyright 02-20-2007


Age Rating: 18 +

My hand reaches for the star of dirt


I lay in comfort next to the stone


Mind rates faces in shadows


Lady dance free in my hand


Question music coming


Shades of me and past


Left cold




Eyes wander in the cell


As climbers play


Drawer laid


Here words


Scream


Candle


Brights





Shake like a pillow hard


Stone beneath my head


All misty dim satin night


Single bulb falling dim





Burst in bubble left


Taken a pause


Cry not to night


Sweater left in shades


A marker of voice


Crystal meth


Gone




My hand reaches for the star of dirt


I lay in comfort next to the stone


Mind rates faces in shadows


Lady dance free in my hand


Question music coming


Shades of me and past


Left cold

Angel dust

last we trust

as the ground

caves in

Every flower

has its hour

love and hate

man and woman

love or sin







Visitor Reads: 1026
Total Reads: 1040
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        03-18-2011     Frank Fields        

3 1/2 years later and the visions, the portals, the guiding Master's Hand are still all there. But, as with most inspirational works, one walks away with still another treasure. A new one, as it were.

"Left cold Angel dust"

For those who may make of that, what they will. ^^

Frank :)

        10-10-2007     Walter Jones        

Frank
Special your insight, thank you, for seeing and helping others to see and feel this write, perhaps maybe one will walk away...Walt

        10-10-2007     Frank Fields        

In my time, which still continues--thankfully, I've known and been with many call them what you will: junkies, crack heads, dopers, the world of the drug user--addicted behavior or "recreational," a common element is usually found: alternating images and sensations of euphoria and well-being, laced with dreadful vi sons of paranoiac dreams. The induced paranoia, apparently takes a back seat to the desire for the hit, the high, the rush. Uppers, downers, rooms and reds, a 1/4 " hit of blotting paper laced with LSD, and on and on, all same. Heroin, opium, coke, grass, synthetic or natural, all insidious monsters to man's well-being and true reality. Lecture over. Sorry.

The poem very much brought to mind the souls as they might be in prison--either of their own making, or in the real world. The images which you bring forth are consistent with hallucinogenics. It needs careful reading and more. The full benefit of your work, this one right now, is realized by allowing your mind to fall into the weavings which you present. Not many writers can do that. You have done it very well. As usual.
(We had a devil of a time with my son who eventually became a multi-drug user. His world is one that no one should ever want to be a part of. Through all of that, we learned more than I ever wanted to know about the drug culture.)

        03-07-2007     Jordan Screws        

You are succinct, yet you manage to get the point across. That is always a virtue, particularly when combined with effective word choice, which is present in this poem. This is probably indicative of what it is like to be under the influence of mind-altering drugs... stronger things besides alcohol or marijuana. Crystal meth probably does alter your mind to the point you think in the terms of the poem, i.e. unusual sentences alternating with the very rare profound insight, but it is usually concealed by inane ramblings and whatnot. The structure and contents of the sentences matches that of someone on meth, which is a plus for authenticity, provided their sentences were coherent in the first place. I could find no mistakes, and if there were any, they could be chalked up to the speaker's drug high and thus add to the character of the work... all in all, a good job!

Jordan of the CC

        02-22-2007     Lyle Berry        

Tremendous imagery and powerful mood set here by your words, Walt. You always move the reader and are getting more succinct in how you approach your craft. This was minimal in words - maximal in effect.



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