Intoxicated by the mystical marijuana plants,
rising from the heart of the earth,
so resinous on the inhaled joint.
Our DNA slowly turned to THC.
Like seed turning to flower,
On the fertile crescents of the Eel River, where we grew our first sinsemilla,
When totem salmon still spawned
Along the deep pools and gravel beds.
Yes, Those terraced Babylonian pot gardens of olden times,
Nourished by mountain springs.
How endearing were the Magical green tree frogs clinging to the swaying colas in September?
Cannabis farmers became rich, powerful,
as if the mighty bud made them immortal,
as if the outside world was forever locked out.
Upon the curtained land were the green matrixes,
blowing wind wafting dreamily with musky aromas.
The scents both skunky and fruity,
the flavors and strains unending.
All that easy money,
Everybody said,
All those 100-dollar bills.
A new commerce emerged in those chanticleer hills,
A plant that the richest and poorest in the cities revered.
Alas, it was a monoculture,
A lifestyle bought and paid for by the precious cannabis nuggets,
Remember when an ounce of herb was worth more than gold?
Then the Great Hellfire came via Huey Combat Helicopters raiding homesteads long sequestered into the green verdure.
Some say it was the fault of Green Rush hooligans coming next who breached the tipping point of decency and goodwill in those deep valleys and sequestered mountains.
When the end came, no one was prepared
Suddenly the pristine watersheds were
tainted with diesel dope,
and a 50 year back-to-the-land culture succumbed to the cartel called legalization
Thus, the Age of Anthropocene was thrust upon us:
Soon the Day-Star goddess became the Black Death of the forest.
A once sustainable Eden burned to piles of char by the carpetbaggers.
Yet Mom and Pop still search through the rubble,
For remnants and memories,
Of a world no more.
Pity our land once ruled by Gaia’s hidden world of Redwood Tree corridors, mighty Rivers, and the immense blue Pacific watching over it all.
Our bright star has lost its luminescence.
10,000 hours in the burning sun learning to grow the best Kush,
Raising our children in the emerald elysian—
A lucid cannabis dream deferred.
Mom and Pop watched in horror as the sweet exhaled homegrown smoke disappeared into the gossamer mist,
On the last day of living free in the Green Idyll.
wow, nice poem
similar to but more beautiful than mine:
The Weed Odyssey
Remember when we just put a seed in the ground
and waited for October to come around
In those glory days the plant was very healthy
after a few years we all felt wealthy
From forty dollars food stamps to thousand dollar pounds
there were no mites or powdery mildew frowns
It was a moment in time, the money amazing
we were beginning pot farmers, the trails were a-blazing
Hiking for hours up and down mountains
looking for springs and places for gardens
There were lessons to learn especially about mold
the enemy within that destroyed the gold
Wood rats, ripoffs, and Camp claimed its share
copters invaded and the hippies were scared
We hid plants under trees and even up in them
with loppers we carved out our camo kingdom
After Camp came the nineties greenhouse years
cover it with remay and forget all your fears
Then the mites joined the mold in a symphony of terror
vacuuming webs off of buds will be a memory forever
After predator mites failed, with pyrethrum you could bomb it
then the last hippie ethics were spewed like vomit
It was probably an odd way for kids to grow up
saying don’t call the cops, especially the whup! whup!
Growers counted the cash and the prices kept rising
vacations to faraway beaches were not surprising
When coke came along we were like Hollywood
we snorted that sweet powder whenever we could
The frisky hippies had sex then crying babies
and built country schools in the booming eighties
The teenagers got the green thumb and planted out Usal
then biked the crop home in backpacks every fall
When medical was legalized the price dropped lower
everyone from everywhere came to be a grower
If you wanted to keep piling up many pounds of dank
you had to grow hundreds of plants to still make bank
It was harder to sell if your weed lacked aroma
they wanted clones with names, that put you in a coma
With houses and land the hippies became entangled
after the sinsemilla boomed across the triangle
Foreign girls greeted us with open smiles
hordes of trimmers come to work harvest for awhile
From the ends of the earth the young people came
trimming weed for easy money was the game
Everyone was in it for the cold hard cash
the colorful workers vanished after the crash
When the whole mess was legalized in twenty sixteen
the enforcer John Ford showed up on the scene
So that’s the story of a very green dream
we rode it for decades, starting when young and lean
It was a complete surprise which dropped in our laps
a forty year boom which finally collapsed