cannabis sits there
on this thin-veiled autumn night;
I think I will toke.
a long drawn inhale—
the smoke held within my lungs;
I let it all out.
within two inhales
I finish this hand-rolled joint;
the high takes over.
I then close my eyes;
listen, i’m not here to share
that which is now mine.
correct!—I will never share
the thing that I have taken.
know that I will not be shaken—
by your lame pleas for pity.
think I can?—you are mistaken.
your ass is henceforth forsaken
and your end ain't gonna be pretty;
know that I will not be shaken—
this state shan’t be overtaken.
I can't be fooled, you're not witty;
think I can?—you are mistaken.
your fate has been undertaken;
i've smoked your soul...tasted shitty.
know that I will not be shaken—
float in my brain and awaken
that I can’t forget this ditty—
think I can?—you are mistaken.
in due time, I'll have taken
more souls without any pity.
know that I will not be shaken—
think I can?—you are mistaken.
© 2026 Tristan Robert Lange. All rights reserved.
First published on tristanrobertlange.com, November 14, 2026.
Tittu
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Author:
Tristan Robert Lange (
Online) - Published: November 14th, 2026 08:09
- Comment from author about the poem: “the bogart” is written in Chameleon Cantos, an original poetic form. It began with a joke about someone bogarting your stash…and my imagination took it from there. You're welcome. 😏 Part of the Darklings collection.
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 3
- In collections: Darklings.
Online)
Comments1
Quite original here my friend👍🏻🕊️
Thanks a bunch, Rik! Had a blast letting my imagination run wild with this little rascal! LOL! Always appreciate you, my friend! 🍂💨😏🙏
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