The Stoner’s Ball: A Poem

The Stoner’s Ball

This party is not a dry run:

We trek full on off-road down

A riverbed in vintage

Campers with names Like Lola,

Betty and Betsy Allegro,

To meet the vanboy with a monster

Set up on a scrub of patch land

In the middle of a vineyard.

*

This party is not a dry run:

We arrive with packed pockets,

Pills, powders, and pre-prepared potions,

Mama coca and sister crystal,

And decades of vinyl burned onto

Hard drive, hooked up to jumbo

Decks pumping Grunge Swing

And Deep Techno with dusty vocals.

*

This party is not a dry run:

We learned not to give a fuck

On a dank dance-floor,

And about what matters in life,

The simple things: sunset, sunrise,

A dirty beat, and seeing God

In the face of a friend

Lit up by the flash of strobe lights.

*

This party is not a dry run:

We are brothers, sisters, cousins,

Tipping the fatal line together,

Till synthesis sweeps through us,

Tunneling a thrilling transcendent

Reconciliation with self:

Bam! We are part of the cosmos,

And dancing till our feet bleed.

*

This party is not a dry run:

We are awake and carved to pieces

We are cut open and undisturbed,

A voluntary sojourn into the abyss;

Earth-chasers in the zone in between

Life and ecstasy, our minds and blood

Synced up, in rhythm, limbs imbued

With mystical consciousness.

*

This party is not a dry run:

We used a red disco ball to light up

The sky and replace the sun,

We could dance for a thousand nights

And then dance a thousand more,

Living the high life twice because

We didn’t know we were crafting

Memories – we were just having fun. 

By Tasha Kerry (c) 2021

Published by The Healthy Hashhead

Challenging attitudes to cannabis, nutrition and fitness with conscious questions.

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