Tobacco is a plant whose leaves contain nicotine
The most addictive drug abused by man.
Over 4,000 chemicals are released by its tars
As addicts sniff, chew, smoke cigarettes or pipe in hand.
Nicotine is one of life’s most harmful habits
That kills millions of users each year on Earth.
It can be purchased in every town, city or village
No matter the nation because of its worth.
We’re cursed by its cravings that can cause cancer
By19 chemicals discovered thus far.
It may relieve depression and make us feel better
As it alters how long we live and who we are.
Wherever humans gather and struggle today
The filters from cigarettes are everywhere.
Along the sidewalks, streets, yards and parks
Forever littering the blessings we share.
THE POT FARMER
I got out my pipe and stuffed it with pot
You better believe, it held a whole lot.
I whipped out a lighter and thumbed up a flame
Then sucked down that smoke which comforts my brain.
I tried alcohol; and smoked cigarettes
Though, they did nothing, but give me regrets.
My mom had arthritis and couldn’t walk around
When I rolled her a joint, she danced on the ground.
I thought I was losing my lovemaking knack
But, after I smoked some, to me it came back.
Soon I decided prices were too high
So I searched for some ground I wouldn’t have to buy.
I bargained for seeds from smokers all around
Then, got in my truck and drove out of town.
I walked through the woods where the wild birds nest
And found me the meadow I thought was the best.
I dug up the ground and sowed all my seeds
Then said a small prayer for strong, healthy weeds.
I watered at night with a five-gallon pail
The mosquitoes went hungry for I wore a veil.
Seven months went by; I thought I would die
Till the Halloween moon was high in the sky.
One night I went out, in my camouflage suit
And used a corn knife to chop down the loot.
I hung it up to dry where it couldn’t be found.
Then came back and got it, when it had turned brown.
I trimmed off the buds, and stuffed them in bags
Called all my friends and passed out free drags.
In less than a week, my crop was gone!
But, I flew to St. Thomas with love hungry blonde.
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By God’s Poet
Tom Zart
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