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The Warp

Whispering pines

Whispering Pines

Whispering pines

on the side of the hill

O you collection

of railway carriages

and little shacks

amid the trees

when the wind blows

the pines shake overhead

sending down a roar of



and under the pines

I can see distantly

the white-grey

gleam of the sea

and O generous hosts

and O liberal

libations of dope

in joints

in pipes

crushed between knives

one of them made red hot

on a flame

then held in a bottle

whose bottom is shattered

I suck from the top

an overwhelming blast

the inside of the chalet

spins round

with psychedelia

glowing incandescent

on the wall a huge poster of

God Ananandra

all is calm here

gentle considerateness

and a sort of ultimate

searching for experience

in the town’s newspaper

I read – ‘We Must Stamp Out

This Hippy Menace –


three guys get up

well, off to work

what is your work?

I ask

Oh we’re the morning shift

on the buses.


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