Poet's
Corner
By Naman Crowe
IPS Features


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IPS Features Staff

International Press Service

 






The Blue Pearl Saves the Earth

My name is Naman,

Spelled the same way back and forth.

But you can call me the “Blue Pearl.”

That’s who I really am.

I’ve come down here to save the Earth.

 

It feels good being the Blue Pearl

Here to save the world.

It makes me want to strut my stuff.

I’m here to save the Earth.

 

What a high that’ll give you, when it really hits you,

That you’re on such an important mission.

Well, I didn’t have anything better to do.

And I was just passing through.

 

But, first things first.

Let’s light up a joint and I’ll tell you.

Pot. That’s the right way to go.

That’s got to be the national crop.

 

I have a dream that one day

America will be the world’s greatest

Producer and exporter of marijuana

And other hemp products.

 

I envision that one day

Marijuana will be growing side by side

With tomatoes and pole beans and watermelons

In gardens across the Land of the Free and Brave.

 

I see the day when grass will replace grass,

When marijuana growing in the yard

Will replace the close cropped lawn

And cut down on the use of lawnmowers.

 

I see a day of quietness and slow time,

With people growing and harvesting by hand

Instead of making noise and wasting gas

And polluting the air with lawnmower poison.

 

I see tens of millions getting stoned daily

And getting outside more to talk and share a smoke

With their neighbors, sitting on their front porches

And getting to know each other better than ever.

 

I see it growing and waving like wheat

Across America, from sea to shining sea,

Becoming the greatest cash crop

Since cotton was king

And tobacco saved the Colonies

Back when George Washington grew it himself

And smoked it.

 

I can see it saving the small farms of thousands

And making many billions for the big enterprises,

Giving our economy a Viagra shot in the arm

And enough from taxes to solve many problems.

 

I see us saving billions

And giving a chance to live a life again

Back to millions by shutting down the War on Drugs

And letting the people out of prison to live in freedom,

Reducing the violence and the killing.

 

I have a dream today.

Not unlike Martin’s or Bob Dylan’s,

Everybody must get stoned

And see mankind as a family of equals.

 

I have a dream that when we get stoned

{And we will get stoned.)

We’ll recognize ourselves

As brothers and sisters.

 

I see the Bride of Man

Coming from the wilderness,

Leaning on her beloved.

I see the Family of Man

Following as a result of it,

All partakers of the knowledge

Of good and evil.

 

I have a dream today.

A dream of a stoned world

That has decided that ultimate freedom

Is freedom from war.

 

I see a day of preemptive peace

Instead of preemptive war.

I see a day of laid back ease

Between the nations that make up civilization.

 

I have a dream today

That someday individuals

Will be treated as sovereign souls

And given equal respect

And a right to their own ways,

Whether it be smoking pot

Or kneeling before the Pope.

 

I have a dream that someday

The pursuit of happiness for all human beings

Will finally be understood and realized

As a God-given right and nobody else’s business.

 

I see a day that’s coming

When the scales will fall from the eyes of the blind

And the wax will dry up and blow away

From the ears of the unhearing.

 

I can say as Martin said

I’ve been on the mountain, and looked over,

And I’ve seen the Promised Land.

And I can say as he did,

I might not get there with you

But as a people, we’ll get to the Promised Land.

 

That Promised Land that began as a seed

When humanity was born

And has taken a long time coming.

But a change is going to come,

As the singer said,

When equality is finally realized

And everyone is free

To follow their pursuit of happiness.

When war will be no more

And everybody will live in peace

Because war will no longer be needed

As the engine that pulls civilizations.

Freedom through mutual respect

Will be pulling that wagon,

When she comes ‘round the mountain.

 

We’ll all jump on board at that time

And have chicken and dumplings,

Then pass the joint of freedom

And sing out, in the words of that old negro spiritual,

“Free at last, free at last!

“Thank God All Mighty! We’re free at last!”