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Best Blowing Smoke Poems | Poetry

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Smoke Rings in the Dark

We sit alone in the shadows outside,
Blowing smoke rings in the dark;
Watching them rise and then divide,
The cherry just a glowing spark;

This is what living is all about,
I’m more happy now than I care to admit;
Talking, laughing, and hanging out,
Just sitting here with our cigarettes lit; 

Blowing smoke rings towards the sky,
Your simple words tugging at my heart;
I lean on your shoulder with a satisfied sigh;
And watch as they slowly drift apart;

Doing all the things we shouldn’t do;
I liked being here alone with you,

Blowing Smoke rings in the dark...


Copyright © Tirzah Conway | Year Posted 2010


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Hot Pants

can you imagine my disappointment...I believed her ...she might of been the one...that one woman  that has eluded me my whole lifetime...but... ...she...she was... she was just blowing smoke up my ***... story of my life...it's just never right...so many frauds... but her....well her I trusted...I was willing to try...but well she did me wrong... she did well with the Vaseline... lubricated my *** clean... but when she shoved  that PVC up my bum... well...that I liked! the smoke? that was the problem it was too hot,  your suppose to let it cool... she let it go when it was  still hotter than burning coals... all my friends...well now they call me hot pants... it's not funny...I had severe...burns to my hole... every time I have to go...you can hear me yelling...feels like the pipe in reverse,  exiting instead of entering...it burns... it bleeds... but what hurts the most... what really upsets me... ...as long as I live I will never... what hurts the most, ...she won't take my calls... my *** has healed  and I'd like to see her again... give the pipe another shot... she said she liked me... called me good looking, vibrant,  kind, generous, intelligent , witty...but she didn't mean it, I guess... she was just blowing smoke up my ***... ...yes please!
 


Copyright © Maurice Yvonne | Year Posted 2014


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Kiss the Rain

Like any family, mine’s the same, they leave Mama with the dirty Chores.
You’d think with Trolls, and Dragons, and such… There’d be magic galore!
But I concede defeat at Pooper Scooping Time, my sons taught everyone well.
You’d think just once, they wouldn’t run away, with such a humongous bombshell.

The Witch next door is out of town; she usually uses it to fertilize her yard.
Her magic does it in a minute flat, but she’s not here, as my yard becomes marred.
She flew on vacation with the first snowfall; in spring she’ll help my backyard.
In the meantime it’s just little old me… It’s like cleaning out a yucky stockyard.

So I gave a shovel to a grouchy old Dragon, since he’s so big and does so much.
But I came back fricasseed and charbroiled, my shovel totally melted, as such.
I put on my fire retardant suit, and I gave him a special spot where he can unload.
Apparently he didn’t like that either, as I dug out from under a humongous load.

Finally, raking it all up, I ask the dragon, to make cinders of the yucky stuff.
Instead he laughed as he huffed and puffed, blowing smoke at me, in a huff.
I smelled kinda bad as I went to the house, getting a cart to fill to the brim.
I’ll admit, getting mad at a dragon was never a good idea, to originally begin.

But I was pissed, as it looked like rain, and my mind was beginning to spin.
I filled the cart to overflowing, then tied it to the sleeping dragon’s… butt end.
When he woke up, he flew half way up to the moon, spreading it on the wind.
Unfortunately it was me, my yard, and my house, that finally got it again.

Who knows where that darned old cart now lies, as he came flying back alone.
I had learned my lesson that it would never be wise to lose my temper again.
So as the rain began to wash my folly away, I looked up and kissed the rain.
Sometimes it’s prudent, to just relax, and get in touch with the elements again.


Copyright © Carol Eastman | Year Posted 2013


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Cultural Events

Art Gallery. Museum. Parks. Zoo.
Cultural Events.
Glazed like raku pottery
In charcoal rainbows warbled all dark
On pidgeon necks
Like hell’s angels, dumbed,
Blowing smoke through your mind
In a haze of dreams
The city is made of a giant fractal wart
On a witch’s cheeks there’s blush.
Movies. Games. Bars. Clubs.
Cultural Events.
Maybe she’s singing a hymn
With forked tongue
The green fires burning gold and money
Into the skies pitch red
Flirting and skirting sale-priced
Fashion iconography. Architecture
Sophisticating the simple desires.
You’re lost.
Foreclosure. Lawsuit. Divorce.
Cultural Events.
Emblazoned with some valor
Flags of the dead days
Killed like a haiku short-lived
Plopped one by one
Your teeth fell.
Bankruptcy.  Fired.  Laid off.
Cultural Events.
Brightly darkly the shiny sheens
Of sweat they bubbled in blood red and iron
In that champagne of success
Guilt.  Acne.  Alcohol.  Headache.
Cultural Events.
The feather dust flies and the smell of tar
Rubber in your face
We have drug solutions for your
Unhappiness.
Cancer. HIV. Vaccines. Death.
Cultural Events.
Beer gardens, beer babies, beer bellies,
Beds, homes, and wined babes
Pretty victims and voices they make
Cultural Events.
The city life careened my poetry
Towards those
Crazy wronged right fools
Still swimming the street in search
Furtive, arms afire just fighting
Firing, fleeing into those chains.
Claims. Refrains. Drowned Voices.
Cultural Events.


Copyright © Misheel Chuluun | Year Posted 2009


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finding others like me

I can't believe how much I've grown
From the little girl I've known
Who was very scared and shy
Hoping one day I could try
To find others who could be
Part of a community
I was in for quite a while
Showing all my unique style
And behaviors I possess
I just wanted to confess
I felt so lonely each day
Friends would never come my way
When they found out all my quirks
They became ignorant mean jerks
Just because I wouldn't do
Bad things others wanted me to
Like taking drugs to get a thrill
From a needle or a pill
Or drinking till you'd be sick
Isn't something I would pick
Blowing smoke into the air
From cigarettes, I didn't care
To join in any of these
I just wanted to be free
From all this insanity
Sex and partying was not
A part of my wholesome heart
Being myself I would keep
Knowing somewhere way down deep
Others were being harrassed
Being kicked out, it wont last
I'd rather be a geeky nerd
Than part of a stuck up herd
I will find true friends one day
Who wont abandon me and stray
We will have fun never ending
And the vibes we will be sending
To each other will be of
Accepting caring and love


Copyright © robin davis | Year Posted 2018


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Speaking Of Michael Brown


Through the mist ...
vision blurred by the bias of our views
clouding our reason
unable to walk in another men's shoes.
Blinded by the fog ... 
thoughts offered by signs in hand
daring others to cross
convinced we are right, our dissenters lost.

War is declared ...
the air thick with opinion.
Battles commence ... 
destruction of all that is held dear.
Guns blowing smoke
Swords red hot metal forged
Wrapped in the rising haze of heat
Voices raised dirty the streets.

Nowhere  in sight ...  clear rationale
no time to hear; no effort to see.
Air, a toxic mist, release the inner pain that i feel
eyes blinded by tears - no more chances, my friend.

Through the mist ... 
no one hears.
This our reality when ideas supersede our fellow beings.
Through the mist ...
I see no love - hate guised as ideas.

Oh if they could see through the mist...
That is us on both sides of the street.

18~12~2014
Maurice Yvonne





Copyright © Maurice Yvonne | Year Posted 2014


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Pluralistic Ignorance

Here someone goes again, blowing smoke out their pipe.
Just going with the flow, using a common stereotype.
Here's a black man, I wonder how many kids he has on child support.
If he's late to a meeting, he's always a day late and dollar short.

There is a Mexican outside the Home Depot store, 
he must be illegally looking to do a gardening chore.
If you see one Mexican go into a house, I swear, 
inside you'll find at least forty people living there.

What's that over there, yellow skin, yep Hong Kong.
Better hide your cat unless you want to say so long.
I bet he could build me a robot if he tries.
Yeah they are all real smart, them oval eyes.

I see a man with a turban on his head, my final doom.
Better start running away now, before he goes boom.
We know he's got to be a terrorist, 
see if he's on the most wanted list.

Who else is out there that I can bash?
Oh yeah, what about the white trash.
That gosh dang redneck hillbilly.
His brain is small just like his willy.

Everything mentioned above must be true.
So you must decide, what are you going to do?
Say something back and even up the score?
Or decide that words aren't worth going to war?

I think that if we just walk and go our separate way, 
then the one speaking it, will have nothing left to say.
It is not worth your time to get mad over what you heard.
At the end of the day, it is still nothing but a word.


Copyright © Chris Matt | Year Posted 2011


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Professionals Name

New Release,
Thin line,
Time descease,
Bright shine.
Ahead of the game,
Shown by evidence,
Professionals name,
Body filled; tense.
I'm clear of doubt,
Finally here,
All about, 
The rippled sheer.
Unraveling down West,
Opening up; tall,
Best of the best,
If I can't walk, I'll crawl.
There's intense steam,
Blowing smoke,
Common ground; team,
Haters will hit;but choke.
Phrases by action,
My hand flow,
Stylistic traction,
High to low.
Artistic up front,
Surveying for you,
Messages to hunt,
Head of the crew.
Unwind to heal,
Natural mind at work,
Beauty to kneel,
Intentions to merk.
Parallel order,
Tinkering my brain,
Letter hoarder,
On paper to strain.
I shall generate,
The emphasis expectations,
Stirring up bate,
Hear my unique creations.


Copyright © Stacey Behal | Year Posted 2013


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smoking

jewelry and make up
give us glamor
cigaretts and smoke
drink and laughter
how distinguished we look 
with ciggy in claws
blowing smoke into faces
waiting for applause
just for effect
you pucker and blow 
and the other half of the smoke
comes out your nose
who care where it goes
in the air or in your clothes
what you smell like 
you may never know
dressed to the nines 
and doing just fine
running out of cigarettes 
the last thing on your mind

(This is where you come in)


Copyright © john loving iii | Year Posted 2013


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Venting Crow

One day goes by and you would think my luck sustained from before would carry over
but erupt goes the bad luck and my emotions run amuck
'till it's time to go home
It's simply easier to quit, take me home
I admit this isn't for me
but this would be the part where I say my rant is a joke
I'm only blowing smoke
yet the smoke in the air is the only one I'm choking on
In a lie, I'm alive and kicking
breathing in success, pouring out excess sweat
I'm a champion, capable of superhuman feats
jumping 20 feet from buildings onto concrete
without the bones in my knees breaking skin
In a lie, I'm at home where I am
but in truth, work always make me absolutely miserable
No matter the good company I seem to attract
the good company I keep
I always find myself perched upon something
surveying the scene laying out in front of me
staring out at the many faces, my eyes becoming microscopes
to study, to observe, research the people walking among me
and at times it terrifies me
Am I a villain, a criminal or have the tendencies of the obscene
for I know the lengths, limitations, boundaries
I won't nor never dare cross
but this story has been done before so it seems, so I believe
I'm not sure anymore myself, they all sound the same anyway
THEY ALL SOUND THE SAME???!!! They all sound the same...
so does that mean I'm the same as everyone else
a selfish protagonist in a fictional story
I'm not feeling it, feeling this
I'm finding more things falling apart at my touch
than finding a way to the finish line
I'm finding more reasons to say:
"Life is tragic, I'm not having it"
than I'm able to exclaim with magnificence
"Life is magic, I'm enamored with it
let the new days roll, flow with ever-radiating elegance and good fortune"
If only I was trapped in the age of lords and kings
then maybe my vernacular, my verbal accompaniment
would resound that of true mesmerizing exuberance
instead of declining like that of a slow cascading snail
down a window sill; slow like a sloth, slow like a turtle
I envy you turtle, your home is mobile
while I have yet to discover mine
I envy you universe
you question nothing, answer nothing; all you are is what you are
There's no self discovery to explore
whereas anchored to my feet are the boots equal to weighted steel
as I try to discover the parts of my own universe
discover my own components that make me who I am
to find out of this is who I'm meant to be
or just decayed remnants of a falling star


Copyright © Crow thepoet | Year Posted 2016


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Smoke Rings

Late on a cold winter's night I sit here
perplexed by old issues of life and death.
It's not my age clinging to life so dear,
determined to hold on to the last breath,
I've never really cared how long I lived,
I did vow once to live to 150.
Nothing serious, nothing to be dreaded,
seeing the future would just be nifty.
I guess the problem is my great good luck,
when those around me don't seem to have much.
So many people with nary a buck,
or sick and needing a miracle touch.
I try to do things to make a difference,
but seems like blowing smoke rings through a fence.



Copyright © ahellas Alixopulos | Year Posted 2016


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WOE IS ME CRIES THE WEARY LAND

     “WOE IS ME”, CRIES THE WEARY LAND…

As the day bade its circadian farewell, the fleeing sun 
withdrew its glow from weary war worn trees; 
on distant plains, vacant honey hives no longer  
buzz with the songs of industrious bees.

The thunder of exploding bombs rains down dreaded death
in the midst of innocent crowds;
as the swollen moon struggles to peep through spiraling
wind blowing smoke and eerie clouds.

What is it in the psyche of man that cause
destruction of his own kind?
Can’t man see that wanton wars will cause us
to run out of time?

“Woe is me” cries out the blood soaked weary land;
When will peace triumph over this insanity of man?


Copyright © millard lowe | Year Posted 2015


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Banberry Wine

One day ‘cross the meadow by Diggory Spring
I saw an amazing and curious thing
A wee little fellow no bigger than that
Was puffing a pipe blowing smoke through his hat

He had a small bottle of something to drink 
And he took a big gulp with a sly little wink
He said “It is late and I really must go”
“If you like, follow me where the banberries grow”

“When midnight rolls ‘round at the end of the day”  
“It’s then that the wee folk will come out to play”
So I followed him down to a wee wooded dell
And sat down beside a small sparkling well

There in the dell was a beautiful flower
Which opened as night reached the twelve o’clock hour
Inside several fairies stepped out and took flight
They sparkled and glowed in the darkness of night

Then other bright blossoms soon opened up wide
And the sky was soon filled from the fairies inside
They danced and they sang underneath the bright moon
While a small elfin band played a magical tune

The wee little fellow that I’d followed there
Was cooking up something, its smell filled the air
He said “Come here friend, taste the fruit of the vine”
Then he gave me a glass full of banberry wine

Then being quite thirsty I took a big quaff
My head started spinning as he started to laugh
Then I became weary and sleep filled my eyes 
I finally woke up to a glowing sunrise

I looked all around to see what was about
But nothing was there as I gave a loud shout
It must have been just an illusion it seemed
The wee folk had only been something I dreamed

But as I continued on looking around
I saw in the grass something there on the ground
A small empty bottle with a sweet fruity smell
Was lying right next to me there in the dell

So friends if you’re ever by Diggory Spring
And spot a wee fellow then don’t say a thing
Just hurry away and heed these words of mine
If he offers, don’t drink of his banberry wine


Copyright © Stephen Washam | Year Posted 2011


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Gather Round Kiddies



Gather around all you kiddies Got a wonderful tale to tell Bout people who are always happy As if they're under a spell As spells go this one seems magic Seems like a kind of trance Holding hands and singing out loud Performing a magical dance Some people might think it's evil But I'm here to tell the truth They're really dances of undying love Coz this world sure needs a boost Let's all think only about loving The peoples of every land No matter the language or way of life Let's all of us just join hands Don't listen to all the naysayers Time for a change in thinking It's not who's got the biggest toys Reach out with loving arms linking Some will say I'm just blowing smoke It's too late to make such a change My answer is if we all did nothing Things would still wind up the same So how many of you are with me Raise up your hands and cheer For a world where all nations coexist And peace replaces our fears © Jack Ellison 2013


Copyright © Jack Ellison | Year Posted 2013


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Prodigy

Dark, twisted stiletto,
Crouched and feral at the end of my bed.
It’s my night off tonight, 
Or it was supposed to be until the doorbell rang.
Show him on up, a girl has to eat.

Hello again sir, 
The handcuffs are next to my teddy bear,
I’m sorry I wasn’t in lesson today.
Don’t mess with me darling,
I’m older than I look.
Next time your paying, I don’t come cheap,
But if you hold me for a bit longer, Ill cut the cost.

The weekend descends like an October cloud,
A nice little trip to town I think,
Drum up business.
I sit right at the back of the bus, just so people know who’s in charge.
If you talk during the remembrance day silence again,
Ill show you trouble.

An afternoon spent blowing smoke rings at kids,
Their smiles get me every time.
The police caught us drinking again,
Idiots, what do they know?
Do you really want to help Mr Policeman?
Then get me my daddy back.
He made me feel loved, really special,
Like a princess.
None of this handcuff rubbish.

Another clueless councillor has left me,
Just like all the others, struggling to forget,
And succeeding.
But I do have one lasting memento,
On my floor a hint of sparkle,
She always wore such pretty earrings,
Twirling in the light, dancing and obscene as she spoke.
Snatched. It serves her right. 
She’ll have earache tonight the silly girl.
It is as she once said,
The world is simply not ready for a star like me.


Copyright © Phillip Landers | Year Posted 2007


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Hand painted pintos

Fierce Im a fire blazing 
Heat sweeping through the plains 
Singed wheat blowing smoke signals

Powerful Im the rain storming
Downpour letting out the aches and pain
Flood water washing the evidence away

Gentle Im the wind pushing 
Drying the blood from battles played
Gusts blow the tears from cheeks

Firm Im the earth - breathing
Warmth and healing in the night and day
Hand painted pintos lead the way


Copyright © Jay Loveless | Year Posted 2013


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WHERE TEARS DO FALL

Into the stillness of the night
I had to give out a sigh
where tears do fall 
right down the hall
where it is I walked,

where words of lies 
echoes deep into my mind
where my emptiness 
lays deep within my soul,

where whispers of ancient ghost
played around like a host 
blowing smoke at my toes 
where the ancient wind 
cry's to me again.

Poetic Judy Emery (c)


Copyright © Judy Emery | Year Posted 2017


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Insomniac

Stress, worry and concern keep me awake.
They nudge my shoulder if I should sleep.
We smoke cigarettes at my kitchen table,
blowing smoke-rings until late morning hours.
They sit in the ashtray giving nasty predictions
of things to come, that might or might not be.
They paint remorse in the wrinkles of my forehead
and draw anxiety rings under my eyes, 
with the ashes.

They drape over my review mirror,
on the drive to work, obscuring my view 
of suicide drivers trying to crash into my car-
they laugh at near misses
misdirecting my thoughts.

They scamper around my desk 
hiding in the paper-clip tray and pencil holder, 
sneering, throwing economic facts at me--
the high price of life; the rising cost of funerals,
the fine print in insurance contracts, 
telling me how poor the company is doing
while tossing little sprinkles of feat on my keyboard.
“Downsizing –you are next!”  
They pronounce.

Even at Sunday mass, I see them peaking-out
from under the little white envelopes 
in the collection plate, screaming at me -- 
“You can’t buy your soul back; 
never will you buy it back!
Never; never!"

I confess my fears to my priest;
advice from the Bible is given,
“Birds neither sow nor reap nor gather 
yet, your heavenly father feeds them.
Are you not of more value than they?”
I close my eyes to sleep and find an image
of a well nourished Falcon, splitting, striking -through air
with a lifeless, broken, bleeding Dove 
in his talons.


Copyright © Mike Samford | Year Posted 2007


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on our streets

through the mist
vision blurred by the bias of our views
intelligently present our clouded vision
never attempting to walk in another men's shoes.

blinded by the fog inhabits our thoughts
signs in hand we offer our misted words.
convinced we are right 
our dissenters lost
so we draw chalky lines 
dare others to cross.

the air thick as stew our opinions attempt to dice
destroy the filmy feels of those on another side
war is declared
battles commence

with our guns blowing smoke,
our swords red hot metal forged
and still wrapped in the rising haze of heat.
our voices raised 
yell through the dirty streets.

nowhere in sight a space of clear rationale
take the time to hear or see through this toxic mist
not a chance my friend
my eyes blurry with tears
the gas they release 
the inner pain that i feel

through the mist 
no one hears 
everyone deaf
this our reality 
when ideas 
supersede our fellow beings
through the mist i see no love
hate covered and guised as ideas
oh if they could see through the mist
that is us on both sides of the street.


Copyright © Maurice Yvonne | Year Posted 2014


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Dry Bones

Boy I’m hot and dry

I’m full of life

And I feel this way

There is no real reason why

I know I’m not here

All alone

God’s with me

I’m at home

I’m in the region

Of dry bones

People all around me

Have lost hope

Many of them

Look up to pimp

Like he’s the pope

Or are blowing smoke

These are the many

Who are addicted

To dope.

Many are treated

As criminals

And they really

Are scholars

Preachers, teachers,

Doctors, and all other

Professions.

This place has

So much potential

But so many

Block our blessings

I see in the near

Future that the

Dry bones

And dead mentalities

Will come to life

That this area

For once will become

A major thoroughfare

And people

Will come back home

From everywhere

And the dry bones

That kicked us out

Will not have

Room to treat

Us criminal

They will melt

Past subliminal

We will have

Our families back

We will have

A kingdom mindset

And

God will get the

Glory for it!

 

 

Ezekiel 37:1-14



Copyright © Nicole Sharon Brown | Year Posted 2010


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If I Could But Make Her Love Me

If I Could But Make Her Love Me By Rick Rucker If I could but make her love me, By any means at hand, There would always be blue skies above me Everywhere in the land. That doesn’t seem too hard to do, After all, it is a fact, The others I would happily eschew, She has given me just what I lacked. Feeling old, and tired and lost, I scarcely dared to hope for love, Afraid to pay the ultimate cost, Fearing thunder from above. I knew not what answer my pleas of love might bring, Would it be laughs, derision, and hurt? Or a promise to wear a ring? Or maybe only an answer curt? Has it always been this way? Does a lover have to bleed, Over what he has to say, All about his inner need? Love is a part of us, it’s true, Tho’ some say it is base, and vile, But if that were the case, why does it make us dumb things do, Like a Disney cartoon, blowing smoke rings all the while? Must the course of Love be barred, From a far-too-easy win, Merely by being hard? Plus a rough kick in the shin? Covered with cuts, and now bleeding, Disregarding advice to go slow, My friends’ cautions I’m not heeding. Preferring instead to let ‘er blow! No one else knows how I feel, She thinks I am a superhero, In front of an axe man I would kneel, If it would reduce her execution to zero! If I could but make her love me, I would be the most happy man I will try to let her see Our wonderful life, that’s my plan!


Copyright © Rick Rucker | Year Posted 2010


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The Cowboy Way

why oh why'd I have to be a cowboy
Riding on the range like Roy and Gene
Singing in the saddle with their guitars
Strumming to the humming
Of the sons of pioneers

Young boys were shooting rustlers too
Even now the memory  lingers 
Despite the long forgotten years
Imagined six guns spun on fingers
Blowing smoke and smiling through 
Poorer times with held back tears
Thirty years of working still don't have a single dime
No such thing as overtime
Dark t' dark is normal every week has seven days
Watching dawn awake the sky With fresh coffee and new day
I see the answer to the why I live the cowboy way
Digging ponds and mending fence Is just a bit of self defense 
from City life and hassle seen  Driving truck and smelling gasoline
These boots wa'nt made for walkin'much 
These lips aint  ever prattled such
Both old and cracked and losing touch
But comfortable tight
Wasted words so seldom heard 
Cep' maybe by the herd

 


Copyright © Donald Meikle | Year Posted 2005


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The Time Is Now

There are thing that I have done.
There's a place to which I run.
There's mistakes that I made this day, 
but when I made them, I made them my way. 

When this country was made and built, 
they did it with mortar, bricks and guilt.
Policeman and laws are supposed to be our savior, 
but they can't protect us from our own immoral behavior.

The ones we look up to, who we need to believe.
They are being arrested and prosecuted as thieves.
Once at a job, I worked along side a man called a pastor, 
he complained the donations weren't enough, he needs it faster.

He gave sermons telling his people they were his friends.
He told them to give more, next month he had a $100K Mercedes Benz.  
They asked about the money, he said it went to the church commission.
He was the only member, and he is the one who gives us the fear of attrition. 

Today every politician is as straight as a question mark.
Most cheat us and on their wives after dark.
With every promise and guarantee we hear, 
we know they are blowing smoke up our rear.

I just want to know who to trust, who to look up to.
In this world we are all lost and don't know what to do.
We need to look at ourselves and our situations and start to rearrange.
Because if we keep going in this direction, it will be too late to change.


Copyright © Chris Matt | Year Posted 2011


Details | Blowing Smoke Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Let's Do This

With eyes the size of saucers
Spirits hanging low
Drool dripping downward
Lump in the throat

Face of confusion
Mass hysteria
Doubled down delusion
Mostly unaware

Left side a-twitching
Head spinning round
Frontal lobe missing
Knuckles dragging the ground

Temperature rising
Ears blowing smoke
With this there's no denying
I'm now ready to vote!


Just thinking about the up coming elections in America 
and the great choices we have!


Copyright © Mike Hauser | Year Posted 2016


Details | Blowing Smoke Poem | Create an image from this poem.

God's Call to the Mall

Mall stores are closing;it's ten p.m.;
But the parking lot action is about to begin!  
The first car pulls in ,followed by car number two.
Eight more will show up before they're all through.
You'll find red lights, and blue lights, and chrome a-plenty.
At that age, I never had that kind of money!
Their music is playing, but not very loud;
No need to invite the cops to mess with this crowd.
The braggin' begins as to who's car is the best:
Which one is louder-or cooler-or more customized than the rest.
One kid lights a cigarette and begins blowing smoke;
Two others are laughing at a third friend's joke.
Someone says "Let me use your cellphone so I can call Fred,
Why, there are still many hours until we head home to bed!"
This nightly assembly has been occurring al summer.
School starts tomorrow!  Man, that's a bummer!
They hang together,like their parents before them,
Hoping this gathering will relieve their boredom.
They aren't planning to riot, kill or rob;
And twenty-three kids is a far cry from a mob!
Quiet, well-behaved kids, in one small city,
Yet lacking meaning in life.  That sure is a pity!
Turn to God? Man, you must be old-fashioned!
Come out, Christian youth --and show them compassion
Paul was all things to all men, that he might win some.
Can we do less if we want revival to come?
Will we write off these kids, and say" That's just their lot?"
I'm persuaded that Jesus would not.
Are these friends of yours? Then share a kind word.
Give them some hope. Point them to Jesus our Lord!

                                                                                   Charlie Pelota HSLP  10-17-2004



Copyright © charlie Pelota | Year Posted 2009