Best Cig Poems
i narrate me own story in a fake english accent. the bloody typewriter is
broken, it can't capitalize. i'm out of coins for the heater. i can see me own
breath. it must be really bad . it's summer here in london. i'm a tough guy who
carries a gun. don't mean i don't want to look good. i freshen up my lipstick,
light up a cigarette and offer one to my secretary. she is hot really hot.
like i said it's summer. she don't wear lipstick it wouldn't help. in the
encyclopedia under the word butch is her picture.
i put out my cig in an ashtray overflowin. i'd tell her to empty it but she scares me.
she only wears one gold earring. who does that? i'm workin on a case, already
drank half the beers. by the way i'm a dick a private dick. the name is rock,
rock hard. there's a knock at the door. this could be bad she has two fourty fives,
she's also got a gun.
she's holding an airline ticket. no reason. she says she just likes it.
whatever! maybe it has to do with some kind of contest.
she says we're going for a ride. we are driving when she gets a flat.
i pump she pumps then we get out of the car and fix the flat. never liked
cars, horses are more convenient. less breakdowns. she takes us to a
party everyone is jumpin for joy, so joy gets up and leaves. bet you wish
this was going somewhere. it's not. like i said i'm a dick.
11~28~2014
Contest: Chopped III
Sponsor: craig cornish
Romance was not our muse, he types
Not writes his farewells before each morning -
A simple 'Till tomorrow' left by cooling sheets.
We started as lovers, before we were friends
Speaking in touches instead of thoughts
Every night he clouded our secrecy
With cigarette smoke, an ashtray beneath my bed,
A counter of the days we were spent.
But a playful joke turned bittersweet, I slipped
My favourite glinting stud, a gift
In his pocket lining, finding instead a reminder
Of sin and silent lives, a ticket
To home and back to reality.
In dawn’s light and an empty bed, I wrapped
Bruised red lips around his fading cig, enjoying
The lingering taste of him and his ashy breath.
Romance was not our muse, I type
Not write my farewells before the morning -
A simple 'Good-bye' left by cooling sheets.
Her belly reminds me of Buddha
Huge boobies just like a cow’s udder
From her mouth hangs a cig
She does not give a fig -
I’m thankful that she’s not MY Mudda!
Title refers to the cigarette butt hanging from her mouth
10/26/18
During my time at high school
I never once broke any rule
I was quiet and shy
Didn’t flirt with a guy
Even if I thought he was cool
I was never ever great at sport
Even though it was subject taught
I was so very short
That on the netball court
I couldn’t reach the hoop and scored naught!
At college I met a cute guy
Both of us were terribly shy
We went out to a gig
But he lit up a cig
I hate smoking - I wanted to cry!
Contest:- Let’s Hear it
Sponsor:- Judy Konos
02~08~16
She guides me in and sits me down.
Not the Remington portable typewriter this time.
I grab a pen and some parchment they have more life i believe.
The mechanical twists and clanks sound so hollow.
In this depression my colored skin only attracts sorrow.
I would like to escape on one of those planes high in the sky.
I dream of a ticket to ride wings to tomorrow.
If only this ear piece of gold was worth mountains of gold.
Everything so stagnant, grey and cold.
She offers a cig of course i say no.
I see the ashtray full of lipsticked butts.
Each puff takes life from her soul.
How to be free from this life.
They yell and throw stones.
My darling my lover to hide our love isn't right.
I see only our union it's colorless.
Why must everyone else see black and white.
like smoke from the end of my cig
she's dancing all over, you dig?
so after i hit
the rush that i get
brings exstacy under my wig
I find my room doomed with demon's ill-famed gag
As long as I have my lucifer to light my ***
I find my room purged by smokes caused by
The belittled ignition on the cig
that brightens more when I inhale more deeply.
A puff or two reliefs me from strain
and I find my room blessed with divine guidance
As long as I have my lucifer to play with it
I find my imaginations weighted with more abstractionism
that often arrest me to the world of traits.
Three and more puffs I inhale
I see the cig weakens turning into ashes
that shows the future of mine ill-fated with curses
and smoke that blurs my room with a distinct smell
I wonder how life is going to live with so much hatreds.
Last puff at the butt - and I find the firmest of all
Desires provoking and urges me to be wistful
I find my room doomed with demons ill-famed gag
But my lucifer can't light up as am not having my ***.
Well it’s March 17th the best day of the year
For the wearing of the green and the drinking of green beer
For eating corn beef and cabbage until you can’t have another bite
And drinking of course that goes on all night
So dance away your stress and send it along
It’s real easy, so just relax and sing along
The drunker you get the better the sound of the song
So have another beer or a shot it’s not ever wrong
Have a double you’re Irish now down it and be strong
Everyone’s Irish today and this is my Irish song
Were all brothers and sisters it doesn’t matter what color you are
So grab hold of me and buy me a drink at the bar
It doesn’t matter the kind of whiskey the young stuff or the old
Once I’ve had enough shots Ill be looking for me pot of gold
So dance away your stress and send it along
It’s real easy, so just relax and sing along
The drunker you get the better the sound of the song
So have another beer or a shot it’s not ever wrong
Have a double you’re Irish now down it and be strong
Everyone’s Irish today and this is my Irish song
So kiss me I’m Irish cause I come from good stock
And maybe you’ll get lucky and I’ll show you my shamrock
Let’s have a cigar or maybe a cig
Give me another drink and I’ll show off my Irish jig
So dance away your stress and send it along
It’s real easy, so just relax and sing along
The drunker you get the better the sound of the song
So have another beer or a shot it’s not ever wrong
Have a double you’re Irish now down it and be strong
Everyone’s Irish today and this is my Irish song
It doesn’t matter where you’re from north, south, east or west
Have another drink it will put hair on your chest
Maybe if your good I’ll take you home to meet ma
And if you don’t know any Irish just say Erin Go Bragh
Happy St. Patricks Day!
I insisted the jubilee amiability
to stir up with twilight-ed spirit
zeal of desires aroused
as the silverly rays crowned me
to pour out the gilded spirit.
Earstwhile crimson years
With some bichrome days
My glazed tumbler seems to reflect
those moments
as the sound of slopping gilded spirit
sloshed the bottom spattering the glazed ambiance.
I greeted the slushing club soda
to blend with its own felicity of bubbles
dribbling over the gilded spirit
to rebel the jubilee amiability.
Invidious comparisions of consequences experienced
now the encumbrance of responsibility that blazes
as I perished my own dreams.
I acompanied the thought lighting my cig
Smokes drifted alike my reveries.
I held my gilded spirit inclining to my thirsty lips
The gilded sip boosted me
Out from those obsessed incumbency.
I accompanied with a prepraration of pomfret tandoori shrimp
to spice up the gilded spirit
with slurp sounds that spieled again and again.
The jubilee amiability acquainted with
some imagery hot babes
keeping aside my eternal love for few moments.
My vision evinced bit of dizziness
As I imbibed the whole gilded peg.
The zeal of the twilght-ed spirit
That crowned me against my solitude passing jubilee
I was inspired by my own amiability
As if I was adorned with my Gilded Silver Jubilee Peg.
Holding that slender stick in between two fingers
Stance of an emperor of a classy empire
The curvy wavy smoke in air lingers
One cig in hand smartens your attire
I remember my first cig puff,
How I held its butt between my lips
An air of curiosity traveled down my core
As a friend lighted for me its tip
The lit cigarette brightened my ecstasy
And with pride I took my first puff
Smoke dint seem finding space inside
And I burst out, it made me cough
That challenged me to attempt once again
This time I felt my smoke-filled chest
I was gagged, hooked for a moment
It was kind of a head rush… at its best!
That whiff of smoke changed everything
Nothing seemed at its best without one puff
Did it taste that good? Hell No!
Then why doesn't puff after puff seem enough?
Soon my hands, mouth, clothes smelled the same
Seasons didn't matter, time did no harm
Every time I rushed to a clandestine zone
The moment I received ‘quench the flame’ alarm!
I am not bad, don’t hate me
It’s a compelling force, I can’t shun away
This addiction should only not invite my grave
Be my honest well-wisher, for me pray!
Both lucky and deadly are the qualities of seven
You can trust me or repress me, it’s astonishing what people can do with stones and sticks
At the age of six I truly believed in heaven
And some semblance of rememberance is possibly why i’m still alive
On a pentagram, those points, those five can represent the devil
And how he’s forthcoming in our penchance for the deadlier side of living
But for luck I’ll take the magic number three and watch for magic tricks
“And I second that motion”, said the man in the boardroom, grinning.
What happened to one love?
It’s looking like we’re heading towards one state
One corporate nation, rule the world and dice it,
It looks more like one hate.
Prioritising, merchandising,
In commodoties I place my priorities.
Fat cats and smack rats,
Decorated in sinful qualities.
What, sin?
Sin is the grease that keeps those cogs moving.
Sin is just the slander in a false gods self help leaflet, literally demonising your base instincts, time to seek treatment.
Give me seven Hail Mary’s,
Give me six white Russians,
Give me a five knuckle shuffle,
Give me four fingers and a thumb,
Give me three minutes to finish,
Give me two’s on a cig when I’m done
That leaves one.
One life, it’s not a joke…
That you can laugh at, anyway
http://samnicholasharrison.tumblr.com/
Aynanin otesindeki Kadin
Baslangic..
Yok imkani yok.
Kagidim kalemim yok.
Internetimde yukardaki odada.
Cikamam keyfimi bozamam.
Sonra bulundu kagit ve kalem.
Yazildi hikaye kalemle.
Kacinci yuzyildayiz.
Eski okul ,eski hikaye
Bolum 1
Lodosun sesi hep yatak odamda.
Ruyalarimda ugultular devlerin gurultusu.
Ah ruzgarlari lodosun hapis oldu korkularim firtinalara.
Martilarin sesleri minarelarde dolanir bagirir uyandirir duslerimden
Bazen mutlu bazen korku kiz kulesine baktikca ve martilarin sesslerini duydukca.
Nadide can nadir can aynaya baktiginda ne gordun can.
Bolum 2
Lodosun ve poyrazin ruzgarinda gecti zaman.
Hikayelerinle buyudu anasinin, kitaplarla buyudu hediyesi babasinin.
Hele bir hikayeleri var ana da madam Curie den Einstein na
Dunyayi baris icinde yasatmaya dair binbir hikayeler
Aynaya baktim , gordum anamin ruhunu.
Goremiyorum kendimi.
Bolum 3
Bu antoloji mi olacak?
Yoksa hikayesi mi hayatin?
Yukselir sesler bir cig gibi duser.
Uyanir derin uykusundan Nadide.
Acilir gune dogan bir cicek gibi hayatina.
Gordun mu kendini aynada Nadide?
Bolum 4
Umit ederki ev yapacak da insanlari kurtaracak
Iste secimi mesleginin ve esinin
Yil 70 ler sokaklarda birlikte vatan ve bagimsizlik kosusu.
Bir kisrak gibi yalin bir yagmur damlasi kadar ozgur
Nadide ve Nadir.
Bolum 4
Yoklukta sevda ve karanlikta isik bir cocuk.
Buruk mutluluk gocen nice yigitler.
Suskun kalmis anilar duser soguk geceler de birer birer.
Bak be aynaya kendinle bak be umutlarinla.
Gorulmez olma kir aynayi gec karsiya Nadide.
Reyhan Yucebay
Lovely Linda loved her lashes.
Batted them in pageant sashes.
With a cig in her mouth.
Until one lash fell south.
Then that lash went up in ashes.
Cape highway, speeding, the radio full blast,
pitch black with only his headlights to flare
on the pavement, it's slick, there's been a light shower,
hazardous drive but he doesn't much care.
He's a loner of sorts and he lives with his mother,
a Man of God, goes to church every week.
He's been to the movies to see the new feature,
a drama with action, and real tongue-in-cheek.
His name is Joe and he has some issues,
time spent long ago for committing a crime;
the District Attorney, a man named George Sherman,
sent him to prison to serve out his time.
On the road up ahead he eyeballs a pedestrian,
a young teenage girl and she's thumbing a ride.
His vehicle's a mess, it's just base transportation,
he hopes she won't mind the condition inside.
It's alright, she knows him, it's Joe from the diner,
(he cannot believe that he's having such luck!)
for it's Lindsay, the daughter of attorney Sherman,
who's sitting beside him curled up in his truck.
She's calm and relaxed, feels protected with Joe now,
sure beats walking around in the rain late at night.
She takes a cig and a swig from his Pepsi
and sits back, things are great, now her home is in sight.
But he takes the access road right of her driveway,
heads into the woods so forbidding and drear.
Joe isn't looking to ensure her safety,
poor Lindsay, she has every reason to Fear.
I woke one morning, the usual way,
a cig in one hand and coffee to start the day
my thoughts still cloudy as morning turns to day
I grabbed the good book, and began to pray.
I started out thanking my God as I pray
but lost my train of thought and began to stray
I thought to myself, how he found me astray
brought me back to the fold in the usual way.
I thought to myself "is this all there is?" in a strange kind of way
he said quite out loud "get up and decide if you want to go or stay
I knew what he meant as I rose up to face another day
where I come from, its a miracle to see where I've been led astray.
No there's more to this day if we just accept it his way
Surrender my will, pray