Best Cigarette Poems
Empty pack - no cigarettes,
but another pack has one.
Should she smoke it now?
Cigarette stained fingers
stroked the tube.
She teased her mouth with it,
unlit, but lighter reachable,
calming her a bit...
How rare is it to tease
oneself like this?
Five minutes, and resolve
dispersed. The flame flickered
admirably. (She saw it.)
Cigarette went gently to her mouth
and she drew breath.
Her nicotine heart thanked her once again.
8/28/2016
I’m living in anticipation
With other cigarettes who are also growing impatient
We’re waiting
Praying
To be the next chosen one
Now, the door opens and we’re soaked by the light of the sun
Screams of “PICK ME!, PICK ME!”
She plucks me from the bunch; I’ve never felt so free
Straight from the prison she sticks my butt in her mouth, which is odd
Now, she puts a flame in my face and sets me on fire, OH MY GOD!
But hold the phone, this feels great
I wish I could tell the fellas back in the pack their fate
She takes me out of her mouth and holds me with two fingers
She blows my smoke in the air where, for a couple seconds, it lingers
She taps my back, a feeling so good it might be a sin
Some embers of mine fall to the ground and disappear with the wind
After 5 minutes of pure bliss
She once again pulls my butt off her lips
Smoke, as usual, flows into the daylight
I’m waiting for the taps and for the embers to take flight
But instead, she suddenly flicks me away without a sound
I fly through the air, drop, and crash on the ground
No big deal, It was certainly an accident
At least I’m still lit
Then as I look up I see the sole of her shoe driving down
All I can do is stare and frown
She crushes me on the asphalt
Then smears me around; sprinkling the wound with salt
I disintegrate to ash
How could she just treat me like trash?
I thought that feeling would last forever
But I guess you decided, for no evident reason, it was time to sever
I’ve been betrayed
Alone I wither and decay.
Treat my love like a cigarette; let it creep inside of your throat and caress your lungs. Smoke my love till you're satisfied, and let my taste sit on your tongue.
Everything used to be so simple.
Get up in the morning grab something black to wear.
Grab the phone and make some plans with my friends.
But now I don't know who's my enemy and who's my friend.
I'm not sure of where my future will take me or when itll end.
All i know is the past is my bed, and the memories; my pillow.
The morning my quilt and the night my party.
Friends to pick me up and drag me all over town.
Meet new people and just wander.
But now where do i go, what have i done.
This life is full of regrets, reminds me of the smoke from a cigarette.
The future that is, its wispy and can always change.
If you drag your hand through the smoke, your destiny is always changing.
Everything was so simple.
Who have I painted this for
This reflection of my core
My introspection wonders back
An injection of epiphany
It drifts from me like smoke
Suddenly aware I see
Nothing that looks like clarity
In the shadows I am pondering
A stillness caught by candlelight
If I stop watching you paint me
Will myself in frame then cease to be
The quiet trickles down like falling ash
From a cigarette only just lit
As my eyes play tricks
And test my wits
I ask myself which side I'm on
And who is watching who
He sat at the beer stained table,
a cigarette in his fingers.
Smoke pooling round his cloth capped head,
the look in his eyes still lingers.
From his rough wool shirt to his DIY tattoo
I could tell he was no stranger to labour.
From the scars on his face and his broken nose,
you wouldn't want him as a neighbour.
Yet he had about him a dignity,
a rough hewn, no nonsense stance.
And eyes that spoke volumes of his life
that sparked and mirrored and danced.
His hands bore the wear of a life of toil,
his shoulders a little stooped and weary.
And, whether it was the smoke or memory,
at times he seemed a little teary.
He sat and sipped his favourite drink,
a dark, nutty ale from the cask.
What tales had he? What stories to tell?
If I'd only the nerve to ask.
On a warm, dew-weakened day,
Watching the grey void of a lost
Sense, anxious moments recline
On whiffs of ancestral propitiations
When rafters regain possession of
Filched roast fish, balanced with
The fumes of a wild dance heckled
By chokes of a chagrined weekend.
Who rises faster than smokes of a
Low tar, ascending
Gently,
Whimsically,
Lazily,
With rings of white life
Extinguished through banalities,
Through clamoured waste? . . .
Such rise — gay, sensuous rise
Of the thin beam,
Goes with every thread of meaning
Long since posted on the banner of
Meaningful dreams.
It is night
2 am
I am driving to the store for cigarettes
A short trip
Or it would be
Except the light turns red
The minute I reach it
I slow my car to a crawl
Hoping that I can inch my way forward
That if I just take my time
It will turn green and signal
My departure
It doesn’t turn green
And so I sit
At a red light
With not another car in sight
I sit tight
Just like I was trained to do
A good citizen
A willing slave
Even when it is clear I could move
Even when not a soul would be harmed
By pushing on the gas
And blowing the light
I sit in the dark
At the light
A quiet symbol of control
And wonder what it means to be free
And this is quite possibly
The greatest argument
For not buying cigarettes
At 2 am
If more people sat
In the dark
At lights at 2am
Then the makers of lights and rules
Might tremble
The earth is a cigarette,
The human race the lighter.
Is there a way to save it,
With millennials as the fighters?
The grim reaper draws a puff,
And the withdrawing end is acid rain,
Deforestation, over fishing, air pollution,
And other deadly stuff.
Global warming and thin ozone layers,
Are symbolic of the flame...
That's depleting out natural resources,
And melting polar caps all the same.
Genetic engineering and playing God,
Is drawing us toward the butt.
With lungs in soil erosion and degradation,
Over population and other negative things we've trod.
Let's be serious and stop the joking,
To save the Earth, we must quit smoking!
Saturday, November 27, 2021
Lets go spit smoke from between our worn lips
wouldnt it be fun to rott our lungs together?
feel the rat poison, the cancerious **** buring our throughts?
how about the smell of that delicious nicotine?
isnt it delightful how we can ruin our lives?
so nice we can kill our selves this way
you know...
slowley? painfully? sinfully?
oh! and i love how everyone hates us now
but its okay cuz we have these emphizema on a sticks
we dont need anyone else, everyone else is just too smart..
oh and the best part, we cant live without it now.
ahh, great life huh?
*=changed because you cant put profanity on here..sadly.
Ode to the Cigarette
My air is contaminated by the cigarette smoke that I smoke...walking in the clouds makes me choke...though I enjoy it no joke..no money in my pockets
'cause the habit leaves me broke...calming my nerves destroying my lunges...the excellent taste...the life shortening plunge...it is wrong...
death from of it is painful and long...getting weaker...still so strong...
though I throw myself into this painful drug...my shoulders I shrug...as I drag and tug...pull and puff my air contaminating cigarette smoke that I smoke...
By: Peter T. DeSpirito
Curl me up a tree
Wrap me into a bundle
Light me up like a candle
The warmth of my joy
Kills the carvings you fear
Yes, it bothers me
How you take pleasure in my pain
We are paperless in this age
The pen is made useless on a page
This knowledge falls on deafness
Enlightenment ends in blindness
Scientists, powerless
Fear big business
Imagine the textbooks in the toilets
Education flushed down the drain
The empty classrooms
The air thick with ignorance
The stench of a mental disease
Written on the chalkboard, “REcyKiLL”
FAX me to your heart’s content
The pulp, I hope he gets a paper cut
I wept until my roots were uprooted
My leafless branches dried up and twisted
My timber became rooftops
At least cultivate me an artificial forest
A sort of vegetation urbanisation
Then my offspring would grow
To see the light of day
Taller than the black clouds of smoke
I couldn’t clear
The cigarette Smoking
When I lived in Britain that place where refugees in Calais
try to hide in a lorry for the crossing to the promised land.
And haven where pubs are full and pints of lager is a dream
a longing for the unobtainable.
I liked to visits pubs more often than my wife liked not so
much for the ale, one can buy beer and drink it in the park,
(I remember Birkenhead Park before I got a job and a room)
it was the cosiness of drinking and smoking.
Then we were invaded by the health brigade and that was ok,
and we had to go outside for a ***.
This was no good for my health leaving a warm pub to go to
the winter outside I got a cold so bad I left the country.
Since smoking was no longer sociable I stopped. No doubt some
scientist will tell us a bit of nicotine is good for you.
For me it will be too late, I like nothing more than having a meal
at a restaurant free of stale tobacco smoke.
THE BEST CIGARETTE
In a darker part of morning,
or a lighter shade of night,
with his paying for hereafter,
to be rid of all his blight,
was a lunatic in waiting,
she was something of a tease,
she would spread her legs at dropping
of a man onto his knees.
Never faking her ******,
she would always let him know,
she could sense about his coming,
and was first to let it go.
With the sweating of her body
and the beating of her time,
she would take him to hereafter,
but to stay would be a crime.
In a little bit of wiping.
if he paid a little more,
she'd remind him of the reason
he'd come back again for more.
But the best part of hereafter,
in his smoking just a bit,
wasn't part of what he paid for,
so he left forgetting it.
© Vee Bdosa the Doylestown Poet aka Ron Wilson
If it was true
the promises you made me
all the love is faded
the promises you made
the ring you gave me
the "I love you forever"
was just a lie
now I blow out that smoke
from the cigarettes, you used to carry
You complained how bitter it tasted
But you loved how better she tasted
I gotta forget you
you were just some painful memory
but what am I without you
Stronger
Better
Tougher
Now I inhale and exhale
that bitter cigarette
has turned into a bittersweet
memory
oh dear sweet strawberry cigarette