Best Puff Of Smoke Poems
--Virginia Slim--
Different eyes, the same world
Ancient skin, dirty Indian Girl
Smokey, eyes, exotic raven hair
---Now listen to the colors, of transformation,
On the day she was born, the wind blew in,
A blessing ---her soul, fallen from the heavens
A gorgeous puff of smoke, Miss Virginia Slim
Able to walk the world with an open mind, she twirls
Pocahontas, one of her many names.
She carves, and climbs on trees, this little Indian Girl,
Her feathers ride with the wind, against her red titian skin
Daughter of Chief Powhatan, a powerful tribal, red man
Peace and love with the Indians of her Virginia Lands,
Many myths, many stories, maybe a mad woman,
A new Christian, living sad poverty, a silent hero,
Twisted tales, from savage green to ivory white religion
In her eyes, life never was about greed and skin
Her new look attained an altitude precision
Pocahontas tricked and captured,
Set to sail another tribe, lands were taken over,
Boat sailed out of Virginia Lands
Tribes acclaimed her to be wild and ambitious
"The naughty one," searching for admission
Native American child, before the princess,
Her beautiful soul, a short auspicious beginning
Leaving her world, beautiful and fearless
Forgetting her roots-- From Mother Willow's Vision
Pocahontas, the Indian Legend from, The Virginia Lands
by;PD
Here I am once more...smoking
..on the balcony of my dreams.
My heart’s beating gestures of love...pulsating,
...deserted in the darkness of lust.
Ardent thoughts conquer my mind,
While puffing circles of smoke in the midnight air,
Slowly...the smoke dissipates into the dim heavens.
Blindly...I ponder the silence of darkness,
As I gaze sightlessly...holding her in my dreams.
...with passionate...romantic strokes,
I’d softly caress her fears into oblivion,
Echoing my love...crumbling her walls of hurt.
A crimson sea...crashes onto my heart's shore.
Surging waves of yearning...ripple my flesh.
Mists of love...lace this fervent urge,
On a night...born from complete desolation.
...an endless craving...of savoring her salty taste.
She fades from my vivid dreams,
Like a puff of smoke in the midnight air.
While I helplessly sink...in the abyss of her absence.
She senses before she sees
The manicured nails - the elegant fingers
Holding out the hundred dollar bills - enticingly - so temptingly
A generous nights takings of busking here
In one proffered hand
She grabs at it petrified it might be an illusion
Evaporating in a puff of smoke
Fingers hold it back, teasingly
Compelling eye contact
She looks up sceptically
Dark eyes meet her aqua blues, sparking a sort of affinity
‘Eyes are the window of one’s soul’- so it is said in all sincerity
But the magnetic dark eyes of her enticer are fathomless in their intensity
His type she has encountered before - money for favours
Well she is no novice - a living after all - a girl has to make
And his generous offer rivals his devilish good looks
But she senses a darkness favouring the energy emanating
A cold shiver runs through her veins like someone just walked on her grave
Fear ripples down her spine akin to a stroking finger chilled in ice
The spell he casts foreboding
The calmness of the night has taken flight
In its haste to set the macabre scene
Mesmerising are the eyes that bore into hers
Projected thoughts furtively slip into her mind
Infiltrating it like a slithery snake
Bringing with it forbidden thoughts of desire
She falls into the inky black abyss
Succumbing to heady dark passionate conceptualization
However the chilling message is coherent
This is not a mere opportunistic one night stand
That he desires
This is more - so much more
This is taboo concupiscence unleashed
This is her life in exchange for what?
Her life for immortality?
Surely not!
Yet his eyes eloquently convey it all
The hunger so unconcealed - so transparently flagrant
To yield to darkness
Satisfying his appetite for
Death of a different nature?
Obliteration of life as she knows it to be
Tenebrous Immortality in exchange for her blood
A prelude to his finale of taking her soul
And then a metamorphosis
From Prey to Predator
Video clip -
Like a Vampire- Catrien Maxwell
Remember the story
of Billy Goats Gruff?
The troll under the bridge,
and all of that stuff?
If you liked that old story
it's all good and well,
but it isn't at all
the troll tale I will tell.
Now, Trolius Troll
was a timorous soul;
A more timid troll
you never shall see.
He lived in a hole
in the base of the bole,
(that is, the trunk)
of a turpentine tree.
Young Trolius Troll,
I ask you to note,
is a strict vegetarian;
he does not eat goat.
You might not believe me,
but, begging your pardon,
he eats only produce
from his vegetable garden.
One day, after harvesting
some of his crop,
with a basket of turnips,
with some carrots on top,
he strode up the path,
just as proud as could be,
toward his home in the trunk
of the turpentine tree.
Then, outside the door
of his pine tree abode,
was a sight that made
Trolius Troll drop his load.
There, with a chainsaw
and a double-bit ax,
stood a brawny, black bearded,
blue eyed lumberjack.
With his feet wide apart
on the green, grassy ground,
the lumberjack looked
the troll's tree up and down--
Then, laying the ax
on a moist, mossy bank,
he gave the saw's start rope
a sudden, sharp yank.
With a white puff of smoke
and an ear splitting sound,
the saw shattered the silence
for acres around.
The lumberjack stepped
to the tree's sturdy base
with a smile of delight
on his black-bearded face.
Then, the usually timorous
troll gave a shout,
and, pounding his chest,
he went leaping about.
With a wild snarl of rage
and a blood chilling wail,
the once timid Trolius
charged up the trail.
The brave lumberjack
was stricken with awe.
He turned from the tree,
and dropped the chain saw.
Through the ferns and the bushes
the tree feller ran.
and he never returned
to the forest again.
And so ends a story,
that some might find droll,
of a timid and timorous
tree dwelling troll.
But its message is clear,
it’s as clear as can be:
You may monkey about with Trolius, friend,
but you’d better not mess with his tree.
Form:
Standing looking across sweeping thoughts and hopes
alone crying into distant faraway hills and valleys
dreaming I saw before me a big white puff of smoke
Drifting low circling from out of chimneys pots high
slowly moving creeps inner vision dancing with me
candy floss happily towards the glen sweet aroma scent
Scenting turf fires the nostrils with wild scent upon air as
a sun melting her warm fingers into one's back soothing
pure in a baby blue clear sky setting, rising high feelings
Upon a cool caressing Autumn breeze Mother Nature
arrives with songbirds singing sweet clearly with echoes
and most beautiful tunes carried ever so gently in the air
Within a quite stillness silently whispers gasp and cry
splitting down the middle a teardrop falls always slowly
in love with this forever dream, and to the end sighs
Standing on the edge of a pretty crystal cool blue pond
while watching the presence of beautiful fairy elves
and their most wonderful laughs and smiles so ever true
Smelling the wonderful aroma of pure mountain air
with that assured feeling the all is fresh, crisp, real
and flowers, plants, and grass talking to one another
Dreaming many perfect dreams of mermaids sitting
grouped in a green water pool at the waterfall’s edge
and sensing their joy, beauty, laughter, and smiles
This is what dreams are made of as we sense and see
most wondrous things and objects of perfect symmetry
as we feel mountain rain and a most delicious soft wind
Mother Nature and her magical world of treasures and
such beauty indeed make all gods of centuries past and
present stand up and applaud graciously our Dreaming One
Gary Bateman and Liam McDaid – A Collaborated Poem,
Copyright © All Rights Reserved (November 20, 2014)
(Terza Rima in Unrhymed Tercet poetic format)
i imagined finding a bottle in the desert sea
all encased with jewels it mystified me
i open up the bottle
and out comes a puff of smoke
it swirled all around
but did not make me choke
then out of no where
a form began to appear
it was you, my jennie
popped up from nowhere
you are my magic jennie
with power to grant my every wish
you wait for my command
but truly i am thoughtless
you are my wish
and nothing else would do
when it comes to wishing
i have no more to do
you and nothing else would satisfy me
you and nothing else would compleat my dream
you and nothing else would i write into this scene
you and nothing else would i make my queen
thoughtless yet am i
to all material things
your presence is my answer
to my sweetest dreams
your beauty is my treasure
such a wonderous thing
your spirit is my light
to you i'll always cling
so here to you i'll say
and lets be on our way
you don't have to be a jennie
just be mine everyday
Dormant desires within derelict deserts’
Winds whispering of your selective stealth
Frozen fingers that chill the empty spaces
Longing for you a pacifier of thickened thorns
Discombobulation drives the day
Your mendacious love marooned on dusty dunes
Secluded silhouettes stranded
Mystifying mirages migrating
Only sacrificial shadows scream
Where your love mutates into a holographic hollow
Desolation within a Venus vacuum
An anemic vampire
Erotic deceptions dominate deflecting desires
Eruptive emotions have no place to tread
For your unfulfilling love, a puff of smoke
In a hellion hole.
Sept.10.2019
Sometimes love is not enough
Sponsored by: Silent One
Placed 2'nd & POTD...Thank You
A glass half-full of August pours its gold
on autumn's copper turning it to bronze.
The brittle Santa Ana gusts unfold
to rattle omens hidden in the fronds
that burst from trunks up high like absinthe flame
and singe October's turquoise-matted sky.
Each puff of smoke that dormant clouds became
has disappeared from desert's opal eye
as amber winds come shrieking from the east,
igniting saffron plumes among the brush
like raptor birds of paradise, a beast
awakened from a summer's verdant hush.
The crows in flight are ashes on the air
that scatter in the sunlight's molten glare.
Parted curtains
puff of smoke.
Parlor trick
or cruel joke?
First a bat,
then human form—
eyes aglow,
fangs enorm.
And in the mirror,
no image there;
it stilled my heart
and stifled prayer.
But Drac was old
and suffered so;
his timing off,
reactions slow.
As he lunged
I stepped aside;
mallet ready,
his chest I eyed.
He lay there stunned,
at last my break;
I then asked how
he’d like his stake.
2nd Place, Poems from the Vampire, Just That Archaic Poet
When we were nine
and yearning, outcasted
I did not understand the bruised
nature of your soul. Perhaps I
do not understand even now.
I remember
how I criticized you for the way
you sang "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star"
in your warbling baby voice
also how you were the only one
who ever acknowledged me.
I remember
how you lived with grandparents, aunts
instead of your methhead parents.
Your blonde hair. Your ugly clothes.
Freckles and a cheap brand of romanticism.
A picture of you and me, sixteen:
I remember
you used to say, "Call me Puff"
to all the dangerous boys; we once
crowded on a dirty mattress with four
other people passing bong for weed,
pipe for that toxic crystal Devil of
devils. I remember
you fed me cigarettes, cherry tomatoes
from your grandfather's garden.
A lightless smoky room full
of young and lonesome prisoners
of perpetuated misguided soul-searching--
I remember
how we savored our shared pain
like something holy. Godhead of
black magic and the violation
of innocence.
Today I
am torn of that chrysalis,
and I think sometimes of your soul
left there to stagnate
in the dark. Christina
I don't know how to say
any of this to you,
but when I remember how
you fed me cherry tomatoes
I think of your grandfather
finding you out, you were feeding
meth to your young teenaged sister
so she wouldn't care if your
boyfriend and all his friends
f***ed her.
I remember
feeling so much love for you (sister?)
when now your name compels in me
nothing but disgust--this disgust
which bruises my soul, Christina...
I never wanted to feel this.
I envy the dust, the way it moves all free and careless,
released from it’s sleeping state the thunderous pounds
of late shelling, again endless.
Muffled shouting, through this trench confounding,
Mustard attack, gas mask aside, fingers in fumbling fight
bitter cold night in a field.
No fireside, food to bite
cigarettes to smoke and mates to joke.
last one gone two days ago up one minute then vanished in a puff of smoke.
this place is beyond reality, it’s beyond insanity
fighting for earth no mother walked nor father built.
If they want to fight then bring it to my hills, not this flat wasteland of mud, blood, bones and chills.
We were thrown into this bloody war,
and we wont have our say, like we've never had before.
Taken to the slaughter history will say,
throwing ourselves forward like tidal-waves.
Waves on waves of sacrificial lunacy again and again.
we've taken little ground and this other trench looks bad, worse than ours
doesn't looked heavily manned looks like we lost more man.
What do we gain now? apart from more time in thought.
those withered layers of rotting feverish flesh, one part is fresh
the other pure dread.
captain is shouting, up on my legs
what’s going on...conscious or dead?
There are no more tests
Like Daniel, I stand with the rest
Though like Stephen I may be stoned
But I bet you I can't be cloned
But I am not about choke
Just because I have taken a toke
Now you know that was joke
As I blow out this puff of smoke
Moses was the one who said it best
As the words rattled from his chest
Then there was the one with the moral code
You know the patient one they called job
You can’t forget about Jonah and the whale
And his story is similar to my tale
Cause I am that guy with the pail
You know, the monotone angel who was in hell
Now, I am here to let you all out of jail
A place where I no longer dwell
And here is my story I tell
Pour, pour, pouring…dark fire will not avail
And they lived hoppily
The princess sat along a stream,
crying in the sun
Closed her eyes and dreamt a dream,
about the perfect one
For love had never come her way,
she longed for it so much
The tender words that he might say,
a gentle caring touch
When then a frog hopped into view,
a slimy little guy
He smiled and said, “How do you do?”
A twinkle in his eye
She frowned for she was feeling bad,
not real sure what to say
Then whispered, “I am kind of sad,
but how are you today?”
He croaked an answer quietly
“I’m sad like you, as well
A handsome prince I used to be
before that witch’s spell”
“But fear not, for it could be worse,
it’s not so bad like this
The only way to break the curse
is with a princess’ kiss”
She rolled her eyes at what he said
“You must think I am daft”
Then saw the crown upon his head
and stopped before she laughed
Perhaps what he had said was true
and this could be her chance
To end this feeling, oh so blue
with a new found romance
He looked at her, tears in his eyes
Then said in sorrowed voice
“Don’t worry, I’ll just eat some flies,
it’s totally your choice”
Oh what the hell, she thought a while
this chance I shall not miss
And then he saw her gorgeous smile
as she gave him a kiss
A puff of smoke, the brightest glare,
then something did explode
And though she once was seated there,
now sat a princess toad
He never could imagine this,
his wish had just come true
When she gave him another kiss,
she felt the same way too
They fell in love, a perfect dream,
as joy now filled their eyes
And spent their days along that stream,
together catching flies
And they lived hoppily ever…
Oh wait, is that a tadpole I see?
I guess they lived VERY hoppily ever after :)
Ok, you can roll your eyes now. :)
I met a little man up on The Green
On New Year’s Eve, and he was two foot two
With quite the reddest nose I’ve ever seen
And eyes as bright as summer skies are blue
‘What brings you here?’ I said. He laughed and lit
A pipe, inhaled a lot and blew a cloud
Of smoke that drifted up where pigeons sit
Up high between the Christmas Lights. ‘I’m proud
To say that I’m a Moonraker’ he said
‘And every New Year’s Eve I come and chat
To ducks, and to the drunks, and to the dead
And listen to the bells. Look, there’s a bat!’
I looked and so there was. ‘You’re very small’
I said. ‘Aye, so I am’ he said, ‘but wise
And being small means not so far to fall’
He winked at me. A twinkle in his eyes
Danced like a firefly. ‘And very old’
I said. ‘Aye, that as well’ he said, ‘but not
So old and bitter that my heart is cold’
He offered me his hip flask. ‘Have a tot’
‘I don’t’ I said, ‘but thank you.’ ‘Look, a cheese!’
He pointed. ‘In the water!’ ‘Isn’t that
The moon?’ I said. He laughed. A little breeze
Danced light across the Crammer and his hat
Fell off. He didn’t care. We watched it sink
Together as he sank another dram
Of moonshine. ‘Sure you didn’t want a drink?’
‘As eggs is eggs’ I said, ‘although I am
A little curious.’ ‘You wonder why
I’m here?’ ‘I do.’ ‘One question’s all you get’
‘One question?’ ‘Yes. Like why do people die
Why birds at all, or why is water wet?’
I asked him about twenty twenty one
He thought a moment. ‘Doesn’t do to be
Too curious’ he said. ‘Beneath the sun
Is nothing new. You’ll have to wait and see’
‘That’s it?’ ‘It is’ he chuckled. Midnight struck
St. James’s bells, and ‘Look!’ and then a swan
Did swim across the moon and then, ‘Good luck!’
He cried, and in a puff of smoke, was gone
I sat there for a bit. A little weird
But then it is Devizes. Nothing new
He came along, and then he disappeared
As all the years are predisposed to do
Then I went home to bed. And when I woke
The sun was up, I made a cup of tea
And wrote down every word that he had spoke
‘Is nothing new. You’ll have to wait and see...’
© Gail Foster 30th December 2020
Gun in the closet,
One in the drawer,
One under the pillow,
Does he need any more?
Scotch on the bar,
Jealousy on the mind
Can take you too far...
Your fate can be signed...
A loud bang,
A jolt,
A puff of smoke,
Gone is Beauty
In one sad stroke...
The Devil helped
Pull the trigger,
Why?
Cause he loves
To make Good People die...
There is no way
I could live with this...
I'll hunt him down
If the law is remiss...
I won't need,
a gun or a knife
For me to take
this bastard's life
He's made us pay
The ultimate price
For you, your life,
To him, just a wife...
To me he killed
Both Love and Hope
And when I find him
Should he grope
For his gun
He will find
My hand has shoved
His nose
Into his mind...
I'll break it first
for extra pain,
My vengeance will
Never be sated
For my prayer of hope
Is now in vain.