Best Smokers Poems
Die Hard Smokers And Taxes
Die hard smokers, by the thousands countrywide, they rightly feel a bit abused…
Ouch! A latest 40% hike in price for a ciggie pack, they are definitely not amused…
Now is the time, they should be encouraged to rethink over their preference …
With rising costs, each ciggie stick costs a bomb, and financially makes a difference..
Some might swallow their pride and make e cigarettes their latest passion….
Others just might take one last long pull, called it quits as they exhale their pollution…
Those die hards who swagger on with their now expensive habits as a form of rebellion…
Are mistaken in their perception that this habit is identified with resilient and successful people..
Here in Malaysia, we are going through pretty hard times, with a new service tax and a weak ringgit..
To a man, everyone tries to hold fast to each lifestyle by stretching the buying power of the ringgit..
It makes little sense for any sane man to be literally burning the ringgit with each lighted cigarette…
During these days of weakened ringgit, it is the prudent man who does away with his cigarettes…
While the poor spouse who nags with impatience, puts up with all the tobacco scent and smoke…
Imagine the anguish and frustration amidst the coughing fits and the perpectual swirling smoke…
Horrific images on ciggie packs are not a good deterrent, those who smoke hardly spare a look…
All types of campaigns, written articles detailing a plethoria of illnesses and diseases by the book…
What else is there to portray and highlight as we try convincing our smoke belching brothers…
Reduce smoking, refresh the environment and we all get to live longer together as brothers…
so tired of this life i lead
forget when i wrap up the weed
i light it up. smoke
but this is a joke
serenity is what i need
Running,panting,sweating blood,
my chests a river and a bleeding flood.
Cursing,ripping, this beating heart,
how it hates to be torn apart.
The racing drum within my chest,
calls to halt this violent test.
Lungs are black,and engine broke,
no more strength is left to yoke.
Simply now there was a pause,
hold your tongue and find the cause.
My fault alone,by my own hand,
I broke apart this one man band.
In the corners where the smokers smoke,
A rainy day on beale street for music folks.
They claim they don't remember a thing under the green smoke.
Trying to hide the moments of their joy.
Days when the smokers were innocent boys.
They said they grew up
With Cuban cigars
And were raised by men with 17 scars.
They had their dreams back then,
But they now ride their motorcycles into oblivion,
Getting far away from themselves as they can.
A man with tinted sunglasses like a doubled edge sword,
Black shiny metal clothing with a blue bandanna.
Walking into club 152 with a girl named Diana.
Cigarettes scattered over the club floor,
Alcohol and rock and roll music roar,
This is a saturday night on Beale street for a smoker,
Watch out - the cards are on the table and theres the joker.
Man with the leather jacket swore his last breath
Would not be in vain,
Said he would never board deaths train.
Because the vodka whispered he could be invincible,
But cruel cruel was its bite
Which laid down his head that night.
Betrayed by booze,
Dizzily a swoon.
The sickness enters your mouth and your lips wrap around the smoky filter,
You light your lighter and spark the sickness than feel the jitter.
You inhale the sickness and exhale your life,
The smoke travels into the air and feel your life's cries.
As you hold your death in your mouth, the smoke travels all around your face,
Huging every corner of the masterpiece that God has embraced.
It cooks your skin and burns your lungs, you know that but still do it to be proud,
Be proud that once your done killing your self your troubles will go unfound.
Now your head is buzzing and swimming in a cloud of smoke,
Making you and teasing you to take another toke.
You follow its every command and do as your told,
You are a slave now of a demon that commands you all so bold.
Attention smokers – come on down!
We’ve got vaccines for you!
Just push those older folk aside
And front-line workers, too.
Like cancer patients, you deserve
To jump the Pfizer lines;
Ignore those teachers waiting,
With their “We should come first” whines.
So what if you brought on yourselves
The damage to your lungs?
You need the shots because of it –
Ignore those wagging tongues.
Please thank New Jersey’s leader
For he’s moved you up the list
Despite so many left behind
Who are, quite rightly, pissed.
Stop! I can't breathe, you have me caught,
Darth Vader's grasp, a battle I never sought.
My lungs are squeezing, a vice made of despair,
Suffocating whispers in a toxic air.
Why should I suffer, why should I choke,
Paying for the habits of your smoky cloak?
Each breath a struggle, each moment a crime,
I glimpse my tomb long before my time.
Stop! I can't breathe, you’re shrouded in mist,
Your addiction’s embrace, an unforgiving twist.
When I was younger, I had no choice,
A silent witness, with my muffled voice.
Do you know that your clouds seek me out?
No matter the distance, there's no escaping doubt.
With each exhale, I feel my spirit wane,
Your pleasure is killing me, feeding the pain.
So please, just stop it, can’t you see it too?
You’re wrapped in a vice, and it’s choking you.
Together we’re lost in this pit of despair,
Let’s fight through the darkness, let’s breathe in fresh air.
. SINNER OR SAINT
Sitting at the back pew in church,
I looked to the front and beheld a familiar figure,
Is it not the drunkard of Miles street?
Is it not the smoker of all types?
He was in queue for the holy eucharist,
And his gaze fixed to the cross in the altar,
I contemplated "is he a sinner or saint"?
Let our Heavenly Father judge.
ANYABOLU IFEANYI DOMINION GENTLE
(07061816037)..
smokers
human relics
societal outcasts
banished to secluded islands
misfits
What could they be all about?
I'd tell you: For what we'd scout,
When our passions for them shout.
What groups cannot do without;
Once one neglects each a flout...
Cash crop farms say fertile lands,
The Builder Mason Good Sands,
Marching-to-War Soldiers: bands,
The Ring Fighter: two hands,
All Seasoned Smokers: their brands,
Newspaper Vendors: news-stands.
Book of Records: What is grand,
South Africa, now: The Rand.
Loitering outside
Complaining about work
To no one in particular
Cigarettes dangling in hand
Slowly burning
One breath at a time.
Just one puff
I hug my feelings of
Holding you on my
Lips and take just
One puff..... My dear
With love all
Jagdish bajantri
Cigarette Smokers
In a world tainted by pollution and smog you're adding to the problem
Please don't think for a second that electric cigarettes will solve them
Cigarettes wouldn't be half bad if they just took the smoker out
It isn't fair that it kills those who wouldn't put one to their mouth
Parents smoke but would brake out in a rage if their children tried
What if each pack kept up with the growing number who died
Each smoker fails to realize what they smell and look like
The x-rays of their lungs to the doctors must be a horrible sight
They should ask themselves if this nasty habit is worth dying over
Are they recognizing with each puff their calling death much closer
What ingredients makes up the tobacco anyway
I heard rat poison makes up some of it so is that ok
Who's worse, neighborhood drug dealers or the tobacco company
They both make money from the lives they take if you're asking me
cursed wraps wielding
callous contractions clustering
saucy smokes smoldering
taunted anger tuning
rustic route rustling
felon feelings fostering
unbridled opening undoing
pulsing passage renting
vying passion puking
punctured veins shrinking
like nature's thrill
when tattered's fiery
callous system's chaos
blackout, ballistic war.
20:01:14:01:46
Note: What's left of a smoker. What a smoker becomes. Inspired by a picture.
SMOKERS CAUTIONARY TALE
In the haze of smoke, a cautionary tale,
I weave a poem of the cigarette's trail.
A tale of danger lurking in the ember's glow,
Of the destructive nature we all should know.
Behold the allure of the slender stick,
Burning down from head to toe in a eye's blink
With promises of relief & eradication of grief,
But makes a long narrative precise and brief.
From the first inhalation, it whispers lies,
Seducing souls, leading them to demise.
Oh, cigarette, what havoc you wreak,
Even the smoke puffed says "what the heck?"
Your fiery touch, so deceptively sleek.
Your cloudy breeze intoxicates as a poisoned drink.
Within your grasp, addiction starts to bloom,
A tangled web enshrouding senses to their doom
And encapsulating souls while consuming the room.
Through wisps of smoke, health begins to fade,
Lungs laboring, burdened by your charade.
A toxic dance that won't last, they gasp for air,
As life's vitality diminishes with each puff's snare.
From lips to lungs, destruction takes hold,
A sinister fire, consuming & knocking you out cold.
Can't you see, dear smoker, the cost is too high?
In each inhale, a part of you withers, oh, my!
The tendrils of smoke, they coil and twist,
Ensnaring hearts, causing lungs to resist.
Oh, cigarette, you blinded so many not to see,
Until they experience the might of life's fragility.
My friend, don't puff and pass nor share
But heed my words and don't despair,
It's never too late to breathe in fresh air.
Break free, reclaim the life you hold dear,
For dangers await when cigarettes draw near.
In the battle against this risky foe,
Empower yourself, and let the habit go.
Embrace a life without smoke's deadly allure,
And let your vibrant spirit be forever pure.
VICK MANUEL POETRY {VMP}
FORM: Rhymes
Copyright ©? December 2023.