Mostly an oddball was Magritte
here however a portrait sweet
Usually & reputably so surreal
this 'cig girl' is so so real
Belgian Rene Magritte
whose paintings were so neat
Full of stilled enigmatic
in scenesso idiosyncratic
Rene Magritte so surrealiste
was also a moraliste
His art as a dream
never reveal what they dream
Renee Magritte,an enigma in a bowler hat
I wonder what we should make of that
perhaps they are his alter ego
he never said so we'll never know
so
banal
yet
deadpan
absurd
clashing
symbols
heard
in
the eye
where
imagery
is
all
Trigger Warning:
This poem contains themes of toxic relationships, manipulation, emotional abuse, and references to suicidal threats. Please read with care.
I am too alive to die,
But too dead to live
Meeting you was a slow burn,
Like a burn given by cig.
Started with breaking friendships,
And then you hated to see—
simple dinners with family,
Me just trying to be.
"I want you to myself"
"You don't give me enough time"
"I'll kill myself if you ignore."
"You better stay in line."
I didn't want anyone to hurt,
So I always complied.
You quoted this was love,
And I believed your lies.
It has become the past now,
And I know it wasn't love.
But the bitter taste still lingers
And it stays like ash in my lungs.
It is a teamwork type of thing-
Ringing the bell so well
The next mashup of a maxed out bashing of an over flowing cup of mountain water upstream-
Kings the next castling on the other side of the ring
Ding-ding
Back for more “bling, bling!”
Onion rings on the side, pretty please!
Watch how my truck sings as it revs up after a mental rental goes caching ching
Just saying...
Lying, laying, slaying & spraying-
Weighed in like Jayda- WILL SMITH I "lit" my cig-
was fuzzy wuzzy big?
Failed Trigonometry
Sold Origami
My salami
Is like " Salam Aleiki"
Hate me please
It could be a breeze
I am NOT on my knees
Please
Jeez!
Go TX!
I dragged this cig, my brain went far gaga,
The same cigarette brand that brought me joy;
A puff, and I slipped into a pooh-Bah,
One short drag became enough to destroy.
My legs wobbled, the world around me spun,
I heaved heavily, yet relief slept still;
The fun I sought had never yet begun,
In its stead, I commenced a mental drill.
As I puffed a new cig to chase a fad,
Deeper curiosity did arouse.
How can a mere cigar torture so bad,
A dream taught me the thought in intense drowse.
Later I learned the cig was laced with crack~
The closest I came being a junkie;
That pal later picked madness in bump's track,
Why I never became a crack flunkey.
She was incognito, so I pretended not to recognize her that day.
It was the little female turtle who lived down in Oyster Bay.
As a disguise she was wearing round granny glasses and a pink wig.
I avoided her eyes, so she could feel safe smoking on her cig.
I don't like anyone, especially you.
Some are still up in the clouds, next to you.
My eyes avert you, down on my knees
Drink till I ache, ditsy-stole
knock on the red door
I don't even like you,
against the wall
I kiss you until our lips are bruised
No-"take a shot"
"Just one more"
Isn't that what you came here for?
I see a face in the window
Stranger in the mirror
it is just a cig
drunk dance on the roof-
with you.
I thought I didn't like you
you're on my
your body sinks around mine:
places it doesn't belong.
I wish I didn't like it.
I wish it wasn't you.
Persnickety pig, persnickety pig
Would you like to smoke a favorite cig?
Cancer chances are amazingly big
He is being tempted by his cousin Quig
How about alcohol? Please take a swig.
Come here, persnickety pig, don’t be a prig.
Person who added this was his cousin Zig
For this cousin PP did not give a fig.
Zig thought this was funny, he danced a jig
Loud snapping noises, he had stepped on a twig
Persnickety pig, persnickety pig
Where is your mud? I have a need to dig.
I think his iris is timid in sight,
Find him his cig, its light.
Its lit tip is in its crib,
I did right to fight with his timid skin in sight.
Sight this lid, I dig, I did.
His nick is with him in his crib,
I hit his crib with him with light.
It is in rid if its rig, I didn’t dig, I didn’t.
Light is sick.
Whip is sick.
Nick is light.
His is right.
I’m in with his right,
With its light in his crib.
Big, big, big hits is right by light.
Lid, lid, lid,
I’m with this crib.
On a whim a black lab waited
where other people do.
At a bus stop man created,
he smoked a cig too.
His paws outstretched ready to pounce
onto the shuttle of spluttering fumes.
He'd ran away and this was his last chance
to leave the humans painless; still humming their tunes.
This bus would take him to fields of squirrels
To an old friend he had played poker with
Where the loquacious woodpecker always trills
He'd have to do all this before his joints got stiff
Staying close to strangers legs,
He lifts one paw on.
The sight of his owners, he begs:
Will you please be gone?
I am dying, you cannot see,
you must not see ever.
You'll forget the posh afternoon tea.
Those traipsing, frolicking memories lost forever.
It's easier if you let me step on this bus,
Wave goodbye.
I'm still not sure what that does
but I know you'll always try.
Ears floppy, mouth drooling; sometimes I wish I'd played ball a bit more.
Eyes gloomy, paws aching; those times were never a bore.
One of soft summer evenings is fading and passers go by
Cappuccino in hand and a cig, you relax in delight
Sick and happy you sit, and it must be your favorite style
Or at least that's the way I remember the terrace at night
I'm a Don Quixote's sword, broken down to pieces in hopeless attack
You're a daughter of time from a windmill of fair solitude
We touched on some topics but the one most essential we lack
But we smoked it together, when silence was looking quite good
Cappuccinos and smiles jumbled up in cubistic galore
All our sorries and thank you’s swirl rounds, dancing over the mall
Sudden windflaw blows off paper tissues, and slams the back door
Time to go, leaving crumbles and ash, I bet you’ve said it all.
Changes, for the sake of nation!
Better take it as a child
Takes new toy, in pure elation
Happy with its childish mind
What was settled, gone forever
Reconstructed for a change
All that looked a bit too clever
Challenging the present age
No more compromise with these
No more aids for the backwarded
Stuff more wars, and talk of peace
Changing times, we’re all rewarded
Yer olde habits will die easy
Stimulated by the law
Cig in hand, we looked so cheesy
Stamp it out, and puff no more
Changes come from outer space
Like a virus, most contagious
They derange us all to waste
Changes, for the sake of changes…
Once I joined that club for fun
Changed my mind, and changed my plan
No one noticed things I’ve done
So I changed them back again.
For a St Patty’s day jig I need a pink pig.
His dog was irritated. His name was Quig.
I can dance a jig, just give me a swig.
His master shook his head, off popped his wig.
I need a jazzy curly-tailed dancer, he said to Quig.
The only one good enough will have to be a pig.
I can dance any way you want; I can do a jig!
I can zag, I can sashay, I can slide, and I can zig
His master took another swig of his cig.
Your ideas are admirable, your loyalty is big.
You go take the test for me tomorrow in trig.
I will be finding a pig to dance the Irish jig.
A Florida Man was in court
defending an arson report.
A lawyer for hire,
his pants caught on fire;
at least he now understands tort.
Denying the arson attack,
he need not be bothered with facts.
His extemporaneous:
the car burst spontaneous,
like his e-cig battery pack.
—————
A Florida lawyer was in court defending his client against an arson charge by suggesting the car spontaneously caught fire, when the e-cigarette battery pack in the lawyer’s pant shorted and set his pants on fire…
Time took a running start and kicked me in the back
Breaking my C-2 Vertebrae. No biggie.
I have had worse. I take a swig on my cig.
Neck brace? Sure. Why not?
Time slams a Chevy into the back of my car.
Breaking numbers six and seven in my back.
Time is kicking my ass this month I guess.
Luckily, my neck is already broken, so win-win for me.
Time gives me osteoporosis and shingles.
Two things I never realized I needed.
The benefits and joys of being seventy.
Come get me time. Give me your next best shot.
The wind serpentines my hood against my cheek
the embers of my half smoked cig jettison
the greyed darkness in a flurry
brushing the collar and shoulder
to remove the silencing ash
shivering in the winds cold touch
the friction heat of my rubbing
hands offering little respite
and then the kiss of rainclouds
first born
Staring at a slowly fading facade
of an aquine moon
as the wind mounts its attack
on the whisping clouds
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