Long Cigarettes Poems
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"Life is a succession of lessons which must be lived to be understood."
Ralph Waldo Emerson
In this performance we call life,
my spirit searches for an interlude of peace.
My poetic mind riots consumed by rhymes,
savaging our memories of grieving beliefs.
I'm a soul rasping winter's woeful wings,
afraid I'll become a poet who ink will forget.
I'm trapped in the desert of dejected demons,
wandering in aching avenues of dreams,
forgotten in ferocious frozen vine's of time,
surrounded by meadows of blood poppies,
Season of death is a cursed caricature of memories,
full of salty tears, bitter goodbyes with spiteful sentiments.
Let me sleep in the synchronicity of angels,
as ebony horizons drift into darkness.
When crimson clouds bleed to paint the sky,
I scream at silent scarlet skies,
as black rain from a dark storm plunders.
Like acid burning my metaphorical paper wings,
I float like a butterfly cursed by moths of deceit,
as hope dances dangerously with my malevolent muse -
grace and hellfire waltz with my heart's chambers.
I can't help but remember last November,
when death clung to the air around me,
as answers we found turned into a designated dead end.
In delirious desires of deathless shadows,
I still see your daggers and cigarettes in a charcoal silhouette,
with your every breath laced with guilt.
Yet, the ghost of your voice lulls me to sleep,
as the silence crawls along the walls at night.
Who are we to judge who is a sinner or a saint.
I wonder if you will walk down the stairs of heaven,
hold me in all my fragility, remind me of childlike charms,
or will rebellious regrets open the gates of hell.
I scream at the Grim Reaper to take my soul,
ravage me, before I go,
but put a white veil on my corpse,
so each night when I visit my grave,
provocative eyes with loose desires,
can feel the wind beneath my sails.
But, gift me one more midnight,
to create my final masterpiece to paint my dreams,
carved with marble white ink,
engulfed in sentimental verses -
for this is poetry, formless suppressed speech.
One day our quill will eternally slumber,
as our conscience passes from poetry to dust.
In the plight of adversity, only I, truly know,
that stars speak stories how simple words were not enough,
as truth only prevails through poetic justice.
There seems to be silence within the serene night,
yet those indoors have eternal cries of unspoken fright.
One man drowns in chocolate, shamefully eying his hips,
as the woman next door kisses the hundredth man’s lips.
Two floors below, one screams out in pain,
as fatal anger has won the game.
The killer, shadowed, makes no remark,
but watches the blood flow, immersed in his soul of eternal dark.
Three doors across, an elderly man sits, rejected and broke,
hiding his face with tendrils of smoke.
His trusty cigarettes always at the ready,
when his finances where never steady.
Another flight down, a woman drowns in her agony sip by sip,
her life seems to slip by like a commercial blip.
Yet all she can think
is that her marriage is on the brink.
Before she fades into the night of another day,
all she remembers is throwing her wedding ring away.
Traveling down to the ground floor,
the troubles seem to equal more.
A woman tosses about in her anxious bed,
while her worries do pirouettes in her head.
Try to let the past and present go,
but the future looms like a horror show.
Outside, in the darkness, a piercing light shines
as a moth flutters by, on the still air it climbs.
It seems this beacon, as bright as the sun,
new hope has just begun.
The moth bangs itself against the glass,
trying to reach glory at last.
Yet no matter how much its antennae bend,
or wings grow fragile and not able to mend,
it seems like the only thing to do
to deal with its feelings, old and new.
Until it steps back and looks at the light
realizing that harming itself won’t set anything right.
With the last of its strength, ending its plight,
the moth flies off into the night.
At this moment, the man decides to rid his house of fat-packed glory,
as the woman on the ground floor takes a deep breath, changing her story.
The killer at large turns himself in,
the end to his years of sin.
The woman pours the bottles of wine down the drain,
finally she can remember her name.
The elderly man exhales his last puff of smoke,
the grueling memories no longer prod and poke.
And the woman kissing her hundredth man
lets him go, heart no longer sinking in deadly quicksand.
The light of dawn finally breaks,
and the darkness of the mind no longer takes
away from the people’s lives
as the light of hope is now by their sides.
Seven Mossad Agents came to Norway a winter day
when a snow drowns the needs of the homeless
asleep in a shop's doorway absorbing the sarcastic smell
of coffee and the aroma of a Napoleon cream cake.
Their mission was to assassinate a man called a terrorist
by them, but freedom fighters by others.
The target had been located, a man of 47 bearded, with
prematurely gray hair, Semitic features, and a nose somewhat bigger than what is the norm in a Nordic land
He works as a waiter at a cafe, and take the bus home
a quarter past ten in the evening, to his bed-sit, about ten minutes ride from the town.
The group needed two taxis to take them to a hotel called, “Larsen's ski lodge” a pleasant little place with
modern IKEA furniture, giving rooms an airy ambiance
the group went to work at once, the leader carrying a
heavy mobile phone, trying to make contact to base, one presumes an embassy, but failed.
One of the women donned a blond wig, walked to the cafe to be sure their target was there
a quarter past ten two men entered the bus, one of them
who spoke a few word in Swedish, asked for two ticket to Husly which was the lat stop before the bur turned around and back to town
when the “terrorist” alighted the bus the two assassins followed.
No point going into details here, but they got their man
and hid his body in a snow drift.
Cooley, they stood by the stop to catch the bus on its return trip, smoking cigarettes of a foreign brand oblivious eyes saw them at the bus stop
The assassins had overlooked one thing, the man had a girlfriend and when he didn't appeared as usual she went out looking for him with the help of neighbors
Her boyfriend was found in the snowdrift
the police quickly knew what they were dealing with
but since they, the local police were not armed, they waited for reinforcement, when in the morning the assassin group came out to go to the railways station
the group were arrested.
Then the bomb dropped, they had murdered the wrong man, another Arab, they quickly insinuated was a terrorist too, what else was he doing in Norway
The court case took a long time, one of the prosecutors
fell in love with the woman with a fake wig, tried to
say she was an innocent bystander, it didn't wash
the case dragged on, in the end, and since the holocaust
was invoked, the guilty only got a few years.
I hold your hand,
Look into your eyes.
I see fear there.
You don’t want to die.
I watch you breathe in.
I watch you breathe out.
My entire world is trapped in plastic.
I’m surrounded by the sound of oxygen machines.
I watch as you breathe your last.
I wish for you to fly high.
Yet another one gone.
Somebody’s grandmother.
Somebody’s mother.
The people around me,
All huddled together,
Praying that they’re not the next one to go.
All we do now is wash our hands.
We shield our faces.
What are we really shielding our faces from?
It misses its target and hits me right dead in the heart.
We’re not really protected from anything.
It all starts with the simple sniffles.
It travels into the chest.
No one dares set foot outside anymore.
I can no longer hear your voice.
You no longer scold me.
I miss you now.
I can’t help but to feel sadness.
You’re gone.
You’re no longer living here.
I’ll always have you engraved in my heart.
Here I go once again.
Yet another one is dead and gone.
Please, don’t struggle anymore.
Please, rest in peace.
I’ll hold your hand until the very end.
Please, never let go.
I’ll wipe away all the tears.
I’ll stand strong amidst this sorrow.
There goes somebody’s grandfather,
Somebody’s father.
It’s somebody’s reason for being.
I’ll fake a smile,
Walk through these tragic hallways.
Yet one more gone.
They’ve all left me behind.
They’ve all given their lives to someone like me.
I hold their memories close to my heart.
Who knew a simple sniffle could kill?
When will I wake from this nightmare?
Your warmth slowly slips away.
Your grip slowly loosens.
The light in your eyes fades.
Man, I feel old!
There’s nothing I can do.
I’ll just make your final moments comfortable.
All hope is gone.
Dread has taken homage in my heart.
It’s time to get drunk.
It’s time to think about life and death.
It’s the same every day and every night.
This is our new normal.
Someone’s always breathing their final breaths.
There’s nothing I can do.
Just be there.
Just hold your hand.
Nothing’s changing.
I’m chasing after hope.
Running on caffeine and cigarettes.
There’s no getting over these emotions.
Let’s disappear into isolation.
Depression and anxiety galore!
No one to hold my hand.
No one to comfort me.
No one to tell me that everything will be okay.
I
A queue to a doorway
No-one knows what´s
On sale there
It could be washing powder
Almonds or diamonds
You think this was some
Yesterday
Look out your
Ghost smeared
Window
This is now
II
Throw stones at the
Motorcade
The pin pricked
Giant will barely
Pause
At banners & petitions
Faded pendants
Worthless paper
Riding out for a
Losing battle
Looking to a broken sky
For some Mon´s Angel
Less an army
More a mob
To the castle!
To the castle!
With flaming
Molotov
You awake in darkness
Hopeful
So many crusades
Begin in dreams
III
Tobolski late summer
With blankets for curtains
Tapestry dust
Stirred into
Koptyski forest soil
The former holy
The highest
Dragged
Splintered
Made human
Or less
IV
Each new dawning day
Spins us up to escape velocity
To be spat out to unthinking stars
Made passive by the weight of reason & history
We stare out into the rain
Believing wolves rule beyond the clearing
Elsewhere there is dancing
Cruise ships leave a wake of
Halved grapefruits
Shirts and skirts worn once
Gilded, seamless they glide
Oblivious to the hidden knife
The newspaper wrapped revolver
Passed under the café table
At the platform´s edge
All are equal to the justice
Of the approaching train
V
Red Emma
Red Emma
Won´t you send Berkman over
With a satchel full
Of dynamite
On a Chicago bound
Train
VI
Part six
In which
I dig a hole
To bury past dreams
And convictions
I brain-grew
At a factory lathe
Always knowing
There was escape
A high window climb
And as any fool knows
The fresh-turned soil
Of any deep hole
Can be easy seen
From the public road
VII
My advice to you
Young devil-cared rebel
Why don´t you climb on the roof
While your parents are sleeping
Try & flag down a passing
Black star liner
The busted sewer pipe
Has flooded the basement
Wet pages spin like lily pads
Stashed furniture corpse-bloats
Full boxes mush-mold
Time is tight
Young devil-cared pilgrim
Take with you only
What your pockets can hold
VIII
Among the defeated
Slack faces on rusted fairground rides
Among the defeated
Eating smoke rain mocked
Among the defeated
Careless cigarettes burn umbrella holes
Among the defeated
Landlocked padlocked frozen out
IX
Don´t
try a handstand
Your coins will
Fall out
X
Under the tar
The chariot ruts
A Golem
Is stirring.
She sprinted through a rugged woods
Away from free loading fathers and filthy no-goods,
Away from tear soaked teddy bears and lungs filled with smoke.
She found herself unmoving, crying in the arms of a weeping willow oak.
She is what remains of a fractured household,
A rotten tapestry of liquor stains, bruised bodies, and secrets untold.
She imagined what lied beyond the waterfall of misery that cascaded infinitely over her,
For she was stuck observing the world in a melancholy blur
Her blistered ankles fell weak and she crumpled towards the ground,
Peering up at a glistering light that left her wonderstruck, spellbound
She made out the shape of a body descending from above
They gazed at each other, her eyes as doleful as a mourning dove
He whispered in her ear as softly as the whistling wind,
Leaving her once perpetually dark world seeming only to be dimmed
He held out his hand to her and urged her to run away
To a place called Neverland, a world where all somber thoughts are kept at bay.
Though it seemed of her to be giving in to her broken mentality,
She longed for an escape from pain and poison personality.
As they floated above her home town,
She suddenly couldn't hear bottles shattering or doors breaking down.
She felt the pain lift from her small frame,
And the inferno of sadness that burned interminably was but a flickering flame.
They sailed across the second star to the right and flew straight on ‘till morning
She hadn't prepared for the wondrous sight before her that came with no warning
She broke through clouds that brushed her face with cotton candy kisses,
The world of true happiness and ephemeral sunshine was once real only in her wishes.
It was in the land of everlasting childhood that she was freed of all regrets,
And she held flowers between her fingers instead of cigarettes
Her face was flushed with shades of pink instead of black and blue,
And she decided it was time to write her story anew.
That night she traded her tattered nightgown for rags and a dirty fur coat,
She chose put her past in a bottle and set it afloat.
In that moment she could feel her true identity come unbound,
They called her Lost Girl, but in that moment she never felt more found.
Take The Dagger From My Heart, Please -2- Poetry Contest
N/A- 100 in a ROW contest--15 9/24/16
I saw in his eyes that a life had been beaten away.
The cigarettes smoked, the shaking hand. A young
man he is but youth had been stripped away. Replaced
by a fierce, trained killer, a calm man he was, well
spoken and polite but kill me he would have if the
order was right.
They train them so hard to defend you and me. But
it's not training I see in his eyes. It's not fear, it's
not lies. A man experienced in what he'd fought
through, we can not comprehend the effect on the
mind that would do. Cold eyes with a smile, with
a shake of the hand. In complete awe I was as he
explained it first hand.
The memory of battle was so evidently raw. I listened,
I listened hard to what he had to say. It moved me to
tears later that day.
With a respect I had not given to any other man, I made
damn sure he knew that he had mine when I said thanks
and shook his hand. On behalf of me and my wife, I said
thanks to a man who had given all that he had, to defend
our way of life.
For this was his belief, he saw it as his calling. To be a
shield between us and terrorists, to be the brave, to
fight for people who can't fight, to be true, to walk into
hell and to fight for me and for you.
A hero he is and will always be. Though humble and
refrained, smoking that cigarette in the rain, carrying
pain as he moved forward with his life. I could see the
battle scars there like they'd just been cut with a knife.
Though so young in age, an elite combat soldier he had
been. Seen things a young mind should never have seen?
It wasn't glory, nor praise wanted by him now. Remembering
his friends dying in such pain, such sacrifice paid for us now.
What made him well-up, what made him speak to me was
hearing the simplest word that all soldiers seek. 'Thanks'.
That's not much for me to say. But him knowing that it was
heartfelt when I said it made him see that their sacrifice
was not in vein.
When I think it's hard living day to day, I will remember
this poem and what is has to say. I will remember the young
man who I met in the cold, with his weary eyes and say
thanks to him again for being so bold. Remember what he
stood for, for what his youth and his friends had died for.
When the embers of their fires finally die, the memories of
a soldier's war will never lie.
I am not a politician
I have very little interest for politics
Reminiscing on Diddy’s vote or die campaign
Rallying behind Senator John Kerry Wishing I were old enough to vote
My how things have changed
Obama’s groundbreaking history was scarecrow
No brainer enticed me/I had to cast a ballot
I am still not a politician/I have very little interest for politics
Ruled by Caucasian Republicans and house niggas
Who don’t care about helping the poor
Or restoring a nation/ That seen the horrors of 9/11
Troops who went to war and never returned home
An economy that has knocked down
Some who were atop the financial ladder
To paper or plastic/Cheese with that whopper
Foodstamps and free Medicare benefits
Naive in a way when it comes to our leaders presidency
But I’ve seen the effort Healthcare among other bills
Met by Congress with resilience
A potential government shutdown that threatened
To send us to a modern day great depression
Insults being thrown at the first lady/Quicker than Randy Johnson’s fastball
But hey I’m still not a politician/I have very little interest for politics
Politics that haven’t seem to get past/ Obamas brown skin
The fact that the man be balling/Like he Jim Jones
Tinted lips from blazing Newport cigarettes and herbs Im sure
He is too much of a nigga /And they hate that ****
But what I think they hate the most/Is he's a polished nigga
With a Harvard degree, articulates well
And as Katt Williams so eloquently put it/He has no baby mama drama
He deserves the respect of his colleagues
**** it that he's swagged out like ya favorite rapper
Wears skinny suits and has a strut/
That puts Eva, Tyra, and Naomi to shame
He's a boss, Rick Ross
See this is why Im not a politician
I have very little interest for politics/Rather Im politically correct
Or politically incorrect/Never said I was a politician
My interest for politics lies in the lines of this poem/
Swaggarack capturing America's #1 terrorist
Left him deceased/On that Donald Trump they wanna see a death certificate
Spoof video, you wasn’t messing with Barack's Dougie
No way can I be interested in corrupt politics
Stomaching politicians with no morals
Reiterating again I will never be a politician
And despite my rundown of unjust riddles
I still have very little interest for politics
He made no move at all
As the alarm clock went off.
But ten minutes later,
It was obvious he was awake.
He lifted himself out of bed
And went towards the bathroom.
He shaved himself
With a Gillette Techmatic
After having sploshed himself
With a double handful
Of icy cold water.
He washed again, dried his face,
Put on some Monsieur de Gauviche
And got dressed.
He wore a Brutus shirt,
A Tonik suit and a pair of
Shiny brown boots.
He was six foot two,
And he smoked sixty Players
Medium Navy Cut cigarettes
A day, and he lit each one
With a Ronson lighter.
His name was Titus Hardin,
And he had the biggest
Wardrobe in London.
He was a fair-haired man
And very good-looking.
He was thirty two years old
And a bachelor,
And lived near Richmond, Surrey.
He was immaculate,
Wore long sideboards
And a long moustache,
And his hair was shortish
And well-combed.
His shirt was light blue,
And he wore a dark blue tie.
He wore two rings on each hand.
He washed himself
After his usual breakfast
Of toast, black coffee and health pills.
He cleaned his teeth thoroughly,
Put some more cologne on,
And then went to do
His isometrics.
His name was Titus Hardin,
And he had the biggest
Wardrobe in London.
He was born in London in 1940.
He went to Eton and Oxford,
Had taught at Oxford for eight years
But was sacked.
He had been an Oxford Rowing Blue,
And got a degree in English, Art and History.
His father was Lord Alfred Hardin, M.P.
Titus loved teaching,
And not many people know the reason
For his dismissal at the age of thirty one.
He was nearly expelled from Eton
For smoking, drinking,
And being head of a secret society
With secret oaths, but he was
Too promising a sportsman,
And all the boys respected him
As a prefect.
He was a fair-haired man
And very good-looking.
He was thirty two years old
And a bachelor,
And lived near Richmond, Surrey.
His flat was beautifully furnished.
His name was Titus Hardin,
And he had the biggest wardrobe in London.
(This jackadandy's original title was "An Essay Written by a Guy Who Was Too Lazy to Finish It", and it dates from my mid-teens.)
" IT'S BECAUSE OF YOU THAT I EXIST TODAY"
Tormenting pain of wounded broken heart,
Kept haunting me down, were all shadows of my past.
Extreme agony & sorrow had been killing me quietly..
I've been wishing to end them all,
So at last! I could truly be free!
Perhaps more sticks of cigarettes,
Or some bottles of wine can bring
me to death,
Easily & slowly everyday...
Staring upon the ceiling, right through my window, down to the floor, I see...
Then my door opens wide and closes whenever I want it to be.
Each tick of the clock and printed dates on a calendar for each and everyday..
Everything seems to be telling me this wonderful thing;
"Please..Don't ever give up...
It's because of you that I exist today."
Weeds and plants outside my home
Live and grow without my care..
The sun keeps shining everyday for me which never fails..
The same is true with the moonlight by the horizon,
Or the growing noise of the raindrops falling..
The fresh and soothing air
Can't hide the truth that keeps on telling me..
" Cheer up!!!..Don't you know? It's because of you that we exist today."
Looking at myself, my hands and feet, holding them gratefully..
Despite all odds & tough days
they've been faithfully serving me..
Neither one of them had failed
Nor a single beat of my heart
has ever said,
It is done! and it's giving up on me!
Oh! What life could've been for me?
When they fail to do one thing
As I do with myself today!
When I look beyond my eyes I can see around me..
All things therein have been crying out so loud & clear, I see!
" That I should never give up!
For it's because of ME that they exist today!"
If every breath I take each moment,
Is here in this world for free
And the Sun keeps shining everyday
For you & me...
All things I dream to have
Must've been waiting so long
to get to me.
Never again! would I ever complain except saying "THANK YOU" everyday!
For everything that ever exists today,
Are in MY world because of me.
Each smile I give you everyday when I pass you by..
Sweet hugs or kisses
Respect and kindness with all sincerity,
I can give them all to you now, for free!
For today, I've realized...
I LOVE YOU...is no longer hard to say...
So please believe me if I say..
"You deserve to be loved..
For It's because of you that I exist today..."