Long Puff of smoke Poems
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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.
Knock-knock, Come in, hey Bernie what’s up? Harry, you want to go to Peru?
Peru? What’s in Peru? Active volcanoes! I’m going to jump into one. WHAT?
Abby left me and I have nothing to live for. Bernie, I’m not Dr. Kevorkian.
Come on H, I already have the tickets, one round trip for you to come home.
Pack your 35 milliliter camera with the zoom lens and let’s go to Peru.
Bernie, my camera, and I at the west base of Ubinas; outside of Lima, Peru
The smell of hot wafting through the ashen skies, Ubinas is very active
Take a picture of this H, Bernie held up a 15x8 foot sign : Abby I LOVE YOU
He headed up the volcano ; about 500 feet he turned around and waved : Click
Just then a thunderous eruption of molten hot lava, cascading down the mountain
Bernie turned and started running, the lava in hot pursuit touched his boots : in flames
He screams in pain, I’m snapping pictures as he tried to swim through scalding magma
As his legs disintegrate, I zoom in on his ashen white face, as the flames engulf his arms
For a man who wanted to die, the horrific fear on his face, the terrifying look in his eyes
A puff of smoke and Bernard James was gone. I could feel the heat of the lava descending
I run to the truck and drive as fast as I can back to Lima. In a darkroom, pictures develop
Deviously, I make a life size collage of Bernard David James ; starting at the feet---
I set the collage on fire: staring at a face afraid to die, I see the atrocity of Suicide.
Inspired and Dedicated to Colleen Bono This is my part of the Challenge I hope it meets
with YOUR approval…HG
Remember me when I am gone
And my spirit whisks its way across the lakes
A gust of wind, a gentle breeze
Surprisingly that’s all it takes
As it travels onwards over Hill and Dale
It leaves a gentle puff of smoke, like a vapour trail
But you will always know it’s me because it is so bright
And feel my tender love, because you know
You and I together was so right
As time goes by you will think of me
And the way I used to be
But do not be sad, always smile
For I am with you all the while
To hold your hand which you will feel
When you are down, it may not seem real
But believe me when, I am around
You will always hear the sound
Of a gentle breeze when I whisper in your ear
Do not be frightened, never fear
I wish I could hold you close and then
Kiss you time and time again
Like I used to when I was there
When we laughed without a care
And when the Sun shines
It will be me keeping you warm
And my heart will shelter you from many a storm
You will always have my love close at hand
Wherever you may be, across the land
I will follow you everywhere you go
Because I will always love you for sure you know
So when you see that little Robin sitting in the tree
Just remember, it could be me
Watching over you as I promised all that time ago
And never fear when the wind doth blow
Because it will be me sending a special kiss
To show you you’re the one I so dearly miss
So remember me and this heart of mine
Because it is yours for all time
We are told that God created us in his own image. If that is the case, we should all be
entities, as God was an entity.
I find myself asking, are we really alive or are we just shadows of the past looking into the
future?
They say that tomorrow never comes and yesterday is gone, so are we just in a loop not
going forward and unable to go back?
I don’t see how they say that our soul never dies. Do we then become an entity forever, to
be stuck in a time that has no beginning and no end?
We go through the act of living, but in reality, we are getting ready to die, moving closer to
becoming the entities that we were at the beginning.
So are we shadows of entities from the past, or are we the same entities that
have been around for thousands of years?
Will we ever disappear in a puff of smoke or will we just keep roaming this
earth, just changing how we look?
We will stand at a grave of a loved one and cry for someone who is not gone
but alive in some parallel universe as an entity just waiting to reappear as a
different entity.
Through all my formative early years
in school and early working life
never thought much of divine things
just lived simply among all the usual strife
Took all the knocks that comes your way
pick yourself up and dust yourself down
never thought of God even to blame
this is norm for anyone in any town
But then in mid 20s I heard of God
one that loved me even to death
sent His son to pay for all my sins
this gospel struck me on my breath
Then thoughts flooded my mind
all these past years I was lost
if I had died then hell was mine
scripture's true life eternally tossed
Life is truly just but a vapour
all gone like a puff of smoke
be warned get right before too late
believe me eternity is no joke!
With flashing eyes she did enthral
as to the beat of drums she danced
a wild flamingo with clacking castanets
her wide hooped skirt was all a-swirl
Golden earrings sparkling and flashing
heels looking impossibly high as she twirls
her eyes flashing enticing messages
as the men flock to her a mocking laugh
Siren of the senses as well she knows
she taunts and teases as she grabs hold
only to push her admirer head over heels
leaving him stunned and dazed in the dirt
In a puff of smoke she vanishes from view
long rolls of drums call to her to come back
the men look in vain for her return
a soft voice enticingly calls from the shadows
Singing of long journeys to far away exotic places
of caravan wheels swishing and of horses gavotting
of smokey camp fires bristling with full cauldrons
no clue to what lies within just enticing smells
She tells of lovers she has known in distant past
entreating the men, who try their luck to no avail
she sits brushing her long raven black hair of curls
and the sparks fly giving her an ethereal appearance
The fires die low and still she has not yet chosen
it seems she is waiting for someone not now here
flashes of lightening fork across the sullen skies
and the skies open in deluges of rain and thunder
As her admirers scatter seeking shelter she laughs
spinning round and round hair flying out scattering
droplets that glisten and sparkle in pale light
at last she crumbles done to the sodden ground
A mighty flash of lightening rends the sky in half
highlighting a jet black horse rearing up high
she runs forward laughing he is here, he has come
her gypsy king, he swings her up before him and turns
As the summer storm fades the last fork shows
the two lovers high-lit on the rolling hill
then gone, gone to their secret place of tryst
she leaves lingering memories in men's minds of what might have been
The tranquillity of the moment engulfs the chill of the night air, coating my skin in an invisible blanket of celestial blessing.
The hair follicles poke up on my skin, almost painfully pebbled as my breath blew a small puff of smoke into the stars. I sighed. A content, relieved sound ringing through my ears.
I was calm. For the first time in my tragic, calamity of a life, I was at peace.
It was an odd, unfamiliar yet vastly serene feeling. My legs dangled aimlessly, brushing the floorboard beneath me in soft, gentle whispers. The cold seemed to be the farthest thing on my mind compared to the utter boon I was witnessing.
I could feel my pupils dilating in the quiet hum of the night. A small bodily practicality, stretching the black to fit the significance of him into my view.
He was beautiful.
‘A hole of light,’ as some call it.
‘Just the moon,’ as others do.
But to me, he seemed like the sole answer to all the questions I never even had the aptitude to form.
Beautiful was a degradation. He was the sheer magnitude of my existence. He was the red in my blood. The colour of my eyes. The arch of my brow and the love on my lips.
He was the essence of my soul.
I find myself gazing at his craters. Small bumps, rocking the surface of his light. I wonder if my flaws reflect his. The silver of his illumination drowns me in a peace so profound it strips me naked. Until I am nothing but a simple, loyal devotee.
I close my eyes and soak in his attention; the harmony of his eclipse sings my name and he calls me home.
And I exhale a breath I didn’t know I was holding.
Home had been an unfamiliar concept.
A house here, a house there. A love here, a love there.
The corners of my lips twitch in a soft, curling motion. A small, knowing thing, through a lifetime of oblivion.
My material resides on this Earth, with a hundreds of thousands of houses.
But my hue resides in the silver of the sky, with a one, sole single path back home.
I am an ivy vine.
Chasing away the dark, I carve out my own domain.
Then, by chance,
I meet the kindred beings of my roots.
Entangled with one another, we whisper
And complete a single kingdom.
Thus, we extend our territory.
The moment the scorching sun
Grow jealous of us,
We split apart.
We merely wanted the sunlight,
A brief rest in the shade
Where peace is desired.
We split apart.
We are no longer here.
The ivy vines
That once vowed to stay together,
Now wither away from one another.
The sun, exhaling a slow puff of smoke from a cigarette,
Watches on—
"At that moment of truth."
An age passes by,
And the ivy wall welcomes a friend once more.
Yet now,
Stepping into the world of the Fibonacci sequence,
Where leaf delicately wraps around another leaf.
The sun snuffs out its cigarette
And watches on—
"At the wonder of living things."
Yet,
"The sun is still seething."
Don't open the escape hatch until he is far away.
Look out the elongated glass opening right above me.
Only then I can offer proper advice to each soldier.
I read a secret advanced directive I hoped I wouldn't open.
Sometimes it seems everything goes up like a puff of smoke.
Ok laugh at me, in minutes I hope everything changes.
I can't understand why I have all this on my aching shoulders.
It seems our last effort's so enormously futile!
Evan had opened the escape hatch on my order.
Helplessly I watched a bomb enter the open hatch.
A terrible end, my advice caused a disastrous explosion!
No one left, our bodies are nothing except puffs of dust.
All gone, every person in our coffin of death, evaporated.
Con/Vow contest
Feb 14th 2013
Ride of the Scarecrow Clan
(To: Mittens)
She was born in the corn on a cold misty morn,
the most beautiful cat on the farm.
(I must keep her from coming to harm!)
The most beautiful kitty inspired this ditty
with whiskers that whisper her charm,
wild white whiskers that whisper her charm.
But the angels grew jealous, much too overzealous,
they schemed up a dastardly plan,
that they stole from a medicine man.
They would use and abuse all their magic, so tragic,
to conjure the Scarecrow Clan,
for their devilish dastardly plan.
The Clan owed them a favor for past misbehavior,
behavior so foul and so cruel,
they would ride when moon became full!
When the moon elevated they rose animated
to drown Mitten’s in the cesspool.
As they hunted they started to drool.
Hunting high, hunting low, riding ‘round to and fro,
the Clan frantically searched helter-skelter,
for young Mittens who found a safe shelter.
As they howled and they growled all the air became fouled,
but they couldn’t find Mittens’ safe shelter.
“When we find her, in acid we’ll melt her!”
Could these four scarecrows stoop to even new lows
as they hunt by light of the moon?
(Better hurry the dawn will come soon!)
Long they hunted and haunted but she was undaunted,
she laughed at the bumbling buffoons,
while she purred out some kitty cat tunes.
Curled with grace in a space near the warm fireplace,
for the Scarecrow Clan fears the fire.
(Just the thought of it makes them perspire.)
Low they lurched as they searched in the fields near the church,
growing desperate, dejected, and dire,
for the sunlight will make them expire.
Then dawn broke Night's dark cloak with a big puff of smoke
as the angels’ black magic was shattered,
and the Scarecrow Clan riders battered.
Under natural law the Clan turned back to straw,
and their straw o’er the cornfield was scattered.
She'll be safe now and that’s all that mattered.
13-March-2020 (Friday the 13th). First Place in "A Rattling Rhyme" poetry contest sponsored by Nina Parmenter