Long Tobacco Poems
Long Tobacco Poems. Below are the most popular long Tobacco by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Tobacco poems by poem length and keyword.
I think smoking is quite funny,
Stuck in the mouth, like a dummy
Smoke billowing out from the ***
After every single drag
Eyes get tired from the smoke
You cough so much you nearly choke
Tobacco rolled up on a piece of paper
Sir Walter Raleigh started this caper
One wonders if this Raleigh bloke
Thought of cigarettes as a joke
As he saw people cough and splutter
And once or twice, was heard to mutter
I have started a trend
That some will not comprehend
Or understand
They were aware it could be addictive.
If afflicted,
And will always need a cigarette at hand.
Some thought smoking was sophisticated
And not related
To a threat to one's health
The sellers were only concerned with the wealth
Not the health of the user,
Perhaps Sir Walter didn't know
How much the sale of cigarettes would grow
Why is smoking so attractive
When it can make smokers inactive
When your lungs get full of smoke
And you want another Puff
Will you think it is a joke
And realize enough is enough
Bubbling babbling burbling banter from the bar..
Sup hush….memory lane trip...Proustian rush..pleasingly tickled.
Plushly ebbed…spidery beer swirls webbed…lace whirls..grace dimpled dappled jar..
Perch...parched pagans besmirch..sip...druid fluid drip..Iris’s secular church..
Venerate yesteryear dips…commemorate Faustian fillips....teasingly pickled..
Smug treacle toned thatch rugs hugs sturdy slabs.. shrugs..
Tugs tussling tree torn trusses and trestles....
Trumpets tradition.. crisp crumpets in flames..sedition flickering..
Like sassy strumpets calling each other names…playfully bickering..
Remember the surreal cast….gayfully ethereal echoes..
Beacons blush in the embers of the past..
Classy pubs dripping with polished pewter.. parochial paraphernalia…ballsy brass...
Crepuscular charms. splinters splicing smokey shadows..
Wafting whispers.. across tobacco tinted tainted times..
Whistles whetted..quaffing…quenching ...cavorting with crannies..
Carousing with nooks naked in timber flannelled panels..
Canoodling on fecund bulbous bales farm foraged.. freshly fashioned...
Flirtatious follicle flicks....gurgling guffaws, raffish rascals' whisky whimsy..
Courting curious covens..sporting prosecco cackle cacophonies.
As sons become dad..in turn perched with their lad..
Lady lawyer betwixt a pimpled tyro…local employer, bumpkin on the giro..
Museums of marvels.. hoodwink misplaced metaphors..
Laced with a house pour of moreish memories of before..
That without impunity the nub of a pub..
The bar.. a community hubbub hub..
Gracious Landladies…loquacious Landlords..
Sagacious stars...near and far..
We raise our jar.
For our home from home..
A public house..
Ta..
Jesus, you say bring home my sheep
You say be a shepherd like perfect You
I say my sheep have gone prodigal
They have my credit card, I say resigned
At least they buy cheap wine on my dime
They’ve discovered tobacco, too
They won’t come home, I’ve tried
My mind has escaped me, I bleat
But, my body has returned to the barn
And the mind are homeless sheep
They want to go AWOL at every chance
They know my arms are not open though I try
Nevertheless, the mind and body are one
I am their pen and prodigal sheep
I am the arms closed and deserter
I am the sheep and herder
Isn’t that right, great shepherd?
Ask not what you, Jesus, can do for me
Ask what I can do for my sheep
I don't ask you to return my flock
You say, kindly woo them with contrition
Take them to the bar and pay the tab
Let them drink their fill if need be
Bring the sheep home in a cab
Leave the pen open just in case
If the sheep go prodigal again
Let them know there’s no place like home
Where else can they roam?
Jesus, I’m your lost lamb
I’m waiting at the bar
Come rescue us
Human history is full of trouble because religion has duped the human race and creates a lot of doubles all over the place. If I could turn the clock back in time, I would not change anything, but I would get what is rightfully mine.
If I could go back in time, I would conquer the mountains and build a shopping center in the middle of the tobacco land; I would expand the livestock and plant a gigantic cane field in the back yard.
I would develop the cotton farm and plant a sunflower field on the Lawn and pump cooking oil out of the belly of the beast and drain the color out of the human race and let it cover the entire street.
The color is full of trouble, and it has cast a sticky pigment on the universe and make us believe that the human body is made up of dirt, the British created this religious narrative with Adam and Eve at the center of the stage and the Prophet Mohammed dominating the Muslim race.
The narrative is so strong that it brainwashes every human being upon the barren land; it started from the babe in the womb, and it came to life in the temple of doom.
The scientist explains it and the religion fanatics’ shout about it but have no evidence to prove it. They continue to live a living lie and cast their breads upon the water until the day they die.
The romans started it and the British perfected it and everyone was brainwashed by it and start to believe it. Thanks to the Americans and the new world that rescued the human race from it.
The British is bound in traditions, they have created much of the history books on the land; the color trouble runs through the pages and create conflict among the human races.
Some people never overcome it, they die and go to the grave with it and a new generation is born with the color trouble spread out all over their face.
The stigma is still around and it has dogged some people in the town, color on food, color on face, color on house, color mingling in the dirt, color running on the street, color disrupting my heart beat, you must mix the two troublesome colors and make they stay together and if you think that it is improper let the different conflicting colors meet and let the Devil prowl around the street.
I would never change my color if you gave me a billion dollars. Let my color run all over the street until you accept my heartbeat.
old slag value, as valuable as Value allows it
Then as a valuable secondary source,
the slag resulted from the gold-bearing
electrolytic mud smelting
contains up to 0.8–15 k g t-1
Au and 9–13 kg t-1 Ag, respectively
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Coal Ash experiments
sorted theories and Soughted formulas.
Coal ash pits using sewage,
sawdust, and other
dissuaded organics
to recreate renewable coal.
Leaves, shredded wood chipped
wood ash, tobacco stalks
straw hat manure compose
all will be mixed and allowed to
cure to recreate a renewable
source for energy.
Racheter l'ancien Walmart du comté de McDowell,
en Virginie-Occidentale, pour créer un nouveau
magasin et contribuer à la relance
de l'industrie charbonnière locale.
Musique pour basson et cor d'harmonie
Ce genre de musique « Ooh Baby »
My brother, this life is deep!
Sometimes I laugh when you see me
And sometimes I smile at you
Sometimes I sing when you see me
And sometimes I dance
My brother, it's not what you see
Sometimes I gnash my teeth when you see me
Sometimes I cry
Sometimes I celebrate
And sometimes I mourn
Sometimes I shake my head
And sometimes I mumble words
My brother, it's not what you see
Sometimes we break kolanut when you see me
And sometimes we drink burukutu, inhale tobacco
Sometimes I am happy when you see me
Sometimes I am sad
But,
It's not what you think
Sometimes we watch the sky smile at us
With endless sunshine
And sometimes we watch it cry
Unconsolably with rain
Sometimes you see me dazzle and shazzle
Sometimes I see your muggles and struggles
Sometimes you see my gun
And sometimes I smell your bile, blood
My brother,
It's not what you see
Sometimes you see the pain in my eyes
Sometimes I picture and capture your sorrows, sadness
Sometimes we dream together
And sometimes we visualize it as is
But,
It's not what you see
Sometimes we watch the sun rise together
And sometimes nightfall
Sometimes we sit by the fireplace,
Watch the moon, stars,
Wake-up, play catch-up,
Brake-up and snuggle-up;
Children play moonlight games
Sometimes amid blaring sun,
We wallow in fawning doldrums,
Decadence, delirium and darkness
Sometimes I tell you my story
And oftentimes you reel out your sorrows, invocations
But, it's not what you think, see or believe
My brother, this life is deep!
I counseled her for her depression
For some sun
The clouds were dispelled
One fine evening
During counseling
We noticed
Moon in her shadow
Sun was yet to shine
At such a turn
Came her concern
“Sir, we sit just two feet apart
The tobacco smell is revolting”
After she left
I threw away the cigarette pouch
Sacrificed the kick of fifty five years
With no tears
With a dream to listen to some cheers
The tree continued to be in growth spree
Now growing own garden
In winters a warm wool
Dry leaves in a pool
I close my eyes and feel a sweet green pine
Rising from the bottom of my spine
________________________________________________________
Composed on July 11, 2016: For the Contest: Something seemingly
insignificant and unexpected changed my life
Greed overtakes any prospector looking for gold.
Here I am above the Arctic Circle braving the cold.
The bitter freezing is enough to kill anyone young or old.
The river flows under a very thick sheet of ice.
Temperatures at fifty degrees below zero are not nice.
It is late morning, and the sky is a crepuscular gray.
That golden orb called the “sun” has gone away.
I won’t see it again for weeks as it is below the horizon.
That big husky dog with me is much like his timber wolf cousin.
To keep warm, chewing tobacco is of no use.
Anyone can grow a beard from frozen tobacco juice.
It is unlikely the subzero temperatures will get any higher.
Until I get back to camp, I will just have to build a fire.
Based on the short story “To Build a Fire” by the late Jack London
BRONZE WINNER POEM
Allpoetry Contest
July 26
_______________________
for a decade I journeyed as a stray
kept at bay — raggedy, scrappy, unhappy
across hills, through forests, city alleys
eating bits from bins, hurting my shins
no friends ventured near, other felines feared
oozing ridicule at my spaceless situation
it seemed hopeless, though a graduation
I felt in my bones —-
cute kids that crossed my catty path
looked askance or laughed raucous
my coat was flea-ridden, I could not
scratch or lick, tongue too dry, sob sigh
then cold black night I upwards gazed
at sky’s Lyrans flickering haze
saw there cousin jaguar’s light bright
beaming keen sheen across golf fairway
green
followed it with last bit of heart strength
surely that country club is beckoning hence
perhaps some human mind divine sits at a
fire like my past-life home, when seventh
life was lost in an unremembered toss
arrived at glass sliding door dead beat
patter-pitter smelt fish broth hot in golf
lounge besot — tobacco smoke, leather
slowly holy sneaked in to peep from under
their luxury jeeps, their chatter seeped
then a frequency stabbed core, piercing dart
my kundalini gave a fart —- juices trickled
down throat as master’s voice tickled !
he who lost cat at picnic spot mauve mystic
moons ago, caressed now golf clubs stylistic
like shields, wielding realistic
memory came flooding back, hacking armour
sack, until amorous I felt again sane charmer
it started to rain when he saw forlorn paws
did not recognise my jagged haggard flaws
under empty belly he hooked golf arms
marched to kitchen, a strategy warrior
commandeered cook for lukewarm saucer
I drank and drank until eyes transparent
felt panther genes unlock invincible
convinced here I was to rest my head
at golf field’s masculine sanctuary stead
listening to his heavenly chit-chat spread
live among good clubs waiting patient
for recognition that I was the one nascent
as I heal peeling layers of wandering
connection again, rebirthing commencing
last of my nine —- I will shine !
Staccato--Scherzo
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Three folk in a gaarden on a feilded edge.
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Ole Gal....Descurainia pinnata: & tenella
spinach, chard, parsley, sorrel, and beet greens
Rheum rhabarbarumCapsicum annuum .
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Hau.....oh smart, smart Ole Gal you smart!
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mUmble Mungo...Who huh, uhm, auh-ruh, ah:ooh ye auh ooh?
She-it Bouis! Gal say, huh,uhm,oh ooh, wee ye auh oh ooh!
know damn she say, ooh we auh ooh!
wiff oil certainty I know
she say ooh, we auh ooh auh we!
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Hua Uhm-Ooh...Uh-uh, dew what? say chi auh peso?
Mumbbles.. Uh, uh, ooh auh we ooh.
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Ole Gal...dew veggies mak ah, noise as they grow?
when plants (like tomatoes or tobacco) are stressed
by dehydration or stem-cutting, they emit airborne,
ultrasonic clicking or popping sounds.
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Mumbles.....Damn fool Gal, bay-leaf oil dat stuff, ya'll sum dumb peoples,
don't know plant make no noise.
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Ole Gal...She-it! rasberries and Rhubarb make me make noises,
I say thangs like ooh, ooh, sookie, sookie, bay-bay
auh, sweet, sweet love!
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Hua.. huh, huh, ha: that auh good one Ole Gal, tear that Coochie up!
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Ole Gal..Ya'll got candy? I want sum canduy, what I won't do for
sum of datt candy!
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Mumbles......ooh,auh,ooh we groove,grind?
oh,Iooh we! I got sum candy!
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Ole Gal....come on Mumblez we-is got sum loving
to do, I want sum of datt candy!
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