A hazy mist hovers over most of North America.
The source is from wildfires in the forests of Canada.
It comes from our neighbors in the true north strong and free.
Dense smoke during days is what we all see.
Summer heat and humidity is more than enough of a pain.
We wish for cooler temperatures and some rain.
A big factor is some prolonging summer drought.
So Canada, do your best to put those fires out.
Smokey the Bear points his finger at you
Watch the campfire and everything you do
One bad move brings a forest to its knees
Many a wise decision saves a forest of trees
8/17/25
connie pachecho
Note-Saw a completed contest. And thought I'd
give it a try after the fact. The poem may be late
for the dance, but nonetheless, it's fun to dance.
The hum hum of the music
One sleepy face
The shisha lights
You in front of me
Taken
But oh good sex
You took a look at me
I could not stop my smile
Pretended smoking cough
The hum hum of the music
One sleepy face
The neon lights
You in front of me
I smile
Oh smokey sex.
The trumpet cries beneath the neon glow,
a golden wail that haunts the hollow night.
The bass line walks where lonely spirits go,
its heartbeat steady, low and laced with bite.
Her voice is velvet, dipped in smoke and sin,
a lullaby for hearts too torn to mend.
She sings of love, of loss, of what has been,
each note a ghost that lingers to the end.
The whiskey sways inside a heavy glass,
the shadows dance like lovers, slow and worn.
Outside, the city hums—a world so vast,
yet every soul inside that room feels torn.
The music fades, but echoes never die—
a broken heart still sings beneath the sky.
procession of corpse
denied the bouquet of life,
greenland smokes daily
©Mahtab Bangalee
In the dim-lit alley of the soul's bazaar,
Were jazz and jive spill from ajar,
We tap our feet, snap fingers, under stars,
And speak in verses, raw and without pause.
The city breathes, a living, pulsing beat,
Its heart a drum, its voice a saxophone,
We weave through streets, our words a rhythmic feat,
In its sync with life yet distinctly our own.
We are scribes of midnight's whispered tales,
Our ink, the dreams that dance in smokey air,
Each line is a track on which our spirit sails,
A journey deep, beyond the skin, we dare.
So let us write, with passion as our guide,
Some beat poems, where truths cannot slide.
Then we'll take a carpet ride,
Sail across space standing side by side.
Smokey the Clown ran around,
With Bob the Burger Bandit.
Bob, the slob, needed a job;
But didn't know how to land it.
Smokey tried to get him inside,
A restaurant on the hill.
They hired Bob for the job,
Flipping burgers on the grill.
It wasn't long when all went wrong,
And he was fired on the spot.
His belly filled with burgers grilled,
Was more than the patrons got.
Smokey knew that jobs were few,
But he tried one more time.
Found a job for Bob, the slob,
In the circus as a mime.
Two shows a day, one would say,
That he really had it made.
Instead of work, he'd rather shirk;
And eat burgers in the shade.
With an attitude that was crude,
At last made Smokey sore.
Bob, the slob, quit the job;
So now they're friends no more.
She’s part black panther
Who camouflages at night
With glowing green eyes
I want to find a Boo-Boo
for my Smokey Bear
So now that you’re aware
of this just stop your
staring at me
Please hear my plea
Next time you
talk to Yogi
ask him ‘bout a
Boo-Boo Bear for
Smokey
The forest fires burn
burn, burn, burn, burn
Keep tryin’ to contain them
but those whack-a-moles
yearn to be free
Please listen to me
Next time you
talk to Yogi
ask him ‘bout a
Boo-Boo Bear for
Smokey
Smokey needs a
Boo-Boo Bear so
when he retires
he’ll take over his work
preventing forest fires
Can’t you see?
Please hear my plea
Next time you
talk to Yogi
ask him ‘bout a
Boo-Boo Bear for
Smokey
Smokey is an unusual cat
She’s full of life and spirit
Her eyes are yellow and
Her coat is jet black
And very, very thick
She loves to rub her head
Against you, even go around
Your legs, almost causing
You to take a tumble
When you’re sitting down she’ll
Jump up on the side of the chair
And keep tapping you on your hand
Or arm, it’s like she’s asking for something
She always stands
Up on her back legs and
Uses her front legs as arms
That’s how she catches and grabs the food
There’s more than one cat so
When I feed her soft food
From a spoon or fork
She uses her front paw to
Hold the utensils in place so that she
Can get every drop of food off
In many ways, she reminds me of a bear
Through all his years he was such fun,
Companion, friend and more;
Adventure was his middle name,
And I was never bored.
As long as Smokey was around,
He'd brighten up my day.
He'd snuggle, cuddle, kiss and swat,
And say,"Come on, let's play."
I had some turtles in a bowl,
As cute as they could be.
They disappeared while I was out,
Found under the settee.
I had my suspicions,
About how they got there;
So I watched my little buddy,
But he never moved a hair.
Then one day he strolled by me,
With something in his mouth.
I followed him to the living room.
He crawled beneath the couch.
He placed a turtle on the floor,
And gently lay beside it.
Just watching it so patiently,
Not hurting it a bit.
Slowly it stuck out it's head,
Then it began to move.
Curiously he watched it go,
Thought Smokey, "He's got groove."
"I like this tiny little guy.
I wonder what it is."
I reached in and picked it up,
"Busted, here's the miz."
"These guys will die without their bowl.
Smokey don't do that."
But I still love you best you know.
You are the best of cats."
Life with Smokey was never dull.
He was fun and adventure,
It never lulled.
So quiet and regal he seemed to be,
So dignified,
That you couldn't see,
The rascal there in the heart of that cat.
He seemed so gentle,
Who'd have guessed that,
He was king of the thieves with fresh seafood around;
A varlet, a knave,
His vices abound.
He climbed in the fridge for the fresh crab meat there;
And when one fell out,
It gave him a scare,
For it still was alive and it scurried away,
With Smokey behind it,
"Oh good! Now we'll play."
"I'll swat it about until it just dies."
But the crab grabbed his paw,
And we ran to his cries.
Dad grabbed up the crab and put it right back.
Then gave him a fish,
He'd remembered to pack,
So Smokey could have his treat as before.
Not caught this time,
But bought at the store.
Smokey was a funny cat.
You could see him think.
His place of choice to do this,
Was the kitchen sink.
He'd loll about for hours,
In seemingly deep thought;
Musing o'er life's mysteries,
Or the mouse he never caught.
He looked so wise just sitting there,
Mysterious and ancient,
Never bothering anyone,
Complacent and so patient.
The only thing he didn't like,
Was being combed and groomed.
If you picked up his comb and brush,
He'd quickly leave the room.
I swear sometimes he read our minds,
Knew what we were about.
He understood our every word,
Of that there was no doubt.
He was my friend from babyhood.
We were babes together.
He taught me climbing, stealth and patience.
Our bond could not be severed.
He taught me to look nonchalant,
And even innocent,
If by chance I should get caught,
Whene're house rules were bent.
Whenever Mom and Dad were cross,
He taught me how to blend,
Into the background or become,
So cute they had to grin.
My memories of him are fond.
I thought he'd live forever.
He taught me fun and love and loyalty.
He won't die, not ever.
Like all birthday clowns, they put on a wholesome show.
Tell us when to stop and where to go.
Then sneak away for a nail job, a sip and a smoke.
They come back to the party red-eyed and wobbly.
Nobody notices or even cares anymore.
Their painted masks growing thick with our pain.
After all, that's what clowns are all about...
Stuffing rouged cheeks into rain clouds.
Smokey was a funny cat,
You could see him think.
His place of choice to do this,
Was table or kitchen sink.
He'd loll about for hours,
In seemingly deep thought;
Musing o'er life's mysteries,
Or the mouse he never caught.
He looked so wise just sitting there,
Mysterious and ancient,
Never bothering anyone,
Complacent and so patient.
The only thing he didn't like,
Was being combed and groomed.
If you picked up his comb and brush,
He'd quickly leave the room.
I swear sometimes he read our minds,
Knew what we were about.
He understood our every word.
Of that there was no doubt.
He was my friend from babyhood.
We were babes together.
He taught me climbing, stealth and patience.
Our bond could not be severed.
He taught me to look nonchalant,
And even innocent,
If by chance I should get caught,
Whene'er house rules were bent.
Whenever Mom and Dad were cross,
He taught me how to blend,
Into the background or become,
So cute they had to grin.
My memories of him are fond.
I thought he'd live forever.
He taught me fun and love and loyalty.
He won't die, not ever.
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