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Athena Sep 2016
When the sun rises
I'll always be hunted by the memories
of the moans and the screams
The laughter and the tears
Torn in two if I should feel
remorse or confidence
with what happened
With you and me
Should I be sated
with the satisfaction of my thirst
or guilty, with all the things I should have said
After a while, I'll reminisce with a cup of coffee
while you finish your last cigar
and leave me thirsty again
T'was the night before Christmas, And at the back of the bar

Sat a man all alone, Lighting up a cigar

The waitress ran over and waving her hand

You can't do that here, Smoking is banned.

If you must smoke that thing, you can go to the street

And stay away from the building, by at least fifty feet

The man took a puff and with a voice like a croak

He said, "You're kidding, right miss? You're making a joke"

I'm sorry, but sir..I'm afraid that it's true

But the law is the law, and it's not only for you

That we must say **** out, please extinguish your smoke

So our place can be filled with other fine folk

For ninety two years I have walked on this earth,

I have broken no laws and you know what it's worth?

Bupkiss, no nada it's not worth a thing

Would that law still apply if I was a King?

I've been coming in here for 60 odd years

And I think I've consumed a truckload of beers

I've smoked in this corner on many a night

Now you say **** out, I don't think that's right.

I fought for this country at the end of the war

I came home with a war wound, and you know dear...what's more

I came to this bar to have drinks with my friends

Who all weren't so lucky and met terrible ends

They died on the beach, heart as big as a house

Taking on the unknown for their country, their spouse

They battled for honor, the right to be free

And they all weren't as lucky, to come home like me.

I was here in the sixities when Camelot died

I was here with my son, and we both sat and cried

It was that night in November, I remember it well

That my son said he'd joined up and was heading to hell

He had joined the marines and was all set to fight

For freedom and honor and he knew it was right

Because I'd gone before and stood with others like him

And I said just be safe, and come home son...my Jim

In the years he was gone, I came down here to think

Of why he was there and I shared smokes and drinks

With friends, all now gone from this world of distrust

Now they all lie beneath us, decomposed back to dust.

My son made it back and we came right down here

To spend time with our friends, both from far and from near.

The years passed us by and my grandson joined too

And we sat and we prayed in this bar, for we knew

He was fighting for freedom and the rights we hold dear

Like having some fun, over smokes and some beer.

He never came home from his war, don't you see

That's why we're sitting alone here, just you and me

Tonight is the night that his letter arrived

Saying "We regret to inform you...that no one survived"

So, each Christmas Eve I come back to this bar

To savor my memories and to drink from this jar

And I finish each year thinking of what now is gone,

Of my battle scarred boy and his now deceased son

Now, you come and tell me that I must go outside

To continue my smoking and so I'll abide

'cause for 92 years that I've been on this earth

I've broken no laws and you know what that's worth

Then the waitress reached back and she pulled out a match

From a box on the bar with a rusty old catch

She said Sir, I am sorry I didn't mean to offend

For this one night each year, the law I can bend

So please light one for me on this Christmas Eve Night

And Thank you from all who continue the fight.

Merry Christmas and HAPPY NEW YEAR 2019
A Christmas Eve Poem that was posted earlier, I have not added much, but, I think it is fitting to read so those of you who haven't seen my older works, and The Street Poems, may get a chance.
JV Beaupre May 2016
"So why are you painting a woman in a bottle?"
The challenge. Handling all those quirky reflections and layers of transparency.

"She has phantom arms and legs, what about that?"
Yes, pretty cool. A Vitruvian woman in a bottle.

"I'm looking for Meaning: Don't paintings look under the surface?"
You mean, what does it mean, really mean? It's just a way to test my skill.

"But what are you saying with that?"
It's not feminist nor anti, it's just an exercise. Besides, there's a rope.

"But aren't you, as an artist, exposing reality, presenting emotions and feelings, seeing the soul?"
I'm not on a soapbox-- I'm testing my skill-- I paint and don't think about it too much. After all, 'Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar' or is it 'just a smoke'? *

"I don't like your message."
OK, I'll paint you in a bottle...
As a shrunken head.
On the other hand, I once painted an agricultural scene based on a photo from the 1930s that I thought carried a social message. Most people wanted to know what kind of tractor it was.
Lady Bird Mar 2016
he is so cold hearted
stealing her sweetness
making her tears fall hard
like hail in an ice storm
Iike cigar smoke he envelopes
her air stealing her breath  
a bad habit she can't break
she curve around him  
like a beautiful harp
while he plays that song  
that breaks her heart
Tiffany Scicluna Feb 2016
Up on my roof,
Watching the stars,
So bright,
I light a cigar,

I inhale these beautiful toxic fumes,
Watching it slowly burn,
Wanting to be able,
To take my past away,

The same way,
I exhale the fumes of the cigar,
As they mix with the air,
And slowly fade away

The same way,
The cigar turns to ashes,
And the ashes,
Fly away
Tiffany Scicluna Feb 2016
Pen and Paper are my only friend.
They know my deepest secrets,
And all the words that I've withheld.

Pen and Paper are all I need,
To finally be able,
To feel relieved.

Pen and Paper,
A Cigar and a Lighter,
Take me to a world
That I can only dream
Ron Gavalik Nov 2015
As the **** of a 12-dollar cigar
touches the tip of the tongue,
the nervous system shoots a signal to the brain,
to process the sweet tinge
of delicious poison
that hits the back of the throat.
Slow suicide, baby,
really doesn't get any smoother.

Human bodies may desire health,
but it’s the mind that struggles
and tests mortality
as the heart races
for the best ****.

Hipsters and their vapor pipes,
their overpriced organic groceries,
coke binges and ****** addictions,
gym memberships and spinning classes,
they’re socialized to believe life
goes on forever.
They behave as if death
is a kind of curse.

We can run from sins,
wash our souls in the rain
of fresh lovers in new cities.
Sins, however, collect.
They grow in strength.
All we have in the end,
is the sweet tinge of satisfaction
that comes from killing oneself
in style.
To be included in my next collection, **** River Sins.
inkstains Jul 2015
you were everything my parents warned me about.
you were the person only existing in my nightmares,
never in my dreams.
a beautiful mess of motorcycle rides,
tattoos,
leather jackets, and lit cigar.

you screamed trouble
you screamed danger
you screamed bad news.

but i was hooked the second your lips and mine moulded into one.
you were like a drug i couldn't get enough of.
but
the comfort i once found in the warmth of your skin turned to flames i couldn't put out
and i was hurt.

i should have known.

after all, if you play fire with fire
you are bound to get burned.
inspired by wattpad story 'notorious' by noelle.
go check it out! :)
dazmb May 2015
daring me on
with whiskey and cigar
to the pack camaraderie
of manhood
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