The blue smoke spirals round me
As I taste the nicotine
And the acid smoke of the tar cheroot
Calms a wild mind to serene.
For this my friend I thank thee
For the balm of your advice,
For the smuggled loot of a good cheroot
In your way of being nice.

For this , my friend, I thank thee
For your ever present arm
A sturdy man to lean on
When the evil-ness does harm.
When the plank of rank misfortune
Falls upon my shaven head,
When the doctor's heavy hand
Writes me off as being dead.

And the blue smoke spirals round me
As the tangled panics clear
And a lung of smoke really calms a bloke
And the tar suppresses fear.
Do you see the complication?
Do you see why I am wild?
Can you see what this is doing
To my poor, dear wife and child?

For this, my friend, I thank thee
For your comforting warm word
And your gentle phrase of frank concern
Was the sweetest I have heard.
But alas, the hard oppression
Has me clawing for my breath
And the weight of my confinement
Has but smothered me to death.

And the blue smoke spirals round me
As I taste the tar cheroot
And the maze of my mind is so utterly confined
That I’ve given hope the boot.
Farewell to bright tomorrows
Farewell to laughter’s peal,
Farewell to the taste of my darlings lips
And how good her ******* feel.

And as blue smoke spirals round me
It’s the bitterness I see,
For the game was lost when the dice were tossed
And what has been, will be.
For you, who stood beside me
I raise my arm’s salute,
As the final smoke deserts me
I stub out the last cheroot.

Marshalg
@thebach
Mangere Bridge
14 September 2011

Willets cull the seawall
snapper on the grill
rock ***** swoon
in shallow lagoons
long boats pass
under quiet
palm shade

Plovers dance and flutter
handrails frayed and torn
graffiti spots
at lovers rock
frigate-birds fall
from a high
noon sun

Thatched roof on a mud wall
fish flags settle score
anchors arch
in front line march
pillar cracks form
under rust brown scars

Elegant tern and grebe
watchmen fall in cue
children play
on crested waves
whimbrels and notchers
perch above Tentaciones

Striped pelícanos
the bandits of the sea!
merchants grow
in steady flow
siblings jostle
in a tide cooled sand

Heerman gull and boobie
durango smoke in yurt
boiler shrimp
and puffer blimp
castle buckets and scrapers
under a dusk light cheroot

Six pulls on a lead line
painted toes in sand
shearwater run
in a rainbow sun
the portly mexicano
flaunts his tacos
and wares

Rooster house for swordfish
bamboo shoots and sails
broken shells
and ocean swells
rise
on the
perfect
La Ropa bay

His hair was ruffled as the wind picked up

"next time, I'll wear a hat"

He kept on painting, not deterred

And to him..well, that was that.

As the weather worsened and rain moved in

He packed up and moved on

By the time the storm had taken hold

And the rains came, he'd be gone

He headed home on up the road

Past the little village shoppes

He counted, silent, to himself

Of every time he'd stopped

He knew each curb and crossing

From the river on his route

It was 5 blocks, 1/2 mile

Just time for one cheroot.

He'd smoked them now for 60 years

But now, he just smoked one

It relaxed him as he walked on home

He knew his day was done

He painted by the river

On an easel, nice and light

He would go there in the morning

And would stay there until night

He painted what he saw each time

The pictures he created

Were images from in his head

Some were finished, some belated

He didn't always get them done

So, he'd put them to the side

And he'd finish them another time

For now, these he would hide

As others looked upon his works

As they passed by him by the shore

A few would ask him what they were

And they didn't say much more

The paintings that John Joseph

Were for him, and him alone

He didn't care if others

Stood and stared, and sometimes groaned

He lost his sight a lifetime back

He'd splashed some acid in his face

He may have lost his eyesight

But his blindness taught him grace

For people looked upon his art

Seeing only paint and lines

Until he told them of the images

He was painting from his mind

He'd been around the world a bit

And the things that he had seen

Were all captured in his memories

And he would now paint every scene

One day he'd paint the Taj Mahal

As only he did know

But to someone passing by that day

It may look as only snow

The Eiffel Tower, black and tall

With the blue sky there behind

Made people wonder endlessly

What went on in John J's mind

His canvases were covered in

His palettes tints and hues

But, the shapes folks saw upon the board

Were not crisp, they were askew

But John Joseph saw his artwork

As a postcard of his life

He'd mix paint with his brushes

And sometimes use his knife

He'd change his strokes to fit his mood

Some short and sometimes long

But, because he couldn't see them

Nothing ever would be wrong

His grass was blue and sometimes black

The water might be red

But John Joseph never cared at all

His art was in his head

No one ever saw the thngs

that Old John Joseph did

They would always look, politely

And then farewell to him they'd bid

But one day while describing things

In a painting that he'd done

To a family here from out of town

Two parents and their son

The father said, "I'd like to see"

"More places from your mind"

"Can you bring some down tomorrow"

"If you would please, be so kind"

John Joseph said, he'd bring some down

But he laughed, and said "You'll see"

"that the pictures aren't what you'd expect"

"I just painted them for me"

The next day when they met again

They had brought their son called Paul

He just stood off in the background

While John Joseph told them all

Of what was on each canvas

Of the paintings in his mind

He said "no one else sees them"

"To me, most folks are blind"

But the father told John Jospeh

You have opened up the world

For as you describe each picture

Your images unfurled

A world of unkown wonder

That can't be measured by a mile

But, Paul you see can see them

We can see it in his smile

Paul is blind as well you see

Lost his sight a few years back

But, your descriptions of your painting

In his mind, you've brought it back

Paul then asked John Joseph

To paint more pictures, from the start

And this young lad and his parents

Had touched John Joseph's heart

John Joseph gave his painting

To the people and their son

And he said when they returned again

He'd have another one

True blindness is within us

It's not just in what you see

It's also in the way you think

It helped this blind man be free

He painted pictures in his head

For him and him alone

Now, he shared his muddled painting

With a family known as Stone.
.

there’s a semblance
of order
in the pink eye
of the street man
(that messianic soul
caught deep
in the binary)
glancing on
with rose colored glasses
and magical spoons

skimming whimsically
(and cocksure)
dancing on the
crab grass
with his
home grown *****
and cheroot
lost in a dialogue
(complete with
wink and jest)
embracing
the day with
spontaneity and cheer

grinning profoundly
(an incomprehensible grin!)
covering a nicked
and scarred
ear to ear
summer drought
or winter rain
are indifferent
in this mind
(culling on his own terms
with a honed discretion)

pundits would say
that he spoke
in a broken crow
or nigerian slang
(but only he knows
that eloquence)

cloaked, and head steady
behind whispers
of tavener
(he had always
said they were enough)
he gets on
with the rosary
to find
comfort lost

I want to be friends with the Sun
You know, like hangout, have fun and shoot the breeze
OK, I know it's hot, strong, powerful and super blazing
But it must be pretty lonely hanging there on its own
I mean, what fun can you have nuclear-izing all the time

It should chill a little, the Sun
I could get it to smoke a cheroot, come to a barbecue
Perhaps have a fiery whiskey or a ginger beer with a zing
We could go to hell's Kitchen and have a well singe T-bone
I'll even take it to a Tanning saloon to see its competitors work

Yip, I'll really like to be friends with the Sun
First though, its got to really cool down and be calm
Why all the the fire, the explosions and relentless blazing
Look how long its been going on, any wonder he hangs alone
Like, its got to know too much heat is good for no one

So, I'm going to go hang out with the Sun
About time it has a friend and some sound advise
Maybe I should take along some Fire-fighters just in case
But it's got to know, we come in peace, not to douse it down
It's all fire with the Sun, but it should know that Fire, fire fire
Is only good in Hell and that's not a place for our lovely Sun


Anybody got a long distance Rocket...anybody...?



Coyright. LaurenceA.29thJuly2018. All rights reserved

He was the only guy I met
Who wore a genuine fedora
And for all he struck a figure
He turned out to be a horror.
He was Satan with a swagger
A thin cheroot hanging in his lip.
He got into every nightclub free
I never saw him leave a tip.

His voice was like his words,
Smooth and slick and few.
When he talked everyone listened.
It seemed the proper thing to do.
But later when you remembered
It seemed he didn’t say much at all.
You just remembered his affect
His posture and that he was tall.

I don’t mean to imply he was a loner;
He had his choice of friendly fare.
And, it seemed the were both genders
So, there were lots of us out there.
We entertained, or at least we tried,
Just to keep him where we were.
And throughout the evening’s fun
Competition is what we all were.

So, we flirted and we flattered him
And we kept his cigarettes well lit.
Once in a while one of the silliest
Of our sycophantic group threw a fit.
Most of the time we stuck to our goal;
Some girl went nuts we’d ignore her.
For some mad reason all we thought
Was to please the man in the fedora.


I never heard anyone talk of him
And mention his accent or race.
In fact nobody seemed to be able
To remember aspects of his face.
And he never seemed to walk away
He just faded back into the flora.
He was like a will-of-the-wisp;
A Flying Dutchman in a fedora.

The stranger rode up
as we sat round the fire
it was burning down low
and we were beginning to tire

He tied off his ride
By some brush by a boulder
He was just a young lad
Though in the dark he looked older

We offered him coffee
said sit down, have a cup
We said if you're hungry
There's still food to sup

He accepted and thanked us
Said he'd got lost on the trail
With the north winter winds
Bringing on early hail

He pulled up a stump
I saw a slight flash of tin
I said "you're a lawman"
he just gave a grin

I'm from up in Kansas
was back to my home
Had to visit my mama
she's all on her own

I poured him a coffee
And I told him what's what
I said it isn't the best
But, it's sure as heck hot

I smiled at his lie
And I stoked at the fire
I thought to myself
This man's a liar

I said "in this here circle"
"we may not all be friends"
"so, toss a log on this fire"
"and we'll hear how this ends"

He reached for a log
placed it in, didn't throw
didn't reach for the poker
moved it round with his toe

"The rules of the fire"
"Is that the tender regales"
"The rest of the members"
"with a song or some tales'

"since you just got here"
"and the fire is hot"
"tell us a story"
"give the best that you've got"

He shuffled a little
Took a sip, and began
And it just took a minute
To hook us all, every man

He talked of the rustlers
He'd been chasing around
How they got in a shoot out
How, they'd all gone to ground

He lived life a plenty
For a man of his age
He was just twenty three
But, he spoke out like a sage

He'd regaled us with stories
As the fire burned low
We were all getting tired
But, we did not want to go

He pushed at the embers
Again with his boot
He finished his coffee
And he lit a cheroot

For two hours he talked
Since the fire rules said
that the fire was his
Till we chose to all bed

When we woke in the morning
We found he took flight
He left our small fire
In the dead of the night

The fire was burning
And there was a fresh *** of brew
But the stranger was missing
And our saddle bags too

I was right when I reckoned
That he was telling us lies
I could tell from the way
He didn't look in our eyes

The boots didn't fit
He was just stretching them out
By heating them up in the fire
and moving about

He sure was no lawman
He was a teller of tales
Truths , half truths and lies
He had them by the pail

We packed up our camp
Tried to pick up the trail
Of this campfire thief
With the devilish tail

We knew we'd find him
For liars repeat
He'd come back to our fire
And we'd give him a seat....

"- M’ha boots -"


A blind gal stole m’ah boots today
jus' up n carried dem away ,,,,,, “musta bin blind !”
a’h was drunk a’h guess
a’h musta bin
was outta m’ah head
on moonshine gin,

A’h was Laid in ‘d gutter
a honkin down
when th’ gal crept up
a thief renown
n  had dem away on her dam toes
jus m’ah luck;
a’h do suppose, ,,,,“musta bin blind !,, musta bin !”

D’a boots were nearly
ten year old
jeeezus man d’ey were
covered in mould, !!  
m’ah toe poked out
d’a left hand boot
n made m’a feet stink
like - an old cheroot,

A’h  guess she was no sweet south belle,
but she sure was blind-
whid no sense ‘o smell.

Oh..boy, O'Malley hit that ball right outta the park
the crowd hollered and wooped, my bet has made good
I've got lolly in my pocket and jolly on my mind, I scrammed
moseyed down to Fat Albert, had a whiskey and sour, things dandy
so as the sun set I walked down the block and hit Green-a-gogo
the jazz notes were jumping, those cats sure know howta swing
at the bar I called in a tall dry Martini on the rocks, lit a cheroot

Ah, this is a breeze, ain't I just got the freeze with them lollies cooling
She came out of nowhere, looks like Rita Hayworth, sashayed like her
red lips pouting, hips rolling and legs she borrowed from Marilyn
that's Monroe, if you needa ask, she smelt like heaven in springtime
Howdy handsome, she purred, have you been waiting for me
Nope I said,  just landed five minutes ago, what's your poison, honey
make it a highball, easy on the rye, ain't got my guard with me now

this babe was a looker, she's already got me in a choker, my oh my
what brings you down this way, she purred as she took a slug
to find you, I said, cool as a cucumber from Lebowitz Deli downtown
well you're in luck, she said, I am found, she said again
I inhaled slowly and blew cheroot smog away from ole brown eyes
I have two thousand bucks burning a hole in my pocket
I still had my senses too

Hey babe, I said smiling, this ain't no shakedown is it, honey
she smiled and shook those dark tresses, do I look like a moll, she ask
I tell you this honey,.............I’m a dark chocolate lover,
Never had the buzz with the white stuff
so don’t be offended or think me mean, when I say,
I have no interest in the white chocolate,
I prefer them to have no jacket on too
if don’t have a jacket you will know exactly what i’m referring to  

I smiled and winked at her, lets put it this way, I said
I am black as you can see, but a Rabbi visited when I was born
so the Rabbi took your jacket away, she offered, did you a favor
we both laughed, danced, chatted and as we left. I asked
Do you just waltz into bars and pick up men, just like this
She stopped, looked me in the eyes  and said
You're from Royal Spokane Avenue in Philly, aren't you
I nodded, surprised
You're a lawyer, you're divorced and you're a **** gentle man
my friend told me all about you, now lets go swimming with dolphins..............

by Rudyard Kipling*

By the old Moulmein Pagoda, lookin' lazy at the sea,
There's a Burma girl a-settin', and I know she thinks o' me;
For the wind is in the palm-trees, and the temple-bells they say:
‘Come you back, you British soldier; come you back to Mandalay!'
      Come you back to Mandalay,
      Where the old Flotilla lay:
      Can't you ‘ear their paddles chunkin' from Rangoon to Mandalay?
      On the road to Mandalay,
      Where the flyin'-fishes play,
      An' the dawn comes up like thunder outer China ‘crost the Bay!

‘Er petticoat was yaller an' ‘er liggle cap was green,
An' ‘er name was Supi-yaw-lat–jes' the same as Theebaw's Queen,
An' I seed her first a-smokin' of a whackin' white cheroot,
An' a-wastin' Christian kisses on an ‘eathen idol's foot:
      Bloomin' idol made o' mud–
      Wot they called the Great Gawd Budd–
      Plucky lot she cared for idols when I kissed ‘er where she stud!
      On the road to Mandalay,
      Where the flyin'-fishes play,
      An' the dawn comes up like thunder outer China ‘crost the Bay!

When the mist was on the rice-fields an' the sun was droppin' slow,
She'd *** ‘er little banjo an' she'd sing ‘Kulla-lo-lo!'
With ‘er arm upon my shoulder an' ‘er cheek agin my cheek
We useter watch the steamers an' the hathis pilin' teak.
      Elephints a'pilin' teak
      In the sludgy, squdgy creek,
      Where the silence ‘ung that ‘eavy you was ‘arf afraid to speak!
      On the road to Mandalay,
      Where the flyin'-fishes play,
      An' the dawn comes up like thunder outer China ‘crost the Bay!

But that's all shove be'ind me–long ago an' fur away,
An' there ain't no ‘busses runnin' from the Bank to Mandalay;
An' I'm learnin' ‘ere in London what the ten-year soldier tells:
‘If you've ‘eard the East a-callin', you won't never ‘eed naught else.'
      No! You won't ‘eed nothin' else
      But them spicy garlic smells,
      An' the sunshine an' the palm-trees an' the tinkly-temple -bells;
      On the road to Mandalay,
      Where the flyin'-fishes play,
      An' the dawn comes up like thunder outer China ‘crost the Bay!

I am sick o' wastin' leather on these gritty pavin'-stones,
An' the blasted English drizzle wakes the fever in my bones;
Tho' I walks with fifty ‘ousemaids outer Chelsea to the Strand,
An' they talks a lot o' lovin' but wot do they understand?
      Beefy face an' grubby ‘and–
      Law! Wot do they understand?
      I've a neater, sweeter maiden in a cleaner, greener land!
      On the road to Mandalay,
      Where the flyin'-fishes play,
      An' the dawn comes up like thunder outer China ‘crost the Bay!

Ship me somewheres east of Suez, where the best is like the worst,
Where there aren't no Ten Commandments an' a man can raise a thirst;*
For the temple-bells are callin', and' it's there that I would be–
By the old Moulmein Pagoda, looking lazy at the sea;
      On the road to Mandalay,
      Where the old Flotilla lay,
      With our sick beneath the awnings when we went to Mandalay!
      On the road to Mandalay,
      Where the flyin'-fishes play,
      An' the dawn comes up like thunder outer China ‘crost the Bay!

The half smoked cheroot you dropped and trampled underfoot
was like the
time you stopped and walked all over me
or was it time that stopped?
was it I that dropped
off the climbing frame and cut my leg?
and begged you not to go but you went anyway
and we didn't play together any more.

Then twenty years on when the pain of you was still as fresh as if someone had painted it in everlast and we all know those things that shouldn't last but some do.
that was how and when time flew
I followed you again as if back on the climbing frame and aching for a cut or two
you
just smoked a pack and blew the smoke in curling blue
and with the picture cards that posted on the books we knew
we played that childish trick or treat
you tricked
and I never got the treat
but if I meet you twenty years from now
I know that I will find somehow
the match to light your cigarette
the flame to make you want to get
another climb
two children in the frame.

Billy Flynn looked skyward
As the fire slowly died
The embers dancing gaily
They had a hard days ride

He looked down at the fire
At the coals and their red glow
"Better get them horses covered"
"The clouds are bringing snow"

From the back a voice was heard
"You sure, you crazy coot"
He looked to where the voice had come
And he lit up a cheroot

"As sure as we're all sitting here"
"Tomorrow, we'll see snow"
"So, get them horses covered"
"We'll want them warm when we must go"

They'd been out on the trail for months
Now, home was in their thoughts
They'd been hunting down some rustlers
Now, all but two were caught

The two were shot in Texas
In a shoot out first week in
The others caught in Reno
Nearly 21 weeks in

Billy poked the fire
And he said "best keep it hot"
"someone get some wood here"
"I suggest you get a lot"

They finished up their dinners
Billy said we'll leave 'fore dawn
There's someone out there watching
A quick rest, and we'll be gone

He set two cowpokes watching
Tending fire in the night
Watching for intruders
And keeping out of sight

Billy Flynn was old school
A Texas Ranger long ago
If anyone was closing in
Old Billy Flynn would know

"I'm resting now" old Billy said
"I'd suggest you do the same"
"Get the prisoners to the side there"
"To lose them now would be a shame"

He checked on all the horses
Made sure their blankets were pulled tight
Then Billy, grabbed his blanket
And he laid down for the night

In the morning, the ground was covered
It had snowed, three inches plus
The others all were watching
Billy Flynn....he made no fuss

"I could feel it in the air boys"
"The sky was screaming snow"
"I've been out here more than you have"
"That's all you gotta know"

They ate and broke camp quickly
They heard some noises to their right
The men that they had captured
Had friends show up late last night

They were keeping back a distance
Watching, waiting for their chance
While Billy Flynn showed nothing
And helped prolong the dance

"Boys, you'd best get ready"
"There'll be a shoot out sometime soon"
"I figure they'll be coming at us"
"In the open...round 'bout noon"

"Keep an eye around you"
"Move the prisoners to the flank"
"Protect yourself from whatever"
"These men have left in their dry tank"

Billy called it perfect
About five hours on the ride
Six gunmen came upon them
Three came in from either side

Billy took the first one,
Shot him dead, between the eyes
The youngster back behind him
Had never seen a grown man die

It only took two minutes
Thirty seven shots in all
And in the end there was old Billy
Off his horse and standing tall

The six were dead and bleeding
"We'll leave them to the birds"
Two of Billy's men were wounded
And he'd almost lost a third

Two hours on they came to town
Billy Flynn was in the lead
He stopped to get some water
That was all Billy would need

He took his prisoners to the Jailhouse
And his charges to the Doc
Then he went on to the tavern
Ordered drinks from barkeep ****

This talks of Billy Flynn
And true old western tale
Just hope you never ever
Have old Billy on your trail

Billy drank his beer and walked away
He said "It's time for me to go"
"the clouds are saying one thing"
"But, watch out....we're in for snow".

Cheroot burning lazily on the ashtray,
room filled with lamplight and talk,
a ******* the stage, potent with rage.
She was singing I think
I just wanted to drink and forget but the
way that she got to me,to forget
I would have needed a full frontal
lobotomy,and so I listened with one ear
on the wine,lit another cheroot and time stood
in the corner watching the night outline the
******* the stage,
The ashtray was full as the dawn pulled me away,
two cheroots left for today,
which was cool
one for her and
one for the fool.

A crackle and hiss as Sun’s fingers scraped over the curtains;
here and there bookshelf dust sighed — of this he was certain.
Feet up on the whiskey-stained table,
he smiled back at the four week old mud grins
on the toes of his boots.

A snap of his fingers and the Zippo lighter flamed to life —
he lit a cheroot, watching as the smoke draped his fingers,
watching the cat on the window sill
curl itself into a ball, stealing
all of morning’s secrets.

A black house spider crawled over the rip in his jeans;
the man ****** his knee back, and tilted his felt cap —
each word he spoke was covered in smoke
as he welcomed the little fella,
and cursed the world outside.

You painted gloss on your face
pain in your eyes,
you left your lips because
they were chapped,
but the audience clapped anyway.

You kissed them too and afterwards
you smoked a cheroot with Bert the
artistic director.

He married Maureen from
the chorus line
there was a time a long ways back
when you and Bert flirted,
but it never went anywhere,
what with you up there in the spotlight
and him in the wings,
you'd given him the nod,
he'd given you a **** with
the lines he mistook
for those on your neck.

It's over now
the curtain fell,
the actress
her role
an empty
shell.

Farewell
to an audience
no longer there,
the lights have gone out
the billboards are bare.

And Bert doesn't care
does he?

The intro's only there so we
know where to begin,
some begin before not knowing
what the intro is for,
I ignore them.

The bald headed man
with the pince nez nose
knows about intro's
but he doesn't know me,
just as well really
I've heard he's a killer.

At the end where we spend
most of our time
what matters the most
is not the hostess or host
but
who attended the gala.

In Barraclough street on
the council estate
in a front room parlour
I sit out the wait
smoking
a cheroot

'We'll meet again'
ah
but when will that be,
between here and eternity
which I believe is
somewhere
in Battersea
or Swansea?

We'll all be late
because
getting out of the habit of
getting up like a rabbit
and hopping along
makes us lazy.

well
they can only shoot me
or
give me the boot,

I smoke a cheroot on the
last day of forever and whatever
comes next
cannot be as bad as
what came before.

i would write a testament to my uncle ron
who only allowed to play the guitar upon
the toilet then

rendered forth with frankie and johhny

a song i love to play
got his revenge by leaving the
door open


i remember going to school
with satchel over my shoulder
stumbling by the door

a tyrant his wife aunt mary


a classical pianist
though a lovely lady
class..

i grabbed some breakfast
uncle ron came downstairs
in his silken dressing gown

and burning the cheroot!

and headed for the bar..

i love that song..