"hookah" poems
Mark A. Williams
SEPTEMBER 14, 1962 – JULY 23, 2018
___________________________________________________________
Wow Mark,
Was so, so saddened to hear this news. I haven't seen you in over ten years, but as kids, we had some amazing adventures, didn't we? Partying, camping and swimming at the Hudson lime pits. Mowing down on Pizza and pitchers of Pepsi (and as we grew up, BEER!) at Pizza Hut. (We knew the numbers to ALL the songs on that jukebox by heart!) Hanging out and looking at the stars through Budvido's telescope, listening to Doctor Demento. Laughing hysterically as we ran through Monty Python skits as everyone looked on in total puzzlement because THEY wouldn't discover them until YEARS later!
Building underground forts in the North Woods. You, Budvido, Zeke and I playing pinball at 7-11 for hours and hours. Watching Bands, chasing girls and playing Foosball or Pool at the Touch of Class Teen Club. You gave me my first Imported beer . . . a Lowenbrau. I will always owe my passion for those German beers to you and it was fitting that Budvido bestowed you with that moniker.
All through Jr. High, sharing a seat on the school bus. You, Matt, Tom, Buddy and I cruising around late night on our bikes for hours. Hanging around in the Jasmine Lakes sign with hijacked beer or getting free bags of Burgers from Burger Queen when they closed at night! Jousting with shopping carts on our bikes in the Winn-Dixie parking lot. Sitting up all night in Jimi's room after climbing in through the window or going on endless space cruises with him and Raymond in the Toyota.
(RIP Jimi Carlsen)
Sneaking into the nudest Colony and skinny dipping! Always cracking up at the school lunch table. Swimming in my pool and terrorizing my sister and her friends. (Allegedly) Trashing that crook Fast Eddie's produce stand after he refused to pay us for a full day of picking watermelons!
Good times, indeed . . . Some of my most precious memories.
I can only pray that you know that I wouldn't trade my youth or you in it for anything in the world and you will be sadly missed, Lowenbrau, my old friend.
I hope that where you are, your beers are ice cold and that you and Jimi aren't having to glue the Hookah back together.
Jeff Gaines
July 28, 2018
Aug 2, 2018
Aug 2, 2018 at 7:00 AM UTC
I can barely stand certain music now
Each song holds a memory locked into it
Multi-Love for instance
It's fitting that I'm burning incense right now
Because this song brings me back to December
You were into hookah at that point
The sweet and smoky scents danced around us
As your sonos speakers
Cascaded those guitar riffs into our ears
I thought you were ecstasy
But you became an addiction
And like that smoke in my lungs
You burned me instead
Sep 2, 2018
Sep 2, 2018 at 8:35 AM UTC
You have ripped bellbottoms a shaky smile,
The sandy curls that cascade down your back.
You smoke till your lungs go black,
You sit in the blazing sun meditating till you go tan.
You play the tunes of The Beatles and Jimi Hendrix,
That suede jacket you wear every Tuesday.
You decorate your room with blankets so the colors keep you company,
The daisies you wear in your hair till they go brown.
You let your cigarette dangle from your thin lips,
That gritty sound you make when you form words.
Your eyes are always clouded with memories,
You wear those circular shades to hide from people.
You wipe the tears off of people’s faces,
Smile when theres nothing to smile about.
Your hands are tatted with henna, and you wear the shirt of a tie-dye spider.
All you eat is trail-mix of pistachios and sun-dried apples.
You ride in a Volkswagen with windows down to feel the breeze.
Your peace sign is like “the healer” to all pain.
You take a pull off hookah and a bite of shrooms just to chase away the madness.
You create your own reality.
When the rain falls down you fling your head back and yell to the world,
The face you make when you see animals.
He’s like an eagle, ready to sore through the sky and bring positivity.
Don’t ever tell me you’re not a hippie, because I’ve never seen anyone as unique as you.
Jan 28, 2014
Jan 28, 2014 at 9:52 AM UTC
Empty hands and love wasted
Wasted, the state of being wasted
Drunk on love
Or high on life
Perhaps intoxicated with the idea
Breathing in the fumes of both
Hookah and happiness
Crushed up pills meant to calm anxiety
Only calm their mind
Not the body, not the syncopated motions
Not the actions in which they're partaking
Crushed up pills, crushed up souls,
Uppers and downers so that maybe
While their mind is numb,
Their body sure isn't,
Maybe for a moment they don't have to think
About what love actually is.
Oct 13, 2014
Oct 13, 2014 at 3:05 PM UTC
hookah connection
relaxing, thought provoking.
the waitress is cute
Dec 24, 2011
Dec 24, 2011 at 2:18 AM UTC
Sara L Russell 11/11/2015, 01:45am
I wanted to end writer's block.
So I got on my magic carpet and said "Take me to India."
It took off at fantastic speed.
Clouds flew past like frantic ghosts.
I thought I saw Lord Ganesh
smoking a hookah by the Taj Mahal.
The sparkling waters of the Ganges soon came into view.
I dismounted the magic carpet and waded out
in my long chiffon dress, into the cool water.
Candles shaped like lotus flowers drifted idly by.
Suddenly I caught my toes on a reed and was falling,
falling, falling...
the magic carpet flew away.
Woke up in ****** Carpet Right.
Nov 11, 2015
Nov 11, 2015 at 7:41 AM UTC
Coolers of alcohol
Blueberry shisha
Blazing bonfire
I'm having fun
Who are you to judge me?
Empty beer cans
Ashy coals
Cigarillo butts
I'm a little dizzy
Who are you?
Spilt *****
Tipped hookah
****** advances
I can't move
"Who..are..."
Apr 13, 2014
Apr 13, 2014 at 3:53 PM UTC
i am the hookah queen
and drifting in my hookah dream, i find
that i have no one else
to care for.
i know nothing of their bitterness,
their wantonness, their greed,
i know nothing of that world,
only me.
and sifting through my hookah dream,
colored with a hookah ream,
and pulled apart with all the careless shadows,
i smile, (i the hookah queen) and contentedly i drift,
i am going, i am going, i am gone.
Jul 8, 2013
Jul 8, 2013 at 9:01 PM UTC
he was philosophical
the way any person is when they're high.
he wore black framed glasses
and talked too much;
which i kind of liked.
he said my name made me sound like a classy stripper.
i chose to take it as a compliment.
i didn't ask his age
though i wish i had.
he talked passionately about
aquatonics and molly.
he said he was starting up a business.
maybe i was flattered that he thought i was cute
or maybe he was generally interesting.
i'm not sure though.
all i can remember is the way the hookah tasted
as the music faded out.
Sep 28, 2013
Sep 28, 2013 at 4:00 PM UTC
i said goodbye to the first
part of you in Lawrence
thirteen days ago walking
pastthatantiquemall.itrailed
my fingers on its brick and
thought of you reclaiming
my heart in its basement
and i did not want to turn
into dust, did not feel like
melting into the nearest
gutter. i simply took my
hand from the stone,
continued telling
jillian about how
they closed our
hookah bar,
breathed
the early
fall air.
Nov 6, 2014
Nov 6, 2014 at 1:38 AM UTC
11:52PM
In a hookah bar
Drunk
Writing from the heart
On an old couch
Made of leather
In a room filled with smoke
I don't wanna stop drinking
But I'm gonna regret it tomorrow
If I don't
Oh well
****
Dec 28, 2012
Dec 28, 2012 at 10:27 PM UTC
How sweet it is
Melon
Cactus breeze
The sticky sweet flavors coating my lungs
Drowning out her laugh
Focusing on his smile
They all know my name
Say it with enthusiasm
Protest loudly when I say I have to leave
I stay an extra hour
But none of them really notice
They are too busy
Her laugh is all his smile sees
All my lips do is paint a smile
And take another hit
I am not alone in my chain smoking
This is a two person caterpillar
One with history
We stay put that extra hour of mine
Close together on that couch
Smoke hiding us from everyone
The lights are dimmed
We are alone
Nothing happens
We talk and talk
For what seems like hours
Though it’s only one
My head rests on their chest
As I take another hit
Their arm lays comfortably over me
All of this is familiar
None of it feels wrong
Yet it isn’t as everything belongs
We speak like the old friends we are
No hidden lust
Just real words in a world of smoke
I no longer care what his smile sees
I am happy where I am
Talking of past adventures
Another comes in
Says they’re leaving
We both protest loudly
Plans are said to be made then
We all want to invite his smile
But not her laugh
I don’t feel guilty for my thoughts
I am allowed to have them
To act on them
Her pale skin in the harsh light
I can barely understand
What power she holds over him
But some how I hold similar
I happen to not try to wreck friendships
As she already attempted
The maturity that our host shows
Is astounding
He didn’t win but still stands
We all are proud of him though
Even if some are unaware
Of the battle that occurred
He made it! He made it!
All of us gathered here to celebrate
Our hosts accomplishment
The roasts that occurred
Bring smiles to everyone's face
Even my painted on smiles turn true
This group
Even if I am new
Feels like home
I’m comfortable staying on the couch with old friends
Or venturing out with new ones
Staying put by one’s self is accepted as well
I can’t believe this group is leaving
I am one of the few who will stay
They all will be moving away
For now we all relish each other
Those of us who have known one another for forever
Or those who have just met
These summer nights will be some of the best of our lives
Laughter mixing with
Hookah smoke
Jun 16, 2015
Jun 16, 2015 at 1:48 PM UTC
That tapestry,
Red, Black, Gold
A Celtic Circle--
silently bearing witness
to the proceedings
of that smoky room:
The aquariums--one with
the large eel who seemed
to barely fit the tank
that took up half the wall;
and the smaller, vibrantly
colored fish in the
aquarium with the eggshell
colored coral.
The remixed music played
at a comfortable volume,
by the DJ we knew
so well, together;
as many times
it hardly seemed like
he was working at all,
as he just sat down and
talked to us, for hours.
Looking through
those over-sized books of
old advertisements,
and explanations of
historical artwork;
discussing the contents
with strangers,
who became friends
in the process.
Smoke billowed, enveloping
the atmosphere and filling it
with the smell of many spice
racks, pleasantly rolled in a
shell of a soft breeze
flowing from the oscillating fan.
The smell of joy,
of a relaxed sense of mutual
understanding; that it was okay
not to say a word, because the
atmosphere did the talking
for us.
We just enjoyed sitting
on those red pleather couches
that your **** sank back into,
not allowing my feet to touch
the floor; so they often just
dangled, legs swinging
to the tempo of the music.
As I took a hit
of the hookah,
I manipulated the smoke
into O's, puckering
my lips, trying not
to laugh as you
gazed at me in a
shy sense of wonder.
That face always made you
want to kiss me.
Feb 5, 2012
Feb 5, 2012 at 3:38 AM UTC
Nudge a numb cockroach and he'll love you for life
just ***** little lemonheads
can't actually survive a nuclear explosion
but can cause catastrophic evolutionary queries
like "Why do the good die young?"
Can you believe
that long ago only the bad died elderly
and were witches with elixirs
potions and spells to make God blush and his **** turn to mush
so powerful
they made people go crazy with
judgement and micromanaging
but I'm the real witch
right-o I ride broomsticks and eat toads for snacks
my back is a lump of coal from the Devil's morning hookah
smoke billows from my ears
cockroaches my best friends
we cut off our heads and run into fridges
my pelvis is frigid except
for those **** roaches.
May 30, 2012
May 30, 2012 at 6:43 PM UTC
Doo baa doo dweeb man without woman
and ye vee la lovisha woman without man
be like a tree w/o leaves, & flowers w/ no seed;
******* w/o hash; dat hash w/o ******
**** w/o crystal & drugs w/o tranquilin;
my favourites! - smack...! without brown sugar like sugar with no sweets;
showered on her yummy sweats.
swetean ********* aye plead!
gravity w/o **** be like her **** w/o dopping
bars w/o beers; night clubs w/o Hi-ladies;
hookah w/o "chillam"; & "madira" w/ no trekkies
like a cigarette w/o lighter, & dark jungle w/o lantern,
us men & you women be so incomplete w/o love like me - the Homewrecker w/ no affairs with love dieties.
Sep 19, 2018
Sep 19, 2018 at 8:48 PM UTC
My socks are a conversation starter,
They have more to say than me.
I request a Kid Cudi song
To the kid with his laptop open to YouTube,
Pretending to be a DJ.
Someone takes a long pull on the hookah.
I discuss True Blood in the backseat of a car with a girl from Hungry.
I drink a Capri Sun.
Eat some Ritz.
My mind is sober and waiting for my body to catch up.
Mar 15, 2014
Mar 15, 2014 at 12:25 PM UTC
I'm in a place when I smell the roses
time stopped, as well as the people that made me victim of them appossin.
My smile frozen, edged curved in time, forever to shine like michael jackson in the lime,
light, and MY smile will thrive forever to survive with positive vibes,
seein the horizon, the seas, feeling the breeze. love in the air I breathe.
Im pleased with myself in every way, happy, no one can down me.
The only way is if they ground me.
But even then my existence in a different plain.
Will still be the same, positivity is a drug I cant explain..
Ill chill Buddha, Smoke hookah with Ganesh, And kamsutra with different females dieties maybe Aphrodite. who knows?
arm wrestle with aeries , battle hades, Im feeling larger then life, im enlighten to Die twice and it wouldnt matter, cause positive vibe still writes and fights and chills and works for thrills.
To live it up at night, im happy for once and I thank my saints.
Cause without them, my ship wouldve been sanjked.
Jan 9, 2015
Jan 9, 2015 at 1:16 PM UTC
A fine mixture of smoke and breath escapes my lungs
as this letter flows from my pen this evening.
"This evening:" What does that even mean?
A moment in darkness, shadowed is the life-giver
high above us,
well,
me.
Strawberry tobacco smothers my face from hookah pipe,
eyes fixed on the lines before me,
and I have nothing to say.
We have nothing to speak, I assume.
I am wordless but maybe in the moment,
this evening, you have a tongue of prose
and no pen to mouth emotion back,
no way of knowing that your time is time is now,
and it's my turn to listen.
Wait, no no, not emotion.
Just "being,"
ways of being, strewn out like a fortune teller's
knucklebones. A lie, the truth, the way that
your eyes wander to the door as you lie
on the pinstriped couch across living room
from me.
I see you glancing, I feel your yearning
for skies where wings can spread against
a star-sun-lit moon and clouds of pink and red,
a longing to dive toward god-given green earth,
near to here, but so so far.
Needing clouds to dream-slumber in, as beads of water
mask your body in my mind, mixed with
thoughts of pure love and pining for your growth,
as dew drops form around my long blond-brown-blue eyelashes.
It's all I see, I've seen,
that's all I write to you this evening.
Aug 11, 2012
Aug 11, 2012 at 9:58 PM UTC
I have a 6th sense for
broken people
when I look at them and say
thank you
I can feel what they
feel and it *******
hurts
maybe I’m just projecting
my own pain
but you were always
there to be my
whipping post and
I’m not putting you
through that ****
again
I’m sorry
these words
don’t mean
anything
Nov 12, 2015
Nov 12, 2015 at 9:43 PM UTC
I wonder if they're happy.
They sure do seem so.
They're always talking about stealing their daddy's Jaguars and having beer blasts and getting in to fights and being bros and getting tan and buying new swimsuits and getting a call from different modeling agencies and crashing cars and smoking cigarillos and drinking fancy wine and going to their beach house and deciding between Harvard and Yale or Porsche and Mustang and did we win the football game and making new friends and oh my God Stacy actually said that and dude, I totally ****** her and my math teacher is such a ***** and my parents are putting me into boarding school and check out my new Jordans and did you watch the sunset last night?
I don't know if they're having fun, but it sure seems like it.
*I wonder if they're having fun. It sure seems like it.
They're always talking about hitch hiking to the next city over and going to shows and drinking PBR and sneaking out at night and yeah dude, that party was sick and my tumblr is so famous right now and check out my new denim jacket and smoking **** and getting in to fights and lifting cigarettes from stores and Austin and Katie slept together and Kyle broke edge and I'm still working at McDonalds and yeah I'm still driving my '93 Ford Ranger and smoking hookah and watching Mean Girls and yeah I love the ocean and check out my new Kicks and did you watch the sunset last night?
I don't know if they're having fun, but it sure seems like it.*
Sep 20, 2012
Sep 20, 2012 at 10:22 PM UTC
Osama
Obama
Mothers killing babies
Cops killing kids
Kids killing kids
Facebook
Twitter
Online dating
Connected more than ever
Yet never more far apart
More suicides than combat deaths
Generation Y me?
Marriages don't last
A broken family is a typical family
Legal Marijuana
Bath Salts
****** is higher than ever
No more cursive writing
A degree doesn't guarantee a job
Just debt
Gay marriage
Equal rights
Politically correct
Because everything is offensive
Donald Trump for president
Caitlyn Jenner from the chopping block
Skinny jeans
Trust fund kids
Starbucks junkies
Disney Star Wars
Men to Mars
Internet wars
Cam ******
Electric cars
Hookah bars
A generation founded upon instant gratification
This is the world we live in
Aug 20, 2015
Aug 20, 2015 at 8:59 AM UTC
Precipitation
I felt the raindrops
Hit my lungs
Like a cigar
I wasn't supposed to wholly inhale
But I breathed deeply
As if the earth were a hookah
With endless coals
Lit
As the street lights
Illuminated each drop
I only missed
One or two
Jun 8, 2015
Jun 8, 2015 at 1:32 PM UTC
I need smoke to clear my head,
to fog the brain that needs unclogged,
a draino of the mind,
snaking its way into my conscious
imagination
Past the gates of the unconcerned,
entering the territory of the learned
and scholarly,
stepping onto the path of resurrection,
reliving the life that was meant to pay
Sipping the juice of incarnation,
revitalizing the soul,
drawing a blank is not an option
as the red hot coal burns
through my ill-intentions
Feb 14, 2011
Feb 14, 2011 at 5:12 PM UTC
19 years of boring days,
19 years of tears,
19 years of things drastically falling apart and never making any sense,
that is 19 years of trying to figure things out, like my body, and who the heck am I?
19 years of loving any guy who dare speak to me,
and 19 years of heartache figuring out that they didn't love me back,
19 years of dreaming and reading and wondering,
19 years of thinking, about everything really,
About God, and life, and why in the world am I here,
and 19 years of drawing,
19 years of human pain, like that time I had to get surgery for a broken leg,
Then there is a ton of mental and emotional pain, like heart break,
And other ****
19 years of loving my family and friends for being there in my desperate times of despair,
And 19 years of not realizing that they were there the whole entire time,
19 years of trying to find my unrealistic and perfect Mr. Darcy,
which of course does not exist, well to my knowledge at least,
19 years of crushes on all the wrong guys,
And 19 years of never acknowledging the prime and proper ones who were gonna treat me right,
19 years of having to schoolwork, and now in college its more work then I have ever imagined,
And sometimes I just break down and cry because the stress of it all is depleting me of all my energy and time,
19 years of not knowing how to function around certain people, like at all sometimes,
And 19 years of having some of the greatest friends in the world to go out with on random nights to smoke hookah,
19 years of happy days,
And 19 years of having your heart ripped out of your chest and beaten on the side of the road until it can barely beat anymore,
19 years of having sucky days that make you want to jump off a cliff and **** yourself, or anybody at all really,
Like the first person you wake up in the morning and dares speak to you,
19 years of feeling tired, like every day,
19 years of eating delicious junk food, drinking water, laughing so hard I can't even breath, spilling coffee, talking so fast I forget what I am even saying and slipping up on everything.
19 years of foul plays and just really bad mistakes that you thought were gonna turn out good, but hit you really hard in the face,
So 19 birthdays to celebrate all these crazy and silly happenings that make me wanna go insane,
But I'm not so sure where I be without it all, without
Oct 29, 2012
Oct 29, 2012 at 8:47 AM UTC