"marlboro" poems
Ellie. My name is Ellie.
I want to be a writer. I want to be a star. I want to be free.
I imagine myself riding on wide open roads,
on the back of a motorcycle with a boy
who is as much of a ghost as he is a person.
I imagine myself dazed in rooms
filled with a purple glow.
I imagine pills, lust, liquor, leather.
I want to live forever
and I want to die young.
My name is Ellie.
I don’t know what home means;
I don’t want to.
I need people to love me.
I will break all of their hearts.
I imagine late nights in underground clubs…
Marlboro, rock & roll, Howl by Allen Ginsberg–the bible.
Tanqueray;
falling down in a graveyard muttering in Romanian,
hoping for salvation,
but while I’m called an angel night after night
I’ve got the devil in me.
Rosewater runs through my veins,
the blood has already been spilt.
I won’t ever belong to anyone, not even myself.
When you have the knowledge that nothing’s real
it’s hard to do what’s expected of you.
I relate to flowers a lot.
They’re beautiful, but they don’t last.
Sometimes no matter how hard you try to take care of them,
they just run out of life.
I think I ran out of life the day I was born.
Everything is nothing.
The gods don’t want you to know that,
but that is the one truth.
Oct 26, 2015
Oct 26, 2015 at 1:43 PM UTC
I don’t know
What ails the angels
Maybe they are tired
Of trying to guard me
And save me
From my demons
I picture them exhausted,
On a street curb
Smoking a Marlboro
Menthol
Begging for rest.
Maybe that’s what ails
The angels.
-L. Frost
Dec 13, 2020
Dec 13, 2020 at 7:01 AM UTC
here's to a package of
Marlboro Reds
in the hands of
someone other than
the Marlboro Man
standing in
for those slack-jawed outlaws
my heroes now lack jaws
tongues
lungs
I swear it's been too long
since I inhaled manhood
The Great Darrell Winfield
rolled
packed
and filtered
into the only thing I know
that makes a man a man
the essence of
cowboy boots and farmer's tan
in every drag
see, I inhale my heroes
all the dusty red-necked
cowboys
Darrell Winfield
and my dad
men whose lives
went up in smoke
to coat my throat
in my own self-righteousness
I'm frightened this
is all that I'll have left
of him
lung cancer
and the lingering stench
of cigarettes
he always smelled
of cigarettes
he'd pull me into these
firm embraces
he held so long
that he'd suffocate me
in tacky business
and cigarette smoke
masked only
faintly
by a poor man's
cologne
still I breathed him in
until I'd start to choke
it was too much man to handle
my grandpa told me
“smoking doesn't send you
straight to Hell,
but it sure does make you smell
like you've already been there”
he was
a grown man
cursing
crying
lying
dying by himself
trying to drown out the inferno
with a case of beer
but sobriety finds you sometime
and I'd rather suffocate in cigarettes
than lose him altogether
and even if he smells like Hell
at least that means he made it back
May 21, 2012
May 21, 2012 at 6:14 PM UTC
My old great-aunt Elaine with her withered hands gave me $200 and beaded handbag
"This your mad money," she told me, as we sat on that nursing home couch, "And it ain't for your purse. This goes in your shirt, where only you know you got it."
The assisted-living nurse chuckled to herself. They got along, my great-aunt and her.
"Why?"
"Cuz if you get angry," she said, in that Marlboro-raspy voice of hers, "And you gotta go, you walk out on your date and you leave 'is *** And then you got your money for a strong drink. And your cab."
The nurse laughed
My aunt re-situated herself on the nursing home couch. Elaine Dauterive. Her mind was going, and so was her health, but she was as regal as a queen on her throne in that moment
her fire-red hair, ungrayed, was her crown
No cape as royal as that sleeping gown.
"Don't you think for once second I can't take care of you, honey," she said in that creole drawl, and I knew what she meant
Because even after she'd gone I would have that mad money
All stuffed in my bra for when I needed it
Because she was older than time, for me, seeing things like
The Great Depression, World War II
What I read in history books
I'd be ****** if I took what she said with even one grain of salt because Auntie-Lane, I'll be ****** if I don't love you
And I know you're on your way out and
I'll buy you whiskey in the afterlife with some of that $200 cash that you busted your *** scrounging up for me
Southern hospitality at its finest
And those liver spots redder than wine adorn you like badges of honor for all of the years you've endured
My elder - creole woman, with a soul as fire-red as her hair, breathing more smoke than air
My old dragon
On a pile of gold: her mad money
Nov 5, 2014
Nov 5, 2014 at 11:00 AM UTC
The youth
Youth is weird,
Somewhat interesting.
An adult pop rock mix
With child soda pop.
Youth is Coca-Cola,
Marlboro, whiskey and energy,
The eternal monologue of life,
ID number, property tax and Netflix.
Youth is John Lennon,
Che, Fidel and Hendrix,
Contemporary history,
ancient and medieval history.
Youth is pants ripped jeans,
Popsicle, lollipop, painted face,
Chicle, coffee and french fries,
Point G, miniskirt and condoms.
Youth is the Dalai Lama,
Techno, rave and rasta,
Drugs, drops and guitar,
Punk, samba and hopefully that-fall.
Youth is the opposite of the opposite,
It's a Friday at midnight,
Mustard, ketchup and mayonnaise,
X-salad, ham and cheese sandwich and X-men.
Youth is D-Day,
Vietnam, Hiroshima and Nagasaki,
Testosterone, Woodstock and Waterloo,
Afghanistan, TPM and MTV.
Youth is a pressure cooker,
Isis, Syria, sukiyaki,
Anonymous, Al Qaeda, rice and beans,
Genesis, Revelation and mint candy.
Youth is weird,
Somewhat interesting.
An adult pop rock mix
With child soda pop.
May 10, 2016
May 10, 2016 at 7:25 AM UTC
i will never
forget looking out
that second story window
hearing the
pool filter
in the background
mixed with heavy breathing
the cheetah print
sheets that cut
my skin open
the smell of marlboro golds
and sweat
with a hint of hopeful regret
filled that entire bedroom
that summer day
but most of all
it was that feeling
that i would rather risk
breaking both legs
jumping from the window
than deal with this pain
ever
a g a i n
Aug 12, 2023
Aug 12, 2023 at 9:42 PM UTC
"In a row???" I ask, incredulous.
"Nah, man."
"Were you at least #37?"
"Well, yeah. But still that gets to me," he says. He starts counting change, playing with pennies on the glass counter.
"If you didn't see it, it didn't happen," I reply. I pull out a $5.00 bill.
"That's childish!" He looks at me like I'm a babbling idiot.
"That's my life!" It was my life.
"I can't believe you sometimes," he says. Nobody can, bud.
"You better start. I'm smarter than I look." I'm bluffing now; I'm a ******* idiot.
"Yeah, yeah. Do you wanna buy anything or not?" he goes back to his pennies on the glass counter.
"Yeah--Marlboro Reds," I reply hesitantly. For a moment I thought about Camels.
"$5.00 even." It's always $5.00 even when you're with friends.
"Alright."
"Shorts or 100s?"
**** man, shorts!" It's my turn to look at him like he's a total stranger.
"Just asking." He puts the bill in the register.
"Shorts say badass. 100s say suicide mission."
"I suppose you're right."
"It makes perfect sense!"
"Either way you're going to die."
"Yeah? So are you, buddy."
**** you."
I exit the convenience store, pack my Marlboro Reds, turn two up (one for luck, one for **** to be smoked lastly out of the pack) and light one.
Jun 14, 2014
Jun 14, 2014 at 10:03 PM UTC
A bee with innards spilling
A lost tabby,
A blimp caught up in trees,
Tintern Abbey.
The gravestone of a lover,
A drowning ship,
An NHS delivery of
Fortisip.
A girl with alopecia and
Fungail nails,
A one legged pigeon,
Exploding whales.
Ivy choked churches,
Merlot tongues,
Parrots plucking feathers,
Marlboro lungs.
Girls locked up in attics,
*** toys.
Boys punching girls
And punching boys.
Babies crowning
Fussed about like kings.
Darlings,
You shall see such pretty things.
Jul 31, 2014
Jul 31, 2014 at 2:53 PM UTC
Hard to miss, you can take me home.
I'd rather be anyone than to be alone.
Marlboro-stained teeth
have my lips controlled.
Don't mistake the chemicals
for our souls.
I move with the waters inside your ribcage.
Because when I drown in you,
it's the perfect place.
Softly, please, taking off our clothes:
I can see the kisses that have left holes.
You've been acid-washed
by love that wasn't stronger.
Take off your armor,
so you can stay here longer.
Your face is as cold
as the place I found you in.
You can let go of the hurt
trapped beneath your skin.
I keep warm in your fire that beats fast.
To be alone with you, it to be, at last.
Hard to miss, I will take you home.
You can be anyone, rather than be alone.
Remove your shoes, but not your heart.
You can stay here, as our world falls apart.
Oct 30, 2014
Oct 30, 2014 at 2:52 PM UTC
we are sitting on the riverside
we smoke cigarettes
the smell still reminds me of you
your smile brings back so many memories
your septum piercing is kinda oblique
i want to touch it while we kissing
that’s not much to ask
you probably taste like red wine and marlboro
i wish we would did this earlier
the background music has changed
some current joys playing on your phone
remember darling, we danced to that song
but if you don’t remember anything
i can tell you what we did
while we were drunk
Aug 19, 2020
Aug 19, 2020 at 6:19 PM UTC
This is america.
It's a one of a kind.
You can buy **** at the store.
You can bide your time.
Voting red or blue.
Is a favorite pastime.
Doesn't really matter which side you choose.
Like it doesn't matter if a poem will rhyme.
Hell you could write freestyle poetry about nothing
and that's accepted.
Cuz this is america and you're free to be an idiot. Inspected. Suspected.
Slot machines and credit cards
Stop lights and go-go bars
Social security and national debt
Red white and blue baby
We're the best!
Patriots of olde
and punks of New.
World Order abound
The olde ways are through!
By and by
Time after time
Woe are to those
With woman and child.
Times is tuff says the country station
but be the 5th caller
to win this Ozark vacation.
Skoal and Miller High Life 40s.
Marlboro Reds, rap music and shorties.
Sorry shawties but midgets are better.
What's more profound
than talkin bout the weather?
I forgot the original point
that I wanted to share with ya
but **** it, you know what I mean?
This is america.
Oct 24, 2012
Oct 24, 2012 at 10:38 PM UTC
i notice how deeply
you pull a drag
on that cigarette
down
to
the depths
of your lungs
as if you're attempting to revive
every hope and dream
exhaling
to set them free
only to dissipate
in a cloud that warrants glares and distancing footsteps
i notice your eyes lift
up to the sky
darling-
don't expect a sign from heaven
when Marlboro
is your guardian angel
Oct 12, 2013
Oct 12, 2013 at 11:50 PM UTC
Some Autumn evening..
I grabbed a cigarette.
Lit it without thinking.
A few years after..
Another Autumn day..
I met you.
I love you daily.
Without thinking
Because who knows?
One day, you may replace...
My pack of Marlboro Menthols.
Oct 18, 2014
Oct 18, 2014 at 1:44 AM UTC
She wore bright glossy
Humbug tights.
Aw ****
the way she smoked
her Marlboro Lights
was pornographic.
She flicked her smoke rings
at the traffic
and was blown to bits by
cheap hairspray.
(Considering my love of Jean Genet,
I told her ‘you make sense this way.’
She smiled and clicked
a ****** heel.
‘Holy **** How real you feel!’
Not that I have points of reference.)
Stop confusing my ******* preference
with La-La-Lola Soho Kink.
Your lips are painted ***** pink
and you wrap them round
your glass and down
your Lambrini-Girls Pre-Party
drink.
(I want you against my kitchen sink!)
And naked -
How you overplayed it!
I think you were a bit
afraid
of both your halves,
your masquerade,
your matching scars.
(What did mermaids do to
all their sailors
struck by stars?)
You’re a crazy fusion,
Top-heavy wonder.
You’re a woman, my dear -
and you pulled me under.
Sep 2, 2013
Sep 2, 2013 at 9:32 AM UTC
click clack, sound of the track
busted lighter, jilted firefighter
****** mosquito bleeding blighter
coffee cup, record stuck
panicked post boom stuck in a rut
had you'd never seen her, been her
watched her fly by
is it a plane, wonder bush, brick lane spy
fallen tree, dropped whispers ina wood
shoulda, woulda but never could
pushed by the wind, running around
set off faster, harder, leavin the ground
seen more war than a nu-rave punk
hit the pavement harder than a skool boy drunk
deeper, lower than before
been round the world 3 times over
prayed harder rollin around in clover
teemin, screaming anticipation, panick buy
obsessed with cuckoo, escape with a sigh
darker, lighter, tougher, cornered and lame
call my breath, take my name
shame, dusted, glory be no more
music drags me back from the shore
vacumn packed, culture vulture sister
pierced hot poker, stoke her, twist her
throwin pieces, jigsaw puzzle in the grass
pull my hair, bit my cheek, slap my ***
shorter, tighter loved a whole lot longer
pushed behind, throw back 80's stronger
straightened, heated from a blue rinse dude
i am sitting her 3 minutes from rude
throw me away from here, take a stand
eating raw from inside the hand
ruined, borken levelled tiger print sweater
20 marlboro, 2 strokes and its better
dangermouse, grotbag loved forever
tether me, feed me, clothed in dried leather
Bowie, polka dots, illuminated lights
star brights, fist fights, just rights
scuffed my heels on your broken walk
shut your mouth when you talk
broke you, stalked you, wounded you down
turn away from rain as we run thru town
just like a fire
black crow eating berries from the briar
sacred high, dancing beauty
eyes black and smarting, ****** up cutie
batman, she-ra, Holy ****** Cow!
Look at me, **** me
I'm a big girl now
Jan 21, 2013
Jan 21, 2013 at 5:01 PM UTC
I wish I still smoked
**** yeah
It's the ritual
the need to make time
to die a little
opening a new pack
shiny cellophane
the lid flipped back
paper seal for freshness
pulled out to reveal
20 happy moments spent
inhaling, coughing, thinking
the soft packets
where you flicked the
cigarettes out like movie
stars and the Marlboro man
who are all dead now
roll ups, kit form bronchitis
liquorice flavour papers
combining childhood flavours
with adult life takers
the smell clinging to clothes
and hair dragon breath
but we all looked so ****** cool
so adult so grown up
so ****** clueless, *******
on our manly pacifiers
I wish I still smoked
**** yeah
just don't have the courage
some how
Feb 28, 2022
Feb 28, 2022 at 5:12 PM UTC
When Napoleon walks into my house, he doesn’t shake my hand
Instead he nods, clears his throat, and says my other name, “Thien.”
“Chu,” I say. He sniffs the air like a K-9 from Denmark,
presses his lips into a line, like one found on a blank page,
like one found on a mirror, and like one found in McDonalds.
He smells the smoke from the Marlboro lights on my black-Tee shirt.
I reach into the pocket of my trousers, searching for cologne:
Tommy; ocean; breeze. It’s lost. I mutter, “son-of-a-bi—”
Chu stares, tries to punish me. I want to laugh, want to shrug.
“Anh-Thien,” says a young voice. I close my eyes. And see my cousin.
Apr 28, 2016
Apr 28, 2016 at 6:04 PM UTC
Uniformed in creative black
Marlboro scented
Wonderstruck
Deliberately
Deliberate
Random
Pixie haired
Angel eyed
& brave
Daring herself to be
Enchantingly urbane
Zeitgeisty
Considerably
Considered
Aware
Pale skinned
Quaintly styled
& risky
A portfolio perfectionist
Absorbing influences
Ferociously
Delicate
Delicately
Persuasive
Scarlet lipped
Crystal tipped
& scared
Feb 17, 2011
Feb 17, 2011 at 6:43 AM UTC
Peaches and cream
All just seem
A bit too sweet
At a run down BP
The man in front of me
With rotten teeth
Is purchasing
Marlboro reds, coffee
And a chance to win the lottery
Gets what he needs,
Then goes on with his deeds
Walks by me
Like a blind man
Who cannot see
Maybe he'll be the winner
Now I'm next in line
Cashier asks "how are you?"
I say fine
They don't care if that's a lie
All I buy
Are peaches
To feed my hunger
Peaches for dinner
I devour
Counting down the hours
Days until I eat again
Slowly becoming more sour
Losing all my power
I hide like a coward
Benith moldy skin
Rotten from within
Same as a peach,
I wither and decay
Who is to say
tomorrow is another day?
Dec 20, 2020
Dec 20, 2020 at 8:12 PM UTC
This sadness, this numb
It is not poetic.
I cannot write about galaxy ridden veins
or fire seared eyes
This sadness, this emptiness
It is not beautiful
There will be no heroic sweeping away of broken princesses by
princes with cigarette clenched teeth
or ***** laced lips
This sadness, this gut-wrenching pain
Will not be daises in Marlboro boxes
It can't be unraveled threads sewed back
by an infinite but dysfunctional love
No, no.
This sadness isn't any of that.
This sadness, it's raw
It hurts to look at but it's torture to bear
People look away from this type of sadness
Because it sure as hell ain't pretty.
But what it is is real
This is the sadness that, once moved past, is never forgotten
It's worn like armor in battle
Like a coat of arms
This sadness makes you a soldier
Sep 9, 2014
Sep 9, 2014 at 11:05 AM UTC
Drapes for windows anew, imitating neighbourhood too,
Furniture rearranged, pictures too; all in blue,
Watchin’, dreamin’ lucid at the porch, of you;
Lay hanging on by the leash, I wait to let go,
Like magic birthday candles reignite, reignite,
Thoughts raced of rats and Tremor Christ,
Dried tears shed tumbling down as I cried;
With every moment I lay, I lay inspired;
I’ll make my yellow bucket list,
This’ll also include in it some of Budapest,
I’ll head off maybe from Scarborough,
Go all the way to Bali with packs of Marlboro,
And maybe then, I’d have answered;
All those questions that have lingered,
And maybe then, I’d have lived,
All those rights and wrongs, greeted and treated,
I’ll travel alone but not lonely,
My feet, my only carriage, I’ll carry;
I’ll carry me home one night!!
Jul 16, 2012
Jul 16, 2012 at 10:01 PM UTC
i like to kick the autumn leaves
they crample neath my shoes
as i take a drag on my Marlboro lite.
I'm that brazen girl with a with beige jacket
and fanfair of lovers names unrequited.
May 2, 2018
May 2, 2018 at 5:01 AM UTC
Contents of the lockers lay in a pile
A flask, a Marlboro box, a thousand
textbooks, pills in an orange see-through bottle
One item, unique to the others,
is a notebook
Full of confessions and Sexton and Plath
Sad yearnings and accounts of complete moments
This notebook
Surrounded by the cigarettes and concealed ***** and mathematical equations
Shows the other world
within this world
That spins in time with this world
But gives and takes
for lovelier sakes
-cj
Jul 19, 2014
Jul 19, 2014 at 1:45 AM UTC
In the middle of weekends
of drunkenness
I cry
over what I see.
I cry
over the man
I gave a marlboro
too,
as he bumbled
and shook
to get it too his mouth,
I leaned in
and gave him a cover
for his light.
I cry
over the deaths
and vigils
in the projects,
cry
over the fact
that there are men
who have been
killed
over menial ****
I cry
over my mother
and grandmother,
because my love
tools away
in the darkness
of my soul
and I am not useful.
I cry
because I have not
seen my best friend
in years,
and I will perhaps
never see him again,
even when
we kept neighborhood ******
away,
back to back
swinging at the world
just to keep our
heads clean.
I cry
over love.
I cry
because there
is something warm
inside me,
as warm
as this gin.
So keep me in your prayers
I am a man crying,
because it roils
inside of me,
because I can't keep my emotions
in check, and don't want to.
I was raised around
a strong woman
with even
stronger emotions
that could be felt like
velvet
and pebbles,
and she taught me
how to be a man
and not lose my heart.
Feb 25, 2012
Feb 25, 2012 at 7:39 PM UTC