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kgl Dec 2014
like a cigarette, ignited and raised to your scornful lips
you made me your addiction
and i let you consume me
moonboy Jun 2014
rumour has it mirrors shatter
at the thought of you having your fathers eyes
I hope you know that if you're looking for a sign
you might find it tying to choke out one last goodbye
at the end of the night
you'll find it wherever home is
I know you hate the smell of smoke
but cigarettes are all I know
so I'm asking you to put up with it
you have every reason to be furious
but I'm hoping you'll take deep breaths and see
how calm they make my blood stream
I only started smoking to ease the pain
it was that or a needle to the vein
a bullet to the brain
too much going on up there anyways
it all just needed cutting out
so cigarettes just made sense
I talk about them in the past tense
but the one between my fingers seems to disagree
open your eyes and see
through all the smoke and mirrors lies me
a double entendre for how things used to be
and how they are currently
the writing is on the wall
in every ****** love song lies a promise
to make the next one stronger
and they keep promising that but the time between gets longer
and all of a sudden the bands broken up
and the symbol of love you used to **** to
is broken like the bond of your parents love
I love you is an apology
forgiveness is given with every similar reply
I love you means that I forgive you
for being broken and for breaking me
because picking you out in a crowded room
is something I've become accustomed to
god I can't stop thinking about the look in your eyes
on that night in July with fireworks in the sky
the last time I remember you saying goodbye
because I shattered at the thought of you having my fathers eyes


smoke and mirrors
06/22/14
9:10am
j.s
patty m Apr 2016
Smoke witch
gathering storm clouds
just past the peak of mushrooms
litanies of cicadas sing
scratchy melodies
to blustering winds
setting dust flying.

Rain let it rain, end the
violent extremes of this
desiccated land of summer.
Let it rain
where brooks once gurgled
and rivers rippled,
before entire  fields vanished
and we became the starving..

Anthems of thunder rumble
accompanied by bolts of lightning,
At last it comes in downpours,
sheets flattening in the wind. . .
rain-washed black branches
blend with overcast gray.
silver puddles shimmer.
Ankle deep in mud we twirl  
catching rain on parched tongues;
oh the blessed relief.  
The end of drought
and soon seeds of hope will rise
green against the dark rich soil,
food to appease hunger.

Moonlit gathering,
liquid bliss like tears moistens our cheeks as
we **** the marrow of acorns
and a handful of pine needles,
whispering in ancient tongues;
Shrouded figures among the trees,
a silver eye watches ferns uncurl,
We will endure,
running full force into the eye of the storm
stopping only to gather gifts from
earths shadow..
sara May 2014
Down the back alley
on the cold winter evenings
your eyes stared only at me

I didn't smoke
as my father gave up
yet i didn't dare disagree

you parted your lips
you drew in a breath
and your body relaxed in turn

exhaling slowly,
you grin and you show me
how much your body did yearn

for the taste of a cigarette
the embers and ashes
matches and lighters, causing flickering flashes

you said I didn't have to
but I said I didn't mind
that the smoke in your mouth would soon be in mine

I did not draw back
my mouth- under attack
I just had to last the duration

because I didn't smoke
the taste scorched my throat
and gave off a burning sensation

It must have felt different
as just in an insant
You stub out the cigarette with a hiss

silently relieved
and now more at ease
oh, the things that you do for a kiss
With the car stereo tuned in
to the radio waves, our vehicle
glided through the cityscape.
The machine had been fumigated
and anguish had been cleansed;
Our anxiety was subjugated
and our appetite, content.
Got nicely blazed with the aid
of that sliver haze.

*Driving in the calm of midnight,
Through city streets in the half-light
while The Numbers Song by DJ Shadow plays.
Paul Mar 13
Over the bed, a ceiling fan revolves
elliptically. The yellowed walls speak
of anxieties archived by the lungful.
From his fingers the snaking upward blue
smoke of burning tobacco describes tumult.
She has gone back into the world. Alone
in their aftermath he inhales like a figure
growing distant in a cinema purged
of heroes. The worn sheets rope about
his ankles and recall an inmate’s noose.
She'd been inside. And for years. How she assumed
her role in the act, face to the wall, silent, work-like.
It was a thing they laughed about. Her parting
glance was inscrutable.

He drew deeply, and a ring
of orange fire bloomed, briefly proclaiming love
remained a chance. Who could know? The arhythmic
rocking of the fan beat the hot air back
onto him, the lone smoker, smoking blankly.
The curtains billowed into the parking lot
like some great tongue, wildly, mute. And under
the window, in the shadowless heat, a dog,
limp with thirst, laps at the drips that drip from a pipe.
a re-write and re-post. I've strived for meaningful enjambments and a sense of metre while attempting to sound contemporary
AprilDawn Sep 2016
still hangs in the night air
from holiday meals  
long grilled
the only light  I see
is above
the crescent  moon
and a triangle of stars
boasting of Saturn  
and Mars
plus the  bonus planet  Antares
as I stumble 
yet again
 through the lawn
to find  those
half sunken stepping stones
  on  tilted  soil
headed towards the back porch
where Lily cat meows
  loudly for her supper
by the back door
Impressions of last Labor Day
Smoke Scribe Feb 2015
crazy idea, silly notion,
then again,
come back, circle around,
why not, you ask yourself

now prior to posting hereon,
every word with extra care reviewed

sharing, checking in
with my beloveds,
here, those gone/disappeared

telling myself
telling anyone,
talking to you
letting you know
my grace, your grace,
one and the same,
my face, your face,
my child, my son

know you're
checking in,
checking out,
the comings,
the goings,
knowing full and well,
I see you,
my face, your face
everywhere and everyday

our conversation never ending,
look for me here,
at the intersection
of memory and what's up,
you see my messages,
responding in a thousand
different ways,
our dialogue unending,
formally organized
Face to Facebook,
your face, my Facebook
my child, my son
Give me a smoke to ease this pain
&
Burn down my lungs to distract this brain.
Umi May 2018
A phoenix is...
Extended ash, through unending life,
Darkness clouds the happiness of distant days, as eternal life
might be cursed by the flames of hell, yet she is always resurrecting,
Like a spectator, she watches life rise and fall, alike day and night,
Comparable to the smoke which thins it's trail as it travels into the distant sky, yet never truly dying never truly disappearing, living on.
Such is the fate of one who is imperishable, it is alonely existence,
Scared to bond but filled with hope she keeps her head up high,
Because the majestic, azure sky is always a source of hope and bliss,
This makes her fight on, although this battle will never end,
Believing there is a future, in which she someday will rest happily,
Misery and hatred burn up in her flames, which then fall into the darkness of a deep sin which has found its occurance in the long past,
As her body scorches into a blaze of immortality, recurring memories soar, illuminating the land and guiding her through the long night,
Even if all what is lost can be found again, it will perish, transiently.
For now all what is left, is but immortal smoke.

~ Umi
I had to write this twice
Because hello poetry was down when I wanted to publish it and the draft disappeared almost completely =)
I hate my life
patty m May 2014
The train chugs into town, its smoke
rising over trees, black
against the setting sun's spread of
blue and tangerine.
And still the pale and exhausted clamor
aboard dust and soot covered,
until the train slides forward exhaling.



Golden hawk your broad circles stretch the moments
until your talons touch down,
while the train recedes into mountain's
violet haze.



Old Simon, a fisherman
from a neighboring town
rolls a cigarette and looks around
then proceeds to tell
one of his stories.

He tells them in segments,
holding each of us enthralled
as he puffs and blows smoke
in the eyes of gullible youngsters.

*

Smoky mountain sunset
the train of thought
comes rolling in,
no arrivals or departures
just miles of rail going nowhere,
clickety-clack clickety-clack.
Smoke Scribe Mar 2015
Got 0 followers, but one tongue, and that's perfectly ok...

cause I got
two eyes
two nostrils
two hands
two ears
two ventricles

they all
follow me

all riders
on the one tongue
that speaks my piece

that finds poetry
on ***** streets
in closed places
and in the
if's of our lives
that makes writing
in one common tongue
so **** desirable
Whittney May 2018
I don’t smoke
But if I did, I’d light you on fire and breathe you in until my lungs were coated with your ashes.
No chance of lung cancer, but maybe a chance of obsession.
I’d watch the tips of you slowly burn until my fingers were in danger of blistering.
You are a dangerous habit.
Moonflower Jan 4
you were a wound that wouldn't stop bleeding,
i was the gauze volunteering itself.
i don't know why i never accepted that you only ever put yourself first;
i guess i thought if i loved you fiercely enough you would see that i was worth placing at least second.
i think of our softer moments and it takes all i have to keep from unravelling,
even though they only lasted as long as the summer did.
sitting beside you in your hospital bed late june,
i know now that you just needed a distraction from your detox,
and that it wouldn't have made a difference if I'd just stayed home.

it's 7:25 in the morning and i'm outside smoking a cigarette beside grass so cold that it appears blue.
nothing will rid me of my thoughts reluctantly drifting to you.
thought takes shape in the form of smoke clouds
billowing out from my lungs on this quiet morning.
i realize now what little concern i have for my own well-being.
you never warned me of how abruptly you would change;
i was the poor ******* who saw your flaws and decided to keep loving you anyway.

i think of the feeling of when we kiss and how i can almost taste your soul
and so the breakdown begins.
i loved you so tenderly.
i remember the spring.
i guess our moments were just moments to you,
but to me, they were the beginning of our life together.
blegh
Dánï Jun 2014
Although I missed you, I didn't miss the yells
And all the times you made me feel unwell;
Whether it was physical or emotional,
Your love was harsh and you made it seem personal.

Your huge hands to hold me, you used to hurt me.
Your warm smile you used to spit fire.
Those hazel eyes were made to captivate me,
And they did just that, in a prison cell was where I resided, forcefully.
Your loud, beautiful laugh was used mockingly,
And the way your words flowed showed me who I was, accidentally.
Your big, warm heart was charred- it beat quietly,
and you passed on the black smoke, unintentionally.
It filled up my mind, my lungs,
And with every breath I took I became even more numb.


Maybe this is why I look for you in every man,
It's all I've ever known.
And although it wasn't the most ideal plan,
Black was the only color I was ever shown.
-d.***
Smoke Scribe Feb 2015
not especially social,
just a couple of friends,
so our interaction qualifies,
special, very,
with sincerity I say,
fancy seeing you here

come and gone,
come back again,
restarting an engine,
that been redesigned
to be as simple as
you and me,
reader, writer

quit, here, brevity here,
but say out loud that word,
fancy
one mo' time

part fantasy,
special, very,
a poem read,
a fan friendship established
here, where words and eyes
intersect, a very fancy place...
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