"smokeless" poems
By Arcassin Burnham
Long essays of ******** and nonsense,
Or more pathetic when you told me you were homeless,
Stupid *****
You think you hot,
I'll leave you smokeless,
Ash cigarette buds on your skull,
You're my ashtray,
Sir poet,
More like sir faget
I'm not homophobic,
Melz got you protected,
I didn't hear the words until you spoked it,
Beat up a lot people that look like you,
I'm the wrong one to be chosen.
Oct 10, 2014
Oct 10, 2014 at 8:14 PM UTC
Observing these old men sitting at the stockyard cafe,
Suspendered bellies hanging above huge buckles
And button-crotched Levi's tucked tight over leather boots,
Legs grown bowed and thin, but carrying them to the sale, still,
To hear the auctioneer, talking fast to work the buying crowd,
And get their fill of cattle, shoved indoors,
Sold beneath the steady cracking whips,
A spectacle to burn its way into my minds's forever eye:
The skidding steers, the rolling eyes, the frantic scramble to find cover,
While buyers gave their quiet signs:
A tilted cap, a winking eye, a thumb or index finger up or at a side,
To purchase cow or bull or horse, in living flesh...
Then out again, through the other door,
And turn our heads to wait for more, and read the scrolling numbers:
How many head, how much per pound, perhaps a buyer's name,
And then the swinging sound of other cattle coming in to start again.
So, here these old boys sit again,
Slurping coffee through their yellowed teeth,
Remembering days of indoor cigarettes and harried waitresses,
The smell of cow manure and jingling spurs,
Though now the smokeless ring seems tame, more civilized,
I see the glory days reflecting in the old men's eyes.....
I was just a boy back in those good old days,
My memory is a little hazed, but I can recall
When smoking was allowed and sawdust covered the filthy floor,
A Coca-Cola cost a dime, and the cattle sale with Dad was the big time;
Quaking as we treaded light on the catwalks above the pens,
Looked for our calves, or cows Dad culled to bring to sale,
Then going down and in to see them sell.
Fondly now, I can recall the restaurant at the ring
Where I hoped for a slice of lemon pie from behind chill-fogged glass,
Saw cowmen wearing spurs and neckerchiefs and chaps...
Dreamed of growing up to be a cowboy.
Jun 30, 2015
Jun 30, 2015 at 1:32 AM UTC
365Nectar #8 Crescent City Blues
Tues. Oct 1,2013 10:21 P.M.
In the deepest attic
the thumping blues
paint pastel portraits
of the Crescent City
In burning ripples
words slap strangers
taking refuge in Armstrong Park
Slender, **** and Shorty
growl muted tones that ravage old bones
whip thru Mid-City
and saunter thru the Garden District
all just practice to sizzle in a wild tap dance in the Quarter
High steppin Indians
march toward God
and defy gravity.
Roaring second line
being led by woman powered Pinettes Brass Band
hold rush hour traffic hostage for days
belting greasy mingling tunes
in the eye of the dusty moon
A pitch black struggle
with the old moon
liberated old souls
entangled in soaked strings
and sobbing fingers
A quintet churns and
challenges the loneliness of pain
Strumming fingers
make out with
humming strings
under a starry blue grey sky
Stomping down long black Oak-lined roads
blowing thru shotgun homes
like winter cold howling
lifting heavy weights
from shoulders
like the sun shifting against bad weather
the blues lady
open the veins
of drunken roses
Lungs full of tears
Irma holla's, cries, and moans remedies
north south east and west of a street called Desire
Oh Etta
At Last
Dim Misty light
cast a heavy shadow
on wiggling spirits
as they cast off pain
Allen Toussaint
in smokeless blaze
tips the night air
Kermit blows
Dusty blues
seducing suffering souls
bounding them to each other in bliss
Whispering around town
in a perfect velvet midnight
sweet exhalations of song birds from corner joints
dance the Ruffin groove
fiery trebles wave at people passing by
Down right ***** blues
muzzles twilight
trombones,tubas, and trumpets
lay harmony
under the harmonious thunder
of the Marsalis Masters
and low down deep
in a musty sleepless corner
is the missing Bass-man..
hung over.
Copyright ©2013 Crescent City Blues
Nov 21, 2013
Nov 21, 2013 at 11:41 PM UTC
scratchy and damp do not harmonize underfoot
and fear and the ocean should not coexist
but like this elevator missing the thirteenth button, my comfort sinks with tantalizing, lethargic anxiety.
the boards are a smokeless fire underfoot,
grit rolling between me and chipped brown paint,
as i beg for cold, thirst for salt, but do not run to the provocative, promising body beyond the dunes.
and my clothes are underfoot,
and this lemonade pink towel whose corner grabs at the sand,
and the hot dry fades into something that is sturdy and packed down by bounds like mine.
carbon slices at my underfoot,
the sharp home of a long-dead thing,
as my heel strikes the iron, water-pat shore, and the shock of it stuns my bones.
shock! cold underfoot
lace between my toes, smoking from wood and run
and then my face is in the sea, because who needs air when life is the sun trapping itself in the pink of my shoulder blades?
Jan 15, 2019
Jan 15, 2019 at 2:12 PM UTC
apollo's dead-set light shines on beauty.
the gushing of blood boils high in the guilty crowns of gored kings.
TO COURT BEAUTY IS TO BATHE IN IMMACULATE, ETHEREAL ECSTASY!
YOU ARE NOT WORTHY.
ichor spills in the cursed name of the light-born.
blessed with the scrutiny to scorch the iciest of hearts.
they sit on their faux thrones, just above Olympus,
with the wide eyes of wander and lust;
the bodies of gold and trust.
they sit high on their thrones,
with their own
black-light sun.
they sit on their broken thrones
stained with the blood of seraphim.
beings of smokeless fire burn away the truth
and we love them anyway.
Mar 20, 2015
Mar 20, 2015 at 4:32 AM UTC
Earth has not anything to show more fair:
Dull would he be of soul who could pass by
A sight so touching in its majesty:
This City now doth like a garment wear
The beauty of the morning; silent , bare,
Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie
Open unto the fields, and to the sky,
All bright and glittering in the smokeless air.
Never did the sun more beautifully steep
In his first splendour, valley, rock, or hill;
Ne’er saw I, never felt a calm so deep!
The river glideth at his own sweet will:
Dear God! the very houses seem asleep;
And all that mighty heart is lying still!
2k
smokeless tobacco lipstick
ice cream flavored wedding rings
metallic ball over bearing relationships
45 caliber wrist watching sunsets
blank minds and blank checks
do the same damage
Sep 3, 2014
Sep 3, 2014 at 10:18 PM UTC
Sometimes on the way out of Giant,
I'll spend some time freeing change
from the receipt-paper
bindle in my coat pocket
for one two-twist mystery prize
from a Folz machine.
Two quarters:
Enough for a sapphire ring and a cheap
laugh while I juggle coffee-cream cartons,
a sack of December oranges, Certs,
cinnamon mouthwash, a dented can
of green beans 'cause it's cheaper,
red toothpicks, Ziploc bags, a barbecue
chicken TV dinner, Noxzema, a 32-case
of Poland Spring water, a Valentine's
Hallmark card and envelope, a bottle
of pink grapefruit Perrier,
two quick picks for Cash 5,
gluten-free potato chips, garlic salt,
some cumin for $2.82, and a copy
of Vogue.
I strap my groceries in the passenger seat,
and see them sitting straight up as I had,
childishly marveling at the lush
maple leaves washing the windshield
edges in green, leaving helicopters
and dew trails.
She and I watched slug trails
beneath mustard streetlights glisten
like Berger Lake.
Bright as the last cigarette my grandma snuffed out in a smokeless ash tray.
Bright as the first line of road flares that separated me from a burning Taurus.
Bright as the quarter my grandpa gave me for the Folz machine in the Sylvania.
And bright as the emerald ring I showed him.
Feb 1, 2015
Feb 1, 2015 at 3:27 PM UTC
From: Life is a ***** Quotes;
"The *** was
so good even the neighbors
had a cigerette"
'Hahaha good one' I said
'and even better yet'
(the *** (souled union) 'with and no one dared'
'lit one up'
'and called it ever after'
'for the inner fire glow'
'merged with thee outer'
'already and forever willing'
'in the truer feng shui'd'
'human endeavor'
'in the tantric'
(say like dow)
'Tao'
(and mean as way)
'of'
'All'
(be)
'Being'
That is love truely expressing itself through oneness with the One Law of Love!!!
The X (factor) is yours and possibility is interdependent upon the X of you!!!
From the Eternal and smokeless fire, Sa Sa Sunny
Sep 29, 2012
Sep 29, 2012 at 5:08 PM UTC
first,
a raccoon wrapped within its own intestine.
the asphalt is its grave; i swerve to miss it.
we shared the same air, maybe even a
common ancestor.
someone moved too fast to care.
its the ones with
fast cars and slow minds
pretty faces and ugly intent
artificial kindness but genuine hate
i'm not your friend
just a similar sense of self
it is
fat priests playing golf
lottery ticket paradises
restaurants
embellished mechanized slaughter
fake laughter and even faker love
shopping mall environmentalists
lexus-driving christians
paychecks, TV, lawn mowing sundays
drink yourself to death
please.
the least among us in control
deprived of the mind
the stench of their egos
and their hypocrisy
the gasoline, the cash, and the forced smiles
as i write people die
children die
i'm like many
the fool who knows
but does nothing
the one who doesn't know
that's the good person
the moral person.
second,
a rant, a ****** off rage
the days are stale, self-actualize, the Earth remains the same
dry and motionless
middle-class frustration, planetary confusion,
the ***** of the Earth,
capsized like dying branches
in a wal-mart state of mind,
stupid slobs, rodent minded social egoists
over-organized, clean freak object fetishists
the evolutionary dollar sign
they bay at the moon, it's made of cheesecake
phase transitioning,
you blood clot, Earthly blood clot,
you don't know art
now there's ancient blood on my hands
smokeless, plantless, Earthless blood
detached from Gaian consciousness
stain on the mind
confused, clogged pathways,
clogged with
self-righteous mind flood
piles of ***** tissue,
waning and waxing
force feed me your ******** please
because i have no idea how to answer
in this cultural blood bath
it is the
end of time
the end of mind.
:aaphi
Sep 16, 2013
Sep 16, 2013 at 7:01 PM UTC
I tried to quit
This awful Habit
I ended up far deeper
Into this hole I dug.
♦♦♦
I'm hopeless and smokeless,
and just imagining
How much I love the taste of smoke.
♦♦♦
You call me a fool,
and threaten to leave
Have you tasted this magnificent taste?
♦♦♦
You throw them away
and scream and yell
I am back to this depressing state.
♦♦♦
Now I am hopeless and smokeless
and ready to leave
Five more dollars,
and I think I am free.
♦♦♦
I won't be free when I'm dead
Or gone crazy inside my head
I'm still hopeless and smokeless
But now I'm a fool.
Feb 9, 2016
Feb 9, 2016 at 8:28 PM UTC
Earth has not anything to show more fair:
Dull would he be of soul who could pass by
A sight so touching in its majesty:
This City now doth like a garment wear
The beauty of the morning; silent, bare,
Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie
Open unto the fields, and to the sky;
All bright and glittering in the smokeless air.
Never did sun more beautifully steep
In his first splendour valley, rock, or hill;
Ne’er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep!
The river glideth at his own sweet will:
Dear God! the very houses seem asleep;
And all that mighty heart is lying still!
1.2k
.
Bleeding ripe woman,
wet naked stone;
honey rock dries--
fast star bone.
Dead memories change
just like laid,
wants fly open--
soul sky parade.
Sea moon dreams,
daddy heard stars--
known little face;
death drives cars.
________*________
Rainy days wash--
brick looking mud,
blank reality strings
dry midsummer blood.
Dog's child minds--
revolution spreads wings,
***** molten other
fraught angel sings.
Corner ocean waves--
milk sounds morbid,
freeing minnow slaves
gritty condor kid.
________*__________
Catch passing eclipse--
my suicidal dream!
Kissing dying lips,
conscience eagles' scream.
Roots stop barely--
silver burdened rhyme;
river's metal tracks
help God remind.
Lofty smokeless breeze--
bird's echo box.
Ice burg floating,
saturates frozen socks.
__________*___________
Rings pulled strangers
silk blossoms singing--
remembering ancient maps
deep words bringing.
Canon pirates' soup
dreamer's record stalkin',
river's whole amount--
dead man walkin'.
Instant scattered corona
clenching eagle drowning;
rubber slamming secrets--
reading Robert Browning.
.
Feb 22, 2010
Feb 22, 2010 at 4:11 AM UTC
I take a minute to sip some beer,
Miller High Life and Winston's,
Shakey Graves is stomping out through the wires,
Telling the tale of a boy walking to his execution,
His head held high,
Misguided in his actions that evening,
in the waning days of summer.
The song ends, I take out a tin,
Open it up and throw in the last of the dip I had,
After that I'll be done with smokeless tobacco.
Elton John is now waxing poetically about the ideas of roses in Spanish Harlem,
His voice eloquent, nostalgic, and tear-jerkingly honest,
The loss of innocence in an idea,
Ripped asunder by the cruelty of the world at large,
If only there were one Good Samaritan,
If they were to stand up and say enough!
In the album he is but the Master of Ceremonies in the château.
Weaving great tales of happiness and woe.
And isn't that what life is,
Both the ultimate comedy and tragedy?
But what do I know?
I'm just an Average Joe.
May 6, 2017
May 6, 2017 at 1:33 AM UTC
Sometimes on the way out of Giant,
I’ll spend time freeing change
from the receipt paper
bindle in my coat pocket
for one two-twist mystery prize
from a Folz machine.
Two quarters:
just enough for a plastic, sapphire ring and a cheap
laugh while I juggle coffee cream cartons in both arms.
I strap them in the passenger seat,
sharing it as my sister
and I had just to sit up straight
and marvel at the maple branches
washing the windshield in green,
leaving helicopters and dew trails.
We watched slug trails glisten
like Berger Lake water
beneath the incandescent streetlight.
Bright like the last cigarette my grandma snuffed out
in a smokeless ash tray.
Bright like the first halogen headlights that stung my retinas.
Bright like the quarter my grandpa gave me for the Folz machine
in the Sylvania.
And bright like the plastic, emerald ring I showed him.
Jan 27, 2015
Jan 27, 2015 at 11:04 AM UTC
Lonely vigil, nigh on midnight,
Stars above and earth below,
Sacred silence, dark inviolate,
Seated in the fire’s glow.
Dreaming of a lover’s whispers,
Dancing with her memory,
Drowning in a sea of roses;
Drinking in the melody.
Breathing, touching, soft caresses,
Sweetest honey, strongest wine,
Whispered vows, that sweet assurance:
“I am yours, and you are mine.”
All is fleeting, air and ashes;
Tears ahead and oaths behind,
Fire burning down to nothing,
How could I have been so blind?
Aug 25, 2015
Aug 25, 2015 at 6:48 AM UTC
Just like the right double-A battery,
This will reign forever.
Rain in peace and joy and love,
Meeting the eternal flames of Passion halfway down the sky.
Not steam! But Lo!
Outpourings of infinite rainbows!
Glory B of heaven’s earth,
Met here in promised land.
1 must be careful, however,
Not to cut oneself on the sharp G
Of the Liberty Bell. Go!
Homestead upon the river Styx,
Immortalized with diamonds and mirrors,
Refracting about the smokeless fires,
Casting colours in all directions!
Y the English spelling, you ask?
Why, Americans are ever so silly,
Forgetting the seven colours!
Trying to make them 6.
‘Twill never do.
There must be at least 7, the magickal number
To make up the grand 8.
aleph-acher-aleph
Until there is only Everything Left.
Jul 11, 2012
Jul 11, 2012 at 5:33 PM UTC
Just thought I'd write these few lines
Praying God will take this message to you
I miss you so, dearest Joy!
Words cannot express the pain
Locked within my breast
Those times we sat sipping black coffee and
Talking about God and the Bible
Listening to a preacher on TV or sometimes a cartoon
The scent of your cigarette blending with spicy apple candle
Later you graduated to a smokeless cigarette,
Then finally you became too weak to smoke at all
Or even drink or eat or move
Dearest Joy, I miss you so!
I try to laugh and smile and joke
To comfort Tim and Marian yet the ache remains in my heart
Tim says he sometimes thinks he hears your footsteps in the woods
Sometimes I think I hear your soft knock at our door
Or that the phone ringing will be you
Always you were so sweet and appreciative
Thanking me over and over for the simplest little things
Thank you, sweetest Joy, for the lovely drinking glasses you gave us
And that special card you made which said
"Until we drink together of that water in heaven"
Forgive me for the Hospice group, dear Joy
I honestly believed that they would try to help
Rather than just cheerfully watching you die day after day
Thank you, dearest Sister, for all the sweet little gifts
Most of all your friendship and love
So I am praying that God will send this message to you
Perhaps show us some glimpse of Heaven to comfort our broken hearts
We love you, Sweetest Sister, and always will
~Hilda~
Sep 5, 2014
Sep 5, 2014 at 12:18 PM UTC
I was there,
in your shoes
walking over dirt
and picking out our favorite tree
life is hard but most days are worth living
today was not one of those days
tomorrow won’t be either
we held sturdy rope in our hands
the kind that’s permanent
the kind of knot that holds
sometimes you gotta admit defeat
some things will never be done
some days it’s just better to quit
friends and family will be upset,
but aren’t you supposed to live for yourself
shouldn’t dying be the same way?
we climbed our favorite tree
looked out over nature’s beauty
breathed clean smokeless air
you jumped
I stayed.
They say before you judge a man
you must walk a mile in his shoes
I was only there when you fell.
May 5, 2010
May 5, 2010 at 12:06 AM UTC
The demons got me in that alley at last.
I could feel the weight on my body as they entered.
That pain they caused made me want to scream.
My whole body twisted, stiffened and surrendered.
I struggled with my own self to stop the transformation
But my eyes had turned hollow, pitch black.
The sunlight vanished and darkness took over everything.
Then emerged a shadow from fire and ash.
It was Satan himself, the smokeless fire.
He walked up to my feeble body and smiled.
"Don't worry my lady," he consoled warmly
"Tonight you'll be served as my human sacrifice."
Aug 28, 2014
Aug 28, 2014 at 5:27 PM UTC
We soak our travel-weary feet
Together in the deep end of a sea of clouds;
Take pause on the immortal steps
To inhale Yellow Mountain mist,
Coal dust, incense. Smokeless
Digital fireworks and sky-high butterfly facades
Sprout like corn stalks in autumn haze,
While we navigate this land of a billion characters
And more with only a phrase to go on,
Past the shops, libraries,
And reading rooms packed
With a literature only seen;
Poetic place names set
To a music only heard;
Guided by subtext, courteous,
And often as odd
As we find ourselves, on another side
Of a world only passing through.
Dec 2, 2019
Dec 2, 2019 at 8:20 PM UTC
Your batting of an eyelash,
My perfect
yellow
downfall
On repeat to match the beat
Pounding through my head,
Deconstructing, my eyes, slip
Tracing the cracks that my feet,
slow
heavy
unnecessary,
Have been grazing
For who even knows how long—
What is time without you to make it go faster?
I check, they all check
All reassured of our grievances, failures
Masses of nothing put together
wilted flowers
crumpled papers
The blue echoes and the mindless absence
Dwelling in the dark air—smokeless
Far too long here, far too long.
May 6, 2010
May 6, 2010 at 6:17 PM UTC
He's the skinnier
and the drunker
Just a few cents
for your pride is all he seeks
Sell your soul
the devil is in a good mood today
If these poem ever made sense
then you'd be the craziest
Just like her
Like the tales
She confides in
like the miniskirts
or the cloths of the dark
your high on kush
Heaven here she come
Sep 12, 2015
Sep 12, 2015 at 5:57 PM UTC
Look at me and you will not see a Hero.
Smile with me and the Devil I become.
My quieted anger,the smokeless flames.
My breathe is not ragged
My Fists shan't be righteous
But you'll remember me for the kindness.
That you so long ago mistook for my weakness.
Miss me? Mr. Smith
Jan 13, 2014
Jan 13, 2014 at 2:44 PM UTC