"yankees" poems
Hanging out new to the scene
So often wonder what that means
As I sit in front of the world's screen
Started in on ...Googling
I typed in a single word
Pressed enter for the Google search
Took me down the path absurd
Where all the lines were blurred
From there I ventured off the path
Wish I'd known there's no turning back
Marveled at the knowledge that I lack
Like how to whittle your own baseball bat
Just in case you're wondering
Midgets don't melt in the rain
Who doesn't think that that's insane
As I dive deeper into Googling
The art of bathing a Hindu rat
Skinning a two-headed Siamese cat
The taking of the perfect nap
Standing up while keeping your lap intact
How to delicately pierce a Rhino's ear
Dressing up then down a deer
50 different ways a man can cheer
While toasting his favorite Micro beer
Abstract art using cotton *****
How to paint between the lines on paisley walls
Teaching Yankees how the South says ya'll
Lost episodes of the show called Lost
Food served upon the world's menus
Even specialties from Timbuktu
Why the sea is green and the sky is blue
As my googling madness continues
More artwork this time with the jam of toes
How to pick your friends but never your friend's nose
Cleaning of the house without a stitch of clothes
The whole time being careful with the vacuum hose
80's Hairbands I used to like
That now know what bald feels like
Making a homemade Hindenburg kite
One that lands this time
How to handle midlife like a man
Taking a survey of what you could have been
Raising Spider Monkey's in the comfort of your den
As I keep on Googling
I now find myself Googling out in front
As I'm Googling from behind
Googling up as I'm Googling down
To the left and to the right
I've learned how to gargle Google
That's a well known Google fact
And if you don't believe me
You can even Google that
Nov 27, 2013
Nov 27, 2013 at 2:33 PM UTC
Excerpts from “Travels with Einstein”
by Michael R. Burch
for Trump
I went to Berlin to learn wisdom
from Adolph. The wild spittle flew
as he screamed at me, with great conviction:
“Please despise me! I look like a Jew!”
So I flew off to ’Nam to learn wisdom
from tall Yankees who cursed “yellow” foes.
“If we lose this small square,” they informed me,
earth’s nations will fall, dominoes!”
I then sat at Christ’s feet to learn wisdom,
but his Book, from its genesis to close,
said: “Men can enslave their own brothers!”
(I soon noticed he lacked any clothes.)
So I traveled to bright Tel Aviv
where great scholars with lofty IQs
informed me that (since I’m an Arab)
I’m unfit to lick dirt from their shoes.
At last, done with learning, I stumbled
to a well where the waters seemed sweet:
the mirage of American “justice.”
There I wept a real sea, in defeat.
Originally published by Café Dissensus
Keywords/Tags: Einstein, Adolph, ****** Berlin, Jew, Jews, Arab, Arabs, Palestinian, Palestinians, Vietnam, Vietnamese, American, Americans, Yankees, Domino, Theory, Dominoes, Jesus, Christ, Bible, Christian, Christianity, Slave, Slaves, Slavery, Israel, Jerusalem, Tel Aviv
Jul 21, 2020
Jul 21, 2020 at 4:11 AM UTC
Gen. Lees invasion of the North written by himself—
In eighteen sixty three, with pomp,
and mighty swell,
Me and Jeff’s Confederacy, went
forth to sack Phil-del,
The Yankees the got arter us, and
giv us particular hell,
And we skedaddled back again,
And didn’t sack Phil-del.
3.5k
procuring lexical polymorphism
synthesizing atypical signifier
playing blue album
awaiting tomorrow's celebrations
adding complex plugins
altering element content
watching office mascot
wheeling hue-named albums
undulating forest growth
pricing those yankees
finding layman's chaos
enjoying another victory
reviewing markup concepts
ditching error messages
enjoying relative obscurity
Sep 27, 2015
Sep 27, 2015 at 1:17 PM UTC
Wish me luck - like a speech for me to read before I play. I am going to print it out and keep it with me., when I am at the final table, and it's televised, right before I win. The last hand, before I make the call of a lifetime - clock ticking, $35k first place prize money; I am going to take it out, look at it. Then call, Like a Boss. Black tinted classes, headphones looking like speakers, Yankees cap tipped to the side, Charles dickens on my lap. Sipping on some water shipped in from Vergeze. Cool as an icecube, rocking a tight Tee. Blue jeans, tim boots, Blasting ice -Tea; dudes ain't worried about cards, until the check me. I'm nice with calls, I'm like Jordan when he first started wearing the two-three. Sticking my tongue out at dudes that try and bluff me; the lack luster in comparison to me. I'm seeing their tells, like sign language. They try and force my hand, I do maximum carnage. My shine don't tarnish.
May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014 at 12:07 PM UTC
My grandparent's house
ten-kid-large and sinking
on the corners of remembrance
Remodeled now, to
...tenements
Honeycomb
...the remnants
Irish immigrant and Scottish orphan's child
She sang on the ferry
He fell in love
"The rest is the history of us...."
Wide
as the Connecticut River, grieving--
in their sunset....
________________
This-- chair
is his
I am afraid of it-- of his learning
of the shiny badge pinned to his coat
of his dying...
Golden leather of it
soothes
his memory--
of another continent
of the once warmth-- of a distant hearth
so darkened now--
where his head once rested
...his hands
and,
I fear--
his mind....
I will not sit in it
as if he will come back, to take his place
I am afraid of him--
with his chair--
all worshipful and empty
like a high place, abandoned
to the heart attack
not for grandchild play
Seat of Authority
still stamped
beside the standing cold--
brass ashtray
Pipe smoke imagines itself
against the ceiling in the words
of Yates and Milton
He read to them
and somehow--
Paradise is Lost....
_______________
This house is cold now-- even in the summer-- cold
Worn as only large families wear
The War
of waiting shadows
--four brothers who were spared
Anna Mae, in charge, too young,
worries in abrupt dark
of dinning room
Her face, haunted--
an archway-- ever empty
by the large and ghostly table
covered by its web of lace--
a bridal veil
of Catholic impossibility...
Anna Mae, held hostage by her thoughts
of darling, Sean...
Aunt Lil's “breakdown”
with cigarette and thorazine
quaking quiet in her corner
Aunt Nell,
as blind as ******** hell
ironing, darning
with threads that thatch
the wounded socks
Holds it all together, scolding--
Brought the welcomed jelly donuts
sneered as Yankees clobbered Boston
all-- while drinking yellow ale
Uncle Eddie-- laughing hoarsely
cracks nuts over a wooden bowl
Sep 19, 2017
Sep 19, 2017 at 10:52 PM UTC
Kingsville, Texas, 1955
A loaf of bread from the Piggly Wiggly
A quart of milk because MawMaw forgot
A Coke and a Mickey Mouse funnybook
A water pistol and Eskimo Pies
A pack of PawPaw’s brand of cigarettes
So he can watch his Yankees this afternoon
On the Sylvania with the rabbit ears
In gloriously static-y black-and-white
Plays called by Dizzy Dean and PeeWee Reese
In our childhood world, forever at peace
Jul 20, 2018
Jul 20, 2018 at 4:05 PM UTC
Do they play baseball in heaven.
Wonder if you know if they play baseball in heaven?
Think they have a baseball field in the clouds?
Does guys like Mickey mantle and Frank Robins on.
Does the great Babe Ruth hit home runs?
Are there teams like the Yankees or the braves up there.
I know God must have a team he likes.
I want to find out if they are the angels.
Do you think that I will be able to play with the cool ones?
I know they must have a hall of fame with guys like Joe and Stan
Aug 7, 2014
Aug 7, 2014 at 12:56 AM UTC
'let's walk to the ocean'
said the passing clown to the mime
'it's quite a long way'
expressed the mime
'yes it is?'
the clown replied
mime frowned
and they began walking...
clown in his big floppy red shoes
mime improvising as he went
at the edge of town they ran into a juggler
on the corner trying to pick up a few coins in his cup
clown asked the juggler if he'd care to join them
in their walk to the ocean
juggler said 'why not, things are kind of
up in the air for me right now'
they headed west toward the coast
clown had 5 boxes of Mike and Ikes...every flavor
in his red scarf on a stick
mime had plenty of slim jims
this would keep them fed until they reached their destination
several hours into their odyssey
a storm approached
a lone well drawn pine provided refuge until the storm cleared
as well as a snack and chance to learn of each other's journey
to this point
clown had done many things throughout his life
in pursuit of love, home and family
but he had failed in his search for a life he always dreamed of
and now this face of heavy make-up and big red nose would
hide the fact that he lived a life of constant sadness
mime had been a singer and worked for years to perfect
his craft... dreamed of making it to the big stage
but he refused to sing what they wanted him to sing and even though he had amazing talent, he was refused time and time again
becoming a mime would mean he'd never be reminded of the beautiful voice he possessed
juggler was a star pitcher known for his amazing fastball when he graduated college and was only days from signing a contract with the Yankees when a car accident damaged his shoulder so severely he lost his fastball
he juggles to keep his arm in shape in case his fastball ever returns
juggler asked clown why they were headed to the beach
mime was interested as well and produced the perfect look of inquiry
clown stood up...tossed the red scarf on a stick full of Mike & Ike's over his shoulder, brushed himself off and replied...
'why not?'
Aug 8, 2019
Aug 8, 2019 at 6:49 PM UTC
Goodbye Bottle Bandit
What a face she had . Shaped like a heart with a heart shaped mouth
with the most beautiful head of hair
you ever saw.
underneath it all a fragile, beautiful soul
She was funny
she was classy.
She was smart
She was the kind of woman who would force homemade cheesecake on you
and things us swamp Yankees had never heard of - like artichoke gnocchis
She was mine for a while,
or I was hers
you could never really own a girl like that.
And I know she loved me.
But Jim beam and jack Daniels were the real men in her life
Only now do I understand
Something I could never understand
Something nobody should understand
How a girl Buddy Cianci once said was the most beautiful girl in Providence
Died alone sitting upright on a couch.
One of her men in her hand.
There were men in the past who are used her and abused her
I don’t wish them ill
but I don’t wish them well
She once said that her mother was her only friend
I said “what about me?”
What about you? She said.
I’m your friend .
No, you’re my man .
I was proud to be .
Until those two southern boys edged me out.
Truth is I’ll never understand
Neither does her mother
I hope nobody understands .
I don’t wanna live in a world where people understand that kind of thing .
Bottle bandit .
My bottle bandit.
Jan 9, 2024
Jan 9, 2024 at 9:05 PM UTC
Slashers Defined
In response to my piece, Slashers, it was requested that maybe I could
reveal at least which band or other info these great guitar players performed for to gain their claim to fame. I don't want to spend too much
time on this defintion, but will give what info I think is pertinent. If you do not know some of the names I have presented to you, and you are a blues,
rock, jazz, fusion guitar fan, I suggest you take the time to listen to some of their work. I have included some of my favorite incredible fusion players that do not have a super star following, but are renowned in their group of fans, probably mostly musicians to some degree.
If you are a frustrated guitar player like I am, do not listen to the likes of Holdsworth, Johnson, Gambale, or Morse unless you love being tortured.
Anyway on with the show.
Eric Clapton – Yardbirds, Cream, Blind Faith, Derek and the Dominos.
Jimmy Page – Yardbirds, Led Zeppe, The Honeydrippers, The Firm
Jimi Hendrix – not only what is, but, what could have been
Alan Holdsworth – Solo jazz fusion player – hot
Steve Howe – Yes, Asia - Progressive rock, jazz –
Bill Nelson – BeBop Deluxe, Solo
Terry Kath – Chicago (25 or 6 to 4) – another sad early departure
Ted Nugent – Amboy Dukes, **** Yankees – The madman
Jim Krueger – Dave Mason Band – solo progressive rock
Eddy Van Halen – Van Halen
Ritchie Blackmore – Deep Purple, Rainbow
Jerry Doucette – Doucette (Mama let him play)
Eric Johnson – Solo – New Age, jazz
Frank Gambale – Australian- Jazz, fusion, rock
Goerge Benson – Jazz
Larry Carlton – Jazz, new age rock
Marc Farner - Grand Funk Railroad
Peter Frampton – Humble Pie, solo
Joe Satriani - New age – solo
Johnny A. - jazz, new age – solo
Danny Gatton – jazz, rockabilly – solo
Chet Atkins – jazz, country
John Mayer – Pop, blues – solo
Neal Schon – Journey
Steve Lukather – Toto
Masyoshi Takanaka – New age, jazz – Japanese solo
Lee Ritnour – Jazz, new age – solo
Leslie West - Mountain, West Bruce & Laing
Monty Montgomery – jazz, blues (accoustic you have never heard)
Wes Montgomery – jazz 40's – 50's
Phil Keaggy – New age Christian
Robin Trower – Procul Harem
Brian May – Queen
Rick Derringer – Montrose, Edgar Winter Group, Steely Dan
Robin Ford – John Mayall, Chick Corea, solo jazz, fusion, blues
Carlos Santana – Santana
Ronnie Montrose – Montrose
Steve Morse – Dixie Dregs, Kansas, solo jazz, fusion
Trevor Rabin – Yes, solo new age
Gomer LePoet...
Jun 10, 2010
Jun 10, 2010 at 1:19 PM UTC
I'm going AWOL at first light
Sherman threatens my hometown
I hate to leave Robert E. Lee
But my heart's not backing down
There's a railroad to Atlanta
I'll fight side by side with Paw
General Johnson's too outnumbered
But we'll stand at Kennesaw
I don't like to leave Virginia
But Atlanta needs me there
With my family in danger
It's a duty I must bear
I'll meet Mayde at Big Shanty
We can have some time at last
I'll get up at the crack of dawn
And kick old Sherman's ***
Now I know we're way outnumbered
They have more than two to one
And Sherman hates all rebels
He's Abe Lincoln's favorite skunk
If we could get old Stonewall
To come down for just a spell
We could kick old Abe's invaders
From Kennessaw to hell
Mayde, I'm real scared of dying
If our rebel line should fall
But I'll stand to fight **** yankees
Make 'em think they hit a wall
We own no slaves but Sherman thinks
It's rebel killin' time
So I'll shoot holes in Yankee coats
Before there's one in mine
Dec 10, 2010
Dec 10, 2010 at 5:59 AM UTC
As the water birds lifted from the morning tide,
I found myself being lifted from an unconscious
state to the dictionary by four unfamiliar syllables
like the many poets before me, searching for
the meaning of nomenclature. Interestingly enough,
it could have been me on the other side of a poem
that I would come back to after sundown: an old,
scientific word who first appeared in 1610,
whose roots grew, naturally, like the hidden
interests of a loved one, from the Latin
nomenclatura (the assigning of names).
But instead, I ended up on this side of the poem,
sitting before an empty screen and a dictionary
in a Yankees ball cap and denim t-shirt, slowly
piecing together a poem about a 17th century novel
while trying to include the sudden interest of my
loved one: French parenting literature on healthy
eating, all while slowly tying the loose ends
of a poem without meaning together.
Sep 5, 2016
Sep 5, 2016 at 9:54 PM UTC
If I had a dollar for every poem I wrote....
I'd have like a billion dollars
Because I would just write a program
that spits out random words and phrases
Then someone would tell me that they're
only going to pay me 50 cents per poem
if I'm going to be like that.
I'd be like "Whatever, dude...that's still half a billion dollars"
Can't be greedy, you know.
Then they'd try to pass some sort of law defining what a poem
can and can't be, spending millions of tax-payer dollars to stop
me from writing poems like this:
SHITAKE DUCK FOOTBALL
magnifying glass eats adolph ******
can I be valentine bubblewrap
I think so maybe
I peanut butter 1975 Yankees
Did you ****
Robocop.
The judge would rule in my favor. That would really ****
off the poor saps that had to pay me for my poems.
Doesn't really matter though....
No one pays me for this ****
Jul 13, 2012
Jul 13, 2012 at 8:39 PM UTC
say for example,
that you love to play baseball.
[it is your favorite thing in the world,
and you're quite good at it, too].
and before your game,
your coach says to the team,
"if we win, i'll take everybody to Pizza Hut!"
upon hearing this, the players' faces light up-
each one can taste the delicious stuffed crust that awaits them,
and visions of breadsticks dance through their heads.
the coach even brought a coupon book to allude to their possible futures...
just before the team takes the field,
the coach pulls you aside
and says,
"actually, i'm going to take the whole team to Pizza Hut
even if we lose."
well, you would know right then
that outcome of the game
is irrelevant,
but the true joy of playing
comes from competition regardless of winning or losing,
so you vow to play your best game ever.
however, everyone else on the team,
not knowing the ultimate truth,
will play very seriously,
but with great anxiety and nervousness.
they desperately want Pizza Hut,
but know that they might not getting it.
this game is the most important thing in the universe,
and it is the most serious test of all time.
every at-bat is tense for them,
each fly ball could result in ultimate damnation.
nothing is fun.
with tension and anxiety,
they strike out, play conservatively,
and don't take the risks that make the game enjoyable.
quickly, the team finds itself trailing by a few runs,
and sweating profusely because of it.
you, on the other hand,
would feel more relaxed during the game.
you would swing for the fences,
knocking a couple out of the park,
steal a base or two,
make a diving catch.
play your best game ever.
you can do this comfortably
because you realize that you're just playing for fun.
you're going to Pizza Hut after game, whatever the outcome!
soon, in your exuberance,
you'd let slip the secret to a couple other players.
you'd tell them, "guys, we were always going to Pizza Hut,
let's just have some fun while we play this game."
most of them rejoice!
[a couple real serious ones doubt you and resent you.
you'd surely smile, bend a knee, and applaud their solemnity.]
but in your state of joy you include the doubters,
and you let them believe what they will until the final innings over.
you think, they'll wake up soon enough.
with the last out made
and the last run scored,
maybe you look at the scoreboard and see yourself in the lead,
maybe you are a few runs behind,
but the smile on the coach's face says it all:
the peace and joy within you brought into your world happiness...
... and a large pepperoni pizza.
Jun 21, 2014
Jun 21, 2014 at 1:55 PM UTC
With eyes of black obsidian
And eagle's beak of nose
Black turban of the Taliban
Worn everywhere he goes,
Warrior of God's mountainside
Mujaheddin, known by name,
Pashto is his verbal tongue
And Allah's quest, his fame.
Razored knife in braided belt
Long"Jezail"musket points to sky,
A gimlet glint to garnet gaze
One thoughtless move , you die.
Gliding fast from rock to rock
Gazelle like in his easy grace,
Silent as an adder's strike
Assassin black with turbaned face.
For centuries invaders came
To vanquish this stark land,
Persians,Romans, Russians
And British redcoats tried their hand.
And recently the Yankees
Came with automated war,
To find themselves engulfed
And fleeing for the exit door.
Inexorable Afghanistan
Has bleached their bones as one
Vendetta for the insult
While there's air to breath and gun.
Like Shah Massoud, the warlords
Descend from mountain cave
To slaughter all who venture
Be they terrified or brave.
Tribally disconnected
From Islamabad to Kabul,
Tajik versus Pashtun
Versus Koranic Islam's rule.
No prisoners are taken,
The women always use their knives
And ravines echo shockingly
As tortured slowly lose their lives.
But the sunsets are glorious
Valley mists by morning rise
And row by row of fractured peaks
Rise in grandeur to blue skies.
And the children croon to goat herds
As they graze high meadow's green
And above the taloned goshawk glides
Ever watchful and unseen.
Hulks of Russian gun ships
Litter valleys and the plain
And the ghosts of many nations
Walk these dusty roads of shame.
For the legacy of the Afghans
Is a ****** litany of war
And the road to their tomorrow
Is paved with promises of more.
Marshalg
Wanganui
30 December 2009.
www.worthyofpublishing.com
www.hellopoetry.com
Jan 3, 2010
Jan 3, 2010 at 9:15 PM UTC
looking around me, 19 second stop at a red light and already the large, bearded man with the scar on his cheekbone is grumbling, scratching at his bushy mustache and drooping Yankees hat, so faded it could almost be a B for the red sox
there's a young woman, ***** blonde hair cascading down her back, almost gracefully; seemingly too small for the rumbling white pickup truck she sat in, scratched and almost a tint of blue from this angle; one hand at the wheel, one tickling the feet of a giggling newborn at her side, for a second i wondered who the father was-
and over there, a skinny Hispanic boy by the side of the road, walking with threadbare sandals flapping against the hard cement, there's a hopeless look in his eyes-
an old man with a 5-inch long grey beard, almost touching the steering wheel; he's either Asian or he's squinting into the sun, can't really tell from here- wrinkles lining his worn face
a strong-boned Japanese woman, hair in a tight bun driving a Ferrari
a red-haired bespectacled boy, pale as chalk, his face covered with freckles (or was it acne?); couldn't have been older than 17; he looked like a Robert or a Charles, definitely not a Samuel
in front of me, a red Chevy truck with a license plate LUVANN, i wonder if Ann is still with him- i crane my head upwards trying to see the man, all i can glimpse is a blue-and-white bandana-
i wonder who all these people are,
what are their hopes and dreams, do they like ******* jacks? banana splits?
where are they going?
who will miss them when they're gone, or will anyone-
then the light turns green and in a puff of smoke,
like a blur-
they're gone.
Nov 22, 2010
Nov 22, 2010 at 3:12 AM UTC
the lame decade
(the ...........depression 1930's)
the wars were coming...and
OF COURSE!
they came!
and ...
.......
........................who died?
well, it was them
to whom
DEATH
was,
(as if by the very GOD, himself)
ordained
necessitated, if you will
by economic realities
------
and then there were also the jews, zionism communism, fascism....etc-ism..etceterally...over and over face down in the mud dead child again
and then
presto!
MICKEY MANTLE AND THE NEW YORK YANKEES!
and of course HUAC, the rosenbergs, the rothschild's
and perhaps
(if you'd awaken)
you and me
------
but you never awaken!
and now
the lame decade
(the............ depression 2010's)
and the wars are coming
coming!
coming!!
HERE THEY ARE
(and the necessary
economically speaking
DEAD)
Aug 19, 2010
Aug 19, 2010 at 11:19 AM UTC
Backstabbing, double-talking
Collection of crooks and creeps.
Oily tinhorn picks the pockets of
The common man while he sleeps.
Corkscrewing rhetoric
The worst you have ever heard
Spoken so that in the end there is
No meaning to the words.
Sidewinding viper’s nest;
No warning rattles on their tails
Criminals being paid too much
That really should be in a jail.
Four-flushing deck-stackers
Two friends and a stranger.
Dressed in thousand dollar suits
All unrecognizable danger.
Mean-spirited jerkwads
Blather daily on my teevee.
Cutpurses and footpads.
Mostly all the same to me.
Dressed up nice and talking
Smooth like a baby’s ***
Don’t expect me to vote for you.
No thank you, I will pass.
Gutter crawling, bile spewing
Butter won’t melt in your mouth.
Carpetbagging, underhanded
Favorite sons of the Old South
And some forked tongued Yankees
Siding up with traitors and smiling.
Glad-handing, baby kissing liars
Notoriously, falsely beguiling.
In case you find me too subtle
With my message to you and your crew.
There isn’t a whole lot to recommend
Anyone with wisdom to like you.
The only positive use for you
That one can readily foresee
Is to serve as a shining example of
What a politician should never be.
Brent Kincaid
4/21/2015
Apr 22, 2015
Apr 22, 2015 at 10:34 AM UTC
Yankees, Reds and Red Sox
Royals, Rockies, Braves
Mariners and White Sox
Cardinals, Blue Jays
Angels, Orioles, Diamondbacks
Nationals and Twins
Tigers, Brewers, Pirates
Astros, Indians
Dodgers, Rangers, Mets and Cubs
Phillies and Padres
Giants, Marlins and the A's
Let's not forget those Devil Rays
Apr 23, 2016
Apr 23, 2016 at 11:36 AM UTC
Hard rubber plate there in the dust
and just beyond, a mound.
With difficulty Catfish turned
and paced the muddy ground.
Even with the walker
these few steps were hard indeed.
Shoulders weak, steps faltering
from Lou Gehrig’s sad disease.
The blue sky stretched above him
so infinite and vast.
With difficulty Catfish reached
back, deep into his past.
He did not think of trophies
or recall his perfect game.
Not at all about the millions
he once got to sign his name.
He was pitching for the Yankees
against men in Dodger Blue.
The World Series game on the line
some whispered he was through
His mind recalled each move he’d made
Each strikeout pitch he threw.
In Memory the fastball’s song
still sang out loud and true.
Like an old dog fast asleep
might dream that He’s still young.
Catfish thought about the night
His last Series ring was won
Soon, too soon, he’d be relieved
of ball, of life, of game
He’ be a plaque upon the wall
down at the hall of fame.
A few more weeks
and he’d be gone-
a casualty, nothing more.
The object now of whispered prayers,
This man fans once adored.
Jun 6, 2014
Jun 6, 2014 at 4:04 PM UTC
"It's Toasted"
Something about that red circle calls to me.
Something about R.J. Reynolds appeals to me more than Phillip Morris
and Santa Fe Tobacco Company.
Maybe all it is is the classic red circle.
Or maybe it's the nostalgia.
Maybe it's knowing that 4 out of 5 of my dead ancestors smoked Lucky Strikes.
But oh boy, to get one burning and in my lungs is bliss.
Whether it's in the morning, accompanied by a cup of coffee
or during school after sneaking out of class.
The smoke that fills my head clears the smoke that filled my brain.
And shadowed my eyesight.
And made me shake.
Any cigarette will do it
save for maybe those God awful Fortunas.
How about this weather we've been having.
And how about them Yankees.
But boy, oh boy, how about those Strikes.
Jun 5, 2013
Jun 5, 2013 at 1:02 AM UTC