Poems about smoke


№ 1208893

Cigarette Smoke and Despair

Cigarette smoke and despair
I've come to know the smell
It adorns the walking dead
As they haunt their waking hell

They have gathered here to die
Desperation has its price
Cigarette smoke and despair
Is the flavor of their vice

Neon lights a sirens call
Taking comfort in the glow
Cigarette smoke and despair
The last smell they'll ever know

cigarette,  despair,  smoke.

Author: David Hall
Date: 06/04/2020

№ 1207299

Wherever stale smoke goes to die.

I'm thinking of smoke.

Filling the glass and my desperate lungs and
The hollow air, feeding my soul.

I wished that could be all i had,
And all i ever needed.

I live could by a beach, or a rainforest jungle,
A cave in Thailand where the water's ice clear.
Shades of empire blue and murky sea green
Chipped shells under warm coral sand.

Want to feel the sun on my vulnerable skin,
To sit, and watch it burn a fiery red.

To taste candy smoke, and watch it being blown
Scattering off to die all alone.
Yet with the rest of discarded smoke,
Wherever stale smoke goes to die.

Here comes all my friends that I've never met
Dance with molly on our lips, nothing on our minds.
Pass out at 6 on the cold jagged floor
Shitty hangover, life is a bore
Time for a smoke.

die,  smoke,  stale.

Author: J
Date: 04/04/2020

№ 1205273

Smoke rings out your arse

Smoke rings out of your arse.

Sitting in a wigwam playing tom toms
What a lovely day; tomtom along
Tambourine jingles while I'm playing this song
Look at all the children dancing; nothing shall be wrong
People always want something but I smell a fishy that's horrid and pongs
Playing tom toms calms me to centre thoughts of the past and the devil's tongue
You use people freely like a troublesome one who will string you like a puppet then simply move on.

rings,  smoke.

Author: Peter Kiggin
Date: 02/04/2020

№ 1201375

Arctic Smoke

The red of cigarette ashes contrasts the white upon the snow.
The expanse is unbroken as his gaze wanders lonely plains.
He takes one puff; then another; then another one so
He can forget her face, and remember how it feels to live again.

His parka is unzipped as he breathes in air so cold,
And cigarette cherries reach his palm and burn away cold contemplations.
He smiles at the Arctic gods' cool ministrations; their fervent consolations
For the love he is smoking and forgetting in the snow.

He zips up his jacket, tosses ashes far below.
He turns away, his footsteps marking the white waste.
They are the only remnant of his remembering ablation,
And soon, they too, are absorbed by the plateau.

arctic,  smoke.

Author: Steele
Date: 30/03/2020

№ 1200516


Martha Maguire sits
In the back pew of the church
Cigarette between fingers,

Smoke drifting slowly
To the high beams and tiled roof,

Her blue eyes focusing on the Crucified
His arms stretched wide
His head lowered
His eyes shut
The skimpy cloth
About His midriff
Nails in hands and feet
And wound in the side
A slit of red paint revealed,

She takes a drag on the cigarette,

Inhales deeply holds the cigarette
Just away from her lips and
With no effort releases
The smoke in a steady stream
Over the pew in front,

The Crucified's skin
Has a yellowy sheen to it,

The crown of thorns have
Acquired cobwebs and dust,

Only her in the church
Silence except for distant traffic,

Magdalene had talked
Of the priest and one
Of the nuns and some
Kind of thing going on,

Martha muses
Watching the smoke rise,

The young priest not the old codger,

Which nun was it?
Not St Agnes that's for sure
She'd only pee out of
Her thingamajig,

As would most of the sisters
No doubt,

Sister Lucy was it?
Maybe can't recall the gossip,

She inhales deeply again
Scratches an itch
On her thigh,

Mary Moran and her ways
With the boys
And she only fourteen too
As am I,

She smiles recalling
What Mary said of Brian Brady
And what he tried to do
Put your hand in some other
Girl's private place not mine
She said she said,

The Crucified hangs in silence
Not a word
Not a judgement,

Some days she's sure His head
Lifts and He gazes at her
With an awkward smile,

His eyes half open
The darn thorns pushing
His hair over His eyes,

The door at the far end opens
And the young priest enters
In his black garb
Like a young rook
On the prowl,

He genuflects
And makes the sign of the cross,

Then peers down towards Martha
Who hides her cigarette
Out of sight,

The smoke drifting less so
But under the lower pews,

He looks away
Goes to the altar
Fiddles with things
Goes to the tabernacle
And opens the door
And fiddles inside,

She looks at her cigarette,

Lowers her head
And takes a swift inhalation,

Then sits back up
Gazes at the priest
Fart arsing about,

The cigarette between fingers
Out of sight,

And she thinking
If it was the priest and Sister Luke
And the carrying ons
And what and where if so,

Anyway she muses
Letting the smoke drift
From her lips
What do they know?

martha,  smoke.

Author: Terry Collett
Date: 29/03/2020

№ 1199507

Smoke and Mirrors

Driving home from your favorite spot
Curled up in the passenger seat
Of my grandmother's car
Because I couldn't focus on
The pavement lines
I was too infatuated with the smell of
My grape cigars and
Your black cherry cigarellos
To the last of
Your keef
One arm out the window
Feeling the summer air cool
As the sun drops
Below the horizon
I can't take my eyes
From my cracked mirror
Smashed by a mailbox
A few miles back
Through the cracks I watch
Your fingers run
Through your too long brown hair
The same color
As your mellowed out eyes
You never look my way
But you feel my gaze
And your perfect lips turn upward
Into your stunning smile
And as the cause of that grin
I glow like the embers
Of our final cigars
Stamped out quickly
The next morning
As you leave me in your
Unbroken rearview
Cigarette out the window
Smiling the whole way
And never looking back

mirrors,  smoke.

Author: Margot Grace Rankins-Burd
Date: 28/03/2020

№ 1197097


The smell of woodsmoke
Fills the cold
And bitter air


Author: Violet
Date: 26/03/2020

№ 1196003

Smoke, smoking ,toking

Even if the city is filled with smoke

Because of the fires

Even if the smokes feel my lungs and brains and make me feel dizzy

I still smoke cigarettes
And smoke weed

... my brain feels...

Kinda... light.

smoke,  smoking.

Author: BR
Date: 25/03/2020