Girl in the Green Raincoat
Each evening she got
off the bus and crossed
the forecourt of the gas
station where you worked
wearing her knee length
raincoat and made her way
into the small shop inside
and you stood there open
mouthed gazing at her hot
beauty at her black hair and
dark eyes and she said I want
20 of those cigarettes and
she pointed with her thin
finger and red nail to cigarettes
behind you and you turned
around and took down the
cigarettes pack and put them
on the counter and she took
coins out of her black purse
and placed them one by one
on the counter top and said
There that's just right and then
off she went no more words
just a wiggle of her ass and you
watched her go out of the door
and along by the forecourt of
the gas station and you sighed
and sniffed the air to capture her
perfume and held on to the sight
of her and placed it in your memory
like some rich guy putting some
precious gem in his vault and you
would sense that memory of her
wiggling ass like some fresh fish caught.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
A highly valuable chain of thoughts
HAD cigarettes no ashes,
And roses ne'er a thorn,
No man would be a funker
Of whin, or burn, or bunker.
There were no need for mashies,
The turf would ne'er be torn,
Had cigarettes no ashes,
And roses ne'er a thorn.
Had cigarettes no ashes,
And roses ne'er a thorn,
The big trout would not ever
Escape into the river.
No gut the salmon smashes
Would leave us all forlorn,
Had cigarettes no ashes,
And roses ne'er a thorn.
But 'tis an unideal
Sad world in which we're born,
And things will 'go contrairy'
With Martin and with Mary:
And every day the real
Comes bleakly in with morn,
And cigarettes have ashes,
And every rose a thorn.
poem by Andrew Lang
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Mincer
Health-food faggot with a bartered bride
Likes to comb his hair with a dipper ride
Once had a friend with a cloven foot
Once he called the tune in a chequered quit
Great Deceiver
In the door on the floor in a paper bag
There's a shoe-shine boy with a gin-shop slag
She raised him up and she called him son
And she canonised the ground that he walked upon
Great Deceiver
Cigarettes, ice cream, figurines of the Virgin Mary
Cigarettes, ice cream, figurines of the Virgin Mary
Cigarettes, ice cream, cadillacs blue jeans
In the night he's a star in the Milky Way
He's a man of the world by the light of day
A golden smile and a proposition
And the breath of God smells of sweet sedition
Great Deceiver
Sing hymns make love get high fall dead
He'll bring his perfume to your bed
He'll charm your life 'til the cold winds blow
Then he'll sell your dreams to a picture show
Cigarettes, ice cream, figurines of the Virgin Mary
Cigarettes, ice cream, figurines of the Virgin Mary
Cadillacs, blue jeans, dixieland playing on the ferry
Cadillacs, blues jeans, drop a glass full of antique sherry
song performed by by King Crimson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Cigarettes In Hell
Spend you days just walking and shopping
Depending on how much you're luck is in
Spend the night-life table-hopping
And trying to keep that bag of bones in trim
I don't mind not being immortal
'Cos it ain't all that as far as I can tell
I don't mind not going to heaven
As long as they've got cigarettes
As long as they've got cigarettes in hell
And by the time we start getting used to it
The dope that's forming on the windowsill
Now we know we've got ourselves into
The cage that keeps the mice on the treadmill
I don't mind not being immortal
'Cos it ain't all that as far as I can tell
I don't mind not going to heaven
As long as they've got cigarettes
As long as they've got cigarettes in hell
I don't mind not being immortal
Because it ain't all that as far as I can tell
I don't mind not going to heaven
As long as they've got cigarettes
As long as they've got cigarettes in hell
song performed by by Oasis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Great Deceiver
Health-food faggot with a bartered bride
Likes to comb his hair with a dipper ride
Once had a friend with a cloven foot
Once he called the tune in a chequered quit
Great deceiver
In the door on the floor in a paper bag
Theres a shoe-shine boy with a gin-shop slag
She raised him up and she called him son
And she canonised the ground that he walked upon
Great deceiver
Cigarettes, ice cream, figurines of the virgin mary
Cigarettes, ice cream, figurines of the virgin mary
Cigarettes, ice cream, cadillacs blue jeans
In the night hes a star in the milky way
Hes a man of the world by the light of day
A golden smile and a proposition
And the breath of God smells of sweet sedition
Great deceiver
Sing hymns make love get high fall dead
Hell bring his perfume to your bed
Hell charm your life til the cold winds blow
Then hell sell your dreams to a picture show
Cigarettes, ice cream, figurines of the virgin mary
Cigarettes, ice cream, figurines of the virgin mary
Cadillacs, blue jeans, dixieland playing on the ferry
Cadillacs, blues jeans, drop a glass full of antique sherry
song performed by by King Crimson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Black Cars
Under the cover of night
She crawls into sight
Her skin is cold china white
Shes a dark angel wearing dark glasses
Dark shadows under long false lashes
The night exposes the cracks
She wears her makeup like wax
To hide every scratch
cause she a dark angel riding dark horses
Sitting pretty in her dim lit covers ... I say
Black cars look better in the shade
She smears her lipstick on right before she sleeps
For all those phantom lovers in her dreams
She smokes them french cigarettes
In cocktail gloves and a strapless dress
She cuts a perfect silhouette
But shes a dark angel wearing dark glasses
A fading beauty as the night time passes ... I say
Black cars look better in the shade
Black cars look better in the shade
song performed by by Gino Vanelli
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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(As Long As They've Got) Cigarettes In Hell
Spend your days just walking and shopping
Depending on how much you're luck is in
Spend the night-life table-hopping
And trying to keep that bag of bones in trim
I don't mind not feeling immortal
'Cos it ain't all that as far as I can tell
I don't mind not going to heaven
As long as they've got cigarettes
As long as they've got cigarettes in hell
By the time we start getting used to
The dope that's forming on the windowsill
Now we know we've got ourselves into
The cage that keeps the mice on the treadmill
I don't mind not feeling immortal
'Cos it ain't all that as far as I can tell
And I don't mind not going to heaven
As long as they've got cigarettes
As long as they've got cigarettes in hell
I don't mind not being immortal
Because it ain't all that as far as I can tell
I don't mind not going to heaven
As long as they've got cigarettes
As long as they've got cigarettes in hell
song performed by by Oasis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dead Mens Cigarettes
Woke up this morning
For someone to set you free
Turned round today
To find that someone was me
and we smoke, dead men's cigarettes
and we choke, on the bitter black regrets,
Of ourselves - we've found no-one else
Woke up this morning
For someone to set you free
Turned round today
To find that someone was me
and we smoke, dead men's cigarettes
and we choke, on the bitter black regrets,
Of ourselves - we've found no-one else
and we smoke, dead men's cigarettes
and we choke, on the bitter black regrets,
and we smoke, dead men's cigarettes
and we choke, on the bitter black regrets,
Of ourselves - we've found no-one else
song performed by by I Am Kloot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Small Town America
just an old southern
mill village.... cotton mills
on one side of the road,
furniture factories on the other.
momma worked there,
my sister worked there,
my brother worked there,
and i worked there....
$1.90 an hour, loading trucks
by hand, stacking rolls of cloth
eight feet high without a lift...
putting brackets on beds, or
running bandsaws....
hard hand work, paid every week.
all those buildings empty now....
windows boarded over, signs
falling.... rats run across haunted floors.
even the old gas station
down at the end of the road....
is closed.... no more gas,
no cigarettes, no cold beer.....
and the Sons Of Jesus,
and the Elk's Club quit sharing
the old dance building on the corner....
no one lives here anymore.....
no one lives, no one dies....
and the bum on the corner
that looks like your brother
has no name.... in
small town America!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Cigarettes, I won't do cigarettes, nicotine will kill ya.
quote by Tommy Chong
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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All Different, But Still The Same
Some people have short hair, some have long.
Some people have thick hair; some people’s hair is all gone.
Some people have black hair, some have gray.
Some people have brown hair, some blonde, some red.
Some people’s hair a color unsaid.
Some people are short, some people are tall.
Some people will love you; some won’t like you at all.
Some people like hot weather, some like cold.
Some people are timid, some people are bold.
Some people have dark skin, some people have light.
Some people have black skin, some people have white.
Some people eat meat; some won’t touch it at all.
Some people have a good memory, some can’t recall.
Some people accept Christ, some never will.
Some people are stingy, some people give.
Some people like school, some people don’t.
Some people will excel, some people won’t.
Some people smoke cigarettes, some never will.
Some people are honest, some people steal.
Some people have book knowledge;
But don’t know the Holy Book.
Some people burn food, some people can cook.
Some people are old, some people are young.
Some people do smart things, some people do dumb.
Some people just have a diploma
Some people have degrees.
Some people do things slow, some with a breeze.
Some people are complainers, some easy to please.
Some people hate shopping, some stay in the mall.
Some people hate God, but God loves us all.
We are all different, but still the same.
When I get cut, I bleed red;
You get cut, red blood you’ll shed.
Some people are plump, some people are thin.
But we are all the same, we’re all human being.
Copyright © 2010-Phyllis Strong
poem by Phyllis Strong
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Like your heart dropped acid
And you know you're half broken; feels like your jutting ribs are cutting into you more every day. I don't have to watch your envy kick your pride in the balls. I don't have to listen as your enigma prevails in an argument with facts. A mind cast to the gallows, a Holocaust for your very own heart. You can roll those sunken eyes all you want, dearie.
Subtle at first. One smoke, two smoke, three smoke, four... And, karmic, no one ever questioned you about it as you had hoped, even though you had an answer for every cigarette. Overdoses and guns were too shocking; slitting wrists too much like a teenage girl. (Sometimes, I wonder if you forgot that's what you were.) Out-and-out suicide was wrong, you said, but it lost its sting if you strung it out over decades. All our old friends, the ones you started hanging out with again, the ones who quit smoking, they'll roll cigarettes for you. They love to roll cigarettes, and roll their earrings, and argue about anarchy. And you love them, and you love the cigarettes, the music, the sweat and patchouli, the panhandling, how their...your...minds always beat in straight time.
But you fell measures behind, and the music, the freight-hopping, the cigarettes, they mean nothing to you now. Everyone knows your beauty scars aren't from brambles or kittens, and that's the way you like it. You can only use that bleach as an excuse for hair caught in the drain for so long.
I'm listening to you recount your inner-battles, with all the vehemence of a wall flower, and I finally understand.
You just want to be beautifully fucked up. Or pretty, like your heart dropped acid.
poem by Claire Stuart
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Big Black Smoke
She was sick and tired of country life.
A little country home,
A little country folk,
Made her blood run cold.
Now her mother pines her heart away,
Looking for her child in the big black smoke,
In the big black smoke.
Frailest, purest girl the world has seen,
According to her ma, according to her pa,
And everybody said,
That she knew no sin and did no wrong,
Till she walked the streets of the big black smoke,
Of the big black smoke.
Well, she slept in caffs and coffee bars and bowling alleys,
And every penny she had
Was spent on purple hearts and cigarettes.
She took all her pretty coloured clothes,
And ran away from home
And the boy next door,
For a boy named joe.
And he took her money for the rent
And tried to drag her down in the big black smoke,
In the big black smoke.
In the big black smoke.
In the big black smoke.
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Tender Buttons [a Box]
A BOX.
A large box is handily made of what is necessary to replace any substance. Suppose an example is necessary, the plainer it is made the more reason there is for some outward recognition that there is a result.
A box is made sometimes and them to see to see to it neatly and to have the holes stopped up makes it necessary to use paper.
A custom which is necessary when a box is used and taken is that a large part of the time there are three which have different connections. The one is on the table. The two are on the table. The three are on the table. The one, one is the same length as is shown by the cover being longer. The other is different there is more cover that shows it. The other is different and that makes the corners have the same shade the eight are in singular arrangement to make four necessary.
Lax, to have corners, to be lighter than some weight, to indicate a wedding journey, to last brown and not curious, to be wealthy, cigarettes are established by length and by doubling.
Left open, to be left pounded, to be left closed, to be circulating in summer and winter, and sick color that is grey that is not dusty and red shows, to be sure cigarettes do measure an empty length sooner than a choice in color.
Winged, to be winged means that white is yellow and pieces pieces that are brown are dust color if dust is washed off, then it is choice that is to say it is fitting cigarettes sooner than paper.
An increase why is an increase idle, why is silver cloister, why is the spark brighter, if it is brighter is there any result, hardly more than ever.
poem by Gertrude Stein
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From-To
sun sets
night falls
the Angel ran a few steps as he touched down
next to the diesel-pumps
on the service-station forecourt
shook his
they would call them wings
just checking-in
he made a celestial call
please behave
we can't afford another fall
then zipped inside his quilted anorak
he hitched a lift
and unsurprisingly
set some deluded girl adrift
poem by STEPHEN BRIAN Brady
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Subway
He saw her at the subway station
Standing on the platform waiting for the train.
Inside the car they sat in front of each other.
She was quite young.
Though not strikingly pretty
She was good looking and attractive
And he liked her back-combed black hair.
It was long and lustrous and gathered into a chignon
And softened with a purple satin ribbon
That matched her elegant blue dress.
She wore high heeled black shoes
And her ivory skin shone on her comely legs.
The train moved and stopped
And moved again
At the stations the doors opened and closed
And people streamed out and in.
She sat quietly in her seat
And then opened her purse
And pulled out a candy
Wrapped in golden paper.
She removed carefully the wrapping
Put the candy slowly into her mouth
And then folded neatly the paper
And put it back into her purse.
He watched her discretely for a short while
And then closed his eyes
And when he opened them he saw
That she cast a timid glance looking at him.
He liked her.
He wanted to start a conversation with her
But somehow it just did not seem appropriate
To address a complete stranger on a train
And besides he was afraid to say something silly.
So he remained silent.
He wanted to say something to her
But he did not have the courage.
And then suddenly he panicked
Because he realized that he cannot speak
That he cannot pass through the invisible barrier
That extended between them
That despite her presence
He cannot reach out to her
That he is unable to have her in his life
And that they soon will get off the train
And he probably never will see her again.
The car wheels
Kept clacking and rattling over the rails
And they both sat silently on their seats
Two lonely islands in a withdrawn crowd.
Then the subway pulled into a station
And it was time to alight from the car.
Without saying a word
He walked through the door
And across the car window he saw her.
She was looking at him.
The train began to move slowly
Along the platform of the station
A moving image melting away
Like an ice dragon in the heat of summer.
In a few seconds it vanished
Into the thin air through the dark mouth
Of the subway tunnel.
poem by Paul Hartal
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He calls me Honky.
My friend’s as black as ebony
and he delights in teasing me.
He says I am the coloured man
I can’t deny it no one can.
My hair is blond my eyes are blue.
His words are obviously true,
My facial skin is pink and white.
to anyone with normal sight
His eyes, his hair and skin are black
I cannot counter his attack
But he’s my mate so I don’t care
His banter isn’t hard to bear
We’re much the same bar for our skin.
What matters most must lie within.
Monday,16 November 2009
Http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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The Tablets
The tablet stood on the counter,
Pulling us aside like a trap;
The door cracked afterwards,
Like Saturn’s rings or eggs.
Only a year turned us upside down,
Left the door locked, at the end.
I grabbed the door before the floor
Collapsed and this ringing started.
The door cracked again, repetitively,
Once it broke, the door collapsed.
I pulled the refuse onto the counter
To await sleep and the medicine.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Still Quick With Wishes
I do not desire to be an apparition,
Of a faded youth.
I do want to feel healthy...
And continue that as my pursuit.
Feeling a bit of a hypocrite...
As I smoke cigarettes.
Exercise and watch my diet.
I know it makes no sense...
To display a physical and mental confidence.
And be addicted to nicotine.
A habit seen and not hidden to be kept secret.
And in my youth,
The cherry blossoms weren't the only things,
To pop up fresh and out in Spring.
And reminscing it...
Has not done one thing to my addiction to cigarettes.
Or my interests in watching the bees,
Land to deflower and pollenate!
Without a hint of a follow up puff.
And I am still quick with wishes to do it!
Now with less vigor.
But with a lot of bluff!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Unwanted Gift.
Carmody said
what did you get
your old man
for his birthday?
well
you said
my sister and I
saved up
what money we could
siphoned off
some of our pocket money
took back
the empty beer bottles
to the off licence
did extra chores
for our mother
and went bought him
some cigarettes
and gave them to him
what did he say?
Carmody asked
said he didn't smoke
that kind
said they made
his throat sore
that was what he said?
yes and my sister
was upset of course
and went off
to her room to cry
but I just said
but it's the thought
that counts
and we just thought
you'd smoke the cigarettes
look ok thanks
for the thought
the old man said
and took the packet
and stuffed them
in his pocket
and read
the birthday card
we'd both written him
and put it on the table
and said
how much did you get
on the empty bottles?
so I told him
and he said
they were my bottles
I ought to
have had the money
for them kid
you have
I told him
In the form
of the cigarettes
what did he say
about that?
Carmody asked
he just stared
and took the cigarettes
out and opened them up
and lit one
and inhaled
and coughed
and I thought
good job too
and walked away
and Carmody
nodded his head
and sniggered
and you went off
with him to kick
around the ball
in the playground
at school
and said nothing
much more at all.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Identification
So you think its Stephen?
Then I'd best make sure
Be on the safe side as it were.
Ah, theres been a mistake. The hair
you see, its black, now Stephens fair ...
Whats that? The explosion?
Of course, burnt black. Silly of me.
I should have known. Then lets get on.
The face, is that the face mask?
that mask of charred wood
blistered scarred could
that have been a child's face?
The sweater, where intact, looks
in fact all too familiar.
But one must be sure.
The scoutbelt. Yes thats his.
I recognise the studs he hammered in
not a week ago. At the age
when boys get clothes-conscious
now you know. Its almost
certainly Stephen. But one must
be sure. Remove all trace of doubt.
Pull out every splinter of hope.
Pockets. Empty the pockets.
Handkerchief? Could be any schoolboy's.
Dirty enough. Cigarettes?
Oh this can't be Stephen.
I dont allow him to smoke you see.
He wouldn't disobey me. Not his father.
But that's his penknife. Thats his alright.
And thats his key on the keyring
Gran gave him just the other night.
Then this must be him.
I think I know what happened
... ... ... about the cigarettes
No doubt he was minding them
for one of the older boys.
Yes thats it.
Thats him.
Thats our Stephen.
poem by Roger McGough
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