En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Sex and After.

She knows one day
Sex will be a memory,
A nightly séance with
Her dead self. Hardwick
Will still be just one of
Her many lovers, pissing
His pants in some old folks
Home, dribbling over his
Shirt, forgetting her as he
Turns to go numbly to sleep.

She inhales her cigarette,
Watches the smoke rise,
Sees in the corner of her
Room, a spider hanging.

Hardwick is due at seven.

He will bring white wine,
Foreign food, the hot sexy
Movie they both want to
See, then to bed, sex, sleep.

She exhales the smoke, holds
The cigarette to one side, her
Naked body sensing warm
The sheets. Suzie he'll say,
Putting the wine and food in
The fridge, placing the movie
On, can we try that position on
Page 35? Last time it was page
32, the position not much fun,
Too much work, quite hard to do.

Mother'd turn in her grave to
See her thus. Naked at four in
The afternoon, smoking French
Cigarettes, thinking of hot sex,
Wanting old age to stay away.

She sits up, stubs out the cigarette.

Mother died of cancer, too soon,
Too much, no answer. Hardwick
Will bring and expect the same:
The wine, the food, the sex after
The movie, the sleep after in her
Double bed, and all the time that
Humming of her mother in her head.

poem by Terry Collett
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Elsa and The City View

Elsa sits on the edge
of the roof of the building

smoking a cigarette
her thoughts on Bolright

her feelings on the downside
her get up

in the morning
and have a good look

out on the city
still intact

the stone on the rooftop
is warmed by the morning sun

and warms her butt
and thighs

and so what
she thinks

if he doesn't
come back again

what the heck do I care
I had a good time

had a good night
the bed rocking some

the Miles Davis CD
oozing from the hifi

rising in the air
and he was a cool lover

had that way about him
that make the most of

this baby because
you won't feel

the same again
kind of sensation

and she looks
at the passing traffic

the ant like people below
the smell of the city

the sensation
of the warm stone

beneath her
the warmth rising

through her skin
the touch pretty much

like his
but softer

more gentle
and she inhales deeply

on the cigarette
sensing the smoke

against the back
of her throat

sensing it take up
in her lungs

and thinking of him
trying to remind herself

of each moment with him
the touches

the kisses
the sex

oh yes the sex
and she exhales

the smoke
and laughs to herself

as if remembering
a private joke.

poem by Terry Collett
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I'm Sick Of It

I'm sick, sick, sick of cigarette addiction
I'm sick of movies and their dishonest depiction
That smoking is glamorous, sophisticated and cool
When what it really is is something that rules

The cigarette addict from morning to night
And all the hours in between, they can never take flight
From the constant nagging fear that they must inhale the fumes
Of a deadly poison that will lead them to their doom

A cigarette addict can barely do a thing
Without a cigarette, it's got them on a string
They have to smoke it now, it just cannot wait
And then, another and another, they've really taken the bait

A cigarette addict is as helpless as a lamb
On a frosty hillside with no mother to keep it warm
Their mind is so confused that they actually believe
A cigarette is their saviour, they are so deceived

(Sydney, Australia - 2003)

poem by Alessandra Liverani
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Mother may I

Mother may I
throw food around
because I am contrary as an infant?

Mother may I
play in the mud
because I like when you have to bathe me?

Mother may I
eat all the cookies
just because they taste so yummy?

Mother may I
draw on the walls
because I like your attention?

Mother may I
not do my homework
because I want to grow up faster?

Mother may I
stay out all night
because I feel like I'm suffocating at home?

Mother may I
have sex in your bed
because you arn't home to know about it?

Mother may I
borrow the car
so my friends and I can get high on the bridge?

Mother may I
take the TV
because I'll need something to do at college?

Mother may I
borrow some money
because I spent all of mine on the raised cigarette tax?

Mother may I
take you for granted
because I don't know any better?

Mother may I
have an abortion
because I am scared to become you so quickly?

Mother may I
cry in your arms
because I finally know what it feels like to be used?

Mother may I
come home to you
because I still love you more than anything?

Mother may I
have another cookie
because now I know to ask?

Mother may I
take your advice
because I want to know if he's right for me?

Mother may I
fall in love
because I want to be whole?

Mother may I
have your grandchild
because I want to be just like you?

Mother may I
give her your name
because she's just as beautiful to me as you are?

Mother may I
love you forever
because you are my loving mother and never gave up on me?

poem by Erica Francis
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Between Drags

Between drags
on the cigarette
she muses on

the Rothko print
on Scalpon’s wall.
It took her by surprise

hanging there
beside the front door
almost from ceiling to floor.

The smoke touches her throat
fills her lungs.
Satisfaction sits

on her tongue
like Scalpon easing himself
between her thighs.

The Rothko print
fed her eyes and mind.
She exhales and thinks on

Scalpon’s secondary sex
and watches the smoke rise
as once from the chimneys

of those camps of which
Grandmother often spoke.
She inhales again

picturing in her mind’s eye
the Rothko print
trying to forget Scalpon’s

weird way of making love
upon the table
in the hall

while she studied
the Rothko
hanging on the wall.

poem by Terry Collett
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Medley: Fool For A Cigarette/feelin Good

(sidney bailey)/(j.b. lenoir/jim dickinson)
Uhm, Im a fool for a cigarette
Lord, Im fool for a cigarette
When youve finished choke it cause I wanna smoke it
Lord, Im fool for a cigarette
Mind when you throw your cigarette
Mind when you throw your cigarette
When youve finished choke it cause I wanna smoke it
Lord, Im fool for a cigarette
Lord, Im fool for a cigarette
Uhm, Im fool for a cigarette
When youve finished choke it cause I wanna smoke it
Lord, Im fool for a cigarette
Feelin good, feelin good
All the money in the world spent onl feelin good
Well, the wino met me on the streets
Said, help me on to some sneakin pete
Please, help me brother, I wish you would
cause I feel so bad and I wanna feel good
Feelin good, feelin good
All the money in the world is spent on feelin good
Well, you see them folks all dressed so fine
Dancing, drinking champagne and wine
Theyd pinch your pockets now if they could
cause they aint doing nothing but feelin good
Feelin good, feelin good
All the money in the world is spent on feelin good
Red, yellow, black or tan
Makes no difference: a mans a man
They oughta live together now if they could
Then the whole wide world would be feelin good
Feelin good, feelin good
All the money in the world spent on feelin good
Feelin good, feelin good
All the money in the world spent on feelin good

song performed by by Ry Cooder
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Passing The Time

By ginger baker and mike taylor
It is a cold winter,
Away is the songbird.
And gone is her traveller,
She waits at home.
The sun is on holiday,
No leaves on the trees.
The animals sleep
While cold north wind blows.
The snowflakes are falling,
The roof a white blanket.
Theres ice on the window pane,
She waits alone.
She sits by the fireside,
The room is so warm.
Her children are sleeping,
She waits in their home.
Passing the time.
Passing the time.
Everything fine.
Passing the time, drinking red wine.
Passing the time, drinking red wine.
Passing the time, drinking red wine.
Passing the time, everything fine.
Passing the time, drinking red wine.
Passing the time, everything fine.
Passing the time, wine and time rhyme.
Passing the time.
It is a long winter,
Away is the summer.
She waits for her traveller
So far from home.
She sits by the fireside,
The room is so warm.
Theres ice on the window,
Shes lonely alone.

song performed by by Cream
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Passing The Time

By ginger baker and mike taylor
It is a cold winter,
Away is the songbird.
And gone is her traveller,
She waits at home.
The sun is on holiday,
No leaves on the trees.
The animals sleep
While cold north wind blows.
The snowflakes are falling,
The roof a white blanket.
Theres ice on the window pane,
She waits alone.
She sits by the fireside,
The room is so warm.
Her children are sleeping,
She waits in their home.
Passing the time.
Passing the time.
Everything fine.
Passing the time, drinking red wine.
Passing the time, drinking red wine.
Passing the time, drinking red wine.
Passing the time, everything fine.
Passing the time, drinking red wine.
Passing the time, everything fine.
Passing the time, wine and time rhyme.
Passing the time.
It is a long winter,
Away is the summer.
She waits for her traveller
So far from home.
She sits by the fireside,
The room is so warm.
Theres ice on the window,
Shes lonely alone.

song performed by by Eric Clapton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Mother's friend

she has huge breasts,
her skin is dark like tea my mother makes
she sits with my mother in the kitchen talking crap
they have been there for three hours now
I look through the gap in the door and the frame
She is smoking, her lips kiss the cigarette
She is old enough to be my mother
I wish she was sometimes
I would do everything she asked

I wish she was my mother

poem by Robert Cooper
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Adolescence

There was a time when in late afternoon
The four-o'clocks would fold up at day's close
Pink-white in prayer, and 'neath the floating moon
I lay with them in calm and sweet repose.

And in the open spaces I could sleep,
Half-naked to the shining worlds above;
Peace came with sleep and sleep was long and deep,
Gained without effort, sweet like early love.

But now no balm--nor drug nor weed nor wine--
Can bring true rest to cool my body's fever,
Nor sweeten in my mouth the acid brine,
That salts my choicest drink and will forever.

poem by Claude McKay
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Dubrovnik 1972.

Dubrovnik seemed
a second home,
and you, in a street

cafe, sat drinking coffee,
with that book on
Schopenhauer open

on the table, a cigarette
smoking in an ashtray
unattended, thinking

of the girl in the hotel
restaurant the night
before, the waitress

who smiled at you as
she served and went
by your table, and your

brother said, I don't
fancy yours much,
indicating with a nod

of head, another
waitress over by a
nearby table, plump

and spotted, wearing
a scowl instead of a
smile, and all the while,

he eyeing, as young
men do the beauty
that had caught your

eye going by, but all is
fair in love, so men
have said, so picking

up the book on
Schopenhauer, and
further reading,

holding the cigarette
between the fingers
of the hand not

turning pages, you
inhaled with deep
concentration the

smoke and words
spread across the
page, written by a

philosopher of a
foreign tongue
and different age.

poem by Terry Collett
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Wine (Love Poem)

Wine is for laughing
Wine is for talking all night
Wine is for living life out loud
Wine is for making us beautiful
Wine is for all-night conversations
Wine is for getting together again
Wine is for ‘never again’ tomorrow
Wine is for sleeping like a baby
Wine is for telling the truth
Wine is food for love
Wine is friendship
Wine is fresh
Wine
Can
Be
The
One
Perfe ct
Companion
At the end of a long day

poem by Ian Beckett
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Tonight I Sleep With Mother Earth

Seventy more years must pass,
To plus these ones gone past,
My eyelids, before they may close
Before Mother Earth opens up her core
To take my body in once more,
Before I sleep with Mother Earth.

Before I sleep with Mother Earth,
My castles strewn across the sky
Shall come down to the earth,
And grow up to scrape the sky.
Before I sleep with Mother Earth,
Life shall answer all questions posed,
I shall plaster all precious stones
Around my name, in umeasured fold.
Before I sleep with Mother Earth.
I shall grow tall and strong like a giant,
I shall be elephated from ant to elephant.
Before I sleep with Mother Earth,
All ears that hear must hear,
And those that can't must read,
And those that can't must feed,
Ingest by all means, the words that I speak.
Before I sleep with Mother Earth,
I must sleep with Success,
From that whore, I shall receive suck-sex
A crowned head, I'll not settle for any less.
I shall drink from the brooks of plenty,
I shall autograph the books of many.
Before I sleep with Mother Earth,
All my toils shall be brought to boil,
My labour shall bring forth fruit,
Truth and Life shall birth through me, Poetry
All my impregnations shall get expression,
I shall pour out my soul upon all flesh,
And still erect, I shall come, into Mother Earth.
Then I shall say:

'Seventy more years have gone past,
Many more tears have flushed past,
My eyelids, and now they may close,
As Mother Earth opens up her core,
For the time has come, as I said afore,
Tonight I sleep wiith Mother Earth.'

poem by Joba Akinola
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Factrory Food

Factory Made Food.
A perfect microwave dinner for one
sunrays drink from the wine bottle
The dinner is tasteless,
and the rest of the wine is warm
as a cat licks its paw and has no worry
about the morrow.
Who invented tuna fish with mashed potatoes?
It must be someone without a mother,
or if he had one, she must have been
a busy executive and time poor.
At the orphanage they eat left over of dinners
they never had, forever made into a stew
children do not care; yester-days loaf.
He sits in his mansion, count his money and
think of other variety of frozen food he can
invented preferable something that looks
looks like vomit.
He is a vegetarian and hate mankind for
liking meat…he hates greedy little children too
even his own, serves them burger made of
fat full of sugar and salt.
Knows he will follow them to the grave and
be the longest living man on earth.
Who the hell drank my wine?

poem by Oskar Hansen
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Smoke Two Joints

(she was living in a single room with three other individuals.
One of them was a male and the other two, well, the other two were females.
God only know what they were up to in there.
And furthermore susan, I wouldnt be the least bit surprised to learn that all four of them
Habitually smoke marijuana cigarettes... reefers)
I smoke two joints in the morning.
I smoke two joints at night.
I smoke two joints in the afternoon, it makes me feel alright
I smoke two joints in time of peace, and two in time of war
I smoke two joints before I smoke two joints,
And then I smoke two more
Smoked cigarettes til the day she died
Toke a big spliff of some good sensimillia
Smoked cigarettes til the day she died
Toke a big spliff of some good sensamill...
Easy-e were ya ever caught slippin? hell no!
Daddy he once told me son you be hard workin man
And momma she once told me son you do the best you can
But, then one day I met a man who came to me and said
Hard work good, and hard work fine but first take care of head
(guitar solo)
Whoa, rock me tonight,
Whoa-oh, jah sake,
Whoa-ohh

song performed by by Sublime
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Let Your Ego Die

The clock is a ring on her finger
That she checks
When she's out of time
The cigarette's a spike
In the spur of the moment
Digging in her side
She cuts the paper with nails
And her pen is bleeding poetry
Nervous from the sex that she got
And the wine that she spilled
On her clean, white, white sheets
Like to see you, baby,
All torn up inside
Girl you're dead already
So just let your ego die
Girl you're dead already
So just let your ego die
Die, die, die

song performed by by Marilyn Manson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Cabin on Loon Lake

INTERIOR kitchen of rustic cabin
in remote region of northern Michigan
wind howling snow swirling visible
through small window at left

Disheveled man sits at makeshift desk
sorting through stacks of paper
Angular woman leans against iron sink
smoking cigarette after cigarette

MAN> You use the checkbook?

Woman looks around room, smiling.
She gestures toward a cabinet against the wall.

WOMAN> There's some Wheaties in the cupboard.

Man looks startled as he rises to his feet

MAN> You know what I'm saying?

Woman stubs out cigarette in a chipped coffee cup.
She fishes out another from the pack in her shirt pocket.

Man comes around desk and hands her a folded sheet.
Woman unfolds paper and studies it.

WOMAN> This is just plain crazy.

Man turns to desk and unrolls a length of blueprint.
He smooths it and points at the center of the sheet.

WOMAN> I like it.

CURTAIN

poem by Michael Pruchnicki
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Dodo and The City

Dodo draws on the cigarette.
The smoke hits the throat.
The city sucks her in with its
huge sick well of emptiness.
Bagteller wanted her to go
to his place last night and make
passionate love. What a laugh
that'd been. Him and his fetishes.
The schoolgirl uniform was not
her thing. Too many memories.
She told him to stuff that in one
of his tight dark orifices and walked
out into the city's cold night. Went
home to her own place and took
a hot shower. She is still sore from
the scrub. She wants to scrub her
past away with the brush and soap.
Nothing washes away the memories
that have sunk deep. She wakes to
a new day. The city is buzzing with
the walking dead and half living.
The cigarette smoke fills her lungs
and then out into the air. Mother said
men were not to be trusted. Father
said don't listen to her she's biased
and bitchy and smells of sour cream.
Oh that I could open up my mind and
wash it out and not have to see that
shrink once a month just after my bleeds
have gone she says. Dr Glexity with his
black suit and blue tie one green eye and
one grey. All that darn money and nothing
to say. She inhales the smoke and the city
and the living and the dead and sucks them
into her lungs broken heart and stuffed head.

poem by Terry Collett
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Wish my pain was a cigarette

Wish my pain was a cigarette,
It would have been touch by you

Wish my pain was a cigarette,
It would have had the comfort of your hand

Wish my pain was a cigarette,
I would have been on your lips

Wish my pain was a cigarette,
It would have been consumed with time

Wish my pain was a cigarette,
It would have ended in an ashtray

Wish my pain was a cigarette,
It would have been thrown away

poem by Secret Shal
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Salad is Incompatible with Life

Yes, my waist is fifty inches -
Big for me because I'm short.
And yes, I like my cheddar cheese
When partnered with a vintage port.

Okay, okay, that double cream
Is always served with pud,
And cake and biscuits with my tea
Are just no bloody good

For my poor hardened arteries,
But see my point of view,
Please dear wifey if you please,
A Salad makes me spew!

I'd rather eat a bowl of air
Than crunch away on greens;
Drink water from the toilet bowl
Or nibble on my jeans!

But salad! Are you there?
You know it makes me snappy -
So let me fill my face with grub,
Stay fat, and die young happy!

Copyright Mark R Slaughter 2009

food food food food food food food food food
food food food food food food food food food
food food food food food food food food food
food food food food food food food food food

poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Deep And Down....

the mercies of sleep
to the repentant busy man
on
deep down deep
to the peace
of sleep

it is
different there
the family waits for dinner
and everyone is
pleasing

food is abundant
and kids are behaving
mothers watch
as fathers drink the wine
and puff the smoke of their
Cuban cigars

one soul there
having the same face as you
ethereal body
drinks the glass of wind
and eats
the body of the sea

it is different there
i tell you

you are there
but you think it is not you
until you wake up
and begin to recall the
symptoms

of what you miss
the glass of wind
the body of the sea

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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