Cigarette and the guitar
The guitar and cigarette burn melodically
I sit in the lounge hoping to train myself
No sitting in the lounge before the show starts
under my breath a few sad whispers
I wipe my hand on the fitted jeans I wear
smearing them with cigarette ashes
very few fallen to the ashtray
engulfed with the music- I stir- waiting for the melody to stop
poem by Tajma Hall
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Related quotes
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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In The Stalls
My life is like a music-hall,
Where, in the impotence of rage,
Chained by enchantment to my stall,
I see myself upon the stage
Dance to amuse a music-hall.
'Tis I that smoke this cigarette,
Lounge here, and laugh for vacancy,
And watch the dancers turn; and yet
It is my very self I see
Across the cloudy cigarette.
My very self that turns and trips,
Painted, pathetically gay,
An empty song upon the lips
In make-believe of holiday:
I, I, this thing that turns and trips!
The light flares in the music-hall,
The light, the sound, that weary us;
Hour follows hour, I count them all,
Lagging, and loud, and riotous:
My life is like a music-hall.
poem by Arthur Symons
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Lounge Lizard
(ian hunter)
Well I picked her up on a saturday night
Pool hall poison but she felt alright
Oh dear what a sight when I saw her in the light of day
She was a speakeasy sleazer of the highest degree
Oh you should hear the stories she was laying on me
We really got it on as she held my point of view
Oh! shes a lounge lizard
Coming on strong
Who you fooling
Its me youre with
Lounge lizard
Come on come on
You got to be joking
Give give give yeah
Well I dont care if your sisters a john
I dont mind where your momma come for
Just give it to me
Just pull it through me
Alright
[golly? ] is a dolly got makeup on
I dont mind just keep your raincoat on
No hesitation no reputations to scale us
Oh! shes a lounge lizard
Coming on strong
Who you fooling
Its me youre with
Lounge lizard
Come on come on
You got to be joking
Give give give
Hey hey hey hey hey hey
Oh! shes a lounge lizard
Coming on strong
Who you fooling
Its me your with
Lounge lizard
Come on come on
You got to be joking
Just give give give
Oh! shes a lounge lizard
Coming on come on
Who you fooling
Its me your with
Lounge lizard
Come on come on
You got to be joking
Give give give
I said give give give
Give give give
Give give give
Give give give
Give give give
song performed by by Ian Hunter
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The departure lounge.
Many times,
I have been near the departure lounge.
Never knew the how or why.
Only too near tears to cry.
Time to leave.
Cliches on your sleeve.
Ready to be 'sold'.
Like cards up, an armful ready.
The departure lounge.
What is this place?
The only sensible option!
Many times,
I could have gone
Rather than see and play out-
Bitter endings.
The departure lounge!
A better place to be looking at
From a comfortable view
Than actually arrive at.
poem by Peter Vealey
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Serene Saturday
Serene Saturday
It's Saturday
and I’m listening to the football
on the radio
It's Saturday
and I’m listening to the football
while slurping my coffee
and having a cigarette
It's not my team who are playing
they play tomorrow
I'm on the brink of falling asleep
but I’m fighting it
My leg is twitching, must be the coffee
I’ve drank too much of it today
Meanwhile my cigarette has burned out in the ashtray
The football has just finished as I wake up,
the classified results are being read out
I light up a cigarette and lie back with my eyes closed
and I remember my dream, 'I’ve had weirder' I think to myself
taking a drag of my cigarette
I wonder, should I get some beer tonight? Decisions, decisions,
yeah, I probably will, maybe cider, yeah, beer and cider...yeah
Andrew Matthews
01/05/2002
16: 26: 01
poem by Andrew Matthews
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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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Kind glance at a sorrowful ash tray
The cigarette butts gather day by day
If it counts more than of his age
Like a mountain on the tray top.
I see in the darkness like a firefly
Cigarette moves here & there.
Where those circles of smoke
Gone to the sky?
My brother!
Don't burn yourself
And let the life burns.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Young Lovers
I like sitting at this particular table in this lively Café
eating my cheese toastie and drinking black coffee.
At a nearby table, two lovers are kissing and making up,
but then after their last kiss they decided to disconnect
to take a deep drag from their shared cigarette
and to take a sip from their cooling coffee cup.
Placing the cigarette in the ash tray they cuddled back together
fitting like a glove with their arms around each other
totally preoccupied, giving no one else a second look.
After several minutes of holding, kissing and whispering,
and the occasional passionate tongue in mouth sucking
it looked as though they were here for the rest of the day.
Suddenly her chair flew backwards, as she quickly stood up
rocking the table, which spilled the coffee from their cups
and the ashtray to hit the floor, as she pushed him away.
She then slapped his face and shouted at him in anger,
but he sat calm and collected, and said that he loved her,
and she had misunderstood what he was trying to say.
With her hot temper cooling she decided to sit back down
and asked him a question, which caused her face to frown,
as he explained she dragged the chair closer to him again.
Picking up the fallen ashtray she listened to what he said
whilst others in the Café were drinking and being fed,
and outside it persistently poured with torrential rain.
She ordered two fresh coffees, with a deep sigh of regret
while he lit up another blue tipped cigarette,
which they both drew upon until none remained.
He held out his hands as they looked into each other’s eyes,
with a smile she touched his finger, as though to apologise
then dragged her chair closer and began kissing again.
I like sitting at this particular table in this lively Café
eating my cheese toastie and drinking black coffee
watching people fall out who later make up,
and it’s by no means unusual to see in this busy place
a few exchanged words followed by a slap across the face
and then a kiss and make up, over a fresh coffee cup.
poem by Orlando Belo
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You Burn Me Up Im A Cigarette
You burn me up Im a cigarette
You hold my hand I begin to sweat
You make me nervous
Ooh Im nervous
It must be real bad karma
For this to be my dharma
With you
You burn me up Im a cigarette
Life with you is a losers bet
You make me crazy
Ooh Im going crazy
Your therapeutic antics
Well they really make me frantic
With you
Strategic interaction irreducible fraction
Terminal inaction and a bitter hostile faction
Im getting anxious
Im franxious
Transactional diseases are the only thing that pleases
We
You burn me up Im a cigarette
Demanding my attention which youre not gonna get
What did the sage mean?
What had the sage seen?
Musical elation is my only consolation
Oh yeah
You burn me up Im about to ignite
When you tell me you love me I give up this fight
Im feeling put down my feelings shut down
I want rejuvenation from male emancipation
Strategic interaction terminal inaction
A bitter hostile faction irreducible fraction
Transactional diseases are the only thing that pleases
We
song performed by by Hall & Oates
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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One Cigarette
No smoke without you, my fire.
After you left,
your cigarette glowed on in my ashtray
and sent up a long thread of such quiet grey
I smiled to wonder who would believe its signal
of so much love. One cigarette
in the non-smoker's tray.
As the last spire
trembles up, a sudden draught
blows it winding into my face.
Is it smell, is it taste?
You are here again, and I am drunk on your tobacco lips.
Out with the light.
Let the smoke lie back in the dark.
Till I hear the very ash
sigh down among the flowers of brass
I'll breathe, and long past midnight, your last kiss.
poem by Edwin Morgan
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A Longshoreman's mentality
Unionist, the man in his fifties and near by sixty
loose heart, loose oneself, loose one's way
and finally loose his weight.
He walks lop-eared, lopsided
but very loquacious and try to maintain his Lordship.
Running at a lost he always dreams of lotteries.
Still a lover in a lounge.
With his lounge suit wanders in parks
in lonely evenings.
A book of loose-leaf memories in hand
and the loner who is mending
the patches of life.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Listening to a news broadcast is like smoking a cigarette and crushing the butt in the ashtray.
quote by Milan Kundera
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Pollution and Its Solution
World's a big ashtray
Light up the match stick
Flip the cigarette
A little in the room
And more on the road
Drop ashes
Throw the cigarette butt
And crush it with your shoes
Roll a waste paper ball
Throw it into the world...
Penthouse resident
Throw all your garbage
Out of the window
On to the street
Leave the gum you chew
In inaccessible places
Leave the beer can
Wherever you emptied
It's only trouble for others
World is a lavatory
Spoil the road
Turn canals
Into chemical dumps
Cut all the trees
Level all the mountains
Create loud noise
Make holes in world's ears
Leave the car exhaust
To the world behind
Raise the chimney
Into the ionosphere
Friend!
These are not
What you are supposed to do
Please realize
Your minimal responsibility
And leave this world
Your world
For yourself
And for your neighbors
At least as
A place to live.
poem by Tirupathi Chandrupatla
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The best dancer comes from the sitting lounge.
Cigarette Girl
“Cigarettes, cigarillo, cigars, ” I did say,
as cigarette smoke came my way,
Choking on the smoke from it’s tar,
I only liked the smell of the cigar.
I was a cigarette girl in the casino Mystic Lake,
I got a big tip in high stakes.
It was a $20.00 coin of red,
I had to cash it in before I left.
One day I met the piano man,
He introduced me to Chucky
a generous soul with a helping hand.
Chucky painted my props for my show,
He painted World War II planes a long time ago.
We gambled at this casino all summer long,
I would ride in his car listening to Frankie’s songs.
Cigarette girl job had to end,
I will always remember Chucky my dear old friend.
Written by Suzae Chevalier on September 22,2011
www.suzaechevalier.com www.puppetpoems.com
poem by Christina Sunrise
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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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I Dreamt Of My Father Last Night
I dreamt of my father last night
with an indifferent boy to his height
out from a hazy meadow into my sight
on his face was this grave grin
as he paused a little for me to join
while the boy looked away in vague pain
I might have been curious who he was
but father took out his cigarette case
that exuded its old taciturn wince
humbly I took the cigarette
though we both had long since quit
and leaned forward for father to light it
somehow my rusty puff snuffed out father’s light
the only inexplicable one for the night
while my apologetically lit cigarette was alright
I handed it over for father to light his cigarette
which he puffed hard but could not manage it
even if the two were closely joint tête-à-tête
knowing it was a dream I did not want daylight
in that haziness my cigarette was only thing alight
I waited and waited for father to get his light —
poem by Dr Ronnie Bai
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A.s.3
when i was
sixteen
i tried to hold
a cigarette and
smoke it
i was in a dark
alley
with you and
you held my hand
seize my cigarette
and throw it
away
it was raining
and it was cold
you said a lot
of words
telling me that
i am your
under your
control
since then
you know what
is my wish
for you
i have always loved
freedom
i have always liked
to live alone
if you were alive
now
you could have seen
this misery
i know not how
to live
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Smoker
I billowed calmly as a cloud
Upon a course for acid rain,
When in the fog of smoking crowd,
My lungs collapsed in searing pain.
Full of soot and black with tar,
I coughed in vain for chest to clear;
At least my lungs had got this far
Despite my years of toxic air.
But Smokers' Lounge was home to me,
Where fellow addicts puff with joy:
Our pipes in hand, all friends are we,
‘Let's fine cigars now share, my boy! '
‘So gasp away! ' my motto cries,
‘And light another cigarette
Before a further smoker dies,
Which happens often - you can bet! '
Copyright © Mark Raymond Slaughter 2009
life life life life life life life life life
life life life life life life life life life
life life life life life life life life life
life life life life
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Happiness in a Vice
Happiness in a bottle of beer
Goes away
When the alcohol in the bloodstream
loses its efficacy
Happiness in a cigarette
is like the cigarette stick
little by little it's eaten
when fire is being lit
Happiness with a woman of the street
Is like your money you paid to her
It disappears in your hand as well.
poem by Champs Ulysses Cabinatan
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