a turbulent romance

posted up at the bar
staring at twenty camels
in my shaking hands,
already bored of the beer
i had bought moments before,
i saw the camel on the
plastic feeling packet walking away

exit stage right... lights down
on my addiction, yeah
i'm really quitting
so i figure it's fitting
that while i'm sitting
quietly drinking, reading
and thinking i smoke one last
cigarette... you ever get that?

celebrate climbing outta an ashtray trap
with one last quick click hiss and snap
to mark the fact that you "were a smoker"?

see, to me, nicotine is
like a reoccurring dream
that i dreamt on faded
kerouac paperback pages
then in the parks with my mates
on friday nights
until i couldn't distinguish
orange glowing street lights
from the fiery tip of a
lucky strike i couldn't
bring myself to extinguish
and i wrote papers
in english lessons
about the papers i rolled
and smoked on the pavement
stressing about the essay
due in the english lesson
i had to attend next and
suddenly but subtly i was
caught in the clutch of something
that had never really been a crutch
until i struck lucky then lucked out

so now, i'm posted up at this bar
playing along with a smoking ban
staring at a patch of shining dark wood
untouched by the dust of bureaucracy
where my twenty deck used to rest proudly
but i can hear the sound of exhaled smoke
echoing loudly around the shadowy
recesses of my head and i still say
cigarettes are a blessing
in a messy disguise which captivates
the body and the mind
with the way silvery blue threads wind
themselves into conversations
from cherry fire burning patiently
and rich tobacco tastes lace
the whole experience with a certain
quality of luxury which absorbs
your soul sumptuously until you
can no longer breathe

Sampson, As it probably does not surprise you, I dig the poem. What a smorgasbord of inhalant images.

You describe why it is so hard to quit for some people. The world doesn't understand that the addiction can go far beyond the physical needs, but the emotional/atmospheric pleasure smokers experience when in a state of emotional contemplation or reflection.

wow, the last part was really dreamy and engaging. i like some of the clever lines you used, like 'nicotine is like a reoccuring dream', and 'cigarettes are a blessing in a messy disguise', and how you turned the english paper about paper, which you smoked because of the paper.

thanks cogs and jersea!

jersea, i think you just summed up the human fascination with smoking very eloquently!

cogs, i used to roll my own cigarettes at that point; the paper word play was a little personal reference to the numerous little packets of rizla that i left in my wake everywhere i went! haha

I tried to quit smoking once. My kids bought me a carton and said they'd rather remember me the way I was! LOL. Yup this poem describes it to a T. (and I only smoked one cigarette reading it!) Great work!

I don't smoke, but I have been a smoker and I loved it. I'll still smoke a cigarette when in the right company. SMOKING IS BAD!

Awesome poem and I too have rolled my own and prefer them to regular ones.

sophia, you've taught you're kids well (whatever the health fascists might think)! bare respect!

and jersea, smoking is bad. but crossing the road can kill you too...