Poets United Midweek Motif ~ Smoking Tobacco

“Some mysterious revenge of nature has seen to it that no poem in praise of drink or tobacco (or snuff, if any) can succeed.” 

― Kingsley Amis, 

        Hmm . . .     

"No matter what Aristotle and the Philosophers say, nothing 

is equal to tobacco; it's the passion of the well-bred, and he 

who lives without tobacco lives a life not worth living." 

―Moliere

"Neither do thou lust after that tawny weed tobacco." 

―Ben Jonson

Ash trays with fresh flowers are a common symbol of 

World No Tobacco Day

 

Midweek Motif ~ 

Smoking Tobacco 

Have you ever smoked tobacco?  

Once I shared a Trailways Bus seat with an old man who told me tobacco was safe before air pollution.   Hmm.

Your Challenge: Write a new poem in which you address your experience (or thoughts) about smoking tobacco. 

A pack of tobacco-free American Indian brand herbal cigarettes

The Best Cigarette

by Billy Collins

There are many that I miss

having sent my last one out a car window

sparking along the road one night, years ago.

The heralded one, of course:

after sex, the two glowing tips

now the lights of a single ship;

at the end of a long dinner

with more wine to come

and a smoke ring coasting into the chandelier;

or on a white beach,

holding one with fingers still wet from a swim.

How bittersweet these punctuations

of flame and gesture;

but the best were on those mornings

when I would have a little something going

in the typewriter,

the sun bright in the windows,

maybe some Berlioz on in the background.

I would go into the kitchen for coffee

and on the way back to the page,

curled in its roller,

I would light one up and feel

its dry rush mix with the dark taste of coffee.

Then I would be my own locomotive,

trailing behind me as I returned to work

little puffs of smoke,

indicators of progress,

signs of industry and thought,

the signal that told the nineteenth century

it was moving forward.

That was the best cigarette,

when I would steam into the study

full of vaporous hope

and stand there,

the big headlamp of my face

pointed down at all the words in parallel lines. 

Edifying Thoughts of a Tobacco Smoker

by Johann Sebastian Bach

 

Whene’er I take my pipe and stuff it

And smoke to pass the time away,

My thoughts, as I sit there and puff it,

Dwell on a picture sad and gray:

It teaches me that very like

Am I unto my pipe.

 

Like me, this pipe so fragrant burning

Is made of naught but earth and clay;

To earth I too shall be returning.

It falls and, ere I’d think to say,

It breaks in two before my eyes;

In store for me a like fate lies.

No stain the pipe’s hue yet doth darken;

It remains white. Thus do I know

 

That when to death’s call I must harken

My body, too, all pale will grow.

To black beneath the sod ‘twill turn,

Likewise the pipe, if oft it burn.

Or when the pipe is fairly glowing

Behold then instantaneously,

The smoke off into thin air going,

Till naught but ash is left to see.

Man’s fame likewise away will burn

And into dust his body turn.

 

 How oft it happens when one’s smoking:

The stopper’s missing from the shelf,

And one goes with one’s finger poking

Into the bowl and burns oneself.

If in the pipe such pain doth dwell,

How hot must be the pains of Hell.

 

Thus o’er my pipe, in contemplation

Of such things, I can constantly

Indulge in fruitful meditation,

And so, puffing contentedly,

On land, on sea, at home, abroad,

I smoke my pipe and worship God

 

Source

⚘ ⚘ ⚘

Please share your new poem using Mr. Linky below and 

visit others in the spirit of the community—

(Next week Susan’s Midweek Motif will be ~  Ocean(s) .)

⚘ ⚘ ⚘