Psychic Research - Download the EBook Psychic ResearchInformational Site Network Informational
Privacy
   Home - Smoking Articles - History of Smoking - Poems about Smoking - Giving up Alcohol

Smoking Poems

The Pipe Critic.
Say, pipe, let's talk of love; Canst aid me?...

In Wreaths Of Smoke.
In wreaths of smoke, blown waywardwise, Faces of o...

Her Brother's Cigarette.
Like raven's wings her locks of jet, Her soft eyes tou...

My Cigarette.
My cigarette! The amulet That charms afar unrest and...

The Farmer's Pipe.
Make a picture, dreamy smoke, In my still and cosey ...

Ode To Tobacco.
Come then, Tobacco, new-found friend, Come, and thy ...

On Receipt Of A Rare Pipe.
I lifted off the lid with anxious care, Removed the ...

A Bachelor's Soliloquy.
I sit all alone with my pipe by the fire, I ne'er kn...

Tobacco.
The Indian weed, withered quite, Green at noon, cut do...

To My Cigar.
Yes, social friend, I love thee well, In learned doc...

A Poet's Pipe.
_FROM THE FRENCH OF CHARLES BAUDELAIRE._ A poet's pipe...

To See Her Pipe Awry.
Betty bouncer kept a stall At the corner of a street...

Acrostic.
To thee, blest weed, whose sovereign wiles, O'er cankere...

Ode To Tobacco.
Thou, who when fears attack Bidst them avaunt, and Bla...

Effusion By A Cigar Smoker.
Warriors! who from the cannon's mouth blow fire, ...

The Ballade Of Tobacco.
When verdant youth sees life afar, And first sets ou...

Latakia.
I. When all the panes are hung with frost, Wild wiz...

Envoi.
Smokers, who doubt or con or pro, And ye who dare to...

The Cigar.
Some sigh for this and that, My wishes don't go far;...

On A Tobacco Jar.
Three hundred years ago or soe, One worthy knight an...



THOSE ASHES.








Up to the frescoed ceiling
The smoke of my cigarette
In a sinuous spray is reeling,
Forming flower and minaret.

What delicious landscape floating
On perfumed wings I see;
Pale swans I am idly noting,
And queens robed in filagree.

I see such delicious faces
As ne'er man saw before,
And my fancy fondly chases
Sweet maids on a fairy shore.

Now to bits my air-castle crashes,
And those pictures I see no more;
My grandmother yells: "Them ashes--
Don't drop them on the floor!"

R.K. MUNKITTRICK.





Next: WHAT I LIKE.

Previous: THE TRUE LEUCOTHOE.



Add to del.icio.us Add to Reddit Add to Digg Add to Del.icio.us Add to Google Add to Twitter Add to Stumble Upon
Add to Informational Site Network
Report
Privacy
SHAREADD TO EBOOK


Viewed 2508