VIEW THE MOBILE VERSION of www.giveup.ca Informational Site Network Informational
Privacy
   Home - Smoking Articles - History of Smoking - Poems about Smoking - Giving up Alcohol

Smoking Poems

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

He Respondeth.
SHE. You still persist in using, I observe with g...

The Discovery Of Tobacco.
_A SAILOR'S VERSION_. They were three jolly sailors bo...

The Ballad Of The Pipe.
Oh, give me but Virginia's weed, An earthen bowl, a st...

Smoking Spiritualized.
The following old poem was long ascribed, on apparently...

A Warning.
HE. I loathe all books. I hate to see The world a...

Old Pipe Of Mine.
Companion of my lonely hours, Full many a time 'twix...

With Pipe And Book.
With Pipe and Book at close of day, Oh, what is sweete...

To A Pipe Of Tobacco.
Come, lovely tube, by friendship blest, Belov'd and ...

A Farewell To Tobacco.
May the Babylonish curse Straight confound my stammeri...

In The Ol' Tobacker Patch.
I jess kind o' feel so lonesome that I don't know what to...

Smoke And Chess.
We were sitting at chess as the sun went down; And he,...

Too Great A Sacrifice.
The maid, as by the papers doth appear, Whom fifty tho...

Pipe And Tobacco.
When my pipe burns bright and clear, The gods I need n...

Pernicious Weed!
The pipe, with solemn interposing puff, Makes half a s...

A Good Cigar.
Oh, 'tis well and enough, A whiff or a puff From th...

Sic Transit.
Just a note that I found on my table, By the bills of ...

A Song Without A Name.
AIR: "_THE VICAR OF BRAY_." 'Twas in Queen Bess's gold...

The Scent Of A Good Cigar.
What is it comes through the deepening dusk,-- Somethi...

An Encomium On Tobacco.
Thrice happy isles that stole the world's delight, And...



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 3443