The RetroLounge Daily Poem Thread (Thu 12/1/05)

The Best Cigarette

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.

Billy Collins

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Don't know much about this poet, but found this while looking for some other poem, and I liked it, so here it is.

RL

Thank you, again, RL. Another tasty morsel to savor.

Gentle and thoughtful.....no eroticism tearing at your flesh, or at your mind and soul......

Just a lovely poetic look at "normal" lives.......

VERY evocative of that ........

And as always, thank you!

I have NO idea why I'm still up.....maybe it was my 90 minute nap after dinner......

I'm going to crash soon though......

Hope you get some more sleep, too.....

:hi:

RL

you shall above all things be glad and young.
For if you're young, whatever life you wear

it will become you; and if you are glad
whatever's living will yourself become.
Girlboys may nothing more than boygirls need:
i can entirely her only love

whose any mystery makes every man's
flesh put space on; and his mind take off time

that you should ever think, may god forbid
and (in his mercy) your true lover spare:
for that way knowledge lies, the foetal grave
called progress, and negation's dead undoom.

I'd rather learn from one bird how to sing
than teach ten thousand stars how not to dance

-e.e.cummings


My favourite poem ever.

Thank you for sharing this!

it is at moments after i have dreamed
of the rare entertainment of your eyes,
when (being fool to fancy) i have deemed

with your peculiar mouth my heart made wise;
at moments when the glassy darkness holds

the genuine apparition of your smile
(it was through tears always)and silence moulds
such strangeness as was mine a little while;

moments when my once more illustrious arms
are filled with fascination, when my breast
wears the intolerant brightness of your charms:

one pierced moment whiter than the rest

-turning from the tremendous lie of sleep
i watch the roses of the day grow deep.

ee cummings

:hi:

RL

:hi:

:kick:

RL

I prefer the erotic ones. ;)

nothing erotic about that.

I'll see if I can find you a hot one for tomorrow...

and if you burn in hell, at least I'll have good company :hi:

RL

together!

(PM, dear)

(PM back at ya)

RL

:kick:

RL