Poems about Smoking Tobacco
#tobacco
Poems about smoking tobacco cigarettes and cigars. Poetry about addiction to nicotine and battling to give up cigarettes. Also atmospheric and nostalgic poems about smoking.
mingomingus
SamTheSlam
SamTheSlam
Poem Published
14th Sep 2024 1:35am
14th Sep 2024 1:35am
Subtle Suicide
I'm getting really good at destroying myself
But there is always room for improvement
Swore off drugs and alcohol
So I have to get creative now
Guess you can call this the long game
Spending a fortune on Lucky Strikes
Hoping to never run out
Of luck, that is...
As if there were anything lucky about cigarettes
Use to smoke 38 Specials
Liked the cruel irony
Of puffing little cigars
Imagining the gun in my mouth
And the band in my ears
But they were too hard to come by
In case I ever left town
Plus they...
But there is always room for improvement
Swore off drugs and alcohol
So I have to get creative now
Guess you can call this the long game
Spending a fortune on Lucky Strikes
Hoping to never run out
Of luck, that is...
As if there were anything lucky about cigarettes
Use to smoke 38 Specials
Liked the cruel irony
Of puffing little cigars
Imagining the gun in my mouth
And the band in my ears
But they were too hard to come by
In case I ever left town
Plus they...
#tobacco
146 reads
1 Comment
Drieks
Poem Published
1st May 2024 00:14am
1st May 2024 00:14am
House of Addiction
Starting my day half way through.
Mornings are alien to me whilst
common as fuck to you.
Descending the stairs I smell my hate fuel.
Reminding me time after time what I lost...
..her.
Not you.
Not yet anyway.
Paving the road though.
Paving it just like the smoke paves your lungs.
No...
Please stop.
You'll stop eventually, right?
The smoking gets alternated with drinking at night...
Drops 'n fumes, drops 'n fumes.
Every day.
Every fucking day.
I try to ignore it. ...
Mornings are alien to me whilst
common as fuck to you.
Descending the stairs I smell my hate fuel.
Reminding me time after time what I lost...
..her.
Not you.
Not yet anyway.
Paving the road though.
Paving it just like the smoke paves your lungs.
No...
Please stop.
You'll stop eventually, right?
The smoking gets alternated with drinking at night...
Drops 'n fumes, drops 'n fumes.
Every day.
Every fucking day.
I try to ignore it. ...
#addiction
#alcohol
#death
#illness
#tobacco
238 reads
2 Comments
Josiah
Poem Published
29th Apr 2024 3:47am
29th Apr 2024 3:47am
Firewatch
Distant smoke rising
There will be no sleep tonight
I take my last drag
There will be no sleep tonight
I take my last drag
#fire
#job
#tobacco
123 reads
4 Comments
goldenmyst
Poem Published
7th Apr 2024 00:40am
7th Apr 2024 00:40am
Red River Willie
Red River Willie
Red River blues
sung by bearded prophet
of western visions
whose cigarette voice
rolls with muddy water
on course for father of waters
while soothsayer of song
plays the harmonica
for crickets chirping
on the banks by the railroad tracks
where old men dream
of days sifted into silt
where the whippoorwill fades
in a dusky hollow
© 2024 by John Hindle
Red River blues
sung by bearded prophet
of western visions
whose cigarette voice
rolls with muddy water
on course for father of waters
while soothsayer of song
plays the harmonica
for crickets chirping
on the banks by the railroad tracks
where old men dream
of days sifted into silt
where the whippoorwill fades
in a dusky hollow
© 2024 by John Hindle
#countryside
#river
#music #tobacco
#music #tobacco
120 reads
0 Comments
Heisenberg68
Poem Published
29th Mar 2024 3:52am
29th Mar 2024 3:52am
Smoke Filled Rooms
Beneath the chandelier’s contemplative glow,
In the library of silence, where smoke ribbons flow.
The cigar, a master artist with a scented brush,
Paints serenity’s portrait in a hushed, golden hush.
The week’s heavy cloak falls to the floor,
As the candles gentle fire whispers of lore.
Laughter’s echo is a phantom in the smoke’s soft wreathe,
Weaving a tapestry of solace on a tranquil loom beneath.
Enshrouded in smoke, where solace is spun,
The cigar’s whispered wisdom has only begun.
Each breath, a deeper descent into serenity’s...
In the library of silence, where smoke ribbons flow.
The cigar, a master artist with a scented brush,
Paints serenity’s portrait in a hushed, golden hush.
The week’s heavy cloak falls to the floor,
As the candles gentle fire whispers of lore.
Laughter’s echo is a phantom in the smoke’s soft wreathe,
Weaving a tapestry of solace on a tranquil loom beneath.
Enshrouded in smoke, where solace is spun,
The cigar’s whispered wisdom has only begun.
Each breath, a deeper descent into serenity’s...
#tobacco
#philosophical
#sensual
235 reads
2 Comments
Nizana
Lauryn
Lauryn
Poem Published
9th Dec 2023 1:44pm
9th Dec 2023 1:44pm
Diary entry - Smoking
Diary entry for Dec. 9, 2023
I can feel my baby growing inside me. She’s a constant reminder of the incredible journey I'm on. Joseph and I spent a quiet evening together, just enjoying each other's company. The love we share is so profound, and I find myself grateful for it every day.
I stopped smoking for the sake of my baby, and I know it was the right thing to do. Still, there are moments, especially after making love to Joseph, where I long for the comfort of a single cigarette. It's like a ghost from my past, whispering in my ear, tempting me to indulge just this once....
I can feel my baby growing inside me. She’s a constant reminder of the incredible journey I'm on. Joseph and I spent a quiet evening together, just enjoying each other's company. The love we share is so profound, and I find myself grateful for it every day.
I stopped smoking for the sake of my baby, and I know it was the right thing to do. Still, there are moments, especially after making love to Joseph, where I long for the comfort of a single cigarette. It's like a ghost from my past, whispering in my ear, tempting me to indulge just this once....
#love
#drugs
#tobacco
#addiction
#pregnancy
259 reads
2 Comments
ImperfectedStone
The Gardener
The Gardener
Poem Published
5th Dec 2023 00:43am
5th Dec 2023 00:43am
Tobacco edit
I wear tobacco on my skin like a bruise,
blood pooling in rivulets just beneath
translucent flesh, it sings,
less painful with time,
within congregations of smoke,
of her a decade ago, him a mere year,
it seals these doorways
with a glaze that forms between the shatterings.
She is
an egg amongst soldiers,
the nucleus pouring down the sides,
she is the waste,
the best bit.
I wear nicotine as a cloud,
holding in then belatedly exhaling rain.
or perhaps a scarf,
one to hide the truth
barely hidden behind the...
blood pooling in rivulets just beneath
translucent flesh, it sings,
less painful with time,
within congregations of smoke,
of her a decade ago, him a mere year,
it seals these doorways
with a glaze that forms between the shatterings.
She is
an egg amongst soldiers,
the nucleus pouring down the sides,
she is the waste,
the best bit.
I wear nicotine as a cloud,
holding in then belatedly exhaling rain.
or perhaps a scarf,
one to hide the truth
barely hidden behind the...
#home
#tobacco
160 reads
1 Comment
ImperfectedStone
The Gardener
The Gardener
Poem Published
2nd Nov 2023 9:41am
2nd Nov 2023 9:41am
Addiction
The vice crawls across a table,
finds a crack in a wood-silled window,
pauses, waits, catches flies.
We've all got one, or five,
though there's something kindred
in the ones that are inevitably self-defeating.
The ones that collapse in on themselves,
like a root after Autumnal hollowing.
I watch my Grandmother along the North Sea
eat her wars into an oblivion,
suck the fingers of those who bruised her,
bury the heart so deeply,
no one could find it's wings,
so pressures become physical rather than mental,
for...
finds a crack in a wood-silled window,
pauses, waits, catches flies.
We've all got one, or five,
though there's something kindred
in the ones that are inevitably self-defeating.
The ones that collapse in on themselves,
like a root after Autumnal hollowing.
I watch my Grandmother along the North Sea
eat her wars into an oblivion,
suck the fingers of those who bruised her,
bury the heart so deeply,
no one could find it's wings,
so pressures become physical rather than mental,
for...
#books
#tobacco
#food #addiction
#food #addiction
245 reads
3 Comments
DCLXVI_1989
Poem Published
4th Jul 2023 7:42am
4th Jul 2023 7:42am
Still Here/Here Still
Here I write, just to write
Nothing particular to mind
Sitting in the beginning of night
Yet it's been far too long
Here I sit, as not stand
Off my feet, into my hands
Continuing with nothing planned
Silence sings her song
I have been
Far too gone
I must be
Often wrong
One more time
Then I'm gone
Again
Once upon
On the cross
We need the wood
Now get lost
Termite dust
Worm rot
Begins
Here I am, just to be
No set stanza
No flow too free
Here I...
Nothing particular to mind
Sitting in the beginning of night
Yet it's been far too long
Here I sit, as not stand
Off my feet, into my hands
Continuing with nothing planned
Silence sings her song
I have been
Far too gone
I must be
Often wrong
One more time
Then I'm gone
Again
Once upon
On the cross
We need the wood
Now get lost
Termite dust
Worm rot
Begins
Here I am, just to be
No set stanza
No flow too free
Here I...
#tobacco
219 reads
0 Comments
randyjohnson
Poem Published
6th May 2023 7:38pm
6th May 2023 7:38pm
Cigarettes VS. Smokeless Tobacco
I've heard certain people say that smokeless tobacco is just as dangerous as cigarettes. That isn't true and I'll give you two reasons why. 1. I heard on the news that 10,000 people die every year from second hand smoke. Smokeless tobacco doesn't do that. Smokeless tobacco only hurts people who use it and nobody else. 2. Sometimes people fall asleep while smoking and start fires and get themselves killed. Smokeless tobacco can't do that either.
If every smoker were to switch to smokeless tobacco, it would save ten thousand lives every year. In a decade, it would save a hundred...
If every smoker were to switch to smokeless tobacco, it would save ten thousand lives every year. In a decade, it would save a hundred...
#tobacco
#nonfiction
234 reads
1 Comment
PittinixDesigns
Poem Published
14th Apr 2023 7:52pm
14th Apr 2023 7:52pm
Pawdy
Chapter 1
Fortnight
When Pawdy was a young man, he once worked at a construction site as a labourer in Portland. His job was to mix the mortar and carry concrete blocks in a wheelbarrow. That was hard work, especially since he had to work in the broiling sun. The foreman was a wicked person; he did not pay the workers on time. Moreover, he would give them partial payment and tell them that he owes them the balance.
Every payday he would go to a bar with the workers’ money in his briefcase and drink rum all evening. The workmen had to wait until nightfall to be paid....
Fortnight
When Pawdy was a young man, he once worked at a construction site as a labourer in Portland. His job was to mix the mortar and carry concrete blocks in a wheelbarrow. That was hard work, especially since he had to work in the broiling sun. The foreman was a wicked person; he did not pay the workers on time. Moreover, he would give them partial payment and tell them that he owes them the balance.
Every payday he would go to a bar with the workers’ money in his briefcase and drink rum all evening. The workmen had to wait until nightfall to be paid....
#death
#money
#alcohol
#tobacco
#job
225 reads
0 Comments
oskar
Poem Published
30th Mar 2023 7:04pm
30th Mar 2023 7:04pm
guerilla warfare
Guerrilla war in the Athens
Athens a confusing in August, what with the heat and pollution, I had spent the night sitting
on a park bench, looking at a white wall lit by moonlight, waiting for a movie, any movie
forenoon staggered into a church and joined a queue; a priest was handing out paper bags of sweet cakes, but the old lady behind got none since she had been in the line three times. I ate a cake and gave the rest to the lady. Grateful, she ate the cakes, blew up the paper bag, hit it against a tree, and we were surrounded by an anti-terrorist squad. ...
Athens a confusing in August, what with the heat and pollution, I had spent the night sitting
on a park bench, looking at a white wall lit by moonlight, waiting for a movie, any movie
forenoon staggered into a church and joined a queue; a priest was handing out paper bags of sweet cakes, but the old lady behind got none since she had been in the line three times. I ate a cake and gave the rest to the lady. Grateful, she ate the cakes, blew up the paper bag, hit it against a tree, and we were surrounded by an anti-terrorist squad. ...
#alcohol
#drugs
#heroin
#tobacco
#addiction
325 reads
0 Comments
DU Poetry : Poems about Smoking Tobacco
