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i dreamed a rattlesnake was loose in the closet i heard it rattling i was afraid to open the door



a man suffering a toothache goes to see his dentist the dentist administers laughing gas when the man comes to his numb tongue swooshes around his mouth he asks how long was i under the dentist answers hours i needed to pull them all out



he imagines when he grows old there will be a pencil grown into one hand and a paintbrush grown into the other they will look like extra fingers grown out from the palms extensions of his personal evolution little children will be horrified when they see mommy mommy look at that man’s hands!



what if we are each presented with a complete picture of a puzzle from the very start then as our lives proceed the pieces begin showing up out of context sometimes recognizable other times a mystery some people are smarter more intuitive than others and are able to piece together the bigger picture some people never figure it out



i wasn’t thinking i didn’t know to think nobody taught me to think maybe my teachers tried but i didn’t get it i wasn’t thinking i was running reacting doing whatever i needed to survive when you’re trying to survive you move fast by instinct you don’t think you just act



many children are relieved when their parents die then they no longer need to explain prove themselves live up to their parent’s expectations yet all children need parents to approve foster mentor teach love



she was missing especially when her children needed her most she was busy lunching with girlfriends dinner dates beauty shop manicure masseuse appointments shopping seamstress fittings constant telephone gossiping criticizing she was too busy to notice she was missing more than anything she wanted to party show off her beauty to be the adored one the hostess with the mostest



i dreamed i was condemned to die by guillotine the executioner wore black and wielded an axe just in case the device failed in the dream the guillotine sliced shallow then the executioner went to work but he kept chopping unsuccessfully severing my head this went on for a long time



1954 Max Schwartzpilgrim sits at table in coffee shop on 5th floor of Maller’s Building elevated train loudly passes as he glances out window it is typical gloomy gray Chicago day he worries how he will find the money to pay off all his mounting debts he is over his head in debit thinks about taking out a hefty life insurance policy then cleverly killing himself but he cherishes his lovely wife Jenny his young children and social life sitting across table Ernie Cohen cracks crass joke Max laughs politely yet is in no mood to encourage his fingers work nervously mutely drumming on Formica table then stubbing out cigarette in glass ashtray lighting another with gold Dunhill lighter bitter tastes of coffee and cigarettes turns his stomach sour he raises his hand calling over Millie the waitress he flirtatiously smiles orders bowl of matzo ball soup with extra matzo ball Ernie says you can’t have enough big ***** for this world Max thinks about his son Odysseus



when Odysseus is very young Dad occasionally brings him to Schwartzpilgrim’s Jewelers Store on Saturday mornings Dad shows off his firstborn son like a prize possession lifting Odysseus in the air Dad takes him to golf range golf is not an interest for Odysseus Dad pushes him to learn proper swing Odysseus fumbles golf club and ***** he loves going anyway because he appreciates spending time with Dad once Dad and Odysseus take shower together Dad is so life-size muscular hairy Odysseus is so little Dad reaches touches Odysseus’s ******* feeling lone ******* Dad says we’ll correct that make it right Odysseus does not understand what Dad is talking about at finish Dad turns up cold water and shields Odysseus with his body he watches Dad dressing in mornings Dad is persnickety to last details of French cuff links silk handkerchief in breast pocket even Dad’s fingernails toenails are manicured buffed shiny clear



Odysseus’s left ******* does not descend into his ******* the adults in extended family routinely want to inspect the abnormality Mom shows them sometimes Dad grows agitated and leaves room it is embarrassing for Odysseus Daddy Lou’s brother Uncle Maury wants to check it out too often like he thinks he is a doctor Uncle Maury is an optometrist the pediatrician theorizes the tangled ******* is possibly the result of a hormone fertility drug Mom took to get pregnant the doctor injects Odysseus with a hormone shot then prescribes several medications to induce the ****** to drop nothing works eventually an inguinal hernia is diagnosed around the age of 9 Odysseus is operated on for a hernia and the ******* surgically moved down into his ******* the doctor says ******* is dead warning of propensity to cancer later in life his left ball is smaller than his right but it is more sensitive and needy he does not understand what the doctor means by “dead” Odysseus fears he will be made fun of he is self-conscious in locker room he does not comprehend for the rest of his life he will carry a diminutive *****



spokin alloud by readar in caulkknee axescent ello we’re Biggie an Smally tha 2 testicles whoooh liv in tha ******* of this felloh Odys Biggie is the soyze of a elthy chicken aegg and Smally is the size of a modest Bing cheery



one breast ****** points northeast the other smaller breast ****** points southwest she is frightened to reveal them to any man frightened to be exposed in woman’s locker room she is the most beautiful girl/woman he will ever know



Bayli Moutray is French/Irish 5’8” lean elongated with bowed legs knobby knees runner’s calves slim hips boy’s shoulders sleepy blue eyes light brown hair a barely discernable freckled birthmark on back of neck and small unequal ******* with puffy ******* pointing in different directions Laura an ex-girlfriend of Odysseus’s describes Bayli’s appearance as “a gangly bird screeching to be fed” Laura can be mean Odysseus thinks Bayli is the coolest girl in the world he is genuinely in love with her they have been sleeping together for nearly a year it is March 11 1974 Bayli’s birthday she turns 22 today Bayli is away with her family in Southeast Asia Odysseus understands what a great opportunity this is for her to learn about another culture he knows Bayli plans to meet up again with him in late summer or autumn in Chicago Dad wants Odysseus to follow in his footsteps and become a successful jewelry salesman he offers Odysseus a well-paying job driving leased Camaro across the Midwest servicing Dad’s established costume jewelry accounts Odysseus reasons it is a chance to squirrel away some cash until Bayli returns it is lonely on the road and awkward adjustment to be back in Chicago Odysseus made other plans after graduating from Hartford Art School he is going to be an important painter after numerous months and many Midwestern cities he begins to feel depressed he questions how Bayli can stay away for so long when he needs her so bad the Moutray’s send Mom and Dad a gift of elegant pewter candleholders made in Indonesia Mom accustomed to silver and gold excludes pewter to be put on display she instructs Teresa to place the candleholders away in a cabinet Mom also neglects to write a thank you note which is quite out of character for Mom Bayli’s father is a Navy Captain in the Pacific he is summoned to Norfolk Naval Station in Virginia the Moutray’s flight has a stopover in Chicago Bayli writes her parents want to meet Odysseus and his family Odysseus asks Dad to arrange his traveling itinerary around the Moutray’s visit Dad schedules Odysseus to service the Detroit and Michigan territory against Odysseus’s pleas Odysseus is living with his sister Penelope on Briar Street it is the only address Bayli’s parents know Odysseus has no way to reach them when the Moutray’s arrive at the door Penelope does not know what to tell them Mom and Dad are not interested in meeting Bayli’s parents it is not the first sign of dissatisfaction or disinterest Mom and Dad convey regarding Bayli Odysseus does not understand why his parents do not like her is it because Bayli is not Jewish is that the sole reason Mom and Dad do not approve of her Odysseus believes he needs his parent’s support he knows he is not like them and will likely never adopt their standards yet he values their consent they are his parents and he honors Mom and Dad let’s take a step back for a moment to get a different perspective a more serious matter is Odysseus’s financial dependency on his parents does a commitment to Bayli threaten the sheltered world his parent’s provide him is it merely money binding him to them why else is he so powerless to his parent’s control outwardly he appears a wild child yet inwardly he is somewhat timid is he cowardly is he unsure of Bayli’s strength and sustainability is that why he let’s Bayli go whatever the reason Dad’s and Mom’s pressure and influence are strong enough to sway his judgment he goes along with their authority losing Bayli is the greatest mistake of Odysseus’s life



he dreams Bayli and he are at a Bob Dylan concert they are hidden in the back of the theater in a dark hall they can hear the band playing Dylan’s voice singing and the echoes of the mesmerized audience Odysseus is ******* Bayli’s body against a wall she is quietly moaning his hand is inside her jeans feeling her wetness rubbing fingers between her legs after the show they hang around an empty lot filled with broken bottles loose bricks they run into Dylan all 3 are laughing and dancing down the sidewalk Dylan is incredibly playful and engaging he says he needs to run an errand not wanting to leave his company Odysseus and Bayli follow along they arrive at an old hospital building it is dark and dingy inside there is a large room filled with medical beds and water tanks housing unspeakably disfigured people swarming intravenous tubes attach the patients to oxygen equipment feed bags and monitoring machines Dylan moves between each victim like a compassionate ambassador Odysseus is freaking out the infirmary is too horrible to imagine he shields his eyes wanders away losing Bayli searching running frantically for a way out he wakes shivering and sweating the pillow is wet sheets twisted he gets up from the bed stares out window into the dark night he wonders where he lost Bayli



these winds of change let them come sailor home from sea hunter home from hill he who can create the worst terror is the greatest warrior
Martin Narrod Apr 2014
I got no more ***** on my arms, vaginal schemes and gospel psalms. Very private skinny tribes, lit up with oversized black lights. In the very end, everybody walks this way, they all move like idioms, they all wanna be lit up like stars. Some could be prevalent like cascading dreams, nauseous just like mesquite BBQ baby-back wings.

Fly away little bird, fly away. But don't try to leave
Or you won't get paid.

I know very well, just what kinda caption your capsaicin
Can be, lit up like honey blunts, golden stars on top of your christmas tree. Strawberry Swisher Sweets, Blueberry Dunhill flavors, poke your hand through the fence, make friendly on your neighbors. If you like Kimmel Live, Conan at Midnight too, recipes for the zombies, SS ****** Youth. Blow-up and be a party. Get off work and drink your check. Get down, get off- I'll show you. Just how Martin pays the rent.
Reaching back,
Back to that fork
In the road
Where irreversible consequence
Hid like angina
In a dunhill bubble

And you veered left,
Smitten by the decadence of mint
And mythical circles
Blown with liberal disdain
From a camel's ****

You followed the green line
Rippling like waves
Of vintage wine
Through gomorrah

Caution blown
As a midsummers gale
Between tarred lips,
Your ship sailed
The straits of cool
From bogart to newport

If dean only knew
Nat the king
Could still be singing
Nature boy on the square,
Live

He might have spurned his spyder
And lucky strikes
For a slice of life
Beyond 24

And you might have
Veered right
At that fork in the road,
Swapping scarred consequence,
Tarred lips,
And angina
For the whole pie

~ P
(#FromTheCamelsButt)
12/24/2014
softcomponent Nov 2013
i have always been farther
away than the last moment
spoken between + the label,
yet there is nowhere beyond
my mind that i know how to
reach. it was a sadistic run-of
-the-mill that allowed me to
bring light upon a beam of
light shadowed in a corner
and hiding in hyperspace,
speedier than a tachyon yet
delicious in a red-wine finish..
i skip labor as proof that i am
free but who in the actual ****
is your leader?

there are moments i can supine
from the words you write in direct
reference to the life i've lived since
September.. but the proof is that i
have streaks of euphoria and clam
ouring happiness amidst a dull ball
-park surrounded by the Lost and the
******.. a new list of habits would
have to include my rampant affair with
alcoholism, my flirting with a boardwalk
death-wish in the form of Dunhill cigarettes
(*******, Sigmund Freud) (all because a
friend discovered Dunhill's to be the favourite
choice of Hunter S. Thompson
) and a lack of
physical exercise beyond the legs which leaves
me brain-atrophy construction-zoned & & &
*deadinthewater
softcomponent Dec 2013
I do not know where my cigarette goes when it's ashes are flicked to the wind-
I like to imagine them landing like magic, each part to become human again..
My choice to devour the ashes that scour
My lungs just as much as the earth..

is as if from my breath I am exhaling death, and click 'PLAY!!'

as a new life begins.
if the Buddha smoked Dunhill like Hunter S. Thompson.
FlavioPAR Mar 2021
A dark brown shaved herb
Burns so slowly from the bowl
The smoke rises from
As does my thoughts follow it
I wonder why it is so
Fey Aug 2020
she inhaled happiness like a dunhill cigarette,
smoke lingering on her cherry-red lips,
eyes vibrant of her last lover's kiss.

but she could not fathom mundane affects
of short-tempered love, masked as the ordinary desire of men.

no one asked from where her dull smile and the fine, white lines on her arms originated from,
nor did anyone cared enough about the numerous bruises,
ironically aligned like
a blossoming sunset between her thighs.

she was just the briefly glowing ember
in one's snow cold and harsh december.

© fey (23/08/20)
sadness
softcomponent Apr 2014
Each crest-wave melts forward unto a cyclic downward unto a mix-exchange at the bank of the channel, fluid between the Georgia Strait and the passive Pacific, all the way from probably-Australia. The overcast is claustrophobic, sort of-- Victoria feels like a small wet cottage in a populated happy brain-cell, so when the clouds roll in all you notice are the creases on the faces that look as they grunt and push their eyes half-closed, exhaling a nicotine cloud in pensive thought toward a day job. Dunhill cigarettes always give off the faint odour of soy sauce, and the blue rot of the Johnson Street Bridge ticks away, caught in a state of eternal construction. In the aisle of an apartment somewhere else inside the city, one can smell the delicate remains of Indian food, curried and waiting for years ago to come again. The narrative has never been more than sheer observation, not to watch what comes and goes, but what flows across the fractal void of every-angle. There are dots on the rocks, and legs on the waves.. butts in the moss, and hours in the days. If 'forgotten' is the outcome of my every effective attempt, it will change nothing up those sleeves of mine. And nothing left exempt.
mercy christina Sep 2015
Maybe what turned me on was the air refreshner that hung in his car
Hoping his mom would not smell the traces
Of obvious dunhill Reds and jack Daniels.
Or The way he performed darkness on my skin
As thick as black ink That no jar could keep.
How about the hunger in his mouth,
That burning curiosity to push the edge of decency
And go for gold.
Or Perhaps it' was the gospel truth that what we were doing that night
Could be followed by disastrous consequences
And what was completely forbidden by our different religion
After all
he is Malay .

He had eyes concealed by  lashes that
Were like curtains
Hoping to hide his intentions .
His life is what you would call
A cerekarama.
Forbidden love between two rebels
Trying to break through the norms of societies standards.
Always drunk on the idea of love,
'Syaitan lives in my pants '
He would say to make an excuse for touching me and grinning
Hoping I'd be a sucker.

Oh and did I mention he was Malay?
Mongi Nov 2017
Broken Sentiments

Returning from work last night, like all days
To learn that I’m just a piece of work, unlike all days
Brushed me off as I tried working things out
Tried to fill you up with my day and its happenings
Told me your day was just beginning, and mine over
Should’ve known you meant you and I were over
All through our time, didn’t you enjoy listening to my days’ stories?
Arrogantly brushed my shoulder away as I tried to hug
Told me to wrap away, you were going out tonight
Happy I was going to have a good time out, with you
Told me you were leaving me behind, I wasn’t worth you
All through our time, didn’t you take pride in holding my hand into the club?
Couldn’t understand any of it
All I was made to understand was the long easy red dress you were in
The red lipstick that added the flavor, the golden necklace too
The Dunhill Red cologne you had washed and swam in
With certainty, you and I both know that’s no fools’ gear
These were your all time favourites all times when you felt like it
With certainty, we both know you’re not gonna be dancing to no fools’ lullaby
Only difference now, I won’t be there to hold your hand and ask to dance
And oh I envy the one who’ll wrap your bee’s waist with his arms as you dance
For your game tonight is the bee’s knees
All through our time, didn’t you make me a proud man dancing with me?
O, so I stay behind, in the company of my teary wall clock
While my body in solitude, my soul in the company of giants
Kenny G’s all time great jazz, Lionel Richie’s soulful classics in the CD player
Although perfect, they could never leave Luther Vandross’ slows out of the party
They all play my heart, in turns, on repeat, repeatedly
Repeatedly, I keep casting my teary eye over the wall clock
Time, for a perishing heart seems to move very slowly
Although quickly, I realize it’s now time for the slow jams wherever you are
A thought I can’t ******, but that keeps murdering me
Is the storm you’re dancing right now, that used to ****** me
All through our time, didn’t this dance always belong to me?
Time stands still, in the still of the night
I look at the pieces of all the things you’ve broken in me and around
These pieces are so out of shape
I can’t piece them together to solve even one of our puzzles
I realize some we’ve even filed away their natural rugged edges to smooth surfaces
All we thought we were trying to do is run a smooth life
But these smooth edges glide over each other as I try to piece them together
We no longer have a perfect picture together
What breaks the soul of a man in solitude is that you aren’t even here
To work this puzzle together, paint a new piece together
Just you and I
You’re dancing a storm, away from home
And I’m here, home, crying a storm
You and I apart
We always have been
You and I
Now no more
Only with broken sentiments

Mongi C. Nkabindze
Upon realization that things weren't working out right, a soul trying to right their wrongs, but the other soul nowhere to be found. Probably having a nice time a distance away
Eric the Red Mar 2018
She tells me I owe her a sea story
From my navy days...
Told her the barracuda one
Maybe I’ll tell her the Face Down
On the Deck one
Or the Smoked Hash in the Park
In Italy one
Had a guitar, 3 chords, and hash
Singing Bessa Mi Mucho to Italian
Teenagers...they loved it
I was the silly American
Or maybe the one where we got the scoop on the only ****** in that seaside town in Spain, then showed up and half the ship was there...
Or the Dunhill cigarettes of France
To go with the Stella Artois or Heineken that seemed to be prevalent everywhere.
Cause that’s what you do at 23
Drink beer, smoke cigarettes, and run a mile and a half in 12 minutes.
I could talk all day of the women of Israel...
Or all the times that I’d go to the stern of the ship
And it’d be just me and the seas
The Adriatic
The Aegean
The Mediterranean
Atlantic
Sometimes the hammerhead
The sea turtle
The midnight mermaids
Black Seas
Blue and Green
But you’ll hear all of them soon enough
Yeah I can be fun at parties cause I got a shitload of stories...
Put some coffee on...pour the wine...
You got any hash?
Nyakisa Beth Mar 2020
Among the finest he ,
Mighty he was
He had endurance,
meek in character,
sovereignty for us
he toiled
shrewd at the salutes
Junior ,senior;
Routine he maintained
Firing guns, hurling
grenades, he matched
hundreds of miles
raging battles and wars
That spanned years.

At the apex of his
Youth hood he suffered,
he suffered,  he suffered,
A painful blow; a blow
*** *** *** ***
he dealt a painful blow
at the hands of a beautiful
woman; beautiful woman!

All the  vigorous and
draining training he had
In his prime youth hood,
was trashed, tramped,
All his experience, hard work,
determination and shining
accolades disappeared.
Disappeared never to be
seen again!!

Like a fool and his money
he was soon parted with
His hard earned experience
more so with his dear life
The once strong arms were
Now frail, the once commanding
Voice was now a pleading one

His bright, wonderful and
envied experience, the
vigor of his prime youth,
the unmatched accolades,
the years he served in the
forces and the innocence
The smile of comrade ship
smoke of "rex" and" dunhill"
at the quarter guard.

Were now a story;
On a sad note a story to tell
To tell the young generation
About the invisible deadly killer
All his years were in vain
All he was left with was
Nostalgic memories about all
He once had. Our nation
Lost. Our nation lost a son
Our nation lost a brother,Our
nation lost a father.
a painful tale of a gun man
Garrett Johnson May 2019
Point of no return.

He had caught my eye with absurdity.
Carrying a coagulation of Red Apple, Marlboro, Capri, and Dunhill cigarettes.
All in one pack tucked up under his arm sleeve.
Like some ancient greaser lost from his own time.
Stuck fumbling with the fast paced problems of modern day reality.
Confused with utmost certainty that he had lost his way.
And found himself in this new era.
Error to his own brain cells.
Firing on all cylinders.
Trying to keep him awake.
Just to reach help by the time the sun went down.
But he had caught something else in his view.
A girl.
With a yellow and white striped shirt.
Tucked in to her pants that were up to her waist.
A medium sized pocket above her left breast where she kept her cigarettes.
All white converse with white socks.
Slightly curled mid neck length hair.
She carries herself with uncertainty.
But also with grace and passion.
She sees into him as if he is ghostly.
For he is ghostly.
Only a shimmer of a past presents.
That onced lived in a state of mind that had purpose.

Garrett Johnson.
Lawrence Hall Apr 2024
Lawrence Hall, HSG
[email protected]

                 When to the Sessions of Sweet, Noisy Thought

                               Cf. Shakespeare, Sonnet 30

I don’t need to summon up remembrances
They simply wander in uninvited
In death just as they did in life, good friends
To sit together with our jokes, our drinks, our pipes

We still argue with each other, our minds
So familiar after all those happy years
Thesis, antithesis, and Dunhill tobacco
Ice cubes rattling in the soft summer dusk

Lewis and Tolkien show up late, stern Milton too
Remembrances? Not really – we are forever here



Nota bene:

In Moscow, 1937, during the annual Soviet writers’ congress—a time of severe purges—Pasternak took a courageous stand. Amidst the dull, regime-prescribed speeches praising Leninist-Stalinism, he did something extraordinary. He recited Sonnet 30 by William Shakespeare:

“When to the sessions of sweet silent thought,
I summon up remembrance of things past,
I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought,
And with old woes new wail my dear times’ waste.”

The impact was profound. All two thousand writers in the hall rose to their feet, joining Pasternak in this act of defiance. The number “30” became a symbol of resistance, a testament to the enduring power of poetry and memory.

Introducing a Sunday Series from Douglas Murray: Things Worth Remembering | The Free Press (thefp.com)
Meme-ing from Shakespeare and Pasternak
Lawrence Hall Mar 2022
Lawrence Hall
[email protected]  
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

                                    Pipe Tobacco and Memories

Today I smelled tobacco from a pipe
Although there was no one around except
Perhaps the ghost of the hardware store savant
Whose wisdom filled the air along with smoke

That honest, manly incense from long ago
When the thinking man smoked a Peterson’s pipe
Dunhill could brag of a royal warrant
And Dr. Grabow was a sovereign cure

No, no, we must not smoke anymore
But we can remember those golden days
Lawrence Hall Mar 2022
Lawrence Hall
[email protected]  
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

                                    P­ipe Tobacco and Memories

Today I smelled tobacco from a pipe
Although there was no one around except
Perhaps the ghost of the hardware store savant
Whose wisdom filled the air along with smoke

That honest, manly incense from long ago
When the thinking man smoked a Peterson’s pipe
Dunhill could brag of a royal warrant
And Dr. Grabow was a sovereign cure

No, no, we must not smoke anymore
But we can remember those golden days

— The End —