Tobacco Poem #1
A savored thought, and savored breath,
In danger of addiction, and folly.
A time for it, it's time has breadth,
Not benighted my brethren we'll be.
This notoriety I'll suffice,
Good repute is it's price,
The weight of eyes wont flee.
Tho' ethics are in ground,
Of the Bible it is sound,
And those alike agree.
And shallow boys have synced their pose,
A look of wisdom, forever transparent.
But a man of age, from them he goes,
Illegitimate quit, for he's apparent.
When the foolery strays,
Closes their silly days,
Desires for higher place.
Remind the old man
(A child also can)
To reverence and give grace.
By Evan Gunn Wilson
Tobacco Poem #2
Stop him and tell 'em now;
He's thought too hard, but in what way.
In confidence brought this "therefore"; how,
Does he fumble and pace in evening day?
Lean back and into stupor fall,
Reach for your leaf on the table side.
Our ignorance defeats, then he foils us all,
And then again poise, we tense our hide.
Tis' forth and forth, but back and back;
This pseudo-socratic group has failed.
Though, for all we, and all we lack,
It is done by smoke; the words were hailed.
I, by faith, have learned this well,
White noise is all we'll strive to be.
But, through silence our minds did tell,
By God, this leaf makes contracts free!
By Evan Gunn Wilson
Tobacco Poem #3
Refrain from tobacco and conquer the world. Smoke the delight and conquer the mind. Both will kill a man seldom more than anything else, but no additional pain is heaped. Choose accordingly to the place God gave you.
Could Caesar been better had he smoked?
Would he have come with pipe in hand?
Should he had seen or the pipe had choked?
Why for had he conquered the Gaulish Land?
Pursuing a thought, a pleb would puff,
Firing ideals, the ugly mug in gruff.
Smoke is for that man, standing low;
Good use for his time when leaves in glow.
Greater Alexander was, having not partook,
Tho' Epictetus in mind might have increased.
Hierarchical identity has poor notions shook,
Leveled with dirt, smoking after when ceased.
Know thy worth and choose in accord,
An unhappy life is easily gained.
Smoke plenty while under your lord,
For he will not, running lives un-pained.
By Evan Gunn Wilson
Tobacco Poem #4
One Lover Doubtfully Fit
The Indians grew for spiritual gain,
While Ralegh brought seen King James pain.
Then Kipling wrote for you and for Wife,
Before Winston's coin in nation's strife.
But you for me,
O, Tobakee;
You and I have little worth.
Tho' you are my Queen
My Lady Nicoteen,
Our shared silence has joy and mirth.
Did My Father force our hands in marriage,
Or had I gotten to know you well?
Regarding my rank we did disparage,
As society minded our wedding bell.
We met at fourteen, arranged by sixteen,
Treating as though I deserved you.
I did intervene, and not always clean,
For my unlovable ways I hadn't a clue.
But having grown older, while young in time,
I achieved no less than to prove you're mine.
You lovely lass, that cannot submit,
It is I that choose when you be lit.
To you I plead,
And as my creed,
May we stand by awaiting death stroke.
For you there's no heav'n;
By Me all I've giv'n
Your only virtue is that I smoke.
By Evan Gunn Wilson
Tobacco Poem #5
I saw you in sorrow, sniffling alone,
And twiddling your thumbs, tense with a stare.
Though blank you'd been, clearly had shown,
Your lady had left for a man with more hair.
Approaching I noticed a pale cold face,
But more so than past thy hairless hollowed head.
A wig as a gift, it couldn't give grace,
Exaggerated features, I'd prefer to be dead.
I reached into pocket to proffer a leaf,
Eyes lit like coals for the fine Henry Clay.
Pronounced as a soldier, sword out of sheath,
My ol' buddy smoker was himself again.
By Evan Gunn Wilson
Tobacco Poem #6
I'll tug my hair and gnash my teeth, before I get this last poem out,
For lovely muse, you betrayeth me, so tobaccos lost its very shout.
My friends they wag their finger at me, a poem to demand another,
For this is the way of the normative creed, this how they treat a brother.
I do not complain, their request is just; but buckle down I must?
Though this is the only way I see, otherwise my writing would rust.
Get some ideas, have thought and connect tobacco to it all.
Politics, theology, ethics, astrology; speak proudly of Sir Walter Rawl.
Though now I have grown a custom to nothing, putting the practice aside,
How shall I remember to write of anything, as tobacco was the only guide.
So now I wake in the morning, seeing it is now no time for a pipe,
I ponder what shall I take, affecting my day to make the fruit ripe.
A cup of mud water! how could I forget to drink the a.m. strong,
For if it got me writing this poem, how could you consider it wrong?
But, Tobacco I do not speak you ill, and plan to have you replenishing my stock,
Though, finding there is others that stimulate my mind, should not come as a shock.
By Evan Gunn Wilson
