Sunday, July 26, 2009

SUNDAY POEMS #3

This is not a pipe

Ceci n’est pas une pipe,
Though its darkened brown and
Burnished wood reveals a
Chocolate complexion
In which is smoky, black,
Sooty, tar-filled chimney –
Well-rounded and smooth – dips
Gently into my hand.

Ceci n’est pas une pipe,
Though its gently glowing
Grail, is filled with earthy
Smelling, dry tobacco
That burns like red hot-coals
And sounds like crunching leaves
To my accustomed ear.

Well-worn spout, meet my lips!
An inward breath I take.
Alas! My chest does not
Fill with smoke, for I know
Ceci n’est pas une pipe.


- J. A. Meanwell (Graham)

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