She looked like cigarettes and dreams.
The search for that one good, long drag
that can pull some magic from the earth;
turn rock into river
and carry the rest of us someplace better.
I’ve seen her kind before.
A poet cloaked in a shell too beautiful
for others to see the peace
and the tempest
she desperately yearns to bring to light.
That one apple of truth
that can answer the question for every banker,
and every unicorn,
where the good life
is waiting to be found.
But she can only feel it—the words aren’t there yet.
Not all of them, at least.
So, she keeps sipping her coffee,
and smoking her Golds,
waiting.
In the company of the band,
she laughs when she knows it’s right,
and sleeps
when no cigarette in the world
could keep her awake any longer.
And when she wakes tomorrow,
and takes another deep drag
of morning light,
she’ll cover her graying cheeks
with foundation and cheer,
all for the message
she carries within—
hoping today is finally the day
when someone understands the words
she can never reach.
— ❧ —
Poetry Inspiration
The inspiration for this one came not from the Picasso painting I took a picture of above, but a photograph of I saw of a songwriter. When I looked at her picture I immediately thought “she looks like cigarettes and dreams”: an artist that wants people to see so much more than the physical beauty she possesses, tirelessly working to draw as much beauty out of herself as she can, no matter the cost.
For other poems, you can find more here.