Turkish Cigarettes: An Ode, In The Face Of Untoward Intolerance Poem by Richard Blanch

With grateful memories of Calverley and all kinds of apologies to the shade of Junkets. And none at all to the new Puritanism.`

Hurled, for their art, from clubs, corridors, pubs, saloons
And solace, these pale outsiders loiter, gird their loins-
Stubborn, kindle their lighters in the murk of winter.
Abused, kicked out in the night like unwanted curs,

New outcasts, ostracised, hands shaking round the flame,
Aching with memories of warm hazy bars.
Lurking in shadows, sin curling round their hair, they learn
Imponderable lessons. Take heart. Turn. Depart.

Here (in a private room, far from the public slurs
And the long reach of the new creed ’s macho,
Silliness) – those who love the Golden Turk can thrive
Assured, can let their cloudy pleasures clamour, burgeon, burst;

Nurture incense on the tongue: dreams murmuring
Along the trembling hallways of the brain. Merging, most
Loving. with the aromatic fire, cherishing its lively
Idyll, poets of the smoke, replete, chant, improvise.

Then coolness comes, the smooth and lucent glide
Of pefumed delight through boy and girl, tobacco
Rolled on a thigh, a ripeness in the air
Sighing a lay of gentleness, a legato tide

Furling the soul in softness. Eternity
Is here! Five pearly, precious minutes. These jewels gleam-
Nirvana hovers. But too soon the fading sheen
Exhales, expires, leaves pallid musings in the mind.
Poor poets of the sacred plant repine.

O for a draught of Tor, to burn more, and still more
Enchanting leaves of the weed, till they believe
That glowing days will never cease, will seize
Them lightly in a lulling hot embrace

Opulent and brisk. bracing the spirit,
Healing, touching pen and page, till both are lit-
A living perpetuity. Or till, undone,

Assuaged, unknotted, splendid they yield, unstrung
Superbly nerveless, one with the world, in slumber
Moulded, to a sweet melody
Of concord and are free–a
Kindness this, well earned -
Ever to sleep, tenderly to yearn.