Friday, October 29, 2010

On Pipes

O what can match the true delight
Of pipe and fire, both burning bright
The knees and cheeks and hands kept warm
while good tobacco does no harm

The fire roaring, the pipe well packed
Bids weary travelers to relax
The pouch is fat, the day is done
Loss deep bound thoughts to oblivion

Whilst fire and air combine to free
The flavor of the mind's reprieve
So many friends this moment share
As a modest collection of pipes to bare

To briar, sweet briar, the start and end
The great gift of the Mediterranean
As time is passed your colors change
Hard evidence of a friend well made

And clay, dear clay, my earthy friend,
our sweet simplicity to lend
Meerschaum, so dear, so elegant,
The sea's great gift to thinking gents

My corn cob, thoughtful, from the land
Pensive, impermanent, in my hand

Oh my friends, me to outlast
when from this body, free I'm cast
Who shall you next accompany
Through thoughtful tempest and reverie?

Could all my thoughts run out my nose
into your bowl, then up in smoke
Would my time spent less worthy be
If not to learn, I'm much like thee?

Consumed and burning, funeral pyre
Some pleasure bring as leaf in briar
As burn I in this bowl of clay
I'll hope to hear The Tobacconist say:

"Ah, what a sweet, unbiting bowl."
Then scraped, tapped out, and be made whole.



  1. Hah! Awesome and inspired Brad. Like something I read Johann Straus wrote, only better. Say on good friar.