Wednesday, June 22, 2011

Black Cav'

O how I am a fool to praise, and e'en to ever dream
To hold such flighty fancy towards the taste of Peach n' Cream.
The fruit-scent bowls were but a yoke- alas! self-bound to bear-
Toxic and foul- thus I return unto a smoke most fair.

'Tis sweet to taste, and quite calm-flavored, and cheap on the bill
And scented with the smoothest hint of tastiest Vanill'.
It is a great tobacco, weak yet noble, mine to have:
My longing draws me towards the virtues of Black Cav'.

A puff of it, and fondest, sweetest memories return
From yet a single light, the bowl doth deign to fully burn.
It was the finest pipe-smoke that I'd ever wish to have;
Reliable as always, the most excellent Black Cav'.

Thursday, June 9, 2011

Sitting vs. Smoking

I guess we are all twice as dead now. Here is an article why.

Sitting vs. Smoking

Thursday, March 31, 2011

Tobacco Poem IV

A Fool's Lament

Tobacco, delicacious, lovely, finest of all herbs
To smoke thee into peaceful bliss, to calm my weary nerves:
That is my wistful wish; but how new troubles worry me!
Bound to thee is an iron chain, twined round what once was free.

What folly, ask you, grips me so, envelopes me in pain?
My will's wing'd legs bereft of flight, my mind bewrecked and sprained?
A vow I made, like foolish Faust: I am most cruelly bound
Six poems for six months into this blog I must impound.

I dream of fonder scents, of Cavendish, that noble smoke
While whistling airs of spring doth sway the maple and the oak:
While whirs of bird-wings flit the skies amongst the apple trees
I write Tobacco Poetry, rather than be at ease.

For on the final day of every month, I fear 'tis Fate
To cause me thus, an Orpheus, to sing woeful and great.
To smoke, O peaceful excellence for which Toback' exists:
And yet instead I drudge at this mere dreaming of sweet bliss.

Tuesday, March 29, 2011

A. N. Wilson On Tobacco Bans & Literature

In a brilliant, off the cuff article from 2007, A.N. Wilson, writer for the Telegraph, asks the question of smoking bans: "Is this the end of English literature?"

"I have been racking my brains to find a single non-smoker among the great English poets or novelists of the 17th, 18th, 19th or 20th centuries. Possibly, Keats had to lay off the pipe tobacco a bit after he developed tuberculosis."

"Tennyson, who only stopped smoking in order to eat and sleep, describes in one of his letters sitting in a pub with a friend and doing very little except 'staring smokey babies' at one another."

"Sitting with my drink in such now-empty bars, my mind has turned to the great smokers of the past - to C S Lewis, who smoked 60 cigarettes a day between pipes with his friends Charles Williams (cigarette smoker) and Tolkien (pipe-smoker); to Thomas Carlyle, whose wife made him smoke in the kitchen of their house in Cheyne Row, but who is unimaginable without tobacco, to Robert Browning, who quickly adapted to the new cigarette craze, to the great John Cowper Powys, who continued to smoke cigarettes, and to produce fascinating novels, into his nineties."

Read the full article on the Telegraph website.

Saturday, March 5, 2011

Most Expensive Pipe Tobacco

Well, most expensive on pipesandcigars.com.

So I was poking my way through the inner nets and looking around for a really expensive blend to try out. I was surprised to find that most blends were around $10 for a 50oz tin, about 1.75 or 1.76 ounces. They really ranged from $8 to $12. Well that got me wondering, as I lit up my first bowl of McConnell's Scottish Cake, what the most expensive pipe tobaccos in the world are. Couldn't find a list online so I compiled one myself:

1 Dunhill
Deluxe Navy Rolls
$14.33
Va/Per

2 Heath & Home
Landmark Hall of Fame
$13.99
Aromatic

2 Heath & Home
Landmark Latham Circle
$13.99
Aromatic

2 Heath & Home
Landmark Manor Heights
$13.99
Aromatic

2 Heath & Home
Landmark Mohawk River
$13.99
Aromatic

2 Heath & Home
Landmark Old Kinderhook
$13.99
Aromatic

2 Heath & Home
Landmark Patroon Island
$13.99
Aromatic

2 Heath & Home
Landmark Saratoga Summer
$13.99
Aromatic

2 Heath & Home
Landmark Stockade
$13.99
Aromatic

2 Heath & Home
Landmark Sycaway
$13.99
Aromatic

2 Heath & Home
Landmark Vischer Ferry
$13.99
Aromatic

12 Davidoff
Flake Medallions
$13.89
Va/Per

13 McConnell
Latakia Flake
$13.65
English

13 McConnell
Scottish Flake
$13.65
Virginia

15 McConnell
Pure Caribe
$13.10
Cigar Leaf

15 McConnell
Pure Latakia
$13.10
Latakia

15 McConnell
Pure Perique
$13.10
Perique

18 Vauen
160 Year Anniversary
$12.71
Va + Cinnamon

19 McConnell
Black & Gold
$12.38
Aromatic

19 McConnell
Glen Piper
$12.38
Oriental

19 McConnell
Maduro
$12.38
Virginia

19 McConnell
Oriental
$12.38
Scottish

19 McConnell
Red Virginia
$12.38
Aromatic

19 McConnell
Rich, Dark Virginia
$12.38
Aromatic

19 McConnell
Ripe Honeydew
$12.38
Aromatic

19 McConnell
Scottish Blend
$12.38
Va/Per

19 McConnell
Scottish Cake
$12.38
Virginia

19 McConnell
Special London Mature
$12.38
Virginia

19 McConnell
Special London Mild
$12.38
Virginia

30 Davidoff
Danish Mixture
$11.98
Danish

30 Davidoff
English Mixture
$11.98
English

30 Davidoff
Royalty Mixture
$11.98
English

30 Davidoff
Scottish Mixture
$11.98
Aromatic

34 Vauen
Exotic # 10
$11.90
Black Cav + Va

34 Planta
Original Danish
$11.90
Danish

And for those curious:
Aromatics 15
Black Cav 1
Cigar Leaf 1
Danish 2
English 3
Latakia 1
Oriental 1
Perique 1
Scottish 1
Virginia 6
Va/Per 3

Or by Dominant Note:
Aromatic 15
Black Cav 1
Danish 2
Latakia 6
Pure Leaf 4
Va/Per 3

+++

Here is my initial observation: The most expensive pipe tobacco in the world costs $14.33 for a 50g tin. A bowl is between 3 and 5 grams. Therefore, each tin will give between 10 and 17 bowls. Each of those bowls cost $.86 to $1.43. Therefore, to smoke the Pipe Equivalent of a Padron Anniversary 1926 80 Years or Opus X would be like smoking those for less than a buck a stick to a buck forty-three a stick. And my friends wonder why one of my New Year's Resolutions was "Smoke more pipe." They wonder this while I share my pipe tobacco with them and they jealously guard their cigars.

Monday, February 28, 2011

Tobacco Poem III, by Creed Thie

Review of Tobaccos

The French Vanilla bears a sweetened scent,
But yet, alas! Its flavor's somewhat dry.
Burns fast away, 'tis verily its bent:
So fast is it used up, so doth it fly.

Exhausted thus, the humidor's toback;
Instead proceeds Nougat d'Couer'd'Alene:
Of fine and blended taste and smell it smacks,
Yet keeping lit with it is quite a pain.

Peaches and Cream, full sweetened, breathing light,
Voluminous in golden draughts and warm:
Its perfect unseamed smoke sings day and night,
Quite strong in pow'r, yet tinged with wistful calm.

Tuesday, February 22, 2011

Evan Gunn's Tobacco Poem #6

I wrote this last tobacco poem while drinking coffee. I apologize to anyone I offend.

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

Thursday, February 10, 2011

He Runs Away . . .Or Does He?

Yes. Yes, he does.

I hereby declare my resignation from the Creed v. Gunn fantastic debate of brilliant poetry and ruthless slanders on the account of my so clearly having lost to a better satirical poet, at least.

And so here's to you Mr. Creed D. Thie,
You're poor benighted student,
But a first class writin' man.

"Gunn, you can't drop out now!", cried the women who have a thing for the bad boy. "Fear not", Gunn said, "For this will surly make Creed's head swell to the point of exploding. Which, of course, would make him dead and I would (lucky for the ladies) remain alive." "Gunn you are brilliant!" exclaimed Angelina Jolie.

Creed overheard this when he was spying on Gunn to obtain material. He shook his fist with his right hand and wrote with his left a haiku (for with his left hand a haiku was all he could manage).

This is a true account.

Anyway, some might say that either, I was holding my own well enough to stay and fight, or it was good fun to see us abuse each other. Though, I have already made a bad decision in starting the fight, for when a poet insults another that insult will end up history text books, and so I will be remembered as that guy from 2010 A.D. who is a rebel monarchist, no matter how incorrect Creed is in saying this. They are the lies of poets. But, regardless, I have had nightmares about this and now it is my reality.

All the while a reminder is needed. We know Creed is the better satirical poet and we have been successful it our encouragements to get Creed to write more often and post on his blog. You insult him, he'll insult you eloquently and painfully. The question is: what is our motive for writing literature and/or poetry? Is it to create beauty in complexity or to smite our opponent with big words and round about classical allusions. I had been desiring to smash Creed's belief's face in the wall and rub dirt in it. I wish I hadn't because I probably would have written better poetry. Shall we abide by the original intent to write? Yes.

And I quote Mr. John Bain: Remember, all smokers are equal whilst smoking.

The Tobacco Poetry Brotherhood Breaks Into Poetic Fighting:

While the Brotherhood of Tobacco Poetry has variously succeeded and not succeeded at our aim, a Poetic Fight broke out on January 29th that deserves some recognition. Out of the blue, Creed posted this, directly attacking Gunn, as a preface to his second Tobacco Poem:

'Twas yestermonth in yesteryear my last poem was wrote:
A rhymeless Dodectuplet of tobacco-praising note.
'Twas amply criticized for use of vapid Fragrant words;
And so indeed I promised to heed this warning that I heard.

But then upon a further discourse in this blag's concerne
It was foretold to me that I would not to here return:
That I was an infrequent blagger, nary wise to trust.
Henceforth I held to post on here again to be a must.

This prophecy of slackery to-wards my poet's Muse
The Fates have chosen to reverse as an ironic ruse.
This one who did accuse my Muse of slothful disposition
May yet one day eat up his words in somberest contrition.

That aspiring apprentice of an Oracle prophesied thus to me:
That my recognized status as a contributor was but illusory.
And yet while I unto this blag present this humble song
That voice of Fate's attempts to compete seem to be prolonged.

No sonnet has he spun to woo a lady's tender heart,
No epic has he sung to show his mem'ry to be smart.
Not e'en a short haiku has he yet posted on this blag-
A three-line paean to his pipe through January's fog.

O pagan Fates! Why do ye stay the writing hand of prophecy?
For what do you bless me instead? By what obscure philosophy?
That very fellow who informed me I would ne'er write another thing
Feels very mellow apathy himself towards the task of hence writing.

Is this a feat of Hercules, of such magnitude and strain
To mire him down from writing his poem with pangs and endless pain?
Or did he here consider Anon. Jr.'s poem to suffice
Despite his obligation, every month to post here once or twice?

Or does he aim to end this month by quibbling quips to humor us?
To grace this blag with noble quotes from Alexandre Dumas?
Shall therefore we consider him to not be posting frequent?
Negatory, I suppose; the reason for this is sequent:


+

The next day, the stung Gunn replied:

A man of ideas, stands for oration,
Constitutional law is his vocation.
His rebelling wrong, the battle un-won,
Power comes from the barrel of a Gunn


+

Creed came back with this masterful example:

"Might makes right!" he fiercely cries, with rhetoric and quoting,
"The Constitution wields no gun- so therefore it is nothing!"
"Republic is Rebelliousness"- this thought he's oft promoting,
And afterwards goes to the polls to take his part in voting.


+

Gunn then took the time yesterday to reply again:

The gentleman saith, "How can you speak thus?
We and our powers have a communal trust."
The powers that be will ignore this man,
And snuff him out, the best they can.

He pushes against the wind, soon forgetting the trust,
Obey the gentleman's system, the governors shall regard.
Abiding by this, the conspirator says we must,
For this is his law unchanged: Obey until life gets hard.


+

It seemed Creed already had a response at the ready:

'Twas God ordained Authorities, of all shapes, over men,
Ordaining o'er America the sovereign Constitution.
"This law is illegitimate!" the Monarchist doth stammer-
"MY only law is law of might, of shotgun and steel hammer!"

In order to save countless helpless fools lost in deception,
He mocks the Constitution with his brilliant new perception;
That great enlightened Monarchist gives us a wise perspective:
"It is the will of God for us to follow this directive:

Against what certain is God-given power, our Rule of Law-
Rebel! For thus God wills it ever, fore and even now!
Let government throw off all limits, let the nation tremble-
And him opposing this rebellion is the real rebel!"

"Obey the laws, obey them all!" is what he recommends-
And when unto the nation's throne he mightily ascends:
"No law shall bind me, though I've sworn an oath to law uphold!"
And soon, corrupted by such pow'r, he takes a tyrant's mold.


+

For my part, I think Creed has a huge talent for Satiric poetry and sincerely hope that Gunn, as only a true friend could, keeps egging him on. I've enjoyed the trip so far and hope it lasts forever.

+

UPDATE:At 12:03AM, a sleep-deprived Gunn posted this, his best effort to date by far:

The Citizen Who Thought He Was King

You may shout of ideal rights,
With police enforcement here to grow.
But have you seen a riot call fights,
They all are heathens who are born so low.
You may say you have solemn thoughts,
Creating a witness thereto fore.
When all the others are casting lots,
Of who next in power you shall abhor.
You are rippin', rollin', rantin' now,
When the masters breached their vow.
By the time your rebellion affects the mind,
A wicked soul you'll regrettably find.

Larger governments will have their poor ways,
Thus ensuing a loss of wits
But is this reason enough to say,
Licensed tantrums and kicking fits.
"The vow! The vow!", you'll cry and moan,
"Their justice shall be served!"
Though justice applies to you alone,
Your sentence made unnerved.
You are cringing, crying, crowing now,
As the masters amended the vow.
While I lay low and enjoy the attack,
Content with the smarts my leaders do lack.


+
Creed responded with another gem. Can this man write a poor satiric poem? I think not.

Behold! On new adventures doth our Hero swift embark.
To sail the seven seas, or maybe just to stroll the park?
His myriad crushing arguments, for Might-makes-Right's True Cause
In former times serv'd as his cymbals, clashing without pause.

But now, he chooses a new task, a most amusing chore:
He gives his challenge, whipping up a witty Poet's War.
Perhaps he entertains certain fresh subjects for this duel?
Indeed! For his old arguments, this duel's his brand-new tool!

And thus he hurls his javelins, his Monarchistic jabs!
Twice swinging at the Constitution, stumbling as he stabs,
While throngs of weeping flatterers adore his rival's verse,
Each begging on their knees "Mock Me! O! Mock me too!" 'til hoarse.

A third blow, now, the Monarchist brings down with vicious clamor,
And those around him tremble at this stroke's resounding tremor.
These new-spun stanzas show his creativity; his best!
He rhymes with eloquence, then writes it oth'rwise like the rest.

In Riotous effort to advance his point through rants and wits
In Tantrum urges 'gainst his foe, t'abstain from "Kicking Fits".
He who would freely break the Constitution for some cause
Accuses his vile rival of now posing 'bove the laws.

How public, bravely, fiercely, does he give his foe hortation
To "Lay Low and Enjoy" it all when evil chokes our Nation.
If only he'd believe in freedom- Paragon he'd be:
He puts such pain and effort toward the cause of Apathy.

Saturday, January 29, 2011

Tobacco Poem II, Creed Thie, with a Preface

PREFACE:

'Twas yestermonth in yesteryear my last poem was wrote:
A rhymeless Dodectuplet of tobacco-praising note.
'Twas amply criticized for use of vapid Fragrant words;
And so indeed I promised to heed this warning that I heard.

But then upon a further discourse in this blag's concerne
It was foretold to me that I would not to here return:
That I was an infrequent blagger, nary wise to trust.
Henceforth I held to post on here again to be a must.

This prophecy of slackery to-wards my poet's Muse
The Fates have chosen to reverse as an ironic ruse.
This one who did accuse my Muse of slothful disposition
May yet one day eat up his words in somberest contrition.

That aspiring apprentice of an Oracle prophesied thus to me:
That my recognized status as a contributor was but illusory.
And yet while I unto this blag present this humble song
That voice of Fate's attempts to compete seem to be prolonged.

No sonnet has he spun to woo a lady's tender heart,
No epic has he sung to show his mem'ry to be smart.
Not e'en a short haiku has he yet posted on this blag-
A three-line paean to his pipe through January's fog.

O pagan Fates! Why do ye stay the writing hand of prophecy?
For what do you bless me instead? By what obscure philosophy?
That very fellow who informed me I would ne'er write another thing
Feels very mellow apathy himself towards the task of hence writing.

Is this a feat of Hercules, of such magnitude and strain
To mire him down from writing his poem with pangs and endless pain?
Or did he here consider Anon. Jr.'s poem to suffice
Despite his obligation, every month to post here once or twice?

Or does he aim to end this month by quibbling quips to humor us?
To grace this blag with noble quotes from Alexandre Dumas?
Shall therefore we consider him to not be posting frequent?
Negatory, I suppose; the reason for this is sequent:

OF POETRY:

To smoke Tobacco, finest crop e'er known
Acrost the oceans deep and mountains high,
Is twofold luxury; tasted alone,
Meanwhiles providing incense to those nigh.

Cigars and pipes are oft enjoyed when lit
In company, a sign of noble bliss.
But certain pleasures of tobacco's taste
and scent, are took alone unto oneself.
Great wisdom is imbibed through the thick clouds
Of ashen grey, the billows of good smoke.
A soothing calm, a weariness expunged
From ones near-splitting head and feeble arms,
Absorbed and healed by Raleigh's greatest gift.
A pardon, thus, to him who did not write
For far beyond the scope of poetry
Lie countless other uses of tobacco
And countless other burdens in the way:
Of tasks and troubles, work and breaking backs-
Cruel Fate's impediments against the Muse.

And yet of all the uses for Toback'
To write a poem, is nevertheless
A one of excellence, a use of worth.
Therefore I praise the work of Orpheus,
His heavenly lyre in hand, crafted of stars
His tragic song of wistful shadows spun
To tell of his lost Eurydice's fate.
For poesy preserves the ancient beauty
That lies within broken shell of smoke
Beshattered by the blows of Tyrant winds
Who seek to end this peaceful earthly joy.
When generations of the coming years
Attempt to strike down all that doth remain
Eternal memories shall be preserved:
Eternal shall the words of poets stand.

ATY's 6th Poem a Month Late

This is my review of a pipe tobacco: Hearth & Home's Anniversary Kake.

+++

Around the edges of the glade nude
nymphs dance, show no shame –
there are none now to watch them
perform the old pieces again and again.

An exposed rock, low to the turf,
the outside dark, deep, aged,
pitted and pocked and potent,
overpowers the center,
controls the shape of whirling women,
their hair flung forth to lift in the wind
of their own making – the still stone
squats silent in their close tussle.

These two forces – the feminine
dancing figures who know what they do
and the terrible tip of the outcrop,
tiny in relation to bedrock below,
but filling the glade, giving shape, giving order
giving stage to the performers –
the power and pleasure of the forest
the flight and the fight of flesh.

But creepingly another comes,
pierces crenellation shrubs, perceives
and, arrested, allured, alarmed,
cranes neck back and dextrously side
to see the pale hides of these hidden women,
their blinding skin more splendid against
the bold black backdrop of Precambrian rock
than they ever could be couched safely on any cushion.