From his pipe sparks fly, in the air its embers soon to die
Ash falling to the ground, inside the bowl a glow is found
Clouds of smoke swirled around, in its fog his image is drown
Leathery aroma masculine type, sweet smell of spice and fruit ripe
All the virtues of an old brier pipe
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Author:
sorenbarrett (
Offline) - Published: December 5th, 2025 03:29
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 131
- Users favorite of this poem: Friendship, Paul Bell, Tristan Robert Lange, Priya Tomar, Nature

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Comments10
Good write SB but can't see you there among that pipe smoke. lol. I smoke a pipe, not mainly for comfort, but so I can't see KP in the fog. lol.
Thanks so much Orchi for your read and support. Yes since small always liked the smell of pipe tobacco
Lovely!
Thank you so much Katie. I appreciate your read and kind word.
Great imagery!! You captured th4e pipe and pipe smoker so good. I could picture this as I read it! Excellet write!
Thank you so much for the review and kind words they are most appreciated
The imagery is amazing and so is the rhyme !! Beautiful poem soren
Thank you so much Neilton it is appreciated
I enjoy your poem, which reminds me of grandpa. Your poem likely aims to evoke nostalgia and appreciation for the ritual of smoking a pipe, exploring its sensory pleasures and the deeper connections it fosters between the individual and their memories or identity. reflects on the sensory experience of smoking a pipe, exploring themes of nostalgia, masculinity, and the ephemeral nature of life. The imagery you painted evokes the ritualistic and meditative aspects of smoking, highlighting both pleasure and transience.
Thank you Friendship for the review and interpretation that is the essence of the poem. It is most appreciated my friend
It's a thing you don't see now, the pipe smoker.
I, too, loved the smell of the pipe, your poem brings it back.
Thank you Paul for the read and comment it is deeply valued. Yes antismoking efforts and style have pretty well killed it, but it is still there in the shadows
My friend…the pipe becomes a portrait here…embers, fog, scent, all circling back to the man himself. It is tender and haunting at the same time. I know that feeling of getting lost in the very things that keep you going…that bowl glowing while the rest fades and fast. You captured that truth with such calm grace. Really beautifully done. 🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦⬛
Tristan I love your comments they are as poetic as the poem. Thank you so much my friend for the read and kind words they are deeply valued my friend
Awww. 🥰 You are welcome, my friend! Thank you, too!
Well Done Soren my dad smoked a pipe and I remember the smell fondly
Thanks so much Gray I appreciate the read and kind words they are most valued
I was opening the Windows as I read .
Good description.
Thanks again Kevin no need to open windows all smoking should occur outside. Appreciate the comment
Always loved a pipe back in the day. Nice write!
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