The Classic Life Blog

I want to be a better husband, dad and businessman and I am far from perfect. Some of these writings are random thoughts and others are to illustrate ideas, discoveries and life experiences. I hope you enjoy it.

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07
Aug

Genuine Cigar

Genuine Cigar

by Christopher Robin Adams

 

Maduro.

Dandy McCoy:

Dark and dancing in shadows

            dripping over me from oak leaves

                        blocking sun here and there.

Darker.

Lights easy and medium-plus draw.

No cone,

so, as I write here,

            he nods.

            Sleeps.

Transitions from leaf to fire to leaf.

He waits for me

            to give him attention,

                        to fire him up

                        and bring snippets of light

                        into these oaken shadows.

I read, also,

and McCoy sleeps through that, too.

No patience for the creative mind.

He selfishly demands fingers and fire.

Attention.

I write on,

and I do not fault my rolled leaf friend,

            at rest again.

He is what he is:

                        a dandy,

                        the real McCoy.

                       

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19
Apr

Smoking Irony

Smoking Irony

by Christopher Robin Adams

“No smoking in the library”,

so I changed course:

            no lighter,

            no clipper,

            no ashtray,    

            no protective tube,

            and no cigar.

Instead,

I went mental and picked up a book.

The Cigar Roller

took me to a distant past,

one denied me and my thin wallet:

            Cuba,

            land of historic soil

            and home of Cuban leaf.

Vicariously,

I wandered the hills with Pablo Medina,

            met his playmates and, later,

            was introduced to his early conquests.

We lit our first cigars

and then rolled our first sticks,

            thereby beginning a lifelong love of cigars.

We worked our whole life in the shade of tobacco leaf;

it filtered every movement and every thought.

Today,

instead of relighting my stick,

            I sip my black coffee;

instead of flicking ash into ceramic,

            I flip pages.

In time and for awhile,

            I forget smoking and enjoy cigars.

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08
Feb

Smoke Opens up My Eyes

Smoke Opens up My Eyes

by Christopher Robin Adams

We are not human beings trying to be spiritual; we are spiritual beings trying to be human. - Sarah Ban Breathnach

 

Begin with the mind.
What we know.
I know Tres Reynas’ dark wrapper
will be stronger than my milds,
but the ring’s curious script grabs me,
                        draws me in;
its deepened black and gold flourishes ,
            like midnight Merritt Island
            with my NASA brother starring skyward,
                        watching stars,
                        dream talking life and growing wise,
moves me deeper into memory and tribute to his life well lived.
            One night, he suggested The Cookoo’s Nest for my next read;
            since then, the book has burrowed into conversations,
            reminding me that appearances deceive,
            but our minds rescue us with tools,
            just as the queen rescues the king
                                                if he pauses, thinks to ask.
 
This cigar’s not for writing;
three queens won’t hold a light.
they knows not why I acquired it.
Perhaps, they’re trying to be a cigar,
even as I try to be a human.
Matter can be deconstructed,
but it cannot be destroyed.
My deconstructed brother talks to me now
            through the smoke of time and this stick;
he reminds me of our evenings under stars
and of our minds bright as those very windows to heaven.
With forgiveness, I light the Tres Reynas, again,
            to help them become a better cigar
            as they help me to become a better human being.

Christopher Robin "Kit" Adams,
writer
UCF Florida Writing Project/Mentor
www.nwp.org
Facebook: Spanish Cedar
Website: www.spanishcedarbook.com

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29
Jan

Nothing Dies in Spring

Nothing Dies in Spring (or, On the Porch with Roger)

by Christopher Robin Adams

“Nothing dies in spring, least of all love.”
(p4) Jack Downs Buried Treasure

Cigars die daily,
as does my Te-Amo,
and shortly thereafter Roger’s Montecristo,
    flavorful birth to death
after having reached out to us from Mexico
and ashed away with us
on a peaceful Florida summer afternoon.
Love, though?
A different story from Roger.
“I want a divorce” arrived to visit him,
    free will and all.
Promises died that day,
    along with Roger’s peace of mind
    and his casually dedicated attention to his wife.
The Turrent family, though,
has been working 133 years making fine sticks
    that from first taste
        always promise a beautiful relationship.
We’re hoping this relationship will    
                        last,
spring to spring,
fall to fall,
    faithful to its promise.

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29
Jan

Happy Bob and the Cone

Happy Bob and the Cone

by Christopher Robin Adams

Like me,
he sits on the veranda
and watches birds as cars zip past us,
    squeal to stops at the nearby intersection,
    then, goosed on gas, continue their journeys;
he observes pelicans and doves and hawks
    soaring and slicing through blue,
    sitting seemingly easily and still on wires overhead
    and moving north or south in formation.
We talk Del Sols and Monte Cristos,
and he clues me in to the cone,
    the cigar ash with ember embedded,
    indicating a perfect roll of leaf
    and leading to an even burn,    
        a smooth draw,
        and continued heat,
    despite pauses for conversations or journaling.
In a more relaxed work than his youth,
    where factories and docks built his formidable size,
he laughs much,
    partly because, in spite of the days humid wrap,
    he has a cone,
    and I am still seeking one.

- Kit Adams

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