Best Tallow Poems
As a young boy
I watch with interest the small man
Wolf Hunter - a wise father of the hunt
He begins an old ritual
coating his knife blade
rich animal blood and tallow fat
freeze
Wolf Hunter adds another blood-tallow layer
freeze
and another – freeze
A frozen tallow-blood knife
Wolf Hunter knowing the wolf
fixes his knife in ground
blade up
prays and leaves . . .
Grey wolf sniffs air and begins to run
blood is on the wind
he licks, tasting the delicious blood-tallow
He howls into the night and licks faster
a blood lust building
lapping the blade until the sharp edge bites
Feverishly now, faster and harder
Grey wolf licks the blade in the arctic night
great is his craving for blood
The insatiable blood-thirst
now being satisfied by his own warm blood
the naked blade biting his tongue
his carnivorous appetite devouring
In the pale morning light
Wolf Hunter finds Grey Wolf
dead in the snow
stooping down he picks up his knife
I stand . . . frozen – sicken by the sight
Wolf Hunter looking at me says
. . . to be consumed by your own desire
is a dangerous and deadly foe
Years later
staring at the bottle
hands shaking -- eyes filled with lust
a vison: a grey wolf consumed . . . dead
the howl of the wolf-wind beseeching
To be consumed by your own desire is a dangerous and deadly foe
\_____/>
/\ /\
David Meade
12-12-2014
Live Generously
Categories:
tallow, love, lust,
Form:
Narrative
Those stars that sailors follow
Guiding less the sea to swallow
And the night seas black as tar
Beyond the wave a land afar
Halyards taught, blocks in tallow
Breezes fresh and salt swallow
Timbers creak, white horses foam
Callused hands and oceans comb
And the stars pull them forth
South, east, west and north
Cabin boy or salty jack
Afore the mast, bare their back
Seas of glass or howling gales
Stands his watch what ever ails
For them the ocean a magic place
For every dawn a changing face
The face of his one true love
The wind, stars, skies above
Categories:
tallow, seastars,
Form:
Heroic Couplet
Nature's, anesthetizing beauty held
tightly in escrow
'Til on tendered form its heavenly
charm can bestow
Fair maiden strides through
manicured meadow
In her lovely essence, the enchanted
flora doth wallow
Overhead, azure canvas paints a
regal halo
Her satin cheeks radiant in Helios's
afterglow
Beneath, green clover spreads its
downy pillow
Her dainty feet tenderly the svelte
blades furrow
Lilac strands their fragrant
essence strew
As her ebony locks in soothing
breeze flow
White, silken lillies fringe the
bristling undertow
Roon paps gild voluptuous, damsel's,
milky tallow
Twirling dandelions their feathery
dander billow
Maiden's silted bosom takes a
respite under fawning willow
Creamy buttercups in the noonday
heat their hearth's mellow
In their steamy shadow, frothy
maiden spreads her umbrella
Categories:
tallow, beauty,
Form:
Couplet
Once lit by flickering torch light
with animal tallow mixed with ocher
daubed on subterranean rock walls
now lit by streetlights or LED headlamp
slashes of spray paint and magic markers
splattered on concrete bridge abutments,
boxcars, or walls of tenement ghettos,
but the message is the same
we were here.
Categories:
tallow, symbolism,
Form:
Free verse
Walls breathe insistent hunger,
red as the inside of a split pomegranate,
richer still where the tallow has melted,
slick as the fat from a burnt offering.
Scarpia does not eat.
He savors—sounds of gristle
snapping in the next room—
—low, wet gasps—
body writhing beneath unseen hands,
a melody of muscle breaking.
Tosca stands, spine locked,
as he drinks from a goblet brimming with the color
of a mouth left too long in the sun.
He watches her throat move,
slow, careful, like a deer
scenting iron in the air.
A scream glissandos through the walls.
Scarpia wipes his lips.
His fingers, thick as butcher’s twine,
gesture toward the door—
an invitation, a demand—
a sermon delivered without breath.
Tosca does not kneel.
Not yet.
But the feast has begun,
and the host holds the fermata.
(note: this poem was inspired by a scene from the opera Tosca by Giacomo Puccini)
Categories:
tallow, anxiety, character, corruption, creation,
Form:
Free verse
.
The Indian Healer gathered willow
Dried medicinal bark like dried tallow
When fever came to the camp
Small dose when with fever damp
Relieves many of tribe from the deathblow
Categories:
tallow, education, life, native american,
Form:
Limerick
No hearts and flowers for me on Valentine's Day,
so Cupid, don't take aim with your arrows.
My heart will not allow love to sweep me away.
For past passion there was a profuse price to pay.
I was wounded in the breast like a felled sparrow.
No hearts and flowers for me on Valentine's Day.
He destroyed my love with evil words not held at bay,
and snuffed it out like a candle flame atop the tallow.
'tis why my heart will not allow love to sweep me away.
There is no consolation for the sorrowful blame I lay
upon the shoulders of the man who acted like Pharaoh.
No hearts and flowers for me on Valentine's Day.
All the love I had to give was loaded upon my heart's dray,
and he dumped it in the gutter like dung in a wheelbarrow.
My heart will not allow love to ever sweep me away.
Hear me, Cupid, and don't try to lead my heart astray.
I've already been crushed and plowed as if by a harrow.
No hearts and flowers for me on Valentine's Day.
My heart will not allow love to sweep me away.
---------> ----------> --------->
January 22nd 2016
Valentine's Villanelle Contest
Sponsored by Dave Will
Categories:
tallow, emotions,
Form:
Villanelle
I imagine the echo of the once thundering herds,
Before the Bison succumbed to the tallow vats.
I listen for symphonies of the missing songbirds,
That made the Osage foothills their habitat.
The land that was theirs is no longer pristine,
Now the hills are interspersed with pump-jacks.
Barbed wire fences make today's boundaries clean,
And pickup trucks are the source of most tracks.
In scrutinizing my thoughts I invariably ask why?
While realizing that time man can't rearrange.
Then God paints a sunset on the evening sky,
An awesome portrait that man can't change.
Categories:
tallow, faith, inspirational, nature, nostalgia,
Form:
Lyric
May you all have a serendipitous, serene Sunday
and an immeasurably magnanimous Monday,
Would that the tallow of your Tuesday be tantalizing
wielding the wonders of Wednesday in writing,
thence thanking Theism the theme of Thursday,
finally forgetting fears and feeling the freedom of Friday,
so making your Saturday a scintilla of a Sabbatical.
In other words: have a great week y’all!
Categories:
tallow, friendship,
Form:
Alliteration
I always wondered where the dirt came from, cleaning had me in a rut.
I don’t allow shoes inside, and with air conditioning, I keep the windows shut.
My mother said it came from dirt goblins, they’re lovers of dirt and smut.
And Goblins love to play. Strewing dirt about, as around they strut.
They invite their friends, and then leave us with lint, fluff, and a dusty glut.
I finally put nightlights in the bedroom’s to keep them out, I’d had enough!
The dirt goblins come in from the outside, they live among the shadows.
They make their homes under the beds, behind boxes, or in the darkest hallows.
They track the dirt everywhere. Yesterday, I even found some candle tallow!
They follow your pet to gather their hair, the perfect nest to burrow.
If you aren’t quick at this point, with little dirt goblins you’ll be blessed tomorrow.
We don’t fight or make them mad. My husband handles them without sorrow.
My fearless husband invites them down to the friendly basement below.
He’s very good as he talks and becomes their friends, you know
They’re lonely and want to play, so he makes promises, to help them go.
Then he opens a box full of gifts, from the vacuum bag he bestows.
He tells them of the neighborhood, as he makes a map full of important info.
Then he releases them into the back yard, on this mission he quietly tiptoes.
Everyone wonders what he doing with the boxes in the yard he lays about.
He’s sneaking them out into the yard, with directions given to the goblin scout.
My house is becoming cleaner, as the goblins slowly continue to move out.
Pretty soon we’ll have the cleanest house in the neighborhood, throughout.
If they come back, we’ll send them to the other neighbors, as our gifts give us
clout.
And as for the boxes, beyond any doubt we’ll never let that secret out.
Written 5-18-2011
Categories:
tallow, adventure, fantasy, house, husband,
Form:
Rhyme
Self Inflicted
The wounds were “self-inflicted”
unmindful of the pain
that surged within the shattered soul
a never ending rain.
The priest in sanctimonious lie
anointed, blessed, and prayed
the parish nodded knowingly
they too had been betrayed.
The charlatans of Christendom
succumbed to mourning wail
while covering for demons
who should have gone to jail.
Thus did the guilty wash their hands
lead guileless sheep to follow
the scent of incense acrid air
flickering through tallow.
Warped plywood covers tear-stained glass
the altar’s gods evicted
to suffer the never ending pain
of wounds they “self-inflicted”
1/21/2016
submitted to - Self Inflicted – Poetry Contest
sponsor – Anthony Slausen
Categories:
tallow, abuse, power, religion,
Form:
Verse
frankly zapped after wildly oscillating
in tandem with seven bobble heads and ten French horns)
a devilish trumpeting event
by pre-Christian Celtic festival standards
with a “proto” Don twick or tweeting
like a Taj Mahal wonder of webbed, wide world scout
Samhain celebrated on nightfall of October 31
for bachanalia, candy corn, dreaded locks tot tout.
Now, the Celts I met lived 2,000 years ago
in the area now Ireland,
the United Kingdom and northern France,
believed that the dead,
cuz the underworld could not tolerate nor find stand
ding room, thus returned to earth on Samhain –
accessing a outdated map drawn by Rand McNally.
Though all roads leading to Rome,
would be millenniums as future did advance
but (mentioned for no particular rhyme nor reason)
only for discordant anachronism
Lewis Carroll took a tumble,
and neither fat nor slim chance,
would never find him completing Alice in Wonderland,
cuz quite an expanse
of centuries extant between his accidental slip
somewhere back in time at a glance
hence, he befell the same fate,
how Alice would never en hance
her life, yet the first stanza hailed
as powerful punch from grunting naked tribesman
with armstrong brandishing big lance
which phallic symbol extolled bare necessity,
and no need to wear seer sucker pants
even when inaugurating the ritual, including the verse
..."The time has come," the Walrus said
"To talk of ma ny things:
Of shoes--and ships--and sealing-wax--
Of cabbages--and kings--
And why the sea is boiling hot--
And whether pigs have wings."...
set the listeners in a trance
emptying coffers of bipedal feral simians to add vance
this yearly practice filling rucksacks
with berries, carrion and twigs.
Whether ya favor Golem, Hobgoblins, or Dybyk,
take pause buffer ja pour out massed goodies heck
enjoy satiating yar sweet tooth while still able to lick
every morsel of junk food afterwards a tooth pick
might be necessary to remove gobs that didst stick
analogous to tallow melted from candle wick.
Categories:
tallow, addiction, autumn, candy, childhood,
Form:
Free verse
People of Color
“People of color”- indeed! How absolutely ridiculous! 'I am “people of color”'!!! My eyes are blue like a summer sky, azure like the sea. They are green and gray and brown and hazel! My hair runs a palette from straw yellow to the golds in sunshine. Soft browns to fire reds to a crimson so deep it's black. And my skin? From the softest pink and tallow yellow to the boldest of bronze and brown that deepens in summer and glows like the sunlight itself. I stand boldly in front of my creator! Listening to his voice. Not whimpering like a naked fool in winters chill, begging for the crumbs of redemption. I hear His words. The words that expose His creation in all its splendor. And thru the ages my efforts have always been in understanding those words. To enlighten and lift all peoples. People of color! How absurd...
written 09.23.2017
Categories:
tallow, anti bullying, discrimination, god,
Form:
Free verse
Christmas by Invitation
My dearest Emmanuel – God with us -
Answering your Christmas celebration invitation
Reserving stable Space Via this Prayer
Watching with a child’s delight
Your birth announcement rising up above the snow
Of star dusted mountaintops
As you hang your welcome wreath of fiery silver stars
Upon Heaven’s door
Like candles in eternity’s windows
Guiding this poor pilgrim to your jubilee through bowed mountains -
On a broad highway in a valley raised from exile -
Bringing only a gift of simple love in tallow tapers
Like a holly branch aflame not singed,
No longer with the pacing heart of longing
Across the exiled mystery
In anxious steps of prophecy
Warmed in the radiant light of comfort and peaceful mercy
Then nurtured at the feasting table
Of your sacred midnight silence
Where forgiveness gifts each guest
Through Heaven’s gracious door thrown open wide
To fill our stockings with new confections
Of praise and prayer, parables and psalms
Humming to yourself in chimes
Inside the living holy grail
Of love’s perfection -
Prince of Peace in ploughshares and in pruning hooks,
Wonderful Everlasting, Counselor -
Wreathing garlands of holy darkness
Fed upon the nectar of your sweet spice in nascent joy
My thanksgiving gushing in the dews of nativity
For eyes that see, strong limbs that run, ears that hear
And homeless hearts finding shelter -
Wonder in twinkling tinsels of gratitude
Awakened – rising up - in the first born cry of a baby boy
And closing this RSVP in joy filled anticipation of riding
On a wave of majestic magnetism of Christmas blessings
Flowing in days to come
When we climb your mountain in your great light.
11-28-20
Sponsor: Regina McIntosh
Contest: Christmas Poetry
Categories:
tallow, blessing, celebration, christmas, god,
Form:
Free verse
Another poem that I wrote alone,
Another one that blossomed from woe.
Will this be the last poem I'll writ?
The gift from the Goddess thrown in a pit?
Have I deicided the Moon's tallow dreams;
A divulged matricide to noose bind gleams.
Why is it suicide I clearly heed,
Carpe Diem, Alas I bleed.
Mother Moon have I annulled you,
or do You feel each mourning too?
One were You weren't pulled to plunder,
And vulgar glooms ain't our thunder...
Our flagrent gospel played on the violin,
Like my veins we cut the strings!
Maybe it was only more attention I required?
Ply it with the girl I vast desired...
Now frisson will our final chords,
Through the bleeding of silver swords.
The Moon hung severed and bloated high.
Hope outlast... By my inevitable nigh...
I wanted love, even if it would be paper thin,
So it wasn't only the blade to swim within!
there's no time to be afraid of fear;
'Cause I'll be hung like graveyard tears...
Death my Dark Messiah!
Categories:
tallow, death, depression, emo, suicide,
Form:
Rhyme