Best Tartar Poems
A Plate of Disorder
Are you ready to Disorder Sir?
What can I tempt you for a starter,
May I recommend the Turmoil Soup?
Garnished with Havoc Green Tartar.
For the main, perhaps our house speciality,
Goujons of Chaos and Sweet Bedlam.
With a Medley of Confusion and Mess,
Served on a bed of Smoked Mayhem.
On the Dessert Trolley tonight,
We have a Disarray of Cheese Cake,
A delicious Rhubarb Anarchy,
Or Sticky Turbulent Plum Bake.
Please enjoy your hearty and Riotous feast,
May it temper and fulfil the agitated beast.
Contract
In a little town away out west ,
the Contract was out,
the thunderboxes best,
Tommy Bumble offered 20 cents a tin,
To take the human manure in,
With the contract he was blest,
Tommy Tartar was in haste,
He offered twenty five cents,
got replaced,
By the cheapest contract in,
His fart cart got a win,
He got the council contract.
This is just how business works,
When Abbot gets you contracted, an smirks,
Your lowest wage HE does win,
Others cheaper offerings,
Might undercut your perks,
Cheap labour for the cunning rich,
Contract forced on the worker,
Howard’s damned work-choices pitch,
Voters rejected him, the smirker.
Their aim is just to buy you cheap,
More dollars for the greedy creep,
Will you join up with the other sheep
And get mulesed into the bargain,
Weep…
Don Johnson
The Escape from the Turkish Slavery
(Ukrainian historic folk song)
There broke into the Tartar sprites,
And they captured my daughter, nice,
Marusyna, my daughter, dear,
I remained with one son in fear.
And there came others- my son was enslaved,
And a widow, a poor orphan, I remained.
The third time, they took me too, an old soul...
... a Turk took me to the service,
I began to toil and slave
Serving the foe every day.
The daughter didn’t recognize her nurse
Having given her the works, the worst:
With the hands- to spin the yarn, fine,
With the little feet- to lull the child,
To watch the flock- with the eyes…
They found themselves in one place
All three meeting face to face.
When the daughter was recognized by the mother
And, when also confessed the brother…
They were united with one another.
Then the daughter began to tell the Turk,
That's my brother, this is my mother,
Then, the Turk began to trust them.
He entrusted them with all his goods.
They did everything, not to delude
Thinking, dreaming of their home.
When the Turk and daughter were going to the ball,
They handed the keys from the houses, all;
The son and the mother were taking the golden keys,
The souls of the slaves from the cellars to release,
Saddling the horses to start their way
To travel back home again.
Oh they were crossing the Danube, Dunahj,
The Turks, low-natured, were on a catch-ride.
On the other bank, they shouted:
"Oh Ivan, Ivan!
You know and you know,
And take the infusion of wormwood,
And, you will know even better for good! "
Chieftain Ivan Korsun began to narrate:
"I crossed the Danube River -
Denied the enemy forever! "
(Translation from Ukrainian into English by Ivan Petryshyn)
The Escape from the Turkish Slavery
A sophisticated lady became the talk of our town
Changed her name to Ms. Green from Ms. Brown
A leader of green revolution campaign
Wore her favorite color all over again
If her tartar isn't brown, we’ll tell her not to frown
Copyright2016Leonora Galinta
All Rights Reserved
April 3, 2016 2.40 pm
Third Place
Contest: Anything Green-Limerick
Judged: 4/13/2016
Sponsor: Poetess Skat
THE MALEVOLENT GOLDEN HORDE
By Roy Merritt
They rode out over the Asian steppes their ponies hooves flashing
Their arrows taking wing their blades brutally slashing
A river of blood they left in their horrid wake
Their victims cursing their gods for those they did forsake
They went along the Urals and further moving west
And all who opposed them these monsters did suppress
On to the Danube they rode this murderous eastern tribe
And rested their haggard steeds and these waters did imbibe
And others went to the east into the Siberian cold
To conquer all before them their terror to behold
They rode in the name of Batu the grandson of Genghis Khan
And ruled these lands for a century and even years beyond
And yet they were destined in these lands near and far
Rebellion was their plight in the days of the Tartar
And now they are but a faint memory their infamy long ignored
But history shan't forget them The Malevolent Golden Horde.
So many irksome dilemmas in life can be cured by simple solutions.
All are not necessarily fixed by the latest technological revolutions.
To remedy the many vicissitudes that rain down upon myself,
I grab that handy box of lowly baking soda reposing upon the shelf!
This simple, innocent looking stuff is good for many uses,
Including easing the pain of little kneesies that easily bruises.
'Tis useful for sweetening reeking walking shoes and garbage cans,
For shining silver and rejuvenating blackened pots and pans!
Even my inscrutable cat begins to purr a mile "purr" minute,
When I freshen his litter box by sprinkling baking soda in it.
If my auto picks up that scourge of the road, the dreaded tar,
Baking soda is just the thing for tidying up the car!
Why should I pay a plumber to unplug the clogged-up drain,
When a dollop of baking soda will the same results obtain?
It can be used as a toothpaste for making choppers look smarter,
Whitening them and controlling that nefarious tartar!
I've found that after my all too frequent sprees of gluttony,
That only a dose of baking soda relieves my gastric agony.
Its use for indigestion docs would discourage or even squelch.
Fiddle Faddle! I find instant relief in one humongous belch!
I'm heading home - I have a date
Chills play my spine - I pass my gate
Time to eat - hope I'm not late
I rush myself up spiral stairs
I'm hurrying cause I like mine rare
It's dinner time, I'm feeling fine
I lick my chops and grab some wine
I sing and dance across the room
To one of Zeppelins silky tunes
"Squeeze my lemon till the juice runs down my leg
Squeeze it so hard - I fall right out of bed"
Alas with ringing of the bell
Wafts cross the room, 'OH! delightful smell
I sit to eat, has it gone too far?
You know I like my meat Tartar
I squeeze some lemon on his leg
And lick my lips as I am fed
I Slurp His blood so darkly red
My secrets out, I love the dead
Daintily, I wipe my chin
Daintily, And then I grin
I can see him from afar
Tall, Dark, and handsome
But when he smiles I can see his tartar
That's it, I've had it
She uses Miracle Whip on her sandwich
I just can't handle this, I can't take anymore
I am real careful when I leave how I slam the door
When I left, I took with me
Not clothes or money
No rare painting or the Mingh Dynasty vase
Just what was in the Prenuptual, my jar of mayonnaise
I don't care for the store brand, Sauer's, Blue Plate or Best Foods
With Hellmann's by your side, to have a sandwich, you never have to be in the
mood
A BLT, can you imagine that without the B
Let alone it would be just as disastrous without the LT
But then again, this is America, you can fix your sandwich any old way
That's why when I left, there would be no misunderstanding, I would take the
mayonnaise
Some kind of bagel, bread or bun, sun dried tomato, white or whole wheat
Put whatever you want on the bread, but without out that one thing, it will never be
complete
Maybe I will become a Health Inspector and find out which brand the restaurants
use
If it's not my brand, I will write them up for sandwich abuse
I will find out which type they use, for instance in their Tartar Sauce for their
Breaded Fish Fillets
Or maybe become a Divorce Lawyer to ensure that when my clients divorce they
don't lose out on their mayonnaise
This is a lesson I learned even though
It was in Black and White in our Prenuptual
It still seen its day in court
My girlfriend's lawyer said quit playing hard ball, come on be a sport
He further states she's willing to give you the car and your favorite 45 record by
Stevie Nicks Leather and Lace
I turn it all down and stick to my guns and retain custody of the mayonnaise
To this day, we no longer speak to one another
I got back at her, for years I have secretly shared it with her mother
Is this something I should feel guilty about, show some remorse
I am going to see if can marry the thing I love the most, it will never end in an ugly
divorce
I don't believe that I am going through a mid life crisis or some kind of phase
Please RSVP me and tell me if you feel this strong about your mayonnaise
Sushi grade tuna tartar
sakt & pepper squid
avocado caviar
sweet corn on the side
an apple trifle
Amazing
Thrill !
WELL … Ah woke up this mornin’,
Had a ringin’ in ma head.
Ma backbone felt like rubber,
An’ Ah wished that Ah was dead …
Ah crawled into the bathroom,
Pulled myself up to a lean.
Saw ma choppers in the mirror …
Such a tasteful shade o’ green!
Ah’ve got the tartar blues.
Man, Ah’ve got the tartar blues!
Ah’ve got the feelin’ oldie,
Green an’ mouldy,
Sad ‘n’ lowdown tartar blues.
Well, Ah sidled in the drug-store,
Saw this kid behind the till.
She said, “Sir, how can I help ya?
Man, you’re lookin’ awful ill!”
Ah said, “Ah’m a mite embarrassed …
Ah cain’t tell ya what Ah need …’
She said, “Sir, I know precisely!”
An’ she sold me a pack o’ three!
Ah said, “Girl, Ah’ve got the tartar blues …
Girl! Ah’ve got the tartar blues!
Ah’ve got the feelin’ oldie,
Green an’ mouldy,
Sad ‘n’ lowdown tartar blues!”
‘Cause mah pearlies ain’t so pearly;
They look as if Ah’ve died,
An’ Ah been layin’ in the graveyard
For a century or five …
Well! Ah need some Arm & Hammer,
The toothpaste with a “WOW!”
So that Ah can tell ma tartar
“Tartar, ta-ta for now!”
Girl, Ah’ve got the tartar blues …
Girl! Ah’ve got the tartar blues!
Ah’ve got the feelin’ oldie,
Green an’ mouldy,
Sad ‘n’ lowdown tartar blues!
(Best if you try to do this to the tune of the "Beverly Hillbillies" TV show)
This was a story 'bout a man named Fred,
A had workin' man ... always kept his family fed.
Then one day he was cookin' up some food,
When on like a light, an idea came thru...
FOODSERVICE - - - - - - - - - CUSTOMERS!
Well, the first thing you know ol' Fred's a restauranteur,
Folks all said ... "Fred, you'll make it for sure!
But away from the city is where you oughta be",
So, he packed up his skillet and moved to the country.
A COUNTY THAT IS - - - - - - - - - FISH FRYS, TARTAR SAUCE
He hopes you like the food that's cooked and served with elegance,
You can relax and enjoy it ... amidst the country ambiance.
Be sure to thank the folks who prepared it all for you...
With a round of applause for the serving staff too!!
"DINNER'S SERVED - - - - - - - - - - BON APPETITE"
Catfish I love is on a plate
with tartar sauce, french fries, and slaw;
but I despise the type that trolls
online, those pervs who break the law
and tell some trusting kid, “I’m twelve,
like YOU! I live right by the park
near you. Let’s meet there by the bridge.
You’ll be back home before it’s dark.
Don’t tell your mom! If she’s like mine,
she’ll tell you NO. Let’s just sneak out.”
She says, “I’ll go slip out the back.
We’ll have a lot of fun—no doubt!”
The sicko rushed right to the bridge.
The “kid” he met was twenty-five,
an undercover cop with cuffs
and back-up. “Channel 14 LIVE”
rushed in on this newsworthy scene.
A big catfish was caught that day.
Because such wickedness abounds,
not all such stories end this way.
May 15, 2018, entered in Catie Lindsey's Catfish Poetry Contest
Sharp pain from dark's letters
Cold days from bodies whether
Where silent haze will not show her
This face that covers
What tartar bitters?
With the knife of a blade
Strikes through cranium's waves
Protrudes through the musculus fiber ways
Where the vines pound at the same
There, on the temple it breaches to stay
Pound above, all again
Attacks at the vest
Rapids at best
Tightens on set
In a Minor chest
Hear that red pumping yet?
By the hard tips; pink
Brush the skin weak
Where the flake spills to force a wink
Darkens the mark that cleared the weeks
Ready to bleed, wash by the sink
Seeking the night
To lose a fight
Destroys that only light
Fade back and dream again
To the emotion that is no pretend
Manipulated by a causing trend
See it yet fall, all till ten
By the numb of a limb
Ask
The end
I'll always remember Granpa Shreeve
at Eaton Road,where he+Gran dwelt,
a wide thick trouser buckled belt
no collar,braces+rolled-up shirt sleeve
He kept hens at the bottom of his patch
his soldier's back now bent to stoop,
collecting eggs from his home-coop,
each day letting them out to root+scratch
Organically grown,fed as range free
a pullet killed as a Christmas treat
each day a fresh egg for dinner or tea
Old-fashioned,a bit of a tartar,
far-off days..Gran was his domestic martyr