Best Tartness Poems
I’m lavender; I’m apple-tartness green
or colored cream like fleece - a peaceful ewe.
Pastel, I’m hushed; when gold or red, I preen.
Like ice cream of a most peculiar hue,
I’m Baskin-Robbins licorice-flavor blue.
I’m fanciful as pink and rarely frown
reflecting sequins of my rainbow gown.
Written ages ago, I don't know when, but was first posted 8/31/11 under the
title "Rainbowed"!
Now used for Shadow Hamilton's Colours Poetry Contest
The task begins with awareness, and freedom without it is harmful. So let us not look back in fury or forward in panic, but rather around in awareness. By Poet
Let me tell you a story.
Can you Imagine a harsh quiet? Jeers sneer idleness,
or scoff to classify the ultimate sinful act of sadness;
or quashing irk for an eternal colossus of havoc,
perhaps the planet was spaed and will be ruined here.
Cynical scorn asphyxiates, cauterizing all life on Earth;
who can imagine how vile days linger eerie memories?
how often tongues are swelled with astringent tartness?
those with acidic sadness tease with a biting reply.
Soul was sunk on all live paws to quell a herd of verrucae,
could you kindly scan feeble shapes on a pealing day?
how would you handle a splenic tongue with an awful zest?
or apply on a scorching sting a horrible sneering welt.
Mortal musings slay my sight while roaming ruins,
I feel the pain, frocking seconds ripen fruitful minutes;
none to stop him, acidulous hours burn a swollen body,
did you honor your vow not to view your tears in public?
Or, to win, they select the nuclear light to avow the day,
scavengers swarming forbidden self-destruction zones;
where the war had started, it was awarded might;
whenever beguiling eyes and spite the sight,
I hate lethal viruses as much as a police car passing by;
I hate falling asleep at night as well as not falling asleep,
I hate the doorbell at night and massive storms,
I hate going broke or having too much money.
I fear being late and fear being the first to come;
I fear that all I yearn for might jeopardize others I love;
I fear death or a miserable existence for a long time,
I fear not adoring enough and being confused.
Slow slurps, wearing vengeful speeches bleary;
on stage atomic bombs were used to turn the sky purple;
Insouciance fosters the dreadful pulverization,
I should have dropped my Kyiv pass.
wabbling world......
2ND PLACE CONTEST WINNER
Written: April 17, 2022
Theme: War
Form N - Narrative - New Poems Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
I am an evening of scented season,
wondering if you've given me
this stairway with the gold curls.
Who changed her name to Stacy?
Later in my throbbing red heart,
you were forest green and lush apples.
I have learned to pick my apples,
the reddest ones no matter what season.
Then you wormed your way into my heart,
gnawing away the discretion in me.
I wish I had a pretty name like Stacy,
and sunlight in my spiral curls.
A snake who maneuvers in curls,
you savor the tartness of granny apples,
dreaming of girls with names like Stacy,
who are cherries of the spring season,
while courting an old dame like me,
careless about breaking my heart.
I've wondered about the color of your heart.
It has wound its way around me in curls,
so tightly you almost suffocate me.
Now I am just the core of an apple,
tossed to the dirt in a cold season.
Maybe I will reincarnate as Stacy!
My childhood nemesis is named Stacy.
Oh, how she left an ache in my heart,
with blushed cheeks of a peach in season,
and glossy lips in a perpetual curl.
In everyone’s eyes I was the apple,
until that Snow White replaced me.
The whole world has replaced me,
full of young versions of Stacy.
My wrinkled skin is like fermented apples.
Now I tell people, hey, I have a kind heart.
I need no curler to make my lashes curl.
I change with the colors of a new season.
You've handed an apple to the piteous me.
It is love's season, nothing to do with Stacy.
The warm cushion of your heart is where I'll curl.
A mid life's tasty morsels, there'll be problems
M ost will be a mix coming in threes
B asically the sweetness is mother's
R ecipe, fresh from the orchard
O ranges scalded and peeled, sliced
S weetner added if there's any tartness
I nteresting how life's tasty morsels need
A dditions like sweet coconut that nullify sour
.
This has got to be the best pie in the world..
It is a meat eaters pie,abounding with tart flavor
which explodes in your mouth with each bite.
It is not a subtle or beautiful pie, no fancy
decorations here. Just a perfect crust,not to
delicate..it must hold up to the lovely purple juice..
It takes a pie maker with experience. The berries
vary each year in tartness..the right amount of sugar
makes all the difference. Just enough , but not to much..
dont want to overpower with sweetness.
But the thing about the huckleberry pie is the fact that
it is so labor intensive. Picking the berries is not for the faint
of heart. They grow in the woods ,beside logs, on side hills,
in the brush.. Cleaning them is a labor of love. We use the
old" roll them down a clean blanket" method.. Some years
the bushes are loaded..some years not a one.
So, if you are ever offered a piece of huckleberry pie
(a scoop of vanilla ice cream on top, perhaps)..take it.. It means
you are fondly thought of..we dont give this
pie to just anyone...
For the Yummy Dessert contest.
You took your sunshine smile with you
when you left me with my eyes raining salty tears.
My mind is clouded in shades of gray,
recollecting memories of our past happy days.
I can't think straight now, my thoughts are stray,
trespassing the realm of death that took you away.
My heart is drenched in pools of grief,
releasing the brutal pain that aches my relief.
I can't hope for good with broken faith and belief
that's shattered by cruel destiny's wicked mischief.
You took your sunshine smile with you
when you left me with my eyes raining salty tears.
My soul is crumpled by the cold remorse,
receiving the chilly shivers of inconsolable loss.
I can't warm up my frozen spirit with life's false gloss,
numbed by my impotence to save you from death's toss.
My body is doomed by isolation's darkness,
refusing to cope with harsh reality's starkness.
I can't feel myself without your loving sweetness
that's poisoned by cunning time's random tartness.
You took your sunshine smile with you
when you left me with my eyes raining salty tears.
The Sun may shine but it will lack your warmth and light.
My days are so dim and I am devoured by the night.
Life without you is a challenge and death is no more a plight.
My loss is too grievously great to give me any more fright.
When you left me with my eyes raining salty tears,
you took your sunshine smile with you.
Date: 01/23/2017
Note: For the contest (Lost Love - Free Verse or Rhyme) by John Hamilton.
*Placed sixth*
I am not sharing my personal experience, merely the reflection of my observation.
Our lives are like a Sugar Daddy Sucker,
Where each new day we get one lick.
Most days are sweet but oft we pucker,
Finding tartness as we near the stick.
We find some licks filled with madness,
On others the caramel we taste.
Some licks start with joyful gladness,
But later with sadness, licks are laced.
Adversity is a certainty so we tolerate,
For each day isn't filled with glowing.
When taste is waning its growing late,
It's about finished, if stick is showing.
It is apple pickin' time in Georgia
Come get them while they're crisp and not quite ripe
Bite into apple's delicious tartness
From the tree's garden of Eden a few swipe
Down where the apple blossoms in springtime
Many hearts flourish fulfilling life's fate
And red grapes produce a fine wine sometimes
The apple-grape wine gets sweet with a wait
Come gather in the harvest~apples golden
Clip some stems of the grape chosen
Mix the two in baskets enjoy their delight
Harvest two fruits with their sweet juice swollen
It is apple pickin' time in Georgia
Come get them while they're crisp and not quite ripe
Bite into apple's delicious tartness
From the tree's garden of Eden a few swipe
This short poem like fine apple-grape wine
Will become better if allowed to age
Then drink a swig while on roast chicken dine
If I did this one right, well just you gauge
Sponsor: Isaiah Zerbst
Contest: Apple Pickin' Time
Written: October 18, 2013
Summertime, a wonderful time full of nostalgic teenage memories
I spent many weekends with my best friend Tina at Bear Pond Park
Memories of packing our swimsuits, towels, music and bagged lunches
And We always brought our spending money for the snack shack
We chewed grape bubble gum in the car and gossiped on the way
It was a fun time and I always looked forward to those special days
At the park, we swam, worked on our tans and went on the slides
Laughing, flirting with the boys while racing down the rainbow rides
In the late afternoon We had our deep dish ice cream sundaes
Memories of my tongue tickled by the tartness of the strawberries,
while soothed by frozen vanilla custard with layers of whipped cream
We ate at the picnic table while sweet dribbles landed on our swimsuits
We had to wait a while before we could go back and swim in the lake
We went back to the rainbow slides, laughing and chewing bubble gum
Our swimsuits dotted with ice cream and berry stains, soon to be washed away
We had one last afternoon swim, our suits washed clean until the next weekend.
6/26/22
Contest: Ice Cream Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Julia Ward
N/A Judged 7/15/22
like "Warheads" candy
I suck the tartness off first
sweetness is inside
Little green apples,
where you were hiding,
in the blossoms on my tree.
Hummingbird hovered,
bees kissed the white blossoms,
promised little green apples.
Little green apples,
who would taste your tartness first?
blue jays, swallows, or me?
Last season's apples,
wrinkled skin scattered under tree,
like the forgotten old men.
The sun paired well with the apple
Sugar
The tartness and sweetness
Reminded me of the days
And I stepped outside to feel the sun on my face
And the trees and the grass
All green
And the rainbow umbrella used the spring
And the water glass was clean
And then I saw the core of the apple say something to me
Here in the sun
“Write the memory down”
Sugar
The apple so pure and sweet and real
And the sun so full of energy
And life, it’s surreal.
I want to run and play like then
Now I see I can.
Sunny apple day, no rain to borrow the light away.
-Jess
From this steeple,
I can watch you zigzag
Unconditionally,
Following your own paths,
Building your own bridges,
Paving your own roads,
And I know that God is watching
From every angle.
I find sweetness in the tartness
Of life among solemn peasants
Who safeguard their own incompetence,
Produced by their own selves.
When God shouts upon deaf ears
It is somewhat frivolous,
Yet I relish time bestowed upon us
In light, restored by the effects
Of His deflection against evil.
I am rewarded the wealthiest of vantages,
The freshest drops of rain,
The cool winds on a summer's day
And the admiration of passersby
Who dote upon the base of my design.
Still, many of you fail to recognize
The cause of my existence.
Sculpted by a man
You probably do not know,
Erected by an architect
Who signed a legal document,
I am a cost for your society.
You put your change in a bucket.
This is not the house of God - You are.
This house is your ongoing struggle with recognition.
This is where you come for solace and Bingo.
This house has been both glorified and corrupted
In vein
For far too long.
Like a fire placed before her,
Serving as a source of tommorow's shower
Sweat and wail can never be eluded,
As she proceed through the narrow
hotbed
Body disrupted, as unexpected scene erupted
A fearful lass on a hot coal
Experiencing the traumatic show
When the kite of life drove-by
Maintaining her integrity without
loosing her tie
As she lay her hand on the keg of sweat,
She begins to sail out of tommorows fret
Determination truly she adore,
Making her to see success harbour
Tartness like a movie she watch in rising
Then, let the sweet chowder appear in her dusk
With her eyes on her true goal
Strongly, she keeps herself under the broil
Her spirit turns bright,
As she keep off her voyage sprite
Beautiful night she see in true hope
Albeit she hack it in the labour rope
I never knew she could smile like a
valour,
When her appearance becomes sour
A plucky girl with strong power to
steer,
On the negligence of the labour tear
Then, today she see herself in wail
Tommorow will bring gleesome ray.
Deep moments trip oomph's party line,
Urge taste to know sweet-sour punch;
Kind flavours grip sure tartness fine,
Use funds our flow of blissful crunch.
Fruits of a kind where tropics fling,
Rush of fancy in tasty bits;
Unfurl fond finds hot weather brings,
Indulge happy as morsels fit;
Touch silky skin with ample feel.
Pick and choose then such wondrous spheres,
Sense mouthing wins as taste now wills;
Ripe treats can spend full harvests here,
Tune grand delights of Duku zest,
Yield finesse bright with eating fest.
Leon Enriquez
05 October 2016
Singapore