Long Talc Poems
Long Talc Poems. Below are the most popular long Talc by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Talc poems by poem length and keyword.
from your first born, when you grab a dusting of talc, crushed with late night feeds, stirring in bouncing and stories on a knee,
adding a layer of stumbled steps, with a batter thickly made of learning to say “No”, doughy rings of crossed arm tantrums,
glazed slowly with parent’s evenings and bringing first dates home (sprinkled with questions from Dad) before adding candles for sweet sixteens and exam results,
packaged carefully in a ribboned box to protect from life in a university dorm, your tears adding moisture to an increasingly distant mixture,
silver lace can be wrapped around to celebrate a wedding, supporting that newly added layer of Mr and Mrs, matching mortar boards made from icing, surrounded by love heart shaped chews,
you buy an electric whisk when your hands hurt from stirring, still rustling up cookies for grandchildren using grandma’s special sugar, butter and flour,
until you go back to the trusted cookbook, scattering gold dust over fifth birthday cakes, dyed icing and sponge into the colours of a superhero – a grandchild’s eyes bigger than their belly,
your cakes gradually change from pottery to silk, from gold to diamond, for your anniversaries past, you contemplate making a Victoria sponge in black, allow yourself to grieve your husband’s last,
until a great grandchild grins and brings you a cupcake all aglow, revealing a one hundredth birthday candle which is your very own to blow
Out of the bath, in the mirror, check me
picture of spindly masculinity
talc on the feet, and armpits sprayed
now for the body a choice to be made
Hai Karate or Aramis
both leave the women in a state of bliss
(so the adverts say, yet no such luck
since thus far I have scored a duck)
tight Y-fronts are to my taste
and Oxford bags with a six button waist
big collared shirt in Brunswick green
and a silver kipper tie that looks pretty keen
nylon socks with a couple of holes
in black and red three inch platform soles
jacket in cream, collar up round the neck
with a red and green pattern of tartan check
hair centre parting wet the comb, keep it simple
for a look reminiscent of Anne Boleyn's wimple
out of the door, bemused looks from my Mum
so watch out, ladies- here I come!
( looking back on it now when I hear the old tunes
I can honestly say you've seen better dressed wounds )
1970's: the decade that fashion forgot.
Viv Wigley, to his eternal embarrassment, July 22nd 2015
In snowflakes’ sunlit souls - an amber chest,
orange, yellow, blushing red impassion
resplendent ember hues of stained-glass zest,
vivid vibes enliven snow from ashen.
Inspired bliss of shining kiss on pale snow,
with delicate caresses Sol imbued
highlights to saturate the talc aglow
romancing frosted facets’ fiery mood.
Warm spectrum seeps across the crystal white
as sleepy sunbeams stir the embers’ heart,
igniting jewel tones before twilight
frost bitten festival of arctic art.
Illuminated thrills in chills impress
in ruby rapture sunset's snow does dress.
Susan Ashley
December 31,2017
~ Eighth Place ~
Premiere Contest: Embers and Snowflakes
Sponsor: Anthony Slausen
Handpicked, like coffee seeds or strawberries, ten eggs I kept
Like a tensed insomniac, for a long time I'd not slept
I found a change in the bloom of the dermis as days passed
There came out surprise-filled tint tots, elegance unsurpassed.
Red, green, blue, purple, and yellow, like a compressed rainbow
With perfectly blown balloons, as children merrily glow.
As seedlings spring up at night and glisten in the morning,
These soft talc and cloud agate gems appear without warning.
Standing erect and straight with sun-moon-stars-tinged, blazing eyes;
Robotic reflexes; peep, peep, peep, filling up the skies
Judgement quality of quantity like the honeybees
Psychic contagion is in them, like treasures in deep seas.
Symbols of resurrection, springtime splendours, and new life
A masterpiece of nature's craftsmanship after a strife
Scenes of Elysium, Coleus, and Jannah revealed
The mysteries of chicks, like the Milky Way, are concealed.
What is a moth?
I only know flitting shadows
Magnified upon my wall.
In closets and in chests of drawers,
Despite balls that smell of hospitals,
Holes in clothes where they once were.
They dance around my lantern
Made by Coleman, forest green,
To a deep sea diver breathing kerosene.
They’re drawn to candles too.
One misses a beat
And in diaphanous tragedy
Falls to my table top,
A crushed, tropical cocktail umbrella,
Match sticks and news paper mâché.
Its carcass dusts
My hand with mica shininess
As soft as talc.
If everything is wings
And flame, what need
Does this one insect feed?
The glimpse of something recognizable; meant seeing her, only see would be with him, and us together had been strained to exhaustion. But maybe the magic of night might give way to forgiveness and love. maybe the need of belonging might have her to wish me as hers again!
the appearance of love
weirded by the tensions
of being stressed.
Strains from obligation
or lack of concern
and desire to satisfy.
What words redraw
the duty of love
the premise
of understanding
to betray his trust
that he might labor
to make treaty
and than be undermined
by her need for attention
and her desire to be
with others.
his lack of commitments
and his eagerness to
control.
Yet the understanding
where his need
to be secured
and have his
woman to be
truthful and precise.
not giving names to
those she don't know
or causing problems
with others
to have clarity and answers
instead of invoking her
naiveness to her man
so that he can assure
his woman.
stressed from situation
they become comedy for
those who know them
and are then easily
made into speckitals
for potential future
meddling
making stories of people
to entertain those
they wish to impress
and make examples of
to cause fear for others.
From the Book " the Spetikal" @021 Written by Cor Da Cacca and P. Yannick.
Why do we meddle in our family members relationships.By Talc Vetiuos and Seager Toopie.
Yes
Wide eyed
And Oh
So small
Little man
He fits
In both my hands
I still know
How to hold
The little one
"Does it bring back memories"
Her question
Stayed with me
For days
Than weeks
Flowing along
Past
Distant times
In that
Expanse
Of memories
Times four
I explored
Cuddles
Hugs
The first
Fresh
As a field
Of shinning sunflowers
If that's what you call
A Delivery room
Or humidicrib
Does not matter
Those cuddles
Are there
Fresh
As with the smells
Pinetarsol
Talc
Their hair
Blankets
And tears
Reaching
Reaching for up
With hugs
Those pains
Away
Bed time
Hugs
Love you
Never
To much
But one hug
Eludes me
Can't remember
By four
The last
One
The last
Time
I pick up
One of four
For a hug
A ritual
In love
Faded
Without
Within
Fanfare or acknowledgement
A transition
Without notice
Or
A reason to recall
That which
I cannot recall
Until now
So many
Years later
So many years
To late
from your first born, when you grab a dusting of talc, crushed with late night feeds, stirring in bouncing and stories on a knee,
adding a layer of stumbled steps, with a batter thickly made of learning to say “No”, doughy rings of crossed arm tantrums,
glazed slowly with parent’s evenings and bringing first dates home (sprinkled with questions from Dad) before adding candles for sweet sixteens and exam results,
packaged carefully in a ribboned box to protect from life in a university dorm, your tears adding moisture to an increasingly distant mixture,
silver lace can be wrapped around to celebrate a wedding, supporting that newly added layer of Mr and Mrs, matching mortar boards made from icing, surrounded by love heart shaped chews,
you buy an electric whisk when your hands hurt from stirring, still rustling up cookies for grandchildren using grandma’s special sugar, butter and flour,
until you go back to the trusted cookbook, scattering gold dust over fifth birthday cakes, dyed icing and sponge into the colours of a superhero – a grandchild’s eyes bigger than their belly,
your cakes gradually change from pottery to silk, from gold to diamond, for your anniversaries past, you contemplate making a Victoria sponge in black, allow yourself to grieve your husband’s last,
until a great grandchild grins and brings you a cupcake all aglow, revealing a one hundredth birthday candle which is your very own to blow