Long Tallow Poems
Long Tallow Poems. Below are the most popular long Tallow by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Tallow poems by poem length and keyword.
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
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
Winter's icy streams funnel low
Frosty beams on pine needles
glow
A menacing wind seeps
through thatched window
Below, fibrous carpet cloaked
with satin plateau
Snowy wood with furry dander
doth flow
Mule deer nestle with fatty
reserves in tow
Wild boars root 'neath the
milky tallow
Red foxes scavenge for prey
along the hedgerow
Pensive hares prat through the
silken meadow
Black bears take shelter in
sleepy hollow
Sparring woodchucks bristle in
the frothy undertow
Spotted owls reconnoiter each
frozen crevice, sealed burrow
Orange-breasted sparrows
their winter anthem bellow
Jittery squirrels scurry about
searching for nutty escrow
the supported the new divsion
but pushed to allow
a clause
due to the fact that open weight had no weight restrictions
it seemed unprofessional to have an open curtain were the show was
opened to everyone.
a certain criteria should allow a more suited decorium for those involved. the new standard would allow the term openweight to include combatants
up to 200 pounds to weight up before competition
as a way to show the differences and exploit the specticle. But it would also allow
openweight challenges that are restricted to heavyweight contenders. this allows heavyweights to be recognized as such using the open weight win?loss to tally-up
or sum up chances to receive World Championship oppurtunities.
Meaning open weightt title bout are only conteetion points for heavyweiughts. In order for a lesser weight challenge to be summed up, it has to be contested. Grappia-Dough ask's if it's fair.
the flute is as important as the tuba, might the bassoon be more prestege.
They requested a pork affal. they used cheap meat's and beef tallow skewered them with yellow squash and red bell peppers and garlic and onions they wrapped in pork skin and roasted them. three hours they roasted. based with a teriki sauce. Served up with roasted potaoes.
On the occasion of Shakespeare's birth
Three words from the Bard illuminate more brightly than the sun
And standing in his shadow one is most likely there to fade
As a flickering candle placed beside the light of that bright one
And measuring one's own image thus will leave most all unmade
One wonders whence the ink was drawn that this Alchemist turned to gold
The moment that his sharpened quill touched down upon the page
As genius in sequential thought upon the parchment there unscrolled
Which lapped upon the shore of love where seas of passion rage
And yet the spark still licks the wick encompassed now in tallow
Not giving thought to where it might land one in history
Unlit 'twould render darkness cursed and all to wade there shallow
Should all stand cowed and trembling bowed without posterity
Surely mortals mere as me serve but to burnish what surrounds
The gilded steps up to the treasure, measuring there what still astounds
INSPIRATION PEAK AT MALIBU
Nestle between dancing trees
a rock bed creek
leaks out to the beckoning sea
leaving abandoned thongs
peeking through the sands of time.
A proud lizard
strikes a kingly pose
on his throne of dead wood;
butterflies dart to and fro
the incense smoke air;
dirt, dry weeds and blooming flowers
share a common scene;
and on the brow of the crimson horizon
gulls play tag in the vaporous sky.
As if lions of Sisyphus
roaring waves gallop
up to the shores
frothing white manes
parted by knuckle rocks
anchored in sand.
Planted upon the seashore peak
a giant menorah beckons curious orbs:
its tallow fueling its votive purpose.
(Idea engendered from Lombok earthquake: Indonesia)
Nary a chink of illumination pierces thru
thick cavernous rock solid chamber home
to this crepuscular anchorite,
who spent untold countless chunks of time
holed up deep underground
initially to escape deadly blight,
that afflicted vast swaths of
twenty first century
long fostered civilization,
the post apocalyptic scattered remnants
forced into subterranean redoubts
reliant on stowed away tallow
uber wax to forge poorly guided
niggardly flickering burning candlelight
where quotidian ritual entails doth dight
this Jainist Joplin ascetic, who
already donned the mantle,
sans adjustment to darkened eyesight
imposing keen aural habituation
to discern, and distinguish any fright
full scurrying, skittering,
slithering, unseen presence
triggering thine nostril to sneeze,
which nasal (gesundheit) claxon
serves to scarify shadowy silhouetted height
giving infinitesimal pause,
thence worry free insight
since my judicious jumbled
juxtaposed metaphorical jacklight
philosophies, viz Jainism, Jesuit,
and Judeo-Christian allows
no cavil, indiscriminate killing,
nor *****sapien superiority
toward multitudinous life forms instilled
into former existence as good Samson Knight,
now effectivel embedded,
entombed, and interred
within bowels of the Earth
hum canticle refrains
softly enunciating such psalms
to eternal night.
Damp —across the fulcrum of the
Wheel of this month —May;
It creaks the cog of
Time and the energy of age.
No reverence for the parvenu or the
Rope-climber.
It has often been bleak and cold. . .
Tallow from candles weeps in the vigil
Held between fractured hours and
Hatching days,
Burning slowly among the wax community,
And sparking off bashful flames of dry grief.
When April comes forth, the ground softens,
But when May peeks lustfully into the calendar,
With the cunning of the invading spider,
The ground sinks towards the dig of
The metallic hewers of the trembling earth.
May conveys silence and the rage of deep inquests
Into the hasty departure of a covey of youths —
Mere striplings with the flying courage of migrating terns.
Our hands are tied, Death
Since you dawned on us this New Year . . .
Shapely bottles of champagnes have shone
And have broken to fragments with the ululation
Of firecrackers that warmed cold and dark wintry skies.
Now, aphonia sets in from unending lamentations.
Headlines, buried by the chilly bones of winter,
Are barren of good tidings.
A chionophile besieges the rim of a sedulous Yuletide
Grieving by oneiric alleys . . .
I speak of the Friedhof of haunting grimness behind
The curtains of howling winds;
Chants that frequent the disease of frightened melodies, stained
With the aged banality of youthful death;
And the purlieu of cremated souls and consolidated ashes.
Daggers are drawn to paint skulls on canvas slit by the
Whispering tongues of fire
Candles burn their tallow gently on the skin of cancer,
A stinkaroo that stinks with rage.
We do not know how else to turn the calendar.
The edges brim with hostile, burning blood,
Frozen with bits of hate and servile penetralia.
New Year hangs the singed sigil of death
On the bosom of fattened scrolls.
Spring's annual rhythms cerebrally flow
Nature's mercurial splendour to show
Balmy portents o'er icy mantle glow
Earth's axis tilts; hearth to mellow
Helios's furnace with spawning heat doth bellow
Residual beams to brush face so sallow
A glossy, emerald sheen on encrusted folds bestow
A jaundiced hue from airy cisterns doth shadow
Revitalizing streams from seeded pods to strow
Invigorating tides enrich pores once fallow
Christening fauna peeps through stents so shallow
Anon, a clover tent the sodden expanse will hallow
Silken wicks enlighten bristling, woody tallow
Shortly, festive plume recedes; amber gown doth billow
Glittering fauna shades each jaded dale, pensive hollow
Fragrant incense each fleeting step will follow
Spring's fertile currents now through each, nestled channel row