Long Tarot Poems
Long Tarot Poems. Below are the most popular long Tarot by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Tarot poems by poem length and keyword.
If you're reading this, honey
it means the diner is burning,
It's not a typo or a misprint,
but a message:
Witches are wisdom-embedded
women who have seen worse things
than the business end of a newt's behind
I once made a man cry with desire
on a whim by telling him who he was
at twenty-five, I hadn't yet realized
it's really just a trick of language
to be specific
pick the bits of a person, hanging
like snagged teeth on stems
of last night's arugula
reading their cards like tarot on credit
serve the assessment of them
with a side of sugar they'll call it magic,
make you marry if you're good at it—knowing
when to grind the spices is the icing
sin of men or Saigon cinnamon no matter
witches as women, as wisdom get better
in time, in the garden, in the kitchen
slow-cooking rhymes that melt men's masks
over jasmine rice, like loose meat
so the young girls feeding at our hems
can remember the recipe
Gypsy Fortune Teller costume revealed my most dazzling self
Wearing hot pink, silver, gold, purples, and flaming oranges.
Carrying a crystal ball, tarot cards and runes.
An elaborately embroidered shawl over my shoulders.
Enjoyed myself ever so much at the Octoberfest, reading palms.
My psychic self pranced forth, hugging my soul with delight.
Pirate Queen costume, reveals my hidden slashing self.
She looked so unassuming, they thought, until they saw me now.
My blousy sleeves set off my enormous black boots and eight inch belt.
I moved daringly, with aggressiveness I usually cannot muster.
The crowd cleared a way, seeing my determined purposeful pirate walk.
Sword and pistol attached to my side, I felt a confidence I rarely feel.
I growled at a few children and they laughed, because they knew me.
Elvira, Mistress of the Dark costume revealing more than I should have.
My sensual, sexual, excited to be me side, so I shared it only with my man.
Wearing it at home, in the bedroom where others rarely go.
He likes this one the best. Even better than my French maid costume.
Enough said.
To make a bed, you must tighten your hold,
Tuck in the corners and tend to the fold,
Smooth out the blankets and straighten the line.
Like a geisha serving up two cups of wine,
She may promise her laughter is free,
But what’s in it for me?
To find the truth, you should look toward the light;
Make a solemn intention to practice what’s right.
If the lady’s a mystic, you must understand,
She’s out on the prowl for a gullible man.
She'll take a tarot crystal yoga point of view,
But what’s in it for you?
To find my way, I just opened my eyes,
Tossed back the covers, dismissed the disguise.
Gold diggers dangle their fishnet allure,
And sirens do carnival tricks down the shore.
There may be seven wonders left to see,
But what’s in it for me?
To break a bed, you just lighten the load,
Turn down the covers and take up the road.
If sincerity danced on the head of a pin,
There’d be many times more than what she had within.
Compassion fatigue was her balm for my PTSD.
What was in it for me?
What was ever in it for me?
She held my hand till the money ran out.
Then she did.
This time,
Janice is wearing a priest collar
and I’m the altar.
She hisses when I open my Notes app
during communion,
calls me a heretic
for spellchecking my trauma.
I tell her my whole personality
is based on being misquoted.
She says no, babe. It’s based on needing
a witness and a warning sign.
Then she bites the rim off my coffee cup
and whispers the true name of God
into the ear of a raccoon I once dated.
She reads tarot using expired CVS receipts.
All the cards say return to sender.
I ask if that means my father.
She just shrugs
and duct-tapes a feather to my forehead
like it’s penance or war paint or both.
We co-author a manifesto
on a napkin stolen from a dive bar bathroom.
She titles it
Why We Don’t Cry During Apocalypse Drills Anymore.
Later, I catch her sobbing
to a podcast about deep-sea fish
that flash their own bodies
just to be noticed.
I ask if she’s okay.
She croaks,
do you even know what it’s like
to be evolution’s punchline.
Yes, Janice.
I call it middle school.
I call it dating men with lowercase ambitions.
I call it standing too long in the same place
and becoming part of the furniture.
By the time the sun decides
to ghost us for good,
Janice is already skywriting
with the last of my mascara:
don’t wait for closure—
just close the damn door.
I laugh like I mean it.
She screams like she doesn’t.
We steal a shopping cart,
fill it with unsent letters and beef jerky,
and ride it downhill into the end of everything.
I am finally the bird.
She is finally the girl.
And God
God is just someone we unfollowed
after a bad take on grief.
Carol did not know anything about the five of swords
from the soothsayer’s face she wondered about it
the startled fortuneteller quickly gathered herself
mentioning the value of taking care of yourself
So, this was a selfish card in her future position?
Carol resolved to look it up herself when she got home
She had many tarot cards, but had not noticed this one
It was not something that stood out in her readings.
The five of swords is both a beacon of hope and a dire warning.
Carol was unsure which one was going to apply.
As this tarot card had landed in the future position.
Possibly means starting new endeavors, she counted on this.
Running from the big Illuminati,
Oracle thoughts for every footstep.
Bound by several false circumstances,
Earth is my home, though does scares me to death.
Running from this dark world with nowhere to hide,
Tarot card readings spread from multiple decks...
James is who I am, why cannot you see?
Loving all, release the noose on my neck!
Ignorant; a society of evil,
Gathering by waiting on when to attack.
Uninvited, I ask that you leave this place,
Orion is the hunter; not his track!
'Ridiculous'... all I can really say,
'Imbeciles'... tainting another day!
Saturday, October 9, 2021
The Blind Illusionist
Fate wears white gloves and pulls a whole dream from its top hat,
Twirls it in its palm like a tarot card that's burning,
Watches me applaud in my sleep, then whispers to me "choose",
But whatever I choose turns to smoke and to ash that's lost.
In the dream, I wander through houses with doors leading only to other houses,
Every room holds a beauty I will never get to touch,
The mirrors swallow my outstretched hands, leave me only empty cuffs,
And an echo laughing somewhere, behind some strange curtain.
I'm shown gardens suspended in the air of a crystal moment,
A sky with two moons drawing close as in a forbidden kiss,
Then a soundless bell wakes me, a signal
That it was all just props in a theater of dreams.
It's a blind magician dealing cards without ever seeing their faces,
Shows me the king of cups, then turns him into drought and bone,
Smiles with a stitched-shut mouth, like a doll with no life in it,
And still I play, though I know the stakes are always rigged low.
To give and take back is a trick as old as the world's illusion,
A handkerchief hiding a dove that never existed,
I applaud again in my sleep, though I feel the edges of the earth tearing,
Beneath the chair I'm sitting on, in this suspended hall.
Maybe I was never more than a card drawn from a stranger's deck,
A joker who believes himself king in a story written by someone else,
I'm afraid now of every beautiful dream knocking gently, calmly, at the window of my mind,
Knowing the blind illusionist will clap his hands again and take back what he gave me, or not.
AWAKENING
Sleep and slumber, dreams of wonder... weaving,
morning’s vacuum broke the spell
Pitted pillow, note of parting... leaving,
“from your friend, a fond farewell”
Sunrise throbbing, twilight aching... grieving,
daydreams, flashbacks, nightmares knell
Pale phantasms, visions sneaking... thieving,
plot to fill the empty shell
12 DELIRIA
1st Delirium: Collapses
Fractured sky bolts, billows bursting... rumbling,
heavens tighten, turn the vise
Horsemen saddle shafts of lightning... tumbling,
jagged highways must suffice
Ruptured skyways, hailstones crackling... crumbling,
naked pearls of paradise
Toxic tongues of laughter stinging... stumbling,
ocean buckets choked with ice
Droplets drumming, thunder muzzled... mumbling,
washed out whispers pay the price
Smothered blazes, cinders smoking... humbling,
ashes shaped in sacrifice
2nd Delirium: Descents
Asphalt alleys, ashen faces... frowning,
blowing bubbles, chewing gum
Drinking ale from tavern tankards... downing,
moonlit beads of painted rum
Stony stars and sea misshapen... drowning,
humble rivers’ rhythms hum
Apparitions aspirating... clowning,
diamonds dying , minstrels strum
Incandescent candles conquered... crowning,
vacant vapours, cold and numb
3rd Delirium: Fates
Tempest turmoil, tapered turrets... holding,
dungeons, dragons, chains and racks
Wheels of fortune, Tarot temptress... molding,
Hangmen, Towers, One Eyed Jacks
Sand dune castles, cryptic candles... folding,
warping walls of liquid wax
Idols colder, combed and coddled... scolding,
hide in fissures, peek through cracks
continued in part 2
"Husk"
3 decades sucked out the marrow
Swallowed yesterdays
Spits out a Queen from the crumbling Tower
Ten of swords
High Priestess
Tarot
Husk arisen
Papillon Lefevre will be killed and bitten
Princess supersedes Queen to conquer Life
Through 'true' Love this is written
So mote it be
To Queen G, Che Guevara freedom given
(LadyLabyrinth/2019)
gvlm/llb
““Hard things are put in our way, not to stop us, but to call out our courage and strength.”
“Aerodynamically the bumblebee shouldn’t be able to fly, but the bumblebee doesn’t know that so it goes on flying anyway.”
Courage, sacrifice, determination, commitment, toughness, heart, talent, guts. That’s what little girls are made of; the heck with sugar and spice.”
"I need you to remember this: There are days, maybe even weeks and months, when it feels like you are never going to move forward. When you doubt yourself because you can't see any progress. But the truth is, if you are waking up every day and doing the hard, beautiful, necessary work of living and learning you are growing. It's impossible not to. So keep going."
https://youtu.be/jA8inmHhx8c
Viktoria Modesta - Prototype
1.Disability/Health
2.Independence
3.Papillon Lefevre Syndrome
High Priestess
https://www.biddytarot.com/tarot-card-meanings/major-arcana/high-priestess/
The Chariot
https://www.biddytarot.com/tarot-card-meanings/major-arcana/chariot/
Strength
https://www.biddytarot.com/tarot-card-meanings/major-arcana/strength/
Turn of An Unfriendly Card
(Tarot 3 of Swords)
I cannot empathize with a shattered heart.
That image of a fragile, breakable baby pink orb
Is insulting to how I feel.
The turn of an unfriendly card depicts three swords
thrust into a still beating heart
I feel the sliver blade of that first sword
plunge hard, deep and succinctly.
I gasp with the pain in my chest
I feel the second as it severs sideways
and tears my heart from side to side
and as grief overwhelms my shredded heart,
the third slides neatly, methodically
down the middle until it dismembers
the connection to keeping it all together,
and I double over, sink to the floor, rock my body
and cry.
What I avoided is staring at me
daring me
to accept the inevitable and grow from upheaval
Become something greater that the puddle I’ve collapsed into,
grow something strong from the richness
of the blood-meal soaked earth.
The sword hurts and tears again while being pulled out
in necessary preparation for the healing to begin.
My heart is not fragile.