Long Tart Poems
Long Tart Poems. Below are the most popular long Tart by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Tart poems by poem length and keyword.
It was not the first time, nor would it be the last, but who's elated about greeting thorns when picking roses from a bush or picking lemons from a tree? I observed from the start that I'd never seen a lemon tree so guarded with most of its lemons in deep and difficult to reach areas behind its new growth of limbs. It was as if the tree in 'Tartspeech'* said to me, "You are free to have and consume my lemons if you can endure the munitions of my thorns".
At the time that my wife was offered fresh lemons by a friend, I did not extrapolate the assigned mission by my wife, and prior to my first approach I had not considered the resistance I would confront nor the pain I would have to overcome. After all, some things are instinctive and routine, not necessitating calculations and strategies. I had no thoughts of the combative nature of the lemon tree until I attempted to extract its lemons. One look at the pointed thorns gave me pause and forced a distraction to count the cost of extraction. I then proceeded cautiously lest I should bleed excessively.
Also at the time, I did not count the number of my pricks, but my best guess would be 10 or less, one of which grew noticeable blood. None, however, triggered a retrenchment or convinced me to quit. I did count the lemons upon arriving home, and they totaled 82 as I recall. A nice crate of lemons for less than 10 pricks. I'd say, not a bad tradeoff.
On these early winter mornings, I have green tea and a mixture of the lemon's juices with a spoon of honey, also given by our friend. It's then that I take a different kind of pause and realize the worth of it all.
011220PoSoupCtest, Favourite Poem from January 2020, Julia Ward *Vocabulary.com Dictionary. As an adjective, tart describes a sour taste, like lemon. Website, Blurtit: Yooti Bhansali answered. ...The word is also used to denote a manner of speech that is especially bitter or blunt in the way it is spoken as well as the connotation of the spoken comment. ....
The blush of a pink candle so sweet;
I can feel the love you pour upon me
bloom in the softness of its glow;
Sparkling saffron energizing glances,
lemon tart words electrify my senses;
Captivated by your ethereal light;
I can still smell your sage in my head,
Feel the energy as I held onto your hand;
Lime fluorescence engulfing me;
Aquamarine brings such fine serenity;
Permeating your aura with tranquility,
you wrap me in shades of amethyst;
Russet leaves paper the ground,
the path glitters cardinal and gold;
Under a turquoise sky autumn flies;
I still see those violet eyes,
otherworldly beauty;
Lavender prisms play like a sunset sea;
The hues of his gentle soul
a gateway to believing.
Soaked up the atmosphere of Montmartre
Found café enjoyed French citron tart
Double shot of coffee went down so well
Then I heard the Sacré-Coeur bell.
With hand on my heart, I honestly say
The shades of the past forever hold sway
There's something unique about Montmartre
Air so different totally avant-garde.
Picasso, Lautrec, and my favourite Monet
Inhabited these streets and with colour did play
With hand on my heart under azure blue dome
Healing achieved its Montmarte syndrome.
With Hand on My Heart
Poetry contest
Sponsored
by
Mystic Rose
23/10/2021
"Tease for Two"
“Ein bisschen Zucker
mit Ihrer Sahne, Sir?“
German accent
smoky toned
she purred
Periwinkles suavely winked,
then played with his -
cufflinks
“Not now Schvee Tart”
he said holding his attache tight
looking across the room
grinning Lupine Blues
a slight smile on his lips,
bemused,
“Service calls,
her name is
"Q”
Across the dance floor
all eyes turned
Parting tall bus boys, handsome waiters
matrons with their peach blinis, their tart apple martinis
flustered debutantes
all poetic unsure
first time daters
dilettantes
rubbed their -
eyes again, they blinked
made way, made room,
for Q's
sashaying soliloquy
serious multi tasking
sensual stiletto Hell-on-High Heels
slick Scarlet lip-glossed
VaVaVoom
As it should be
entertaining control,
further into the room
across the dazzling polished dance floor
no pastie tasselling girls
on well-oiled silver poles
The Special Agent
slinked
The Old Boys
raised their drinks
He stands
She sits
"Ist das eine Waffe
in deiner Tasche,
Special Agt Schmidt?"
She glances at her
Bulgari Serpenti Incantati
and in English says,
"This better be good,
Now is not the time to quit"
Like a wolf
Periwinkles
grins
"Q," he low growl says,
"I propose a change in destination,
I've taken the liberty to buy you
feathers for your wings -
tickets Q...."
then flirtatiously adds,
"Simply adore your bling"
(LadyLabyrinth/2019)
1. lupine/wolf
2. lupine/lupinus, genus blue flowering plant
3. Libertango
There he lay on the foul smelling uneven sandy ground,
Dead by beheading, blood seeping underneath the severed head,
An atrocious act urged by a drunken adulterous queen.
He was already dead, but the head had to be totally severed.
A sharp knife did the trick and a wanton tart had a plate
Ready to receive the Baptist head. Looking on only one showed any pity,
The rest indifferent were just ready to please their queen.
The dungeon was not even lighted as behoved a condemned man.
What makes this painting remarkable, one might ask?
Michelangelo Merisi Caravaggio was in Malta and the painting
Was commissioned by the Order of the Knights of Malta,
And hanged in an Oratory for criminal trails.
Caravaggio lifted traditional religious scenes and cast them
With his own dark interpretation. Thus light and darkness
Played a big part in the painting. All main characters are bathed in light,
The rest is in darkness as befitted a dungeon.
A masterpiece of chiaroscuro still to be admired in Malta.
Inside they know he's been the one
since conception with delusions of grandeur
aside, his introspection gives birth to
prophetic lessons
Those that do, know there are no
shortcuts through this line nor do they
discount these leaps of timelines
His grandiose nature is as grand
as the sun
yet he's as humble in his ways
as they come
A contradiction without problems with
diction, he voices his opinions without
apology
Not even astrology can explain
why his life went the way
it did,
but he can elucidate as liquidly as he
did when he fathered his kids
The whole world is your child for you
create from that sacred space
It pours through him in volumes that are
too loud for most & too tart for taste
Yet some are able to capture the attention
of his ghost
so, he resurrects when needed with all due
respect to his host
He is as gracious as grace itself, but will not
be tread upon like tires without care
His long hair doesn't care as it grows like vines
& weeds
up the walls smothering until even air can't
breathe
Don't try to impregnate a mind that doesnt
conceive of the act of standing still
for that is the definition of one's honest &
true immoveable divine will
I spotted her from far away
a thin tart
Very svelte in a form
fitting long green gown
Her face shrouded by
a rather large
oversized
Buttercup yellow
bonnet
Daffy O' Dill
The Spring maiden
flaunting and teasing
Passers by. Who could miss
the huge bonnet
Towering over the
thin frame as she flowed with
The wind and sunned herself.
A bee stopping
To sip of her powerful
aromatic nectar which
Nature provided.
To the Bee an ambrosia, a
Delightful natural cocktail
of Devine proportions.
Ah yes and his spiritual adviser
the Hummingbird
In a bit of a hurry
not too impressed with
Daffy O' Dills' lack
of sweetness prefers roses
Or more fragrant pastoral flowers.
We must
Welcome Daffy O' Dill
for even though Old Man
Winter covers her
and hoards her for himself
She always erupts svelte
and glorious a sanctimonious
Welcome to spring
that one cannot ignore.
Though unlived ages defter poets shall bring,
And blur all rhymes woven in my barren span;
May young pupil-scribes with like relish savor
These yellowing tropes as sworn zealots can.
Despite the flurrying crop of many sharper wits,
Let new apprentices of fine art read these lines;
And gratefully gain inspiration from olden writs,
Fresh as dateless gems in death-hidden mines.
And should new vibes rather greatly outshine
This dusty craft and they still dissatisfied pine,
Abiding honor for founding feats will here keep
Future pliant eyes that for fallen warriors weep.
Not for incurable want of well-winding nuance
May youth disdain this tart ink ten eons hence.
Think of all gone generations' fluids of the vine:
Piling time betters stale rhyme like bottled wine!
Muse forbid that future versifiers should deem
These musings an exaggerated antique dream.
The brand of Sunday coffee
I used to drink from
brewed darkened exquisite flavor
from sugar and diffusing steam
of addiction, pride, deception, idolatry, lust,
suicide, guilt, impatience, hypocrisy,
selfishness, resentment, anger, profane language
envy, greed, fear, disobedience,
unbelief and unforgiveness
although this brand of coffee
brought comfort to my system
for only a few mornings
but instead it still brought
the intensity of misery and discomfort
into the basin of my soul
This new brand of Sunday coffee
I now drink from
brews crystalline exquisite flavor
from sugar, cream, syrup and ice
of peace, patience, love, joy
wisdom, faith, healing, discernment
and eternal life to my system
prepared by our spiritual barista
with a slice of coconut tart
that will endlessly
quench my intensity for righteousness
into the basin of my soul
" Those who serve arrogance as their main course
will eat humble pie for dessert. " ~~~
Frank. K. Sonnenberg.
Humble Pie can be sweet
Or it can be tart.
It's down to our attitude when we eat
And take the lessons to heart.
Either way, it's good for us!
It keeps us in our place.
A bit like meds, unpleasant at first,
But a change is seen in our face.
A better side of our self shines out
And it makes others smile.
For the good of our personality
We must eat of it once in a while.
Written 11th January 2022
For the BUZZWORDS contest
Sponsor: Kim Rodrigues