Long Tartar Poems
Long Tartar Poems. Below are the most popular long Tartar by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Tartar poems by poem length and keyword.
There is a power the mightiest king can neither calm nor tether.
What power? you ask. The task I mean goes by the name of weather.
It was on Saint Mary Magdalene's Day in 1342,
on the twenty-second of July, a fact known but to few,
a raging fearful deluge descended from on high
like none since Noah's flood. In truth I do not lie.
It took away the rich man's house, it swept over hill and lea,
it blackened many a verdant plain as far as eye could see.
Every land in Christendom, from Wales to the tip of Spain
witnessed great loss of wealth and life, saw sorrow and great pain.
'Repent, ye sinners! the prelate preached. Pray God relieve this curse.'
In ignorance the people thought nothing could be worse.
but worse did come, not tarrying long, i whisper in low breath,
from Tartar land on the Black Sea shore. Alas, it was Black Death.
In the dark depths of ancient lands,
where shadows whisper secrets to the night,
lies a tale of a region forged by mystic hands,
a pure product marked by "justice and fraternity."
From the dawn of the shining royal reign,
over the grand and majestic Tartar halls,
no soul from outside the system's chain
has ever stepped foot on this enchanted land.
Masonry breathes through the Monarch's sigh,
a subtle wind guiding those who were brought,
masons, the sculptors of masses, standing nigh,
keeping the throng low, their past forever fraught.
Though the monarchy's crown does not adorn its brow,
Romania reigns as an unseen monarch,
a scent of power lingering, somehow,
in corners unthought by the common.
And so I ponder, in this twilight's gleam,
what is patriotism in a masonic design,
where lodges commence with a national dream,
"Awaken, Romanian," a call so divine?
For patriotism, ancient and true,
a homeland is needed, a soil to defend,
as Tudor Vladimirescu's words ensue,
"The homeland's the people, not the thieves who pretend."
Thus the patriot tends to the crowd, the masses,
but can also be a thief, unseen in the light,
he's not of the people, but one who surpasses,
plugged to public wealth, in shadowy might.
All began as patriots, a noble disguise:
PNL, USR, AUR, FSN-PDSR, PNT-cd, UDMR,
each claimed to cherish the people's cries,
yet none brought the dawn, leaving dreams to despair.
Patriotism, a starter pack for ambition's plight,
one cannot skip the stage of care,
building roads and bridges, shining bright,
born to bring a throne to the masses' lair.
Some proclaimed to live for your joy,
a promise never met in the valley of tears,
Romanioka, where sorrows deploy,
since the great bring-in of 1800's years.
Remember, rat, in your endless quest,
all lands are ruled by the Monarch's hand,
through satanists, his dark behest,
but in "Romania," the worst of them stand.
Patriotism, the greatest faith's replace,
as chronic poverty, "traditional" named,
in this land where shadows embrace,
and dreams of betterment are forever tamed.
THE PEOPLE CAME TO HEAR THE dejay SPEAK
HE SEEMED puzzled AND ANNOYED.
hE BEGAN THE S FIRST THANKING all for the night ahead
FOR THE groove to make you move
and new sounds to be explored
that the morning would come TO COME.
and no one should be alone
hE THEN SPOKE THE singers NAME
and his claim to fame
and the song that they'd explore
It's a catchy groove
to make you move
and get up outta your seat
every day is the best way
to be a song geek
The intro to
is something new
with a classic kinda groove
here it is
the sounds of spring
Come on YA"LL enjoy the groove!
-------------------------------------------
sLURP: sLURP
-----------------------------------
WRITTEN BY:
Slurp Musky
of Chill-Willy Music Inc.
(the cronk remix)
(new Glam Rocker Jam)
Remixed by Snazzy Fresh and Grunge Gabby
of GrindWorks Music
-------------------------------------
Slurp:Slurp.
Grooves that make
your body work.
Relevé; ooh groove
change that funky attitude
Hoof it
hoof it
damn Gal you
stupid
like the way you grind and groove
feel it when bust a move
Slurp; slurp
see ya make that Body work
gone Gal do your thang
funky sound yeah That Guy
can really sang
Slurp:Slurp
ya'll dancing like ya'll
at work
freaky thang like it
when you stop to twerk
------------------------------
they served arapaima after
the show
with a Brazilian aioli base
tartar sauce "Chemist Campe'"
I left home feeling very satisfied
Meting me on the sreet with a friend.
He waved me down, called me over.
He said:
-Let's go dancing at the Day Center
It's having a party
And I heard that some mustachioed women are coming
That they're really hot
And they're offering themselves cheap on Black Friday
Both standing and lying down.
We walked behind two women
Hearing one of them say:
-For money, my honor won't be tarnished
By any gentleman.
Now, if he treats me to a seafood feast
I'll give him my whole chestnut.
To the other one saying:
-The other day I was amazed
Looking at two bearded gentlemen
Who had faces like our asses.
I'm sure I don't mind
Giving myself completely to one of them
Because when his hair sucks my chestnut
It tickles me and I come with pleasure.
One of them replied:
-Well, bearded men disgust me.
They're two-faced gentlemen
Who, at any moment
Will pull out their dicks and take you to the garden
By hook or by crook.
They disgust me when they eat noodle soup
Or spaghetti
And some of it gets stuck in their beards.
One day I found my brother-in-law
Leaving a brothel
And in his beard there were traces of colostrum or tartar
From so much sucking on a after the Act.
The other one replied:
-Well, I love bearded men
When they lick my lips
Placing hair against hair
At the beginning of the Act.
When they realized we were following them
We stopped following them
And we didn't go into the Day Center
Going to a phone booth
To see in the newspaper women advertising
To sell their honor for a while.
When the doors to their room opened
Two creatures crawled across the floor
To the bedroom bed.
What a surprise we had!
For the women who offered themselves to us
Legs spread
Both in the same bed
Were the same ones we had met.
How happy they were to see us!
Although I'm not bearded
But my friend is.
I put mine’s on my body and broke her.
My friend went down on her hairy
She laughing with pleasure until she peed on his face.
This was the event that took place with them
For twenty euros each
With a five-euro discount.
In Life’s old garden nations lived who all its fruits enjoyed,
While others longed in vain, while some the winter blasts destroyed;
Its trees are legion; some decay, While others flush with bloom,
And thousands still their birth await, Hid in the garden’s womb;
A symbol of luxuriance, The Tree of Islam reigns,
Its fruits achieved with centuries of garden-tending pains.
Your robe is free from dust of home, Not yours such narrow ties,
That Yousuf you, who Canaan sweet, In every Egypt lies;
The qafila can never disperse You holdest the starting bells9
Nothing else is needed, if your will Your onward march impels.
You candle-tree! your wick-like root, Its top with flame illumes,
Your thought is fire, its very breath all future care consumes.
And you will suffer no surcease should Iran’s star decline,
It is not the vessel which decides the potency of wine;
It is proved to all the world, from tales of Tartar conquerors,
The Kaaba brave defenders found in temple-worshippers.
In you relies the bark of God, Adrift beyond the bar,
The new-born age is dark as night, And you its dim pole-star.
The Bulgars march! the fiend of war in fearful fury breathes;
The message comes: “Sleepers, awake! The Balkan cauldron seethes.”
You deem this a cause of grief,Your heart is mortified;
But no, your pride, your sacrifice, Thus, once again, are tried.
Beneath your foes if chargers neigh? Why tremble you in fright?
For never, never, shall their breath extinguish Heaven’s light.
Not yet have other nations seen what you are truly worth,
The realm of Being has need of you for perfecting this earth.
If anything yet keeps world alive, ‘It is yours impetuous zeal,
And you will rise its ruling star, And you will shape its weal.
This is no time for idle rest, Much yet remains undone;
The lamp of tawhid needs your touch to make it shame the sun!
You are like fragrance in the bud, Diffuse yourself: be free.
Perfume the garden breeze, and fill the earth with scent of you.
From dusty speck, do you increase to trackless desert-main.
From a faint breeze, a tempest grow, Become a hurricane!
Raise you, through Love, all humble to greatness and to fame;
Enlighten you the groping world with dear Muhammad’s Name.
The I trois1:01 men-nuts long
The first time they s collaborate
Bunch used both electric and
traditional instruments in a fusion
Of we. The origin of togetherness.
Lying to one group to increase the
Interest of another. Making specticails
Of fools, while patting the back and ass
Of the other. When the neglected bunch
Sought redemption, they called to familiar things, familiar situations they joined together. Without guidance men struggle. With those who have been neglected in aeomans compatibility they used stories of more attractive people
Beyond the muck and dirt, who speaks kinder? When she needs me, what until then. Yes says enough. Tomorrows lover, yesterday's man. RowOne Seat One!, The Lute, The Oboe,and the Chello
. Woman Drawers, her panties! The Next Morning
Sumthangs Specail. Grungy Groove. Ah Ooh: ah ooh!
These were the titled for bassy stringed marinaded meatez. The right thang at the right time. Music for lovers!
2 cups of grounded goeduck clam snouts( cooked, steamed)
1 cup of crab meat (claw)
3/4 cup of catfish grounded (steamed)
1 cup of whipping cream
1 cup of chicken stock
1 cup of mushrooms chopped fine
3/4 cup of olive oil
3/4 cup of flour
1/2 cup of onions
4 Tablespoons of garlic
2 tablespoons of chopped dill weed
1.5 to 2 tablespoons of cayenne pepper
1/4 cup of lemon juice
2 tablespoons of cognac
6 egg whites whipped to form a merguine
1/4 teaspoon of cream of tartar
in a pan sauté onions and mushrooms, and garlic add flour make a brown roux add
chicken stock and cream, set aside. combine all ingredient except the merguine, fold in egg whites and bake in a 400 degree oven.
serve with a lemon hollandaise!
I have loved this dish all my life
my mum made it so ever new
but always best at chippy shop
wrapped in newspaper after a queue
Always loved splashing my chips
with vinegar, pepper and salt
haddock or cod my favourite fish
cover with tartar sauce without fault
Loved to have after the match
soccer my fab game, go every week
get my fish supper before go home
real tangy taste so to speak
Remember holidays in my twenties
Blackpool on the west coast yearly
last thing at night fish supper a must
diet forgotten weight high I did fear!
In Scotland, we called it a fish supper
if in England fish and chips was its name
over the years price has changed too high
but even so, its never lost its fishy fame
(I am writing a poem about the classic British dish... fish and chips!)
2 boxes of ritz crackers
5 cans of apple pie filling
2 cups or rasains
1 cup of twany port
2 cups of apple juice
1 tablespoon of white vinager
2 cups of sugar
+ 2 Tablespoons of cinamon
+ 2 Tablespoons of Cream of Tartar
+5 Tablespoon of cornstarch
2 cups butter
Line a deep sheet pan with a thick stif sweet cookie dough like pie dough
roll and decorate this will accompany the pie cut into serving size squares
bake until dough cooks golden brown remove and allow to cool
in a large sauce pot
bring sherry apple juice and lime and lemon juice to a boil
add raisins and a teaspoon of cinnamon and sugar
crumb up some ritz crackers add saturate the crumbs
set aside
in a bowl crumb up 3 rolls of ritz crackers
mix with 1 cup of softened butter( add 2 cups of carmel bit's)
sprinkle in cinnamon and zest of lemon or lime
and brown sugar set aside when thoroughly mixed
in a hotel sheet pour in cracker mix
topp with apple pie filling sprinkle cracker crums attop
either cover with decorated pie crst or leave open faced
cook until the sweet bubbles of appley goondness come through the browned pie dough.
Serve your way
Catfish I love is on a plate
with tartar sauce, french fries, and slaw;
but I despise the type that trolls
online, those pervs who break the law
and tell some trusting kid, “I’m twelve,
like YOU! I live right by the park
near you. Let’s meet there by the bridge.
You’ll be back home before it’s dark.
Don’t tell your mom! If she’s like mine,
she’ll tell you NO. Let’s just sneak out.”
She says, “I’ll go slip out the back.
We’ll have a lot of fun—no doubt!”
The sicko rushed right to the bridge.
The “kid” he met was twenty-five,
an undercover cop with cuffs
and back-up. “Channel 14 LIVE”
rushed in on this newsworthy scene.
A big catfish was caught that day.
Because such wickedness abounds,
not all such stories end this way.
May 15, 2018, entered in Catie Lindsey's Catfish Poetry Contest