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.
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.
At the foot of Burgos’ Castle
Looking toward its beautiful Cathedral
I learned what it means:
"To tide down by the pylon"
Or "to go down to the Moor Muza."
From waist down
It was the first time
I saw and rarely admired
My girlfriend's chestnut or mussel.
The hair around it
Reached almost to her knees.
I wanted sex
And to do it like the calf and she calf
From Quintanar de la Sierra do
But she told me no
That, first, tide down to the pyle
Or to go down to the Moor Muza
As I wished
And adorn the banks of her mussel
With the two chevalieres we brought
Because " so this delicacy
From a pretty and sandunguera woman
Will taste better."
I grabbed the two chevalieres
A typical Burgos sweet
Cracking them hard on their chestnut
Making a paste of milk
Flour, butter, and yeast
Sugar, egg, and a pinch of salt
Plus the tartar from her big lips
And cute nymphs
Plus that sticky nectar that flowed
From her and meatus.
I began to lick and eat
With an infinite hunger
Lifting my tongue from her anus
To the top of her Venus’ Mount
Biting her ********
As if it were a man's cock.
She realized
In a non-fake ******
That I was getting hard.
Sweetly, she said to me:
"Bring here that your hill with two eggs"
Taking it with her hand.
I don't know where she's taking it.
She didn't take it to the path between her two ****
Nor along the paths of the anus.
She took it to a blackberry bush
And there, almost, she killed it bleeding!
We didn't have sex.
She said to me:
-I think you'll be happy
With this wonderful snack you've had
Of partridge or rabbit
Of turtledove or quail
Adorned with local chevalieres.
Maybe another day
Your redwing will enter my nest
Or Il eat that your cream filling churro.
We set off along the path that leads
To the Church of Saint Stephen
Hopping, skipping, and singing:
By Maurice Chevalier’s
"Paris Will Always Be Paris".
Without realizing it
I was walking with my fly half open
Saying she to me immediately:
Come back, come back to our place of love
I left my panties in the grass.
I answered her smiling:
- You¡
I'll buy you another one
Or go without it
That so You wear it much cooler
And better.
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.
That's it, I've had it
She uses Miracle Whip on her sandwich
I just can't handle this, I can't take anymore
I am real careful when I leave how I slam the door
When I left, I took with me
Not clothes or money
No rare painting or the Mingh Dynasty vase
Just what was in the Prenuptual, my jar of mayonnaise
I don't care for the store brand, Sauer's, Blue Plate or Best Foods
With Hellmann's by your side, to have a sandwich, you never have to be in the
mood
A BLT, can you imagine that without the B
Let alone it would be just as disastrous without the LT
But then again, this is America, you can fix your sandwich any old way
That's why when I left, there would be no misunderstanding, I would take the
mayonnaise
Some kind of bagel, bread or bun, sun dried tomato, white or whole wheat
Put whatever you want on the bread, but without out that one thing, it will never be
complete
Maybe I will become a Health Inspector and find out which brand the restaurants
use
If it's not my brand, I will write them up for sandwich abuse
I will find out which type they use, for instance in their Tartar Sauce for their
Breaded Fish Fillets
Or maybe become a Divorce Lawyer to ensure that when my clients divorce they
don't lose out on their mayonnaise
This is a lesson I learned even though
It was in Black and White in our Prenuptual
It still seen its day in court
My girlfriend's lawyer said quit playing hard ball, come on be a sport
He further states she's willing to give you the car and your favorite 45 record by
Stevie Nicks Leather and Lace
I turn it all down and stick to my guns and retain custody of the mayonnaise
To this day, we no longer speak to one another
I got back at her, for years I have secretly shared it with her mother
Is this something I should feel guilty about, show some remorse
I am going to see if can marry the thing I love the most, it will never end in an ugly
divorce
I don't believe that I am going through a mid life crisis or some kind of phase
Please RSVP me and tell me if you feel this strong about your mayonnaise
I cannot read small labels, my eyes don’t see so well
The labels on my spices: a culinary hell.
I came up with a system; it’s pretty hard to beat,
‘Cuz most of what I cooked before was not so good to eat.
With pictures on the label, it’s easier to know;
‘Cuz peppermint and barbecue simply do not go.
Anise is a garbage can, I kick it to the curb
Basil, I called Rathbone, a swashbuckling herb
Bay leaves, Otis Redding, sitting on the Dock
My chives, the brothers Bee Gee, ‘cuz it’s the one that talks
Cayenne, picture of a large teepee, ‘cuz man, it's real in tents
I cinnamon Jamaica way; I haven’t seen him since
Allspice, a real Transformer, it sure does add a spark
Cocoa, murdered cuckoo bird, because that’s really dark
Cardamom’s a driver’s license, to check if she’s young or old
Chili is a heavy coat for days that it's too cold
Curry is a horse’s brush, for favorite Indian dish
Garlic, a nasty tongue, to taste an ugly fish
I haven’t any Ginger, ‘cuz Mary Ann’s the best
Lemon peel, a self portrait, to scrape with zeal and zest
Sage, a wizened wizard, ‘cuz they give fatherly advice
Hibiscus, pics of flowers, because it smells really nice
Mustard, a colonel, in the library, with a pipe of lead
Pepper, a peck, what Peter picked (or so they said)
Nutmeg is a soccer ball that’s passed between the legs
Paprika, scary Lucifer, atop my deviled eggs
Parsley just has Elvis, for when you need a shake
Pumpkin Spice, a perfect pie, the kind you want to bake
Thyme, can’t keep too much on hand, the liner notes from Styx
Cajun rub, a pair of legs; it’s got a healthy kick
Tarragon, a house on fire, the smell when Scarlett’s mansion burned
Caraway, Mav from Top Gun; okay, it's breath, I'm unconcerned.
Tartar, from the Enterprise, Kirk wearing Scottish kilt
Pepper flakes, Quixote's windmill; you'll need the fan 'cuz it's full tilt.
Yeah, some of these are pretty bad, but cooking is more fun.
My family sure is happier; they love a tasty pun!
The Escape from the Turkish Slavery
(Ukrainian historic folk song)
There broke into the Tartar sprites,
And they captured my daughter, nice,
Marusyna, my daughter, dear,
I remained with one son in fear.
And there came others- my son was enslaved,
And a widow, a poor orphan, I remained.
The third time, they took me too, an old soul...
... a Turk took me to the service,
I began to toil and slave
Serving the foe every day.
The daughter didn’t recognize her nurse
Having given her the works, the worst:
With the hands- to spin the yarn, fine,
With the little feet- to lull the child,
To watch the flock- with the eyes…
They found themselves in one place
All three meeting face to face.
When the daughter was recognized by the mother
And, when also confessed the brother…
They were united with one another.
Then the daughter began to tell the Turk,
That's my brother, this is my mother,
Then, the Turk began to trust them.
He entrusted them with all his goods.
They did everything, not to delude
Thinking, dreaming of their home.
When the Turk and daughter were going to the ball,
They handed the keys from the houses, all;
The son and the mother were taking the golden keys,
The souls of the slaves from the cellars to release,
Saddling the horses to start their way
To travel back home again.
Oh they were crossing the Danube, Dunahj,
The Turks, low-natured, were on a catch-ride.
On the other bank, they shouted:
"Oh Ivan, Ivan!
You know and you know,
And take the infusion of wormwood,
And, you will know even better for good! "
Chieftain Ivan Korsun began to narrate:
"I crossed the Danube River -
Denied the enemy forever! "
(Translation from Ukrainian into English by Ivan Petryshyn)
The Escape from the Turkish Slavery
3Fabel6
3Fabel6
SPIDDERPartTwo
Mercurious People
The Charlaxandroidoneseven is eating solid food fuel for brain we fear here on
Mercury in the pit that he will soon discover a way to BORDOGOEL us. Bordogoel
is a magical word on Mercury it means much the same on Earth imagine me the
Charlax one standing in the spidder and hitting them with BORDS. Quickly eye
donned my Lone Stranger Mask and shot the BORD at all the mercurious aleins
in the mines of Mercury in the lines of the spidder. BORD DO GO EL the
transliteration means hitting aleins with BORDS. The extra sensory perceptive
that eye am can see the aleins design it's nothing more than webbing on a
spidder plan. The younger one is missing the middle tartar needs a friend no
one cares for wrestling it is fake.
Fighting is for niggardly cowards to prove themselves a man.
Splinters of the alien creatures fall from the SKY of the moon and confuse the
Martians who came to visit them. BOOM BOOM BOOM.
Food is eliminated from the body weather you eat fruit meat or decay. Some
people in Franco land only eat spaghetti with the bread no meat no saucy kisses
no mixers no bad drinks no sugar in my coffee no sugar in my tee shirts wear
much longer under vest than at first eye had assumed a shape of fortune smiled
the latter day saint that eye become the alien killer the Charlaxone. Stay tuned
gentile reader ewe for part three in the series of this science fiction exceptional
Fabel in the Book of CharlaxFabels.
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'"
WELL … Ah woke up this mornin’,
Had a ringin’ in ma head.
Ma backbone felt like rubber,
An’ Ah wished that Ah was dead …
Ah crawled into the bathroom,
Pulled myself up to a lean.
Saw ma choppers in the mirror …
Such a tasteful shade o’ green!
Ah’ve got the tartar blues.
Man, Ah’ve got the tartar blues!
Ah’ve got the feelin’ oldie,
Green an’ mouldy,
Sad ‘n’ lowdown tartar blues.
Well, Ah sidled in the drug-store,
Saw this kid behind the till.
She said, “Sir, how can I help ya?
Man, you’re lookin’ awful ill!”
Ah said, “Ah’m a mite embarrassed …
Ah cain’t tell ya what Ah need …’
She said, “Sir, I know precisely!”
An’ she sold me a pack o’ three!
Ah said, “Girl, Ah’ve got the tartar blues …
Girl! Ah’ve got the tartar blues!
Ah’ve got the feelin’ oldie,
Green an’ mouldy,
Sad ‘n’ lowdown tartar blues!”
‘Cause mah pearlies ain’t so pearly;
They look as if Ah’ve died,
An’ Ah been layin’ in the graveyard
For a century or five …
Well! Ah need some Arm & Hammer,
The toothpaste with a “WOW!”
So that Ah can tell ma tartar
“Tartar, ta-ta for now!”
Girl, Ah’ve got the tartar blues …
Girl! Ah’ve got the tartar blues!
Ah’ve got the feelin’ oldie,
Green an’ mouldy,
Sad ‘n’ lowdown tartar blues!
So many irksome dilemmas in life can be cured by simple solutions.
All are not necessarily fixed by the latest technological revolutions.
To remedy the many vicissitudes that rain down upon myself,
I grab that handy box of lowly baking soda reposing upon the shelf!
This simple, innocent looking stuff is good for many uses,
Including easing the pain of little kneesies that easily bruises.
'Tis useful for sweetening reeking walking shoes and garbage cans,
For shining silver and rejuvenating blackened pots and pans!
Even my inscrutable cat begins to purr a mile "purr" minute,
When I freshen his litter box by sprinkling baking soda in it.
If my auto picks up that scourge of the road, the dreaded tar,
Baking soda is just the thing for tidying up the car!
Why should I pay a plumber to unplug the clogged-up drain,
When a dollop of baking soda will the same results obtain?
It can be used as a toothpaste for making choppers look smarter,
Whitening them and controlling that nefarious tartar!
I've found that after my all too frequent sprees of gluttony,
That only a dose of baking soda relieves my gastric agony.
Its use for indigestion docs would discourage or even squelch.
Fiddle Faddle! I find instant relief in one humongous belch!