Short Tallow Poems

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The Indian Healer gathered willow
Dried medicinal bark like dried tallow
When fever came to the camp
Small dose when with fever damp
Relieves many of tribe from the deathblow...

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A wicked wick of tallow lit
witch's sacrifice remit,
smoky tapered candles fit
in a dead man's skull a writ.

Eyes ablaze Satan permits,
the single soul to rest a bit,
and blood runs-- into the pit
in candle light the witches flit....

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Once lit by flickering torch light 
with animal tallow mixed with ocher
daubed on subterranean rock walls
now lit by streetlights or LED headlamp
slashes of spray paint and magic markers 
splattered on concrete bridge abutments,
boxcars, or walls of tenement ghettos,
but the message is the same
we were here....

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I know a fellow,
Whose beard is yellow,
And does it hallow,
Always glimpsing its halo,
For it in the mirror “A Hello”
And at night readied Tallow:
A sight to still swallow.

And he was a curious one,
Having at another pointed a gun,
Because he had in their argument won
And to him this was no fun,
Like a deed that has been done....

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eyes of sunken hollow
pupil
skin stretched thin as tallow
stooping for a coin
so shallow
and falling
for that pretty shimmer
hammered with a faierie's splinter
pupil eyeing in the snow
so shallow the sallow
heart of him
with legs unsteady
and brain too heady
he let the pretty shimmer go
and wept to bleed 
bright red white snow...

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Did I see a flicker, glimmer, ray of light or hope in some far-off stained glass window,
where pillar candles melt upon mosaics,
where rosehip stearates clutch at fragile perfumes,
where wax encrusted drips turn into cherry blossom plasmas of the mind,
when hardened tallow rims are all that’s left for those who clingfilm second chances!!...

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Swaddled 
in an Afghan 
woven by my step grandmother's 
thin spindly fingers, 
I am 
warmer than the womb 
then the 
pale yellow grey 
wall paper 
that 
seems to surround 
and wobble 
like the water globe 
on my dresser. 

Above, 
I see 
my mothers face, 
round, 
soft, 
tallow cheeks, 
I want to squeeze them 
pull the rosiness, 
into my small palms 
and eat it up....

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You can see Shane its a callow, 
Not for the Business of Tallow;
Some Brain to be lying fallow,
Nothing in Tallow yields Halo...

Better Shane challenged A Solo,
A lot of fans to him follow,
Preferably in 's polo,
Never in poverty wallow... 

Yes, Sandy - haired Shane Wayne for Rap
And I suggest Distance from Cap
For more of on - the - shoulder tap
And bridge of Admirer's Gap....

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May you all have a serendipitous, serene Sunday
and an immeasurably magnanimous Monday,
Would that the tallow of your Tuesday be tantalizing
wielding the wonders of  Wednesday in writing,
thence thanking Theism the theme of Thursday,
finally forgetting fears and feeling the freedom of Friday,
so making your Saturday a scintilla of a Sabbatical.

In other words: have a great week y’all!...

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Majestic colours
Line the room
Red, Orange Gold.

Champagne bottles
All popped their corks
Stand tall on shelves.

Mirrors, Mirrors
Fretwork frames
Everywhere reflecting
Orange lighting.

Tallow hanging
Like pearl dropplets.

Arched doorway
Draped in red velvet
Tied back with
Gold sashes.

Pictures, pictures
Hang all around
Past and present
Black and white.

Busy, Busy,
Mind racing
Will I write?
I think not......

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Deep in the earth’s bowels
We crawl through tight tunnels
Where it’s darker than night
But for glimmer of light
From small stub of tallow,
A feeble yellow glow.
Above our heads the rock
It often creaks and cracks.

We each have our own jobs.
Mine is collecting cobs.
Others sort slate and slack
From the hewn rock-face black.
Some haul full carts of coal        
Up track to exit hole. 
Crawling through tight tunnels,
Deep in the earth’s bowels....

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