Tallow Poems | Examples

Death in the New Year

Our hands are tied, Death
Since you dawned on us this New Year . . .

Shapely bottles of champagnes have shone
And have broken to fragments with the ululation
Of firecrackers that warmed cold and dark wintry skies.
Now, aphonia sets in from unending lamentations.
Headlines, buried by the chilly bones of winter,
Are barren of good tidings.
A chionophile besieges the rim of a sedulous Yuletide
Grieving by oneiric alleys . . .
I speak of the Friedhof of haunting grimness behind
The curtains of howling winds;
Chants that frequent the disease of frightened melodies, stained
With the aged banality of youthful death;
And the purlieu of cremated souls and consolidated ashes.
Daggers are drawn to paint skulls on canvas slit by the
Whispering tongues of fire
Candles burn their tallow gently on the skin of cancer,
A stinkaroo that stinks with rage.
We do not know how else to turn the calendar.
The edges brim with hostile, burning blood,
Frozen with bits of hate and servile penetralia.

New Year hangs the singed sigil of death
On the bosom of fattened scrolls.

To God Be the Glory

This candle burns slowly —and with the severity of courage
We pick our way with utter caution down the bombarded stairway
One thing is certain: we must flee from this scoffing pillage.
Aided by fluttering tallow, our vision is haunted by the airway.

Fella Meatus

Disturbed by the interruptions 
He would be disrupted by my
Skill
Thrill of collaboration 
When ones partners are
Determined and real
In that self satisfaction 
If achieving a goal
What's in it for me
Ain't gonna work cause
We are not in control
Tallow shall disguise the
Earthy taste of the ostrich
and garlic and onions
Shall compliment it's already
beefy taste
the mushrooms and wines shall
Subdue the gameness
and crumbled bacon shall
Enhance it's taste
Cerleies and salts
With sun-dried peppers and
Sun-dried tomato's shall
Crust the external show'd 
Display
We shall cheer with wines that
are appropriate and garnish
Shall accompany the display!

An anchovies and lemon sweet 
caper sauce was an alternative 
To the cowboy gravy show
I adored them both
But wanted the
Wagyu burger
I longed and lusted for it
One of the lady body guards
Bought six burgers
Up to the room after

The ice cream and cake show
I knew her Friend from Canada
He had been a Bouncer at my
Club in lobster town Maine!
Hollywood thumped with disco
I danced to a
Slutty Opera Tune
I love my wife
Aria Concerto
She make love just
Likes she dances

Between the Two

The smell of incense was heavy
And guarded the dingy room well.
Time passed slowly like the stifling breath of Yuletide
They were hiding from — the two lovers of Venice —
A woman with dark, luxuriant hair
And a man with a running nose.
Scent-leaf from Africa
Roasted over the fireplace with a tangible fragrance.
A lone candle burned and crackled,
Its tallow dripping profusely with crusts of romance —
Measuring sounds like the
Palpitations of the hearts of the man
And woman.

The Feast of Power

Walls breathe insistent hunger,
red as the inside of a split pomegranate,
richer still where the tallow has melted,
slick as the fat from a burnt offering. 

Scarpia does not eat.
He savors—sounds of gristle 
snapping in the next room—
—low, wet gasps—
body writhing beneath unseen hands,
a melody of muscle breaking.

Tosca stands, spine locked,
as he drinks from a goblet brimming with the color
of a mouth left too long in the sun.
He watches her throat move,
slow, careful, like a deer 
scenting iron in the air.

A scream glissandos through the walls.
Scarpia wipes his lips.
His fingers, thick as butcher’s twine,
gesture toward the door—
an invitation, a demand—
a sermon delivered without breath.

Tosca does not kneel.
Not yet.
But the feast has begun,
and the host holds the fermata. 



(note: this poem was inspired by a scene from the opera Tosca by Giacomo Puccini)

Toll and tallow

How dark the air that winter brings to bear
Its dampness crawls into my very soul
A sickly moon attempts some light to share
As through the mist a bell begins to toll

Against all odds, in saturated air
A moth flits round the incandescent glow
Of a candle flickering in despair
From witnessing that masochistic show

A fledermaus is beaten to its prey
By a widow descending on a thread
Vague shadowed forms of hounds are stood at bay
Watched over by an owl that turns her head

Two amber eyes now pierce this witching night
For tricks and treats that dwell beyond our sight ~

Children's Jobs

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.

Shane For Rap Music

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.

The Yellow Bearded

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.

Silent Butler

In the house where I was born
We tied our laces in the dark
Then shuffled down the stairs without a lamp.
We breathed a foggy whisper
On a window webbed with frost
And we swore, and we swore,
And we swore the vows of knighthood every day.

In the house where I was born
We ate our breakfast standing up;
The better for to make the swill go down.
We dipped the dripping ladle,
Closed our eyes and swallowed hard
And we swore, and we swore,
And we swore the vows of knighthood every day.

Gravity, brevity, granite and lead,
War bread and horseflesh, a pillar of salt,
Tilt yard, curtain wall, tallow on slate,
Crossed swords with diamonds; Et monstro fides.

In the house where I was born
We swept the dirt beneath the rug,
Then nailed its ragged edges to the floor.
We strapped our monkish duties
Hemp and leather to our backs
And we swore...

CUM ET PIUS VIRTUTIS		(With devout courage
ET SUPPLEX VIRES			And humble strength
NOS PAREBIMUS DOMINUS		We serve our lord
ET MONSTRO FIDES		        Faithfully)

Aaron's Rod

Lost and seeking freedom from pain
Thoughts turn inward there's much to gain 
Question of life and our endless quest
Weary tears fall as I attest.

News is horrendous how can I cope
Buried within me a sliver of hope
Held tight and fast through spiritual woe
Hoping and wishing it will surely grow.

Cluster of flowers called Aaron's rod
Epiphany: There is no separation from God
The stalk of the flower dipped in tallow
Lights the way brightly faith no longer fallow.



Tat Tvam Asi Poetry Contest
sponsor Unseeking Seeker
Deadline August 1, 2021

We Paint Our Caves

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.

The Candle and the Flame

THE CANDLE AND THE FLAME

When I become the candle
and you become the flame,
I will burn for you so brightly.
Will you love me just the same?
When my taper is not present
and my tallow brings desire,
will you turn ever so slowly
to reveal my hidden fire?
If I leave behind my essence
in the candle of your heart,
will you light another candle
in the haven that we start?
May my warmth ignite your spirit
in the shadows after dark
and may the fires of Heaven
be rekindled in your heart.

Janet Marie Bingham

Me Hallucinating

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!!

Beautiful Disillusion

Candle bright affection 
is melting
Trust is on the wane,
our love light is flickering

Vows of fidelity
was such a beautiful beginning
Heartfelt words spoken with sincerity
had no echo fear of ending

This love burned so bright,
but only for a short time
Until waxen tears of disillusion
started doubt dripping

Beautiful plans,
glowing promises dissipated so fast
Passionate hope
with a cold lip stroke turned into ash

Fiery vows of fidelity
was such a beautiful beginning
Lovely scented words waxed with sincerity,
they had no wick fear of ending

Now, beautiful disillusion
has waning hope tearfully melting
Flickering doubts, 
trust is sorrowfully wavering

Paraffin emotions ... scarlet strain
of a twined, tallow heart 
is burning at both ends with pain — 
A sad start of living apart

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