"tarts" poems
On Raglan Road on an autumn day I met her first and knew
That her dark hair would weave a snare that I might one day rue;
I saw the danger, yet I walked along the enchanted way,
And I said, let grief be a fallen leaf at the dawning of the day.
On Grafton Street in November we tripped lightly along the ledge
Of the deep ravine where can be seen the worth of passion's pledge,
The Queen of Hearts still making tarts and I not making hay -
O I loved too much and by such and such is happiness thrown away.
I gave her gifts of the mind I gave her the secret sign that's known
To the artists who have known the true gods of sound and stone
And word and tint. I did not stint for I gave her poems to say.
With her own name there and her own dark hair like clouds over fields of May
On a quiet street where old ghosts meet I see her walking now
Away from me so hurriedly my reason must allow
That I had wooed not as I should a creature made of clay -
When the angel woos the clay he'd lose his wings at the dawn of day.
22.2k
I remember Sunday dinner
that granny used to make
enough to feed an army
piled on each and every plate
three kinds of potatoes
boiled, mashed and roast
Chicken, pork & roast beef
and a glass of wine to toast
and veggies from her garden
that grew right there herself
no canned corn from Guatemala
would you find upon her shelf
there'd be carrots, peas and parnips
brocolli & cabbage too
and anything that wasn't ate
ended up in her famous stew
but desserts, they were the best bit
there was custard, pies and tarts
an the only bad thing 'bout it all
was knowing where to start
May 20, 2010
May 20, 2010 at 7:26 PM UTC
Sara L Russell, 15th January 2016, 00:04
-------------------------------------------------------------------
So yeah this is me and Julie outside H&M;…
trying too hard to look ****
Desperate tarts more like.
We went to Starbucks after that, then the pub,
and then… the rest of the afternoon's a blur. Haha.
----------✿-----------
Oh yes and this one's me with Foo Foo,
stupid cat's sitting on top of my presentation.
She can be useless at times but she makes a good hot water bottle
when it's like, really cold? You know? Cats are great for that.
Dead sympathetic too. Good listeners.
----------✿-----------
Oh now this is a good one. This is me
with that **** actor off I'm a Celebrity.
He was in… actually I can't remember what he was in?
Really like, **** though? Yet I've only seen him on I'm a Celebrity?
Anyway he was cool with stopping for a selfie. God love him.
(Whoever he is).
----------✿-----------
Ahh… this one is me with Julie again. She's such a ******
She's got one of those light up Santa hats on. Daft *****
Never did get one for me. Not that I'd wear one.
I prefer those furry reindeer antlers.
See? There's one of me with antlers on.
----------✿-----------
Oh here's one of me and Mum.
Yeah very sad I know. She tries so hard to be cool, bless her.
Embarrassing really. I gave her my old phone and
she still hasn't worked out how to use it.
Takes loads of photos of herself though.
So sad.
Jan 14, 2016
Jan 14, 2016 at 7:12 PM UTC
Sounding like some wild soundtrack
to a Spaghetti Western starring
none other than The Clintster,
it were rolling in good vibes
with the peeps taking selfies
with the band for a backdrop.
Two horns poundin' out
a happening grove,
with a bass player all of
four foot nothin'.
with a cool round sound.
It was cookin' alright,
hours after midnight,
a Halifax sextet hinting
of Tom Waits and the The Bob man.
I yawned, I looked around,
all those sweet tarts in their skin tights.
I yawned again, shook my head
as the band was covering Ray Charles...
I yawned again and again
and realized I am too old to party hardy.
But still... 'I can hack it'.. the last thing I said
as I headed out the door, homeward bound
In a January breeze that had a hint of Spring.
end © 2014
Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 1:53 AM UTC
I want to split you in two,
tickle your cherry stem
& sprinkle you with sugar drops.
I've thought about marshmallow,
some vanilla cream
on top of your lemon tarts
& rolling my tongue
to spread it.
Honey dripped onto your flower
would be tastier than flaked-baklava,
a little whipped cream
& nuts would certainly
finish you off.
But I do dream of stuffing your pastry
with my creme-filled cannoli.
That would be the ultimate dessert,
don't you think sweet lady?
Jan 29, 2014
Jan 29, 2014 at 5:53 PM UTC
The house on the hill
Lived a man called Bill
After he met his wife
He had no life
He is tall
But looks like a ball
And round
Looked like a clown
On rainy days,
He gives a grumpy face
If ever children comes
He hits them all dumb
He loves pineapple tarts
Always gives a notorious ****
His name is bill
And he lives in the house on a hill.
Jul 31, 2011
Jul 31, 2011 at 5:48 AM UTC
tootsie pops, pop rocks, rock candy
sweet tarts, smelly farts, war-heads, sour patch kids
reeses pieces, reeses stix, snickers lickers
fudge pile, chocolate smile, peanut butter bile, sugary style
baby ruths, almond joys, soy bean sauce, creamy steam
ill give u a payday, mayday, hay tastes good with parfai
milkyways stay gay to play games with sunrays
icing splicing with knife dicing
makes cakes, cook steaks, rumcakes
****** sprinkles, rip van winkle, diddily dinkle
gummy worms, germs impregnate firm, permed urns
angel food, carrots, pineapple upsideways
fruits, ***** parachutes, scooters, jello shooters
goobers, corn on the cobbers,
veggie wedgies, pepper leppers, squash boxes,
fry foxes, fleet rocks', carrot tops',
dishes of fishes,
witches brew platypus and fat kush
pushy slushies riding skateboards on gary busy
fussy hussies getting blushy about cussies
cereal made of creoles, bread straight from dreads,
rice is nice with spice, yeast is beast,
last but not least, wheat is a treat,
kiwis, shmiwis, dodos on go phones, starfruits,
bartlejuice, grape drank, sushi stinks.
ill eat anything.
Mar 12, 2015
Mar 12, 2015 at 4:50 AM UTC
Life is
A s'mores poptart
No matter the conditions
Or the temperature, it will always be a poptart
And it will always be delicious
The gooey insides
Melt in your mouth when warm.
The crusty top
Provides a nice crunch, but once on the inside,
Things are best
But once it is gone.
It is gone forever.
Cherish your poptart
You never know when it will be the last in the box
Apr 3, 2014
Apr 3, 2014 at 8:16 AM UTC
This red dot i see is what chaos starts as..
Once chaos has flowed out it becomes infared..
The begininng of a galaxy that i can hold in my hands!
The copper coin was the center of a dance..
Watch abe get up and do the charleston dance..
Put the coin to my ear and hear the music and dance..
Up and away.
Toward and a step back..
Leave my body and come back..
Freaking out i go to the bathroom.
Sit on the crapper and do a loop..
Leave my body and enter back on through the back of my skull im awake!
Rainbow highway to oblivion..
colorless flowers laugh at me..
I pluck them from the ground and say " whos laughing now..
OH MY GOD IT WAS THE SWEET TARTS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Dec 19, 2014
Dec 19, 2014 at 4:35 PM UTC
Hello, this is wonderland
Everyone has gone mad
If you're normal,
This place will change that.
Welcome to wonderland
You'll wonder what's the matter,
When you meet the mad hatter.
You'll wander to that little drink,
That seems to have made you shrink.
But be warned of the cake most of all,
For it will make you grow so tall.
Hello, this is wonderland,
Everyone has gone mad.
If you're normal,
We'll change that.
Welcome to wonderland.
You'll meet the White Rabbit,
And be curious about his habbits.
The Cheshire Cat will be a scare,
Once you see, he's not all there.
Now the Knave of Hearts,
Never stole the Red Queen's tarts.
Hello, this is Wonderland.
Everyone has gone mad.
If you're normal,
We'll change that.
Welcome to Wonderland.
It's a wonderful place,
Here in Wonderland.
There's monsters to face,
Here in Wonderland.
They'll drive you mad,
We can't change that.
If you have any fears,
You'll meet them here,
In Wonderland.
We're all mad here in Wonderland.
Hello, this is wonderland.
Everyone has gone mad.
If you're normal,
We'll change that.
Welcome to Wonderland.
Feb 4, 2015
Feb 4, 2015 at 9:30 PM UTC
I've had my fill of llamas
And of all the woes they bring
For though they stop by frequently
They never say a thing
I find it rather ignorant
That a humpless dromedary
Should force on me its company
But not its commentary
I'm getting sick of llamas
My nights are fraught with dread
They wait until I'm fast asleep
Then bounce around the bed
My slippers smell of llama dung
The carpet's had its day
My house is getting crowded
There's a new one every day
I just can't move for llamas
They're piling up in drifts
Relentless in their appetite
I'm feeding them in shifts
I have to clamber over them
To get to anywhere
Would anyone like a llama?
I would simply love to share
I really can't stand llamas
The ******** just don't quit
And if they don't get their pop-tarts
They've a tendency to spit
They multiply quite rapidly
Devoid of conversation
I think I'll have to leave them
And resume my medication
**
Mar 5, 2015
Mar 5, 2015 at 5:41 PM UTC
I deliver pop tarts
They are taller
Than me
Black jackets
Exotic animals
I don't want to dream anymore
If the scorpions are still on the floor
Frozen crocodile
Frozen aligater
Her mouth isclamped shut, by a rubber band
I don't want to dream anymore
If the scorpions are still
On the floor
Mar 1, 2015
Mar 1, 2015 at 6:18 PM UTC
I remember how sweet your lips,
your cupid's bow,
the very corner of your mouth was
after we made a mess in the kitchen.
(Flour dotted cheeks and noses, the great big wooden spoon sitting dully in the sink, egg-shells laying lonely in the pastel pink ceramic bowl I insisted on buying.)
We made lemon tarts?
Jan 18, 2015
Jan 18, 2015 at 7:25 AM UTC
I am at the curly wolfe
Looking at the spruce trees
Behind them lies an army
of
Stout Little Soldiers
Drinking Lemongrass Tea
With Raspberry Tarts
They yell and squeal and raise their hats
Armed with tiny toothpicks
For to them I am a great blue giant
Peering through the Spruce
Feb 13, 2015
Feb 13, 2015 at 12:07 AM UTC
Custard Tarts
A mouthful of sweetness
yellow;
crust;
chewed slowly, savoring
and the mind goes back
along olfactory pathways
etched long ago
back to turbulent times
of teenage years
and custard tarts, with cinnamon sprinkles
your Dad brought home for Saturday lunch
after working,
trying to keep a bankrupt business afloat
plugging the holes of ineptitude
as the ship sank lower week by week.
A sliver was handed out with the coffee
devoured by all at the table
not much else to remember
except the coldness, the distant demeanor
a start contrast to the warmth of the pies
made with love at the bakers
custard tarts, now and then
sweet!
Malcolm Davidson December 18, 2013
Dec 22, 2013
Dec 22, 2013 at 4:37 PM UTC
WARNING
*Extreme use of profanities
and Gods engaged in an **** of lust
Apology in advance for any offence caused*
SL
At Freyja's Table
******* Gods everywhere
******* here
And ******* there
They ******* **** and ******* ****
Some ******* clean
Some ******* muck
They **** in heaven
And in **** in hell
Cupids got them
under his ******* spell
With ******* arrows
in their ******* hearts
******* priests
******* tarts
******* freaky super powers
******* torrential golden showers
The ******* sparks
******* fly
******* ****** in their eyes
******* Eris causing troubles
******* Bacchus blowing bubbles
******* Sif is ******* Thor
More and more
On the ******* floor
******* Gods everywhere
Tied up with their golden hair
Freyja clears her ******* table
Grabs any God that she's able
And ***** and *****
And licks and *****
******* breathless
Who ******* cares
******* Gods are everywhere
Discarded robes
that lay beneath
******* horns
and clenching teeth
They ******* ***
They ******* squirt
They *** again
Until they hurt
Steaming bodies
Sweaty hair
******* Gods are everywhere
Aug 12, 2014
Aug 12, 2014 at 11:11 AM UTC
*Peanuts, water, healthy snacks.
Frosted flakes, ******* jacks.
Eggs and ham, sausage links.
Tortillas, energy drinks.
Triple chocolate bundt cakes,
Little MiOs, Gatorades.
Cupcakes, twinkies, and pop tarts.
Lots of shopping, I should start.
Buuuut I won't. Cuz I'm lazy.*
Mar 12, 2012
Mar 12, 2012 at 11:54 PM UTC
This morning’s light seemed to blink on,
suddenly, like an urgent message.
It painted the lone, brittle cloud, racing somewhere
warmer, a shocking school-bus yellow.
There’s a -30 degree wind-chill this morning,
my coffee seemed hotter and more comforting.
I usually keep my windows cracked at night
but this air feels aggressive and sharp as a knife.
The quad, usually bustling on weekend mornings,
is empty and the few cars I see are smoking like old steam trains.
I was dreaming of sweets and of walking to “Donut Crazy,”
but that actually would be crazy, if not suicidal.
“Ooo!” I say after digging through the kitchen cupboards, “we have pop-tarts!”
Feb 8, 2023
Feb 8, 2023 at 12:31 PM UTC
Autumn’s snap is in the air
Like the crisp crunch of a ripe apple.
I want to gather them up from
The trees, take them home in bushels
Make apple compote,
Apple strudel,
Apple pie!
I want to stuff them into roast duck
With black walnuts and chestnuts.
I want to poach them with some pears
And sour cherries.
I want to make apple tarts with cranberries.
And feed them all to you.
Flour dust still in my hair,
Powdered sugar on my face
To make love to your appetite
With bits of apple goodies
In the crisp Autumn air - somewhere
On beds of leaves bursting bright
All in the colors of Autumn.
You’ll never think of apples
(or tarts) the same way again.
And Autumn, a little more exotic
A little bit ****** something
To look forward to
When Autumn’s snap is in the air!
© Lin Cava
Oct 21, 2010
Oct 21, 2010 at 7:21 PM UTC
Ryan he likes slags called kim
I wonder if Kim's fat or slim
Is she ugly, is she grim
I guess Kim's good enough for him
Kim she's Ryan's piece of trim
Is it because she licks the rim
Are other slags out on a whim
Maybe their filled up to the brim
Bus stops talk they say so much
They seem to have that magic touch
Slags lives scrawled on shelters hutch
Straight to the point, not double Dutch
No other slags are good enough
perhaps their skanks and far too rough
Slags called Kim, must be so tough
When Ryan does not get enough
Not slags called Julie, Emma or Jane
Jodi and Rachel must be too plain
Just try Michelle, are you insane ?
Limiting tarts is loss not gain
Is Ryan partial to whips and chain ?
And Kim obliges him with pain
Kim must be different with the cane
It's no wonder he wants Kim again
Kim maybe great, from where your stood
She's just a **** who likes hard wood
Come on now Ryan, you know you should
There's other slags that's just as good
Oct 4, 2018
Oct 4, 2018 at 2:15 PM UTC
*" It ought to be solemnized with Pomp and Parade, with Shews,
Games, Sports, Guns, Bells, Bonfires and
Illuminations from one End of this Continent
to the other from this Time forward forever more.”
John Adams – July 3, 1776.*
Webster Groves - 2016
The Townhall fountain dances
cheerily in the morning sun.
The red-white-blue shirted crowd
rises as one for the colors.
Laughing children scramble for
tootsie rolls and sweet tarts
tossed by a strolling clown.
Philadelphia, July 3, 1776
Carriages sped toward Philadelphia
where resolute patriots
would turn the pages of history
and tell an unsuspecting world
that a new nation had given birth to itself.*
Sousa strains peal from the marching Statesmen,
Girl Scouts guide their well-groomed mounts -
hooves echoing through concrete caverns.
Vintage firetrucks and autos
sound their horns and sirens
as candidates work the crowd, pressing the flesh.
*Each crass insult from the British crown
had tightened the noose on the colonial neck.
The middle ground was soaked with patriot blood
and revolution was the only course left.*
Barbecue clouds drift over Pat and Lee’s farm
Horseshoes spin and clang and frisbees fly.
A pot-luck feast with beans and franks
interrupts the pop and glare of bottle rockets.
*One by one, each patriot quilled the parchment
resolved to endure the costs of liberty -
knowing to the marrow that defeat
would spell certain ******* and death.*
We reach the lakeshore at dusk -
unfolding chairs - spreading out blankets -
strains of Americana drift over the lake.
then a pyro-technic extravaganza
blazes across the summer sky.
*Washingon’s tattered and bloodied men
cornered Cornwallis at Yorktown.
Then surrender - all British claims
to American soil banished to the tomes of history.*
The grand finale pummels the darkened sky
raising cheers and whistles from the crowd
Toddlers collapse in parental arms,
car doors slam, engines ignite
and head-lighted caravans, turn for home,
spiraling off in every compass degree.
“Happy birthday,” America and endless happy returns
"from this time forward forever more!”
Robert Charles Howard
Jul 4, 2016
Jul 4, 2016 at 2:07 PM UTC
But I'd rather be where you are, in New York City.
Able to feel the crisp air turning my cheeks pink
and chilling my little knuckles,
to feel you wrap around me as I shudder with every tiny snowflake.
I'd rather be walking along the streets,
with every stoplight in our favor and every cafe open,
welcoming us in for coffee and cake.
I'd prefer you in a long black pea coat and you prefer me in green.
I'd rather it be near Christmas time in the empty part of the city,
where no one can hear you whisper to me.
I'd rather the bakery scents draw us nearer and nearer,
through the park,
down the alleys,
to the heart of Manhattan
and capture us with pungent tarts and little pastries,
waiting,
wishing.
I'd rather you kiss away the crumbs from my cheek
and feel your scruffy jaw against my neck.
Jun 3, 2012
Jun 3, 2012 at 6:11 PM UTC
The sun-setting solitude slowly turning a velvety night
a fine goddess now descending concealing all her might.
a temptress teaching, a mother loving, a judge always right
granting us a freedom from a million corners more to fight.
The dark angel calm shining her blinding beams so bright
searchingly merciful creating still deep inky shadows of light
numb blissfully for those conquered heroes false who slighting
off the straight narrow path of the fair,just and right alight.
Generous is she, the queen majestic enduring all the pain stoic,
our pleasures and folly wise,even joys twisted and distorted vain!
sods poor,fiends rich, the carnal drags and compassionate hearts,
killers cold, sly cons,soaked winos, glitzy stars, gamblers and tarts,
children of a kind all in her ***** mix,playing perfectly their parts
trusting a goddess neither blessing nor reproaching dead impassive
allowing us all a discretion total she is our grand,real mother massive!
I am a son blessed rare,watching neon bathed the nightly circus affected
judging never,comfortably learning with My Nocturnal Angel protected!
Dec 4, 2012
Dec 4, 2012 at 5:44 AM UTC
The boys were allergic
But before Dad came along
Mom had always been a cat whisperer
I saw her do it at a party once
Tongue rolling
Fingers twitching
From across the room
The little panther was entranced
Burn worthy witchcraft
I knew she had a way with birds
But this was something new
Something foreign and beautiful
Surprise surprise
It was a black kitty cat Halloween
Mom cut out ears to attach to my headband
Then drew dark brown eyeliner whiskers
With a triangle on the tip of my 6 year old nose
All in black
Part ninja
Part cat
We were off
Brother and sister
Pillowcases in hand
Noticing my lack of tail Mom called me back
She reached into the costume box and grabbed a long dark braid
With one swift tuck into the back of my pants
An instant flawless feline emerged ready to make her debut
And boy did I play the part
Prancing back from the hunt
There she was silhouetted in the doorway
Tongue rolling
Fingers twitching
******* on sweet tarts
I didn't stand a chance
A family of actors
"Mom, look what I found! Can we keep it?"
They each took turns petting the newest addition
And Dad let out a convincing sneeze
A life I could get used to
Tick Tock the cockatiel
Had better watch her back
E.Poe
Oct 2012
Nov 5, 2013
Nov 5, 2013 at 3:39 AM UTC
stargazing
hot chocolate
music
christmas lights
autumn leaves
cuddling (in theory)
performing
long hugs
flowers
children in grocery stores begging for pop tarts
late night talks
the thought of you
the thought of us
seeing you from afar as I walk into school
Just you
Aug 25, 2014
Aug 25, 2014 at 9:30 AM UTC