Best Treacle Poems
Dripping doorsteps or bubble and squeak
I ate so much I couldn't speak
Apple pie and clotted cream
Used to make my taste buds scream.
Home made parkin or treacle toffee
Steaming mugs of dads camp coffee
Corned beef hash or dumplings and stew
Onion gravy with a Yorkshire pudding or two.
Roast beef sarnies covered with mustard
Sherry trifle with banana custard
Hot steak pie and mushy peas
Cauliflower and melted cheese .
Lemon curd tart or angel cake
The sausage rolls my mum would make
The massive helpings on my plate
Turned me into a heavy weight.
My mother thought it a wonderful sight
To see a child with a healthy appetite
After years of dieting I'm now much thinner
Though I must admit I want my dinner.
Tease me my dear so nicely
Gently and seductively
Soft moonlight across the sea
Grant me wings, a breeze, a kiss.
Warm lasting, a touch of bliss.
Sweet treacle lace upon me
Gently and seductively.
His beryl eyes tease, away
Where a billion stars astray
Mirthful summer windswept day
In a waltz, a will to stay.
Tease me my dear so nicely
Tunes unfurl, indulge in the thrill,
Whilst swaying body fulfill.
Passion aflame my heart still
Flutter weak into his will
Gently and seductively.
In the rhythmic riff till five,
Of music that comes alive
Breathless sensual derive
My eyes reaching for the sky.
Tease me my dear so nicely
Gently and seductively
3/23/2020
A-Muse-Sing Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Richard Lamoureux
Nothing savored Nothing cherished
Chewing wood, spitting silk
Hating every creeping moment
till darkness lowers and laps at my toes
Blessed darkness gives me a cave
where I may retreat from all hateful, glossy life -
oblivion with eyes wide open
Monumental sorrow grinds my guts to dust
Hopelessness, a perversion that licks my ear
and whispers obscene melodies.
An ache to take out the tools
used to mark my hatred on myself
Hope is a lie believed by fools and sinners
That baked desert called my mind spits dust on dreams.
Trapped by iron bars bleeding despair
my face is a pale moon of desolation
peering out on savage scenes of normalcy.
Fingers tremble on the keyboard
longing to smash its plastic against my head.
Some say how sweet and gentle I am
I can’t wait to escape and laugh at their gullibility. . .
had I an ax I would chop off my haunting countenance
and hide the pieces in brown paper bags
flung into back yards around the town
Am I sweet and gentle as they say
but refuse the treacle of the words
Or have I acted upon the stage so well
I have become what I loathe to be
This rhyme may seem strange but each word's truly equal
Now Beetle's tale's done no need for a sequel.
They'd chat by the teazel of matters so lethal
Of sequels and prequels and justice so penal.
In fields green and fetal past signs with a decal
He'd meet Sheetal the Beadle who spoke of things fecal.
With eyes prehensile he'd spot every weevil
And warn all the people of dangers so evil.
This Beetle was legal though far from regal
He'd wheedle and wheeze with his diesel-powered treacle.
He found a gold needle a prize for his easel
And painted a weasel avoiding the measles.
Again there once was a beetle so feeble and small
Who lived in a steeple with people so tall^-^
And painted a weasel avoiding the measles
He found a gold needle a prize for his easel.
This Dung Beetle was again legal though far from regal
He'd wheedle and wheeze with his diesel-powered treacle
And warn all the people of dangers so evil
With eyes prehensile he'd spot every weevil
Again, he'd meet Sheetal the Beadle who spoke of more things fecal
In more fields green and fetal past signs with even more decals
Of sequels and prequels and justice so penal
They'd chat by the teazel of matters so lethal
NOW Beetle's tale's ended again no need for……….a sequel
His adventures were splendid each moment so……….regal.
This rhyme may seem strange but each word's truly equal
A lesson in language both _^_ playful and………. legal
The Dung Beetle though small had a heart brave and true
Proving size doesn't matter in all that we do.
I know this lovely poet,
Her name is Ann Gilmour
She really is an angel,
One that I adore.
She's a best friend of my Auntie,
They have a lot in common,
Parkinson's being one of them
Which is really rather rotten
(Life's not fair)
I first met Ann in February,
At Auntie Liz's seventy
And invited her to come and visit me,
When I found her cousin lives so close you see.
Then I went to Eastbourne,
Ann lives right beside the sea,
In a beautiful penthouse way up high
With stunning views of sea and sky.
It really was pretty.
Now last week whilst I was walking
My dog's Treacle, Bar and Ro
I had to climb a five bar gate
Which proved to be a big mistake
(As someone had removed it from it's hinges)
And over I did go.
I heard my bone snap in my wrist
The pain was so severe
I was soon rescued by my sis
Who was thankfully driving near.
When next morning Ann heard of my plight
She put pen to paper and began to write,
(Or it may have been fingers to keypad!)
"To Restore Your Equilibrium"
A poem written for me,
Entered in to Dear Hearts contest
And got a fourth place win I see.
(Yay congratulations Ann!)
Ann has checked up on my progress
With emails full of virtual hugs
That have brightened up my day
More than any painkilling drugs!
While chatting via the internet
I was getting in such a sweat,
I had a wedding to attend
Of my daughter Lucy's oldest friend
But how would I put on my face
Or get in my Spanx to hold it all in place.
Then Ann soon came up with a rhyme
As witty as can be to
"Celebrate Your Wobbly Bits"
Not to worry how your outfit sits
And let it all hang free.
They say that laughter is the best medicine
I can tell you it is true
It took my mind away from pain
Made me want to write again
(difficult with my non dominant hand)
A little poem just for Ann
To say a BIG THANK YOU.
Hugs and kisses dearest Ann.
in Pando's shadow a young maiden sings
wander'd to and fro peat bog feet sloshing
auburn locks adorned in daisy crowned rings
quite unaware that something was watching
one with thick skinned carion heart at core
to scavenge Middlemist's red camellia
he too delivered from far away shores
a renaissance ratel in rebellion
Leila leisured in shade of quaking aspen trees
treacle honey joys spilled out across her dress
temptation so strong insatiable hunger needs
dark honey badger lept from a tufted hedge
in presence one so endeared, showed no fear
for all beasts, nature's greatest gift bequeath
proffered morsel from open hand as he neared
inquisitive eyes belied soft heart and sharp teeth
forest branches embraced the two in nosh
as trembling giant's rustling now subdued
ladybugs flit from branch to dew covered moss
fingers stroked rough fur nape to back as he chewed
two walked ancestral shores as newfound kin
sniff'g this way and that among tufted pearls
claws tap entranced her soft cooing voice hymn
face framed in rivulets long carefree curls
long past gone Leila's song through far away gates
honey badger' forest friend rests - Pando waits
Written: November 06, 2025, for contest Sponsored by: Karen Jones
****************************
December can be a seraphic break ... not a trek through squalor—
No wheezy winds, no stygian moods ... no suction of sodden days,
Let it simmer with the warmth ... of rapture and rosemary stew.
Let the nimbus sky festoon the trees ... with blithesome skeuomorph snow—
Each flake is a serendipity whisper ... a spark of pure grace,
Let the river rime ripple ... as a rakish scarf on the hills.
Let the roost resound with stories ... sages, and escorts alike—
While the air sizzles with ... mellifluous sigh and a hint of lard,
Let the rugged year resile ... ratified by insight and treacle.
Let the vault of stars above ... be a tailored zenith of light —
A quixotic quilt stitched by ... Siamese dreams and slack-jawed awe,
Let bleak hours resile into ... symbiosis with joy, not scorn.
Allow the standard hush of snow ... to soften the slur of time —
And a slender sickle of hope ... scythes the stench of the past,
Let December be the soul of ... what we almost dared to believe.
Written: May 2nd, 2026, for a contest sponsored by Seth Pina
Based on the Poem: The Artist
5th place contest winner
******************
It begins as a breath, barely born—
a lucent little longing that should have stayed liminal,
Yet it irrupts, unabated,
threading itself through the chiaroscuro of my thoughts.
I tell myself it is otiose,
a passing flicker, a quixotic quirk of the mind—
but it grows tensile, treacle-thick,
a rumbustious rhapsody refusing to evanesce.
Your name—your very sobriquet—
becomes a mellifluous mantra,
an epizeuxis echoing in the marrow,
a chant I never meant to memorize.
I wander through hours like a wayward opsimath,
learning too late how fixation forms its own theology—
how a single presence can become
a sacrosanct symbiosis of ache and awe.
Every thought is festooned with your outline,
every silence redolent with your imagined breath;
even the air feels janiform,
half mine, half yours,
as if the world itself has chosen sides.
I try to exculpate myself
from this inchoate imbroglio,
but obsession is a sagacious sherpa—
It knows the steepest path
and drags me up it anyway.
And still—
beneath the nadir of night,
in the hush where hubris dissolves—
I feel the truth unfurl:
That obsession is not hunger,
nor hubris,
nor hecatomb of reason—
but the amaranthine ache
of wanting to witness beauty
so completely
that it finally
witnesses you back.
I looked forward to my school dinner
While I was at school
The teachers made us stand in a line
You see that was the school rule.
As I took my dinner plate
And walked down the line
The sight of all the lovely food
I wished it was all mine.
There was steak pie and carrots
Mashed potatoes too
The dinner lady looked at me
And said this one is for you.
I walked back to the table
With a big grin on my face
I would eat every little bit
I didn't leave no waste.
Then there was puddings
wow, wasn't that a treat
There was spotted dick and treacle tart
As much as I could eat.
The meals were free we had at school
Because Mum and Dad was poor
And if we put our hands up
We could ask for more.
Yes, all those school dinners
I remember very well
Especially those gorgeous puddings
They made my belly swell.
Jam roly poly, treacle sponge
And sticky toffee pudding head the top of my list
But apple pie, rhubarb crumble
Or a decent cheesecake are hard to resist
Banana splits, eclairs or brownies
Dumplings, nougat, cheese board or mousse
Crème brûlée. Fruit cocktail. Yoghurt
Serve it up and set me loose!
Rice pudding, Christmas pudding
Let me say it loud and clear
Summer pudding, Eve's pudding
Figgy pudding - bring it here
Cottage pudding, Diplomat pudding
Pancakes served throughout the year
Plum pudding, mango pudding
Put it on a plate and cheer
Hasty pudding, Saxon pudding
Vanilla pudding, chocolate pud
Yorkshire pudding filled with treacle
Make winter evenings warm and good
Sussex Pond pudding, sweet biscotti
Semolina (if that counts?!)
Panna cotta, profiteroles
Gâteaux. Meringues in any amount
I guess spotted dick is a bit of a worry
But to bread and butter pudding, I say "bring it on!"
I could plan on a flan, or a lardy cake
Or butter with glee my scone or scon'
Mince pies, cobblers, baklavas, strudels
Loaves and pastries - all tell a story
Even blancmange has a heritage
To match or beat our knickerbocker glory
There's fruit tarts, jam tarts, custard tarts, egg tarts
Milk tarts, cheese tarts, butter tarts too
Tarts from Manchester, Liverpool and Bakewell
French tarts, Jamaican tarts - to name but a few
Buns from Chelsea, cakes from Eccles
Wafers and muffins from all over the place
Doughnuts filled with jam or chocolate
Made to squirt on your shoulder or face
Strawberries & Cream, Eton Mess
Artic rolls and brandy snaps
Trifles should always be trifled with
If laced with sherry - it's a perfect nightcap
Sorbets leave the palate tingling
Fritters fritter your cares away
Waffles and crêpes warm the spirit
And sundaes are perfect for every day
So, whatever we may call them -
Be it puddings, sweets, desserts or afters
They taste best when shared with company
Served with a spoon, a smile and laughter
Part 3
9th Delerium: Emptyness
Water wheels in wastelands... turning,
drowning relics in the slum
Rumpled rags of fashioned burlap... burning,
lit by bandits blind and dumb
Pastured prisons, ponies bridled ... yearning,
forest fairies under thumb
Sounds inside of cauldrons coughing... churning,
blaring bugles, tattooed drum
10th Delirium: Alienation
Rain unravelling, wistfully weeping... falling,
treacle trickling, fickle sky
Mushrooms sprinkled, visions sprouting... sprawling,
seagulls drowning, dolphins die
Rabble gasping, spirits broken... crawling,
lonely lonesome swallows cry
Babbling brooks and breakers ebbing... bawling
puppies paddle, puppets sigh
People passing ripple past me... calling,
rainbow colours, collars high
Chaos seething, lepers looting... stalling,
stealing stallions on the sly
Pencils pausing, scholars scrambling... scrawling,
scratching scribbles, asking why
11th Delirium: Jetsam
Silver sails sway pallid pirates... prowling,
Jolly Rogers, wind and sound
Parrots perching, tattered feathers... fouling,
tethered talons, tied and bound
Shipwrecked foghorns, trumpets stranded... howling,
spiral springs of time unwound
Magic moonlight, shimmers shaking... scowling,
burnt out matchsticks washed aground
Prairie wolfs, coyotes calling... yowling,
witching hours, midnight hounds
Tightrope walkers, grizzlies grunting... growling,
seeking islands, lost and found
12th Delirium: Relief
Slumber shattered, vapours captive... haunting,
chained in mirrors, breaking free
Scarlet skylines, daylight dawning... daunting,
rivers rushing to the sea
Silence softens, sandmen whisper... wanting,
piercing rafters, turning keys
Shadows shudder, notions fluster... flaunting,
moonbeam bullets meant for me
Mind in migraine, meadows trembling... taunting,
sparrows speak in harmony
REAWAKENING
Pitter patter, teardrops paling... pearling,
salting scarves in secret drawers
Mist amongst us, smoke rings rising... curling,
climbing from the ocean floors
See-saw circles, senses swerving... swirling,
swept away with silver oars
Courtyard jesters, sceptres twisting... twirling,
push the past to foreign shores
Passing pangs of passions heaving... hurling,
burning bridges, closing doors
Roses wither, icons waning... whirling,
time decays and time restores
End
Nutritionist, diabetes or
dietician
All to be unheeded in my
sweet tooth's opinion.
For how can I abandon
That chocolate canyon?
And same goes for yummy
chocolate fudge
Eh to a trifle could I bear
any grudge?
Ah treacle or caramel pudding
And apple crumble needs no
bidding
The craving wishes to devour
the dessert
Few would desert a tasty jam
tart!
Not forgetting swiss rolls and
cup cakes
and whatever other
sweetmeats the baker bakes.
Ah custards, ice-creams,
muffins and jellies
the only deterrent perhaps, the
fear of rounded bellies
Only if the dietician would
recommend instead
to cut down on leafy grassy
veggie salad
For if there was for it a polling
booth
I'd vote in favour of my sweet
tooth!
From a BMW
Slower than snails, slower than slugs,
Holdens, Hondas, and Volkswagen bugs;
All crawling along in slow moving lanes
On the fast freeway, bypassed by the trains.
All of the views from the passenger seat
Flow as thick as treacle sweet;
And once in a while, when you nod off to sleep,
The guy behind you, his horn will beep.
There is a boy who’s desperate to pee
And he’s not by himself, there’s also me.
Here is a cafe; the sky’s getting dark,
There’s no way to stop, there’s nowhere to park.
Here is a cyclist, his bike flying past
Whizzing along, going so fast.
Here is another, and there’s one more,
I close my eyes, we’re stuck for sure.
apologies to R L Stevenson. (from a railway carriage)
Forget your Greek grammar,
And your algebra, top set,
Brush aside history, economics even if your grades are a sure bet,
And I'll tell you why,
For knowledge money cannot buy,
And that's cake, yes cake.
Whether it's cheese, chocolate or creamy and layered,
You tell me what's the sure fire preference?
Another jammy finger licking wedge, or an obscure civil war reference?
Sorry! Calm down, you just don't seem to be on the same recipe page,
Yes ok, Marx, Aristotle and even Einstein, wise, sage touching the sky,
Yeah right, when did any of them knock up a half decent mince pie?
Ok,ok but you say it's not the point but it is a fact,
And yes I personally take it to heart,
I'm not going to trust anybody who can't cook a blinding treacle tart.
Lets face it, it's all about priorities, and degrees centigrade or fahrenheit,
No, seriously when you're down with nobody to offer advice,
Can't you see there's solace in the next sticky slice.
It's cake, that's the answer, not to your questions, I'll grant you,
But to your cravings, frustrations and failings,
So who cares about syntax and what rhymes with silver?
That Socrates was right and who's Pitt the Elder?
No, here it's time to cut to the chase, it's now, make or break,
We must all rise up and demand more cake!
pancakes barbara with cream
a buckwheat galette
haddock,prawn savoury wraps
brandy crepe suzettes
dribbled with treacle
Flip,flip Hoo
Ray!