You Follow me home because I’m scared of strangers
I know what’s looming behind me
I know you carry a knife in your pocket
But it’s ok
only mysteries scare me
You Drown me in a bath
Than lay me out in the sun to dry
In the drip dried summer that sank
Like a glass ball in a jar of molasses
You Swim in a sea of my blood
Cause It’s the same as loving me
Don’t think
Just take it
I wade by the shore
and don’t go where I can’t touch
You knock my heart on granite
Its an egg you will to crack
The jar tips over,
black syrup spilling across the floor,
slow as grief.
I try to mop it up,
but it clings to everything—
the tiles, my hands,
the soles of my feet.
By the time the floor is clean,
the room smells like a funeral—
but I have it on good authority
that the animals were saved.
Whew.
Boston’s deadly awful Molasses Flood happened in 1919.
It caught people unaware, they were floating in a stream.
Houses were crashing down, it was a horrible terrible scene.
Hundreds lost their lives, so could no longer live their dream.
after taking classes
to make pancakes with molasses
we must move our asses
(while making advances)
(we were all aghast)
(were burned to ashes)
(against head bashes)
(have been on branches)
(cooked in clay by Cassius)
(we made mad dashes)
(elegant and enhances)
(eaten by Erasmus)
(received from a Fascist)
(found by Pope Francis)
(get to see the gashes)
(stuck with long lances)
(on them all passes)
(head against smashes)
(seen flying through sashes)
(they left you in long trances)
(found in famous people's trashes)
(when talking trashes)
(terrible thrown in trashes)
Lame lyrics of lost love penned by sweatered sirens
deep as divots, shallow as puddles
Doesn’t teenage angst get old by the time you’re thirty?
I’d think so, yet the lackeys lap it up like maple syrup
I derive my dirges from a deeper well
dredging the depths
the abyss of my essence
bringing it to the surface in buckets
thick as black molasses
ponderous to pour, painful to process
Reopening every wound
Exposing each scabrous scar
My lifeblood spread in red puddles on the floor
until I’m drained dry and there’s no more
not a drop remaining to be wrung out of me
Bruised, broken, and sore I struggle to strike the match
setting it all afire
throwing myself on the pyre
She’s a tedious lecture after a heavy meal,
A glacier inching coolly toward the sea.
She’s sluggish and poky, a dawdling bore,
A long drawn-out adagio, a passive devotee.
She’s tardy in attendance, and belated, as a rule.
Her lethargic applications lack dispatch.
Her dilatory effort winds the thread around the spool.
Her needlepoint is anything but rash.
Her slothful intervention into indolent affairs
Leaves her anchor dragging in the mud.
But even though she’s running at a laggard’s pace,
I sit here waiting patient, as I should.
hope for my cure flowing like molasses . . .feeling now nearly tapped out
Aug 25, 2020 for Silent One's "When Plans Dont Go To Plan" Poetry Contest
Grandma molasses is tasty
I pour it onto pancakes
Sometimes I have french toast
I pour on the grandma molasses
On vanilla ice cream so tasty
I use to have flavour
Now I use it all the time
When there is a flavour
That I am not fond of
Then I use grandma molasses
This is a flavour I enjoy
It makes the taste better
Now I use it all the time
It is made in Canada
if i drank coffee
i'd ask her to come
swim in my cup
she's better then cane
better then maple
she's brown
sugar
Preheat quite low, wee pinch for color flow
A little bit of molasses dripped slow,
with a bit of lemon and watch skin glow.
Sprinkle cayenne pepper for warmth and blow.
Strike lite blows, cream all the way to the, "Ow,"
repeat stroke a little harder, "sweet Joe."
Cream the butter and brown sugar and throw
evenly round the bottom and below
to taste till hot stiff peaks, "loving you so."
Excellent with your hot coco, you know.
12/30/2019
Poetry Contest: First Time Here - Any Monorhyme
Sponsored by: William Kekaula
10 lines / 10 syllables per line
Ice cream and water
Why, even bother
Cinnamon peanut, butter
Fresh churn collards
what is the purpose of man
Cooking in saucepans
On the stoves and. . .
candy under the iron
flavored running water, (nobody's trying)
who'd taught us?
taught us
Spring not a well
Floured fishes
Like golden fishes
Pepperidge Farm Goldfish
wHo placed the Carmel on the stove to long
Cause it burn, it's burn
Carmel left on the stove
what do you mean you didn't know
Honey Hut Cheerio's, Sugar Pop's oh! I meant Smacks
who'd taught us?
taught us
Spring not a well
Floured fishes
Like golden fishes
Pepperidge Farm Goldfish
Raisin Bran, Captain Crunch
Ice meltdown to water on the back porch
I didn't even call yo warm turn to boil
Faded brown orange tan sugar syrup
Leaves me with
without ashes. . .
Burnt Molasses
04/3/14
written by James Edward Lee Sr.
My lips drip molasses as thick as the blood that flows through me. I am seasoned to perfection delighting in my appetite. Bittersweet sonnets play in the backroom as I revel delicacies. The night shows suspense as i lay on my bed,curtains swaying with the wind. My mind is at rest and my dreams are abundant. I close my eyes and hear the tempo of music being sung.
When all the bells
And all the whistles
Are packed away
And put back in their wrappers
Where is my wandering attention bound to go
Faced with the prospect of entering another cold winter season
With no sun to heal these festering lesions
And I am not saying life is all bad
Rather it is a hard time of year
Where dreams turn into clashes
And the springs in a once proud mattress
Make even sleep feel like molasses
Maybe tomorrow my angel will come
And I will look back on this
As nothing more than the ramblings of bliss
nicotine stained fingers
tap ashes
into a shot glass half
full of midnight molasses
amber buzz in my
bones
watching from across the room
she knows i got a jones
she got a body i want
to own
lickin, my lips- lettin' her know
i'm full grown
just sittin' here tryin'
to get my lie together
i ain't gonna lie
i want us to ride together
lying so i can love her
better
and, yeah, so i can
peel her out that sweater
grab a napkin from the bar
intent on writing her a letter
expressing how i wish we were alone
the first time that i met her
order me another shot
of that midnight molasses
glance back across the room
her and him are tapping glasses