"molasses" poems
you should sleep.
*i can't. are you tired?*
*no, i wanna talk to you.*
sunlight streaming through windows,
soft skin,
a dream with warm brown eyes,
a sleepy snowfall of kisses and snowflakes stuck to eyelashes,
honey spilling over the floor,
love spilling through lips,
sleep stuck under fingernails and pulling mouths into long drawn out yawns,
the night leaving its soft bruises under eyes,
hearts beating slow as the sun creeps its way up through the sky,
time dripping like molasses
goodnight
goodnight
*i love you*
*i love you too*
Dec 13, 2017
Dec 13, 2017 at 12:15 PM UTC
melanin molasses, the sweetest courtship attracts the ones who have never glittered
white bullets love to kiss black skin
black on black crucificton, a gospel orchestrated by the higher powers
****** puddles lay with the concrete during the darkest hours
night bullets play white doves during the matrimony of the bottom barrels life and its fast stint.
honeymoon candles lit by the masters matches, africans seek this artificial light in times where heavens white lights could greet them with a smile and roses that are wilted.
- t.m
Dec 11, 2016
Dec 11, 2016 at 1:06 PM UTC
---
I've done some research
On cancer's cause
Western medicine, Dr Oz.
They don't have answers, I'm afraid.
And the cure is in what GOD made.
Cancer's vector? A simple virus.
A parasite and a fungus.
Candida overgrowth.
Radiation. Stress.
We all face this in the West.
So are there answers? Well. Let's see.
Tell me if you don't agree.
Sodas should go down the drain
They have sugar or aspertame.
Sugar feeds cancer. Cut it out!
I KNOW that this will make you pout
But you can find nuts a tasty treat
Find some that you like to eat!
Say NO to coffee. All caffeine.
Eat kale and other leafy greens.
If you want nutrition saved
Cut the cord on your microwave!
They watered plants
with water nuked
They died. Nutrition down the tubes.
So no TV dinners. Processed foods.
No fruits or veggies grown GMOs.
WHEAT is bad! And on it goes.
So it may cost a little more?
Shop your local health food store!
What does it matter?
What's cancer's cost?
And your life will not be lost!
If you tire of reading this
There may be important
things you miss... READ ON!
NATURAL REMEDIES FOR CANCER
Blackstrap molasses. 1 tablespoon
Baking soda. 1 teaspoon
Mix with a glass of water and drink.
(Baking soda should be found at
a health food store)
Blackstrap molasses can also be used
topically for skin cancer.
Tincture of the husk of the
Black walnut nut. 2 drops
Tincture of clove. 2 drops
Tincture of wormwood. 2 drops
Mix in a glass of water and drink. Add lemon and honey.
It'll taste better.
IMPORTANT!
DO NOT USE TAP
OR BOTTLED WATER!
Get distilled water and add
Minerals in liquid form.
Your health food store will have this.
There are many herbs and spices
Which help.
There's iodine in common kelp.
Turmeric
Cucumin
etc.
VERY POWERFUL
Soursop tea. Green tea sans caffeine
Fresh vegetables of the rainbow...
Colors are viamins!
Vitamin supplements
Especially B-17
If you can't find these in your
Health food store ask them to order.
Or go on Amazon and order.
Sep 26, 2015
Sep 26, 2015 at 4:07 PM UTC
I breathe in this silence that is not
Silenced,
Air alive with heartbeats and
Clocks ticking too slow,
Eyes meeting over
Sticky plastic tables,
Snapping away like an awkward blind date,
Fingertips drumming impatiently.
Wait.
Calm.
Be patient.
Tick...tock........tick...............tock
I can't, I won't, my son laying
One floor, 3 hallways, 12 rooms away,
But we are relegated to the hospital cafeteria as if my husband and I are naughty schoolchildren,
Interfering.
My red shirt crumples beneath
Nervous fingers,
The same shade as the blood given
To my son, not knowing it contained
Death.
Why can't I fight with my son,
My son,
Shining brightly and boldly as the sun,
Infected with a blood-borne killer we were never warned about.
Hemophilia is a tough diagnosis,
But my careful worrying wasn't enough to save him from a
Diagnosis of ostracism and certain death.
AIDS.
Oh God.
Breathe.
Can't breathe.
Time moves too fast, my son racing towards eternity
Alone.
White sheets and sterile beds rob
My son of all his sunshine,
Lips blue and pale like my husband's jacket,
Nothing but incessant beeping and bustling nurses who can't fix him,
Clock going tick, tock, tick, tock.
I see red.
Red dripping into and out of his arms through silver needles,
How do I know that this is safe,
No one knows if this is safe,
This is our only hope.
Tick..tock.....tick........tock.
White coat of the doctor moving too quickly towards us,
We run.
My heart thumping red and my stomach yellow bile and my eyes leaking blue.
Hospital room not room enough for all my emotions,
All of my tears,
All of my grief,
All his last breaths.
My son.
No longer my sunshine,
Just a pale winter afternoon,
No sun beneath cold sheets of snow.
My son.
Time moves too slow when everyone wears black,
Like molasses dripping from a jar into
Metallic air and earthy graves.
Like ash clouding out the sun.
My son.
No more my sun.
Jul 13, 2014
Jul 13, 2014 at 1:16 PM UTC
i fight to peel each moment
of pure stagnation
off of me
a tinnitus cacophony whines in my ears
as my dilapidated fan
keeps slow rhythm to the faucet drip
minutes drag like molasses
handcuffed to the daily lag
groundhog day
i escape into the forest
running, the breeze caresses my face
wildlife pries open my desperate eyes
a spider’s web bends and sways in the wind
fine strands of silver silk flow
soaring they meld in crescent waves
a butterfly glides gently by
befriending gusts of air
softly breathing in another tomorrow
the conductor of the symphony
with sculptor’s hands i cannot see
whispers ever graciously
life is not your enemy
drink it in and let it seep
drop your sword i’m molding thee
©2016janetaylor
May 6, 2016
May 6, 2016 at 4:58 PM UTC
The smells of caramel, citric fruit and bread being licked by flames,
The colour. Black. Deep and rich. As if it was oil taken from the ground,
The taste is different, bitter, and earthy, contrasted by molasses, and sweet almonds,
This is how my day begins.
Jun 16, 2015
Jun 16, 2015 at 12:39 PM UTC
A little promiscuous thought.
Bubbling to the surface of your mind
like molten rock from earths core,
It rises
rises
rises
rises
until it reaches the brim
Then without any warning
It erupts, and destroys everything.
The ashy residue comes raining down
cloaking the once green valley with blackness
the melted rock moving like molasses down the hill
turning everything that once was
into nothingness.
After the disaster seems over,
Things will regrow from the madness
Just waiting for the next eruption.
Just need some way
to control my volcano.
Apr 16, 2014
Apr 16, 2014 at 6:30 PM UTC
We went through the motions
Until all went motionless
(The otter frollicked turning everything
into a game of joy to being alive)
Touch became accidental at best to our ways
Once we could touch but now nothing more
(The otter nipped at the turtle
flipped about as it played)
Words dripped from our tongues
Heavy like molasses as the intent fades away
(Down the grass the otter slides into the river
Over and over like a little child)
Reason lost to accusations , accusations took it's toll .
Accusations took our time , creating false crime
(I watch as the otter swims on it's way
Dipping , diving to where I can't say)
Now I sit in the darkness with full moon fever
Wondering how could something turn so wrong that once was so right
Apr 30, 2015
Apr 30, 2015 at 8:20 PM UTC
His ***** tongue infuses every phrase
She glazes, spreads like honeyed butter
into the words.
Trickling slowly
Oh, so slowly
Through each stanza
This is her molasses moment
She is ready for his pen
to catch her syrup drips, to stop this slick
Becoming a pool.
May 21, 2014
May 21, 2014 at 4:28 PM UTC
Coagulated blood dried out from the sun, footprints pressed into the mud from a night on the run, chased and ravaged, pressed against a tree with emotions gutted.
Mutilated and dying, I'm laying under falling stars, saturated skies and underlying scars, every conversation with you feels like being run over by a highway full of cars.
Blood screaming from a cautourised wound travels farther than your ability to listen to reason, wide eyed, your pasteurized white eyes seem cold but searing like the flesh of a steaming heathen.
Necrosis sets in on the heaping pile of me drudged upon the roots of my personification, watch the black blood slipping through the dirt like molasses as it climbs over your teeth and grips the lips before it passes, blood loss is creating a hallucination.
Watch as I become hollow from your cannibalistic lifestyle. Your desperation, human flesh you defiled, mindless separation, our family's bodies stuffed in a corner and piled, you became a Wendigo, a wicked transmorgification.
Jan 16, 2016
Jan 16, 2016 at 9:01 PM UTC
Some days I wake up with my neck slick
beads of sweat soak the pillowcase,
my hair as though I've been bobbing for apples.
Perhaps I should be.
I'm starving, I think,
for the kind of knowledge which is dubbed
forbidden or shrouded,
hidden.
Written in redwoods,
eyes like nebulae
and sandstone futures.
If I could read the Andes like braille, what revelations would
erupt?
I'm yearning to greet the haunts and beetles once my clock
runs out.
But I lie
awake
and am greeted by
no one.
I'm frozen, now,
with molasses
feet
like running from the Golem in a January dream.
My fingertips leave damp, checked cotton, reaching out with an earnest desperation, and
I'm left sticky, swatting at vapors.
Apr 29, 2017
Apr 29, 2017 at 4:48 PM UTC
On Fridays, I cannot have you.
Though the faraway look combs through the glances, the heads lowering and longing
On Fridays, I cannot have you.
The icicle street of perturbing yellow parallel lines and molasses traffic that seems to rake the people across pavement into curvatures of avoidance keep me running.
On Fridays, I cannot have you.
I repeat it, a gesturing phrase, recurring, as I watch the transcendent glow, a denouement to a one-sentence story.
On Fridays, I cannot have you.
Could have: (What will save the moment in untickable preservation?)
On Fridays, I cannot have you.
Oct 18, 2013
Oct 18, 2013 at 1:09 PM UTC
seductive effective cutlass sadistic
serendipity and la la la
licorice liquor lick her and plastic
roses rise relentless resentment
time mime rhyme desire
sentiment sincerely aspire admire
anonymous synonymous simultaneous symmetry
molasses disastrous syntactic mirrorly
Samir sincere severe severe
la la la love na na na never
samirly this way
suicide sinister cynical silence
stop and stare
care and share
love with or without violence
sloppy seconds menace a menace
minus a life structure dependence
relevance relevance irrelevance
sense tense and meaninglessness
sincerely samirly
synthetic systemic sense
cents cents
sense sense
cents
Sep 19, 2012
Sep 19, 2012 at 12:23 AM UTC
Sugar, satin, and spices
Every girl has her vices
Words slip out like sweet molasses
Time slows down as each one passes
Take me captive in your arms
Each breath you take calms and warms
Let this moment never pass
Love me now, like no one has.
Jun 10, 2012
Jun 10, 2012 at 8:02 PM UTC
Black oil,
Tarnished the white sands of a paradise that is,
No longer a paradise,
Because no matter how much you try to clean it up,
It will always be a shade darker than it used to be.
Not fully regaining its color.
The thick molasses no longer holds it together,
Africa, seems broken beyond repair.
Diamonds don't shine as bright as Rihanna suggested.
Instead they glow red,
With the blood stains of the innocents,
Slaughtered for wedding rings.
Bullets...
Cutting into the flesh of my ancestors,
Like those very diamond cutting into glass,
Because what is life compared to,
A piece of rock?
There is a pseudo-melodramatic darkness that,
Echoes off of every piece of light they reflect.
Sitting only on the fingers and necks
Of the people who can afford them,
As fingers and necks were chopped and severed for them.
I am unable to identify with the cries that still manage to,
Resonate within the wind,
Apparently...
I am the only one that can hear it.
Jun 12, 2014
Jun 12, 2014 at 2:26 PM UTC
Soft shapes touch a child's finger,
Memories of their sweetness linger--
Helping grandma roll the dough
In her kitchen long ago.
I like the shape your cookies take
When they spread out as they bake,
Like the changing shapes of crowds,
Melting snow or summer clouds.
Oven-hot and placed on racks,
Lined up , lying on their backs,
Coming from a single batch,
But none of them a perfect match.
Toll house cookies, soft, convex,
Each perfection, like the next:
Chocolate chips their surface grace--
Freckles on a child's face.
Pecan ball aren't perfect spheres,
But they're gentle little dears:
Bottoms flat, sides dented slightly,
With white sugar sprinkled lightly.
Sugar cookies cold days cheer,
Shaped like angles and reindeer
Glazed with frosting sweet and white,
Decked with sprinkles all delight.
Santa's Whiskers, coconut rolled,
Long fat logs of sugared dough,
Cut in portions smooth and round,
Pecan bits, cherries abound.
Molasses crinkles' faces lined
Like old men's--the friendly kind--
With lines like back roads on a map,
Dunked in milk before a nap.
Oatmeal cookies, shapes amorphous
Juicy raisins budge enormous,
Semi-blobs, their texture rough,
Sometimes packed with nuts and stuff.
So many cookies through our life,
Since we became husband and wife,
In their sweet aroma and taste
Years rushed by like cars in a race.
Looking at their shapes diverse
Reminds me of our love at first:
We weren't sure just where we'd go
And all we had was cookie dough.
Dec 17, 2017
Dec 17, 2017 at 11:05 AM UTC
There’s a place, where licorice vines have climbed,
Deep in the night, that only children can find;
Where leaves of waxed paper on trees are hung,
And what grows on the branches is sweet to the tongue.
Garlands of butterscotch, chocolate, and mint,
In their bright wrappers, sparkle, and glint;
Bubbling springs of sarsaparilla, through the valley are poured,
Washing sugar beaches with reeds of sour chord.
Swedish fish swim in soda geysers with bliss,
While fizzing pop-rocks spurt, spittle, and hiss.
Sunset clouds of cotton candy sweep past in the sky;
Trees sway in the delicious breeze that smells like apple pie.
Skies will rain down skittles, when there is a storm,
Pelting molasses window panes in a giant swarm;
Sour gummi worms are dug up, free to take,
In the grainy, nutmeg layers of the coffee cake.
Carmel creams, Mary Janes, Black Jacks, and Almond Joys,
Coconutties, Jawbreakers, Carmel Rolos and Long Boys--
All these grow, in lines straight as peppermint sticks,
Planted in brown sugar, on fields of cinnamon toothpicks;
But when the sun lets out its first ray,
The entire land just melts away
And children don’t remember where they’ve been,
That whole night asleep, but they wake with a grin;
And through the whole day, their dreams will entice,
Until they visit again, the Land of Sugar and Spice.
8/9/11
Jul 10, 2012
Jul 10, 2012 at 4:32 PM UTC
Just in case you didn’t know
My mind is low,
You’re reading these scribbles now
This boring man, talks and talks
About government
It’s really not a godsend
This boring man gives his back
And too much slack
This country is on ******* crack
I’m done takinf pointless notes
That I won’t look at
This boring man is very fat
I want to leave and **** ****
A lovely deed,
This boring man; monotone
Boring man is trying to be cool
He’s a ******* fool
He needs to be in a box, he’s a tool
This boring man, always boring
To my left I hear snoring
Boring man, walk out the door!
Time as of now is molasses
Minutes are hours
**** government and their powers
Democrat, republican, libertarian
You’re all wrong
Hey, pass me that ****
Boring man cannot teach
I just wish,
I was at the sunny beach
Hell, I’d be anywhere
Not here but there
I don’t care, this guy has no flare
25 minutes, oh my lord,
I’m so bored
Not as much as the boring man
This is getting out of hand
Against government
Let’s all get up and stand!
Jun 1, 2011
Jun 1, 2011 at 8:31 PM UTC
corundum puppies and you begin to wonder if
they’ll ever move again not
much escapes your midas touch
you used to organgrind your teeth and
nails at the dusty mayhem floors
(it’s suppertime baby let’s
**** some airtime by eating the fish right off the
CAUTIONwet
hardwood as they gasp for air so we
gasp for blood)
seashell lakeshore pumpkinpatch painting of
bugjuice spattered on the back windshield;
you’re not afraid of
a little fog.
not enough
sodium in the air (not enough
salt in your wounds) and
you begin to choke on the potassium of our
bananasplit ages ago;
if you’re eating
your own molasses words
please make sure you spit them back
out again where the children can have them
they wouldn’t say no to
something sweet
Oct 24, 2012
Oct 24, 2012 at 1:05 PM UTC
The needle-tip,
a bee sting
giving rise to a hive.
A sickening delirium
coursing mercurial under eyelids,
tapeworms and tendrils
weaving wildly:
teeming, churning tides breaking over
greedy teeth (a needy mouth
flaying flesh ferociously,
a fevered wolverine
whipping through a petting zoo).
Each agonizing second
slowly sliding by,
tacky molasses on cloth
covering a table in an innocuous
American home
bruises on mother's face
fade (eggplant to jaundice
to the crimson of the setting sun
dying behind the horizon
line {chopped across a counter-top
like a broken promise...}).
All the lives we compromise
trying to cage a swarm.
Jan 18, 2013
Jan 18, 2013 at 11:52 PM UTC
Yeah it's one shot one ****
Plottin' against my enemies will soon to be killed
Bullets feedin' ya last meal
Dope rhymes sedatin' like pharmacy pills
Since hataz got no chill heads I'll drill now you leakin' out like oil spills
Or a radiator angelic caters none could create a
Flows nasty as mine poppin' a multiplicity of shells I'm one of a kind
Thoughts intertwined
****** into a demons intervention contenders in suspension from the soul lynching
Caught in the realms of heaven and hell & you can smell
The ashes burning fermentin'
time runnin' slower than molasses
My murders be classic enemies dramatic causin' static
Shoot more than Bird combined with Magic
Workin' my Johnson on the tracks tonsils sittin' as a hip hop consul underground magul
**** longer than Repunzels hair follicles
Cookin' up sigils into a *** of gold no rainbow snortin' sir nose
D'void of Funk rattlin' the earth from the bass in my trunk blazin' skunks
Abraxas I'm embracin' one of my goetias when facin' ain't no replacin'
Fools givin' chase
and to tastes of demonic faces
My flows replenish like **** laces
Blunts turn into ashes dump it out on the masses
Epidemic mase deaden your pace hazardous like toxic waste
Adversaries don't wanna face
Off like Nicolas to Travolta livin' in an ultra violent culture
Cleatin' into ya flesh I be the stalkin' Vulture mulchin' ya
'til ya
A dissembled particle blank photo in the article from curvin' emcees with my surgical
lyrical sickle stare into ya eyes as the blood trickles
Down ya body you easily brickled rhymes artificial
My soul sour as a pickle no tickles
Could move me or influence thee my legacy
Lay cinematography like A. Hitchcock in the 50s huh
Ya soon to be a death reel for thrills
Rememeber
All I need is one shot one **** forreal!!!!
Aug 27, 2018
Aug 27, 2018 at 4:57 PM UTC
applying his
lingual buds
to the smooth
lush of her
thighs she rippled
as a lava lake,
no stone skipped
just
melting milk, lapped up
in hungry pulses
cream of silk
pounding thunder
in consonants of
taut skin drum
nuances in vowels
uttered in
animal dissonance
his bristled breath
all over her
fingers
salivary intentions
over rim of lip
feeding the emptiness,
a holy vessel
more ancient than
before time
now ready
to be filled by the
essence of feminine
pineapple juice drizzling
firebud glistening
in fuchsia exposure
open gateway
to divine outpour
a sacrificial altar
of unmasked psyche
completely stripped of
any pellicle
his palms firmly
planted in hot muscle
thumbs parting
glory's hole
deer at the saltlick
lost in the velvet
just pour it in
thick molasses
not stifling,
only honeyed bark
multi-hued like
eucalyptus deglupta
in buttery tips
dripping love,
all over her lips
and just like that, in
slick-painted dabs
of their own
acrylic-drip art
just like that
in the wild
and thick
explodes the ache
of her
ripped
apart
heart
Jul 14, 2017
Jul 14, 2017 at 7:09 PM UTC
my veins pump molasses
my dry heart belongs to the desert sands and i
cough
i cough up my childhood
memories scattering through the air like
d s
u t
i have been parched since birth, since the beginning of this journey
that never ends
i measure my height in sunspots and in the time it takes to forget where i'm from
beached without an ocean
dry and cracking like the desert soil, no hope of rain and no sign
of life
empty and hot and alone
my dry heart hides behind my bleached desert bones and i
drown
in the sand
Sep 10, 2014
Sep 10, 2014 at 11:02 AM UTC