Treacly poems on Hello Poetry

Susan Adele Wiggins Sep 2018

I bent down to her ear and said
Thank you for all you’ve done
Not just for
NY
But for the World
She looked at me expressionless from her chair
I don’t think that she understood nor cared
Then I handed her a little
Bag
Containing two lipsticks
And two pencils
I think she threw the pencils on the floor and
Wondered aloud
Why was everyone giving her pencils?

She did not notice that of the two that I gave her
one was stamped in gold
With the one word
Hustler
And on the other, two
Strictly
Business
I made no suggestions nor references
I didn’t smirk
I must have appeared a bit sweet
A treacly aberration

It doesn’t matter
I had selected two perfect reds in LA
One a bit more blue
and one
a classic vampish carmine
Blood red can be a challenge even against
pale
pale
Skin.

Standing in the lift
Fully attuned
she caught me
not merely looking into her eyes
But seeing what I saw
A death’s head?
I hate when I’m caught doing that

Under the fluorescent light
She was dog rough
Pasty with sad sunken eyes
I was thrown, but by what exactly
Her magpie distress?
Her etheric calamity?
Her puffy, aging face?

We sat and spoke for a while later that night
She did not recognize me at all and apologized
maybe it was the next day
that the three of us had lunch
Everyone in good spirits
The mandrake’s screams
Forgotten with smiles and a wink
Memory bamboozled and
Make-up duly applied
She took out the lipstick
And redrew the lines
She liked the shining black case
with the little black ribbon for a pull

She told our companion sitting on a stoop
smoking cigarettes
I like your friend and
I wondered does she realize
that we already know one another?

#rockandroll #thekitchen #newyork

CeilingStar Apr 2017

entropy

sat in your lap
jealousy builds
like pressure
once a fissure

it now inches
its way across
my soiled soul
lather it on my body
like blood -
thick and treacly
dark, sticky
ever so sickly

tell me your lies
tell me your truths
trace them into my flesh
mark me

cast the runes
now they have spoken
clatter on the rocks
like my pride has
broken

my rage glowing
all I can see
forever growing

I embody entropy
A rule of disorder

hatred rises
through the flames
let it burn me
to ashes
like your touch
sizzles my skins frame

it's a crime scene
of blood swirling like ink
pills scattered
around me
like a ritual
I wonder what
my mother would think

you're a dream thief
knife in my
heavy heart
you've stripped me bare
and I stand
as you depart
with nothing but
at your mercy

I'm you're experiment V
the looking glass shows me
what's left
a withered mess
existing
for you to thrive
tired pile of crumbly bones and
shrivelling rotting insides
tossed aside

burn me to
oblivion

I want the skin
to stop sticking to my bones
melt it off
let the blood pool onto stone
let the fat droop and distend
mocking me, me mocking
never ever stopping
wretch and stretch
till I break
rip my organs out
serenade my limp body
with the liquid lava that drips
as you extract
my black heart
take a sip of my sublimity

I am all you will never be
because I don't think I ever was
do what you will to my material
never to extinguish my fire
that does
never
cease
limitlessly
increase
the
entropy

KG

#jealousy #entropy #disorder #dark #darkness #soul #****** #gory #blood #rage

Francis Scudellari May 2010

Impure Imagination

Gene Wilder's ***** Wonka once asked me
to step into a world
of pure imagination
and I danced to his voice
of sugary imperfections.
The swelling strings drizzled
on top falsetto inflections
captured me childishly
with candy-coated attentions

But even the finest chocolate melts,
and I learned to let purity be
pushed by treacly lyrics
or stern midgets secure
in their fudge-topped zealotry.
It sifts too pretty for me,
powdering my grown-up
infatuations with petty
wants, getting a little messy

What I crave instead's stained-glass contraptions
to propel me past the stretches
of biblical proportion
where light and dark don't mix.
I'm no Idiot, good-hearted
in the veins of Fyodor
or Akira, and I can't see
beyond the pure tedium
of a blurredly driven snow

I like my mental drifts grime-choked and splotched
with some savory do
dropped in to dissolve flossy
confections to a salted soup
of imagined impurity.

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 3.0 License.

KD Miller Mar 2015

Love Letter To A Woman As Dead As A Doorknob

3/2/2015

“I woke up in the morning and I didn’t want anything, didn’t do anything,  couldn’t do it anyway,  just lay there listening to the blood rush through me and it never made  any sense, anything.  And I can’t eat, can’t sleep, can’t sit still or fix things and I wake up and I wake up and you’re still dead.” Richard Silken

I wrote of vultures once, I'd found in the sepulchral little category of "poems I had burnt a while ago" that I kept in my brain. I spoke of predatorial lashings against the dead prairie dogs of her and I, class of 2005- add ten more years and...
Contended May heat like the May-December romances in trope, I'd walk to bridges with notebook in sullied hand, a bit flushed, a bit healthy with the sun on my gold flakes shoulders If I had only known? Right? Haha.
The grammar rules of english: you (I) is a proper noun- but of course, i refuse to give myself that much pomp. To be full of such vanity is to be full of treacly purity- which does not apply so much now.
I had been given time to love you - until I didn't need you anymore, you said, then you'd leave- a sweetly sardonic little note, seeing as you hated the conjugal and impossible implications of "forever". I feel, now that you are gone, this is an imprisonment I am doomed to til atrophy...
You are dead. Your corpse rots in the sun of the soil in the coffin and it is still cold outside. Everytime I leave the house I ask myself what I seriously am expecting from March. The heat, the permenance of your being gone makes me sit down on the cold snow,
My dullard heart sits with a bread knife wedged on a rib when I realize how utterly alone I am- so alone the vultures do not even circle.

Lokenath Roy Oct 1

The other side of silence

The music of silence
is just like an old sailors' story,
of a siren at sea—
lt lures you, when you are alone
in disguise of treacly tunes;
then rots within, alongside your soul
waiting to embed itself;
more into yourself.

—Contradicting the romanticism of being alone and silent
—for people who dont feel the same way

#silence #lonely #depression #sea #ocean #she #her #life

matthew scott harris May 2018

Taking Today's Tumblerful Tea Time

This teetotaler turns to tea
torquing temptation
towards tippling
thankfully, though
that tremendous tugging

teasing tendency thirst *******,
thru teaching this totally tubular
toothless titular Texan thuggish tyrant
(titled Tsar Terry Troutman)
transcendental theology

tenets taught transferring
torpedoing, taming threatening
titanic tsunami tempest
tastefully tickling temperance
testing trying taut tenacity

together teaming (troika)
triumvirate torchbearers
******* therapist
(Tony the tiger)
tough trailblazer theoretician

toady treacly Tory
(Tommy Two Tone),
thence thirdly Theodore
"Tornado" Tornetta)
themselves trained to tamp

twerking tremens triggers,
their tripartite treatment told
tattooing thorny transforming
took this then truant teenage turtle
through time traveling

to those truant tumultuous tragic,
toxic, tipsy twitchy, touchy, tetchy
typhoon terrible two times two
times two times two tantrum
throwing, thieving, threatening

taxing textured teen tinder times -
tossing, tilting, taking tankful tolled
throaty, thoroughly,
thickly telltale temblor

toured terrible tournament
testing taupe tumbling termagant (Thaddeus)
tangling (Tangoing) tiny Timothy,
the treacherous tarantula
tying tussling travail – tata!

#clear #as #mud #eh

Grace Haak Oct 2019

what i want

i want to shower you in sugar
and unleash the spate of syrup
but that might be too strong
i want to give you candied comments
and reveal all my honeyed hopes
but i'm afraid that could be wrong
i have all these citrus suckers
and balmy butterscotch
and treacly truffles
i would give them all to you
but i don't want you to get sick
of me and all my candy

#sugar #love #sweet #candy #honey #syrup

KD Miller Jan 2017

untitled (on married life)

1/25/2017

the sky melted, sweating glass
for three days straight-
once, we marveled at the inexorable and eventual

at
the drop that makes the bough
bow.

i remember the ache
of the sunlight on my
crooked nape

one May day . We sit in a January cafe
"It is springtime," she announces
except these days, it's no emotional pantomime, not a hopeless mantra

"and why?" I beg a question
"oh, because something's starting"
she mixes milk into her honey

it is too sweet for me
the umbrella opens in the shop
"put that away, it's a bad omen" oh, as if I care

imagine me so treacly?
she talks about pregnancy and politics
about marriage

and something in me,
i realize
wants to be, is disgusted by my far future maternity

at the supermarket
there's a jingle
hey, mom, what's for dinner?

"Uh, hey, I feel like Plath... marriage is oppression and all that"
"Well, join the club. Oh, domesticity-"
"O'Hara said : There is only one man I like to kiss,"

I misquote, intentionally.
"Heterosexuality!
you are inexorably approaching!"

perhaps we can't wait
to be thirty and bored
with three kids

watching them play at the Minetta
wondering where the hell our time went
and there they'll sit

polish- to her irish, italian- to my puerto rican
new jersey mutts
i laugh

thinking of drunk days down on
53rd and Lex
we're not ready to live like it's 1953

*oh, johnny promised me
and i wear his
ring

Ananya Dasgupta Feb 2016

Winter City

Naked tree
Infant being
Dew on ancient veins
And all nocturne
Hush

The winter city does not speak
It creaks
It moans
It whispers
Rasping yet calm

From deep within its Immense grey nothing
Of a childlike ******
Oft from the away
Of the deep, dark, warm blooded secrets of a cure

Come now, blizzard
Snow or dust
Infinitesimal and wise
We’ve hung our wounds out

We will rejoice
While we find colour
Burning in your brilliance
Alabaster, gold, honey brown and chestnut
Now we’re all camouflage

The grass is olden, wistful and unkempt
We’ll look through and find each other
Or maybe a passing bird will carry us through
To other realms
Or back to our wombs

Like the echo of steely friction
And the ***** of alpine thorns
Like a thousand needles
From the paraphernalia

Urban nomads play on
Amorphous and obscure
Boldly proclaiming their dissonance

And in its trails
The treacly placid darkness engulfs
the mind
with its Itinerant leftovers
from an infantly battle
It returns
To sleep
To heal
To prepare anew, for a duel
In the Winter City

Elizabeth Squires Oct 2014

Love's Embers

the stars are ours
the moon is too
we've got it all
me and you
our love sticks
like a treacly
goo
we sure make
flames of passion
imbue
as we mix
our potent
brew

baby them days
aint done with yet
we can still stir
the furnace of love
you bet

snow is on the roof
but the blood remains hot
why don't you and I
go on a sultry trot

the stars and moon
ever say
that love's embers
agelessly
flicker
away

MdAsadullah Nov 2014

I Just Don't Care

For some ego is bigger than verses holy.
Saintly demeanor but hiding needles treacly.
For some ego much bigger than pure logic.
When atheists preach sermon it doesn't click.

Few tongues very sweet and few extremely ****.
But God Almighty knows the secrets of heart.
In matters of faith I pity the way people think.
For them everything is just winning or losing.

Exchanged shoulders, to cry and fire gun.
Don't like any convention then quietly shun.
Question beliefs of millions and simply walk.
Won't be allowed, you need to walk the talk.

Mingle personal tragedies with worldly affair.
Many will peep, life will become thoroughfare.
Without pointing be in ample or meager wear.
It is your personal choice, I just don't care.

matthew scott harris Apr 2020

Alas ample alliteration available?!

True (terrific) title: Trump's truckling tutored troopers...;
wily word wizard worried,
where world wide web wickedly wends.

Triumphantly tenaciously (try to) trample treacly
traffickers target timid testifiers traducing,
their traitorous tractable toxic troglodyte:
today transition toward
totalitarianism tidily trends.

Quasimoto (querulously) queries, quivers, quakes:
queasiness quotient quarantine quelled qualm;
qua quacking quaffing quota quips:
quicksand quits quagmire quashing:
quintessential quarrelsome;
quintillionth queued questioner.

Numbskull noodles notorious nonsense:
nincompoop netizen nimbly navigates;
nowadays nauseating news necessitates
nameless nervous negativistic nattering nabob;
Nome nomad nudges, numerates,
nurtures... narcolepsy.

Knowledgeable knave; kindhearted
keen, kooky kvetching king kibitzer;
kindles kickass kinskip (kaffeeklatsch);
kneading Keats kinfolk karma.

His highness, herewith hooligan;
helpmate hermit hamstrung Harmit Harms;
humiliating, harried, ** hum humorous hokum;
habitual half hearted hookers happily hollow;
hallelujah!

Exceptional exertion earnest endeavor exercising
especial expending energy excluding essential/
exact entities even everyday eminent eccentric
experienced exhaustion epilogue.

matthew scott harris Oct 2018

Farrago Go Again With My Gallimaufry

A nascent hodgepodge
     of gobbledygook from me,
or alternatively yours
     nada soo true lee,
this incipient harm
     less bumbling in das scribe
     hubble wordy monster prithee
lee, nonchalantly, and lovingly

     enjoys generating inscrutable mish
     mash vocabulary,
     which vapid unsolicited
     largesse - from this dip see
dude dill ling, jabbering, dee
pull **** rubble casket base,
     and quacking rub bush pre
mere ring this harried

     styled and swiftly tail
     lord gibberish - dee
lib writ lee doth
     write play full lee
to maximize obfuscation, dee
fie interpretation, and que
zook lee (quizzically)
     silently ha...ha...ha

     dis Matt chew wing,
     chuckling, unremarkably
     lamb baa sting king, she
push lee,  dauntingly we
sill lee (weaselly) undermining
     comprehension, whar ye
dear reader feel trapped
     without a turn key

continually sliding into this
old rotten Goth theme be
have (behave) Ural
     sink - as aye blithe lee
undoubtedly matter hoof
     act corroborate with (be
leave me you) this
     "FAKE" sniveling dee

mean nor (demeanor), the least
     bit concerned if ye
unfairly find mine cumber
     some harried style i.e.
spooner than later
     lore or mess free
dissociation, viz parched
     stream of consciousness me

thinks meandering into
     an oxbow lake hee
ping (by Dickens) yar rye
     ha (Uriah), where yar
tried patience probably
     didst syrup pass smoldering rage
     against this may pull leaf tree
cooly le (treacly)

     slap dash helter
     skelter brash poppycock
     bereft, devoid, and fee
bully, sans ex tolling extra help
     pings of gibberish glee
fully - totally tubularly
     gloating how thee
moost experience

     utter frustration re:
garding figuratively wading,
     thru thicket of faux pre
tent shuss verbiage
     omitting even so mooch
     as a fore warning from
     this one percent nee
and dare dearth hull

     (Neanderthal) - as re:
veiled from genetic test
     23andme, an
     endeavor taken by me
eldest sister, - whose
     first name iz a male lee,
Harris - hyphenated with Mug gee
Hen (McGeehan).

Bilkisu Umar Matazu Nov 2019

Freedom?

Freedom! Aye, but whence?
A taste treacly than honeyed cherry, but how?
till nose retired from nature bestowed factory?
The moment skin became a knit of drunk mad baby?
Perhaps the day eye turn a beam less sun that reflect naught.
And wits, a Solemn deserter of the glory castle that once stood our proud brains.

— The End —