Long Slather Poems
Long Slather Poems. Below are the most popular long Slather by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Slather poems by poem length and keyword.
The sun is playing hide and seek
Behind some fluffy clouds
Which makes it slightly overcast
And keeps away the crowds.
The temperature's a little cool,
Quite pleasant on the beach.
I slather on some sunblock
Just in case the rays can reach.
I'm sure that soon the sky will clear
And sunshine will pour down;
Then all the worshipers will flock
To have their skin turn brown.
This hiding game's a lot like life -
Within the atmosphere
There always lurks a coat of clouds
Until they disappear.
Our days are filled with obstacles
Impeding joy and fun;
But oftentimes the clouds will part
And offer us some sun.
Anything I want to be Fuchsia?
Let's start with the fire trucks for every city.
Let's paint the town bandstand and each dog and kitty.
Anything I want to be Fuchsia?
Let's paint my mother-in-law's little and big toes.
Let's start at the top now, and slather pink on her nose.
Anything I want to be Fuchsia?
My underwear is already a vivid hot pink.
Let's paint my refrigerator, and my dull gray kitchen sink.
Anything I want to be Fuchsia?
Where is my prissy neighbor who tells me how to vote?
I will hold her down, as you paint her and her little nanny goat.
Anything I want to be Fuchsia?
Let's call a town meeting, and change all the uniforms.
Let's change the high school mascot, and fuchsia all the forms.
Anything I want to be Fuchsia?
I do not care how much it costs. Everything is going to be pink.
The streetlamps, the trees, the stop signs, until we run out of ink.
I will be known as the Fuchsia Queen.
You can grovel and bow. I love fuchsia, as you can probably see.
Come closer, my love, so you can become the same color as me.
Yes, you certainly did read that right.
Peanut butter is better then bitter books because....
bitter books don't go well with your favorite jelly.
And that's just the plain truth. In a nutshell if I may.
It's simple really. If you can imagine smearing your
favorite butter be it crunchy chunky or even creamy
all over the most bitter book rather than lavishly atop
your favorite jam well then I think you can imagine
just what I mean. The pulp would stink.
And what else could be worse? So hear me versed
if you ever want to make a bitter book better than
rather slather your fave butter into it save for
the real jam and use something else, like... well ...
I don't know what would be good with bitter books
but... having said that I'll also add save your nuts
for the fruitcake anyway.
... pause ...
:)~ AND laugh...
Form:
It's summer, It's hot
and I'm praying It won't rain
on my way to the beach
riding the F train
I get to Coney Island
and from the boardwalk I see the sand
looking out towards the ocean
on the beach I now stand
a day at the beach
I can hardly wait
to sit under the rays of the sun
and play in the waves
I lay down my blanket
and set-up my umbrella stand
I place my cooler of goodies
firmly in that sand
I slather on the sun blocker
for I need protection
I stand at the water's edge
at look down at my reflection
a day at the beach
frolicking in the ocean's waves
a memory form childhood
that I will treasure and save
At night I slather on my face
An anti-wrinkle cream
So it can make me youthful
While I toss and turn and dream.
Of course it doesn't work and yet,
This ritual remains,
With just the manufacturer
To really make some gains.
Surprisingly, I saw an ad
(Full-page, The New York Times)
That made me laugh, for irony
Inspires many rhymes.
It claimed most women do believe
They're judged based on their age;
Unfairly, too, the font declared
Upon the paper's page.
The ad was paid for by Olay,
My anti-wrinkle maker,
Reminding us that age should not
Define a gal or break her.
A bit ironic, don't you think?
To follow their advice,
I should not use their anti-aging
Wrinkle merchandise!
So is it just me or is toast weird
bare with me so
bakers train for years
To produce these
beautiful pillow bouncy castles of air caves
surrounded by mouth crumbling battlements
crusts that disintegrate at a tremble
they learn to knead and squeeze and shape
they have timings calculated
and portioned preparations
each grain of accounted salt well grain
Through clear logos
its ribbed edges
flex
So we take these baskets of art
Take them home
and sinisterly cut them in
coffin oblongs
and place them=wait for it in
machines that will burn them
until like slightly corroded
stone tablets
we have made them crunchy
wait too crunchy
lets slather them in gold drips sun bloomed fat drops
how many times have you had a toastie
which is only toasted on one side maybe
we should call it a Toa lets call it a tie
which toast came first
the bread or the raising of the wine
and why do we always cut it smaller
people you cant live with them
but you can hide within them
and wait for them all to die
now
they say that we clink glasses
because if your enemy has poisoned your drink
any foamy overspill
it will poison them
friends so easily turn to fiends
that softly hue of amber embers
dripping with oil slick sunbeam strokes of summer
bye
going to make some weird toast
Alas, never seen along highways and byways anymore,
Was some very classic poetry that has become American lore!
'Tis sad that these masterpieces have vanished from the scene.
So I want to add some Burma Shave verse from my old bean!
"Plain old soap won't do the job
What you need is a generous gob
Of good ol' foamy Burma Shave
If it's your mug you want to save!"
"If you want to impress your sweetie pie
You should have on hand a good supply
Of smooth and creamy Burma Shave
And let me tell you fellers it's all the rave!"
"If she told you to drop dead last night
And you were no longer her shining knight
Perhaps it's a smoother mug she craves
We'd recommend you try Burma Shaves!"
"She thought his stubble a disgrace
Each time it scratched her pretty face
Sorry to hear about that Dave
Shoulda used Burma Shave!"
"When rising each morn to mow your stubble
You could save yourself a heap of trouble
Before you shave give your face a healthy lave
Then slather your mug with Burma shave!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
NOTE: For the younger set and those not familiar with this bit of Americana, during the 1930s, 40s and 50s, Burma Shave signs were posted along many highways across the U.S. It was a very clever way of advertising the shaving cream. A different line of the ditty was posted on a red board about every 150 feet and they were fun to read as you sped by. The verses above I dreamed up but if you really want to see some of the old signs and the witty verse thereon, type in your search "Burma Shave Signs".
* Paid my heed my friends for the frost giants begin their march southwards,
* and their hounds of winter ,shall Slather and bay awaiting direction from their masters
* as then ,
* they fall upon us .
* Even the sun wains back at the feel and shadow of their March.
* Our brothers the oaks stand true ,
* as these giants now put breath upon them.
* And so it is ,
* the sacred grove now sent to slumber,
* until the giants and their hounds, call for retreat.
* The longest night approaches and no advance can be made in our labours,
* For the ground is now of stone and freezing fire ice .
* We shield their attack with fur cloaks , glowing hearths and summers blessed mead .
* Our friends, family and forgiven foes gather and give thanks to the old year and for its bounty.
* Calls for the sun to return and warmth for the soil ,
* echo amongst all present .
* In the coming born year may our land , wives , and beasts be fruitful.
* Now darkness is abound,
* but for this bastion of kindred folk , the hounds of winter now tearing at the door , scream their howling and send their cold and shrills, about this protected steading .
* Grandfather places his knowing hand upon a beam "The carved runes in this lintel shall keep the frost wolves from our door, since ages past, and so mote it be" .
* All nod and agree at this given truth.
* But
* Not but for the silver light of our lady would we know anywhere else existed this darkening , he exclaims ! .
* A drum starts to beat softly as the crones of this gathered tribe begin to chant .
* Our oldest tribe member steps forward, for on this night they will carry the youngest in their arms .
* Together it will be their honour to sing for the log of Yule to then be consumed by this ,
* our holy fire .
* As the longest night starts its ending and the folk kneel beside the sacred glow messages are shouted to those who have passed through the great veil .
* They hear our shouts of love and joy , they hear us call their names as we tell them , "all is well ".
* We send our gratitude ,thanks and blessings may they be,
* as we have been, on this longest of all nights
Late summer is a challenge for me.
Every year I’m overwhelmed with desire,
when passing fruit stands, vegetable stands,
and even farm wagons on front lawns,
overflowing with fresh produce.
I salivate in the car and especially the grocery store,
when entering to purchase more butter
to put on my corn. The freshness
calls me by name and I come to my new friends.
I can't resist.
The month of August should be renamed “Binge.”
You would think my beautiful wife of many years
would be a tempering factor regarding my weakness,
but she is as committed to binging as I,
as we slather more butter on our cooked carrots.
Pea salad, 3 bean salad and everything tomato
make it onto my plate without limit. Piles of fresh
produce are covered with salad dressings and mayo,
that flow like wine. Salt is consumed by the pound
on cooked squash and mounds of steamed broccoli.
The harvest makes its way to my table by the armful.
Day after day more and more arrives,
like rain, and I feel a duty to the farmer’s market
to make sure nothing goes to waste, while,
unfortunately, it makes its way to mine.
The good news is that it will soon be over,
and these apples will be applesauce,
these grapes, grape juice,
and the tomatoes will be spaghetti sauce.
Oh! Did I mention how much I love pasta?
From his sweetie Dave took lots of guff
'Cause his beard was mighty ruff
Too bad you get fewer kisses, Dave
Try Burma Shave - its all the rave!
Do you sprout a very wild stubble?
Have you heard of the latest rave?
You'd save yerself a ton of trouble
Taming yer mug with Burma Shave!
We feel very sorry for poor Walter
His bride left him standing at the altar!
His whiskers scratched her lovely face
Should-a used Burma Shave to save face!
Is that 5 o'clock shadow giving you stress?
And are the ladies noticing you less?
Then, on yer mug you should slather
A creamy coat of Burma Shave lather!
While they were dancing cheek to cheek
Said she, "Go paddle up the creek!
You scratched my face, you hairy knave!
Next time treat yer mug with Burma Shave!"