Short Slathering Poems

The pop corn patter of spring rain
slathering the landscape
curling the fern fronds
closing the dandelion’s ruff
gully washers 
speed through stone stream beds
marsh mallow yellow flowers
the lowlands and a misty
burgeoning peace settles over
a fresh May day....

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Glistening skin,
Rays beating me from pale to bronze,
Slathering sun serum to push away,
Every beaming UV ray,
Rising earlier to start my day,
Bumblebees,
Humble me,
Find bliss by water,
Cruise from music to music,
Shower me with the beats,
Summertime is how we live....

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slathering and slithering
     sharp tiny teeth, 
     short and squat
              troll

You smile and he glares
  trying to look fierce

You laugh and he bites
         your foot

 sneaky as a snake
 and twice as mean

The only garden
   danger that 
   makes my
 blood run cold....

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So much anguish
So many tears
For no good reason

We look her way
Knowing she is the cause of it
Wishing she could be different


She chooses her own meanness
Slathering it on like honey butter
Rolling in the aftermath

Sadly, uncaring about what she is doing
Many do not understand it is not something they have done.
It is her unique way....

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Scooping out avocado
slathering it all over the lettuce
mixing in some beans
adding some chopped eggs, then dressing

Getting creative
I've never made a salad like this
I hope it tastes good
like something made for Thanksgiving

Putting together 
whatever I have that's available 
feels like playing 
little Play-Doh artist in the kitchen

SKB...

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There is such a smile on her face
Yet her eyes hold incredible slathering of pain
It makes me shudder to look into them
The depth of sorrow there tells another story
Many stories
Probably abusive stories
I dare not ask her any questions
For I cannot handle this much pain
So I pretend the smile is genuine
and go on my way
My own pain cannot handle hers...

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Fluffy tailed performers
Chitter chatter among themselves
No one listening, everyone slathering
Juicy gossip 

Taking daring fifteen foot leaps and dives
From magnificent heights, barely landing on
Tiny branches.

Flinging themselves with wild abandon
And oodles of faith into the air, flipping and
Swirling. Contortionists.

Sliding up trunks the way others slide down.
Landing with a well-earned acorn in their jaws....

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The quacksalver’s quicksilver cure--
slathering a salt salve or quaffing mercury--
might sound like quatsch, a bad wine
of qually quality, but remember a time
when faith aligned with alchemy,
before the querical became the enemy 
of the clerical, the quisquous nature
of faith mirrored that viscous commodity;
when quiddities were not quisby oddities
and to quop and quob before mysteries
did not portend holy querimony
but recognition of the quintessence divine....

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