Tag Archives: Flowers

Meanwhile Someone Is Eating Water And Watching Their IQ Rise

The roses are dead.

The violets are too.

Someone swapped the water

With adhesive glue.

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Maybe Act More Violet?

Roses are red,

Roses are white,

Roses are yellow and pink.

Your are like a rose

As you have many facets

But, unlike a rose, they all stink.

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Flowery Thoughts

Roses are red,

Violets are blue,

Yet a more valuable fact

Is less cited as true:

They’re symbols of waste,

The decay of one’s youth,

Yet one must buy flowers

To prove that you’re couth.

For every blue violet

And red rose you eschew

The longer the doghouse

Shall be fate for you.

So for my fellow rebels

Who see trees but not forests…

When we kill all the lawyers

Let’s also kill florists.

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Why I Never Got Together With That Cute Girl In Class

What wonder has a flower,

A daisy or a rose,

To the clueless human

As on its way it goes?

A work of nature, beautiful,

Is worth not but a glance

For what interest has a human

In the idle ways of plants?

But a very ugly flower

That can nauseate by sight,

That makes you want to kick a baby,

Draw attention that just might.

So when you see the spiders

Crawling from my bloodshot eyes

I seek your fondness and attention.

‘Twas not that so very wise?

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The Jury’s Still Out On Flowers Though…

I’m sitting in the forest,

Bony flesh among the trees,

Trying to consort with both

The flowers and the bees.

As the hours came and went

And nature’s reply did not

I remembered my childhood

And found I had a thought:

The scarecrow of Dorothy’s comp’ny

Lacked a brain, which stopped him from

Doing as I was attempting.

So I questioned: “Am I dumb?”

One of the bees responded:

“Nope. Now go back to the mall.”

I did just that, but pleased

That bees aren’t assholes after all.

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Flowers

I said my favorites are forget-me-nots

Then I read about botany

And learned about I-shit-you-nots

And now, well, they are notany.

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USA, November 2016

Roses are reds,

Violets are blue,

These are both valid points, and I’ll address them in a moment, but first…

But does anyone stop to comfort the violets in their sorrow? Even once?

No!

You know, depression is a chemical imbalance and has many dangerous side effects. But when it becomes a part of ones identity, as it has for the violets, it transcends its mortal debilitation and becomes a blight on the very soul.

When I’m elected, I’m going to make violets purple again! And not by adding rose colored glasses, no. Not by that. Who needs all the thorns roses bring anyway? No, I dream of a garden where honest, hardworking violets can grow bigly without the radical redness of roses!

In other words, f*** you roses.

Let’s Get Pruning ™

This poem brought to you by Goldman Sachs.

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