Tag Archives: Flowers

Guest Poem From An Anonymous World Leader

There was a, um, a a a flower?

And it has, you know, plants,

And some are yellow and some are blue

But that doesn’t change that they’re green

On their, um, stalks or stems or something.

And when I smell them

Wait, they said don’t say smelling…

Flowers are green and and and thank you good morning!

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A Sonnet For When Your Vegan Girlfriend Puts You In The Doghouse

How soft the calling of the rose in bloom;

Its rage not diminished by its small size,

For it has seen a man deliver doom

With not a drop, remorseful, from his eyes.

The rose who screams has seen its brothers fall,

Cleft and tied as trinkets for a hot date.

It cries without lungs, giving it its all,

Petals in bloom, show’ring it foes with hate.

Then red and white and pink and gold align

Together in the vengeful rose’s song,

A harmony unheard by humankind

Until they are a dozen voices strong.

Then weep! The florist ends their final day.

Aren’t you relieved I brought you no bouquet?

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Very Grounded

The loyal tortoise ambles

Through a forest full of brambles

Where once a meadow full of flowers flourished,

Where once the stamens danced

And petals bright entranced

Now a harsher foliage is nourished.

The tortoise tries a bite

Of whatever plant’s in sight

Its mouth enduring savagery and pain

For the aged tortoise knows

That they who seek a rose

Will, in the process, find that thorns they gain.

The tortoise eats its pick

Though much may make it sick

In hopes of finding what it thinks is lost.

The tortoise chews and bleeds

Just to satisfy its needs,

To find its rose regardless of the cost.

Somewhere amid the brush,

In a pocket, dark and hushed,

A seed emerges from the salty soil.

Its leaves taste stale air,

But the seed does not despair

For beauty never grows bereft of toil.

Someday the rose will bloom

And emerge amidst the gloom.

Perhaps the tortoise finds it after all.

Fearless are the plants of old,

Or so another tortoise told

In tales to seeds and to the ones who crawl.

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The Other Primary Color

Roses are red,

Violets are blue,

And yellow’s just like

“Wut dawg? U trippin’ bro?

“Violets are fuckin’ purple,

“And just ’cause I don’t rhyme easily

“Y’all just acting like dandelions and sunflowers and poppies and buttercups and, oh yeah yellow roses, don’t exist?

“Naw dawg, whatever. I’m out.”

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Nothing Says “Please Don’t Hit Me With The Cleaver Again” Like Flowers

My neighbor has a rose garden

That he’s tended all his life

Which really makes you wonder:

Just how angry is his wife?

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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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