Tag Archives: Flowers

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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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?


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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A rose by other names

Smells the same.

But poems would be lame

If flowers had a different name.

There would not be “flower power”

But instead “flength strength.”

I might pick a dozen gwazzles

Or a bouquet of mength.

I think you get the point,

And I’m running out of time.

This poem wasn’t flengthy

And very easy to rhyme.

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Wet on Earth?

My garden was wilting

Despite all my silting.

I fert’lized my petunias

The best I was able.

But they still needed water

As the weather got hotter,

And I needed the water

For my guests at the table.

I promised my flowers

The sky would bring showers,

But the weather betrayed me,

And rain it did not.

So I knelt o’er my buds

And sobbed, making muds.

I never expected

That on film this was caught.

I next day I found

In HD and with sound

That my gardening venture

Had three million hits.

I became very wealthy

And my flowers got healthy

‘Cause now I bought water

And new fertilizing shits.

And when I am dead

With dirt o’er my head

And people shed tears

On top of my grave,

I hope they play that vid

Of when I was a kid

And could not work a hose.

Then they’d have a rave.

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