Sunday, October 4, 2020

Not Even Not Zen 217: Roses are Reddish

By Maimaid, Wikimedia Commons

Roses Are Reddish (The Valentine Hunt)


Carnations are red
But roses take credit.
The muses inspire
But publishers edit.

Publishers side with roses
Due to ads they receive.
You thought editors edit?
How delightful. Naive.


Roses are gross
In twelve dozen counts
Because that's how we buy them
In wholesale amounts.

The price of each rose
Is, by season, comedian.
While a math teacher's bouquet
Stays efficiently median.

Roses are bloody
And violins should be banned
If you think I mean "violence"
You don't understand.

Slow, whining sounds
Are for deflating balloons
While Beethoven's ninth
Should be played with bassoons.


Valentines are red
Except when they're pinkish.
Verses are lovely
Except when they stinkish.

Love is divine -
At least, loving you.
I'm glad that you're mine
And that I'm yours too.


Foxes are red.
And gray-furred and brown.
Berries are blue
like jewels on a crown.

Love's expressions are weird
like fox ears on a bunny.
Human hearts are so pure
but human nature, so funny.


Roses are pink.
Violets are perse.
They are; look it up.
It means nothing perverse.

Double entendres
Don't come from deflowers.
Oh wait, yes they do.
They've been naughty for hours.

Violets are blue.
Tulips are yellow.
Silk are the sheets
In the bordello.

Drunk are the ladies.
Broke are the men.
Lying in silks
and flowers and gutters, amen.


Love makes us wander
and in gardens malinger.
Age makes us feeble
Like wine into vinegar.

I'm not as mature
As my license discloses
And no one's as old
As poems about roses.

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