"petunia" poems
Lately,
When I’ve tried
Opening the gates
The locks to my kingdom
It’s simply impossible to accomplish.
I’m terrified,
Terrified,
Of being ‘open.’
What does ‘open’ really even mean?
Am I supposed to investigate
Every dazzling petunia?
Conduct a survey among my local hydrangeas?
Or maybe I should consider taking a hibiscus
As my teacher
In order to learn the art of blooming.
Flowers mastered
The art of opening up to the world,
Without the fear that those around it
Will shine more astronomically
More brilliantly
Than they.
Yes, I wish I was a flower,
I wish I did not care.
I need to learn
How not to care
Like a flower.
Flowers may be ‘weak’
But they’re still stronger
Than me.
My skin is too soft-
My shell might crack
And it will break open
And you will see
That there’s nothing left inside me
And I will carve myself open
To prove it to you.
If I open up
Like a flower,
I’m sure to sustain an injury
Or a lot.
Trust is a butterfly
Easy to crush
Impossible to take
And wow
When you have it
It’s an amazing thing.
But when it’s gone,
Oh it’s an
Ugly
Mangled
Dead thing.
When did this trust
Fall out of my chest?
Did it shatter when it fell?
Because it’s sure broken
Into a million pieces
And it is mangled and ugly.
I am so broken
So fully broken
Hugs are poison
And your touch
Could burn the heart
Out of me.
I’m just anxious
I’m always nervous
My veins itch and
When your eyes dance on my form
I become physically ill
And when you put a hand on my shoulder
I’ll jump like a suicidal bird in flight.
These nerves are eating away
I’m being dissolved by their horrid bleach
And my organs are already mush.
Mar 27, 2014
Mar 27, 2014 at 1:54 PM UTC
~
*Memphis
and the King,
plagued up
to his neck
in denial,
turning remote
controls
into staffs,
staffs into snakes,
jackals,
and hounds,
shaking the sistrum,
singing gospels
full of mystery
to a god,
a girl,
and state of mind
he will never solve,
asking skies
of transulent
orange,
from the far corners
of his world,
for pharmacopia,
then granting
Moses
his freedom
in exchange
for a box
of hot glazed
doughnuts,
and always
his little
wild petunia,
painted face
and percolating
body,
skin smooth
as the eastern Delta,
her weighted down heart,
his tyranny,
his self-destructive tongue,
her asp*
~
Aug 11, 2021
Aug 11, 2021 at 9:38 AM UTC
glows a rose nearby the dandelion
compete for petunia to grow near her;
in the harsh of daylight, swinging and proud
both,
two sides to the coin, beauty and beast, flower and ****
as we all do halve.
competition in the garden, in
recreation,
or reproducing, reseeding,
repopulating,
a woman, sees
in glory the flower.
I wither.
the ****
Nov 6, 2014
Nov 6, 2014 at 8:23 PM UTC
what i really need to do
is get a dog and name him teddy roosevelt
and sing him john lennon songs
and teach him to stomach gin
what i really need to do
is learn how to play piano
and sing songs about cigarette smoke
and lie about having a twin
what i really need to do
is find someone who calls themselves petunia
and bend low and scoop them up
and teach her to stomach gin
what i really need to to do
is learn how to play guitar
and sing songs about her knuckles
and the delicate shine of her shins
what i really need to do
is shoot dice with old black men
and hang out in alleyways
and wallow in filth and bathe in sin
what i really need to do
is learn how to play the harmonica
and sell ******* to rich white girls
and not feel a **** thing about it
what i really need to do
is find someone who calls themselves best friend
and bend low and scoop them up
and teach him to stomach gin
Oct 25, 2011
Oct 25, 2011 at 12:29 AM UTC
I am your
most obeduent servant.
three lovers in one.
I can lick the dew right off
your sweet long-stemmed rose,
taste your delicious dandelions
& make love to your pretty petunia,
enjoy a serious night of it.
Jul 12, 2014
Jul 12, 2014 at 2:03 PM UTC
When the moonlight
lowers
i see in the night
a tearful ghostly light
don't know where it came from
can't even get a whiff
but i know
the petunia is meditating
unperturbed
can't really read her heart
can't tell how strong
she actually is
though the frost and dew
have barged in
the angle of the fallen fence
is expanding
but this i know
when the morning comes
she'll be awake
she'll be something different
i know
it must be the sunrise
that is able to mulch and sprout
the most captivating smile.
Jul 25, 2023
Jul 25, 2023 at 8:40 AM UTC
There's no reasonable explanation
To how this all went down
When the world woke up one morning
All made up as clowns
Not a single person in the world
Did this phenomenon not claim
With big red buttons on their chests
Spelling out new funny names
There was Patches and Petunia
Floppy and Cupcake
Winky and Bumper the Clown
Were just a few that they displayed
Everyone went about their business
Only now they all carpooled
You could see clowns piling out of cars everywhere
From businesses to stores to schools
Crime it did die down
Because all the guns that people have
Instead of shooting bullets
Shoot out brightly colored Big Bang Flags
Of course the circus lost its glamour
With an audience made up of clowns
It's hard to tell who's there enjoying
And who's entertaining all the crowds
People stopped taking each other seriously
Over anything they had to say
Pointing at each other and laughing
As they go about their day
Who knew a thing like this would happen
When the world went to bed last night
That the very next morning
They'd wake up clowns for life
Oh, I almost forgot the Politicians
Were the only ones to stay the same
It's already a simple known fact
When your a clown you don't need to change
Jul 5, 2013
Jul 5, 2013 at 8:28 AM UTC
In a tiny allotment right next to the zoo
A miniature jungle was planted and grew
The flora was dense and the air became hot
But confined to a tidy rectangular plot
An unthinkable duo of creatures converged
And it's said that a spanking new species emerged
For a curious beast was reportedly seen
Roaming and munching on anything green
Make haste! Away! It's the Buffagorilla!
A shredder of lettuce and cereal killer
With hooves at the front and hands at the rear
The Buffagorilla is near!
It shambles about at the darkest of hours
On hedges it crunches and bunches of flowers
On daffolil bulbs and petunia petals
With hearty aplomb on a cluster of nettles
Covertly perusing with maximum hush
It can wander through gardens disguised as a bush
No carrot or parsnip is safe in its bed
And the marrows are quaking in vegetable dread
Depart! Retreat! It's the Buffagorilla!
The broccoli butcher and vegetable killer
With ape like features and horns of a steer
The Buffagorilla is near!
So if you hear a mention of butternut theft
Or notice a garden, all bare and bereft
Insure your potatoes for damage and loss
Give the salad a purely precautionary toss
For a creature is roaming the byway and track
With its legs at the front and its arms at the back
And it might be your gooseberries or chervil he spies
So I beg you take heed as I once more advise
Be gone! Take flight! It's the Buffagorilla!
The strawberry napper and cucumber killer
Just hide in your cellar and steer well clear
The Buffagorilla is near!
Nov 20, 2013
Nov 20, 2013 at 7:07 PM UTC
As I walk a meandering path
Through woodlands thoughts running through my mind.
This is my time, to reflect, think, smile even laugh.
Halfway to home, down a small trail; I spy a circle of stones.
They appear to be hidden beneath a pile of leaves, under a big oak tree.
And I begin to wonder is this where a family of fairies live.
By day, you may not see them whilst you are walking.
The fairies keep themselves hidden from sight and you would not hear them talking.
But when the sun goes in and the moon comes out; myth has it the fairies play by the pale moon light.
I waited patiently until light turned to darkness.
I was rewarded as I witnessed the most spectacular show;
hidden from view, the fairies did not know.
Three fairies in total, all in sparkly fairy dresses;
their hair fell down their backs in long, tumbling tresses.
The fairies had glorious wings, painted the brightest of colours.
I heard them say their names were Darling, Petunia and Honour.
The eldest one I heard call Darling she had a beautiful voice; you should have heard her sing.
The fairy called Petunia was the pale faced beauty of Exetonia.
Finally, Honour appeared a tomboy with short hair and plenty of dirt on her.
All three of them were very tiny as one would expect.
Can you imagine if I told you they were no bigger than a middle finger?
I watched as they sat in a circle, legs crossed, whispering and giggling.
Then suddenly they clapped their heels, flapped their wings, and took off to the skies.
The three fairies flew so high, suddenly to my eye they looked like three dragonflies.
They glided and swooped, they dived and hovered.
They flew under branches and over treetops.
They raced each other, 1,2,3 go.
Petunia I think was the youngest and she was quite slow.
The fairies continued flying until the moon went in and the sun came out.
Then they flew down to the ground and went back to their home.
Under the leaves, in a circle of stone.
Now when I am out walking.
And a dragonfly flutters by.
I wonder if this is really Darling, Petunia or Honour.
I wonder if the fairies, knew that I had spied upon their manor.
The next time a dragonfly passes you by just give a little wave and say hi – you never know it may be one of the fairies or indeed all three.
Jun 11, 2020
Jun 11, 2020 at 2:37 PM UTC
I see your ghost everywhere
The ghost of who you once were
Before all the **** went down in your brain
The beauty that flowed from you till you woke up from the dream that was your life
That dream shattered right out
Right out from under you
Made you want to forget
Forget who you were
All brought for nought
Fragments still rattle
Behind your eyes
Those candy rock promises someone whispered in the night
Lost that luster, didn't they?
Couldn't find the silver lining?
What was once radiant phosphorescence
Became gangrenous and insipid
Leaving a malodorous taste
Stagnant in your mouth
The feast turned to crumbs left for the rats under your skin
You become to stately for our unostentatious life
Now you've painted the Petunia's colors of your choice
Rearranged your furniture
To play at being all grown-up
Bit of turpentine blotted on the canvas might smear the lines
But that won't erase your past
Your fingerprints are etched into
Every discarded can of spray paint
Lips carved into the pores of to much skin
You'll slice them off to get rid of the feelling
Keep up your newly minted fascade
That caused you such strife
To grow in the petri dish
Under your mothers sink
While you tryed to burn your
Bridges to ashes
Ashes embedded forevermore under your fingernails
Now you linger in ghosts
Haunting cities you've never been to
Places you're naught to see
In them breathes a
Chilly air wishing to keep you alive
Sep 13, 2017
Sep 13, 2017 at 9:25 AM UTC
*Sunset orange ardently overlays periwinkle and thistle whilst two tone brilliant fuchsia in passionate , reserved grace quietly dominates the image of sunrise as portrayed by a child . Forest green , royal blue and cinnamon depict backyard adventure and wonderment of Blue Jays , Begonias , Daisy and Petunia , rainy days captured in black , silver and indigo and raspberry , magical yellows , reds and gold , smiling friends on the school bus , hop scotch , favorite Teachers and kick ball , Summer vacation , grandparents and sand castles on the beach , turquoise sea , brown pelicans and scarlet sailboats , salt water taffy , midnight blue ***** and fuzzy wuzzy starfish*....
Oct 4, 2015
Oct 4, 2015 at 8:34 AM UTC
Her name was petunia
She had hair the color of twilight settling after a hurricane and irises darker than the moon
Her smile was the crescent that the stars sung for
her fingers as dainty as China ware on the finest plates
Shy as werewolves howling for comfort
and brave as the wind dusting the horizon
She never did understand why her mother named her after something as petite as a flower
She couldn't understand her own beauty
Daisy; nose as freckled as the beach is sandy
Wrists as worn as the pages of a librarians favorite book
Sundays sunny as the sunflowers she wore on her church dress
inconspicuous was the boy she held hands with under the pews
Hated her parents for her wretched name
she murmured between kisses with the preachers son
the devil himself wasn't a flower, but a ****
Took her life the day he was baptized
A flowers life is not the life for me, said daisy
Rose
The beautiful of the most
with red lies that'd set your heart to flames
She'd burn down every field
and ***** every finger of those who kissed her lips
Ivory skin of leaves so green
envious of those who weren't picked, and pitied, and deprived of their innocence and privacy
Just because fate handed her the life of lust and friends of petunias and Daisy's who never made the cut
May 2, 2014
May 2, 2014 at 10:40 PM UTC
But I will **** you like the bible should be
****** not all soggy and misremembered
No, like a true gentleman, I’ll pull your
hair a little and I’ll whisper some things that
echo like inside mother’s womb
Don’t ask me to ‘cause I won’t call you back
Burp up some acid reflux
onto my chest and tell me it looks like
ectoplasm, let’s get those demons out of you
bring out the Ouija board and let’s
smash it, I know they’d just hate that
This isn’t clairvoyance, it’s black metal
dance music and you’re stripping for me like
I am your father or some other guy with
too many tongues and I know one day
I’m gonna write way too many poems about
Your youth is growing out of you but it’s not
a petunia, it’s more like that alien in the movie
Alien and it’s telling me in the wrong language
fdjsodsfaokdncvmjklclkmewa
so I take it as a mixed signal
so I take it as a yes
I have made lovers feel like they’re a bailout
but tonight, darling I’m gonna make you feel
some astral projection and you won’t see God but
you’ll see how many prophecies my sheets have made
up
Feb 20, 2013
Feb 20, 2013 at 2:18 PM UTC
Petunia petal’d tear drops
on saffron colored morns
fall deep in the shadows
where sunshine is only a reflection
of the beauty once shared
~
Clouded days sing dreary sonnets
and all other butterflies are sad,
for those cherished wings
of brilliant colors
are gone from this field
~
Now a misty shade of gray
lingering in the thoughts
of one so missed…
finds the garden gates locked,
never to open again
~
Where rainbows once shared blue hydrangea skies
and daffodil promises carried our smiles,
sorrow now gathers in shapeless corners,
missing this butterfly
all had so come to adore
~
and the earth weeps…
Sep 21, 2018
Sep 21, 2018 at 1:06 PM UTC
The checkered cabs have come and gone.
Hot melon, lime juice sipped by girls with practical names like
Petunia. “Fill me up,” she saltly said. So, with words, she swallows up out, erode the beds of fingers and of the sand, rode up the preying tide, rusting the shoreline like a spoon. Poison ivy and pennies, brass nickels and gums.
Flaking leaves from branches, barren and sad. Growing up from them are twisted spines, prodding the landscape of iris greens. Drowning pinks, hot melon, lime juice -- quickly, swallowing raw.
Nov 25, 2015
Nov 25, 2015 at 2:01 PM UTC
pure pleasure prairies me
amongst pastures and me filly Polly
posies pretty poignant paradigm
of Palominos rhyme and rhythms
play me pictures posting and posing for
me pretty filly Polly
prancing let me see her
lil' sassyfrass haunched up back
please
lay me pleasantly out on pink pastures
my days a paradise visage
a Petunia pasted poster all portraiting
perfect pure pasture and
me pretty filly,
Polly.
Oct 27, 2014
Oct 27, 2014 at 2:34 AM UTC
I blow tiny
jazz kisses
onto your
sweet petunia
lips
flutter delicious
notes into
lazy daisy ears
soft breath
puffs bluesy
tunes onto the
nape of a
lovely
curvy neck
I smell
bold begonias
whisper pink
secrets through
gyrating eyes
I roam
the flowers
blooming from
every luscious
groove
I pluck
the bows of
deep swing
heart strings
I blow
rose pedal
jazz kisses
from my
tippy tip
to teeny toe
Music Selection:
Esperanza Spalding, Little Fly
Oakland
3/1/12
jbm
Mar 4, 2012
Mar 4, 2012 at 7:39 PM UTC
*The Wurlins sweeten muscadines on the vine , gather morning dew
in Petunia buckets , hollow out acorns to carry their Clover honey lunches
They ride June bugs by the light of the Moon
Entice Tree frogs to strike up a tune
Make Huckleberry wine and Sassafras brandy
Pecan coffee and Honeysuckle candy*....
Aug 6, 2016
Aug 6, 2016 at 1:44 PM UTC
Dear little teacup,
I found you at the thrift store
Nestled amongst the big teacups
With your shining gilden lining
And your pretty petunia shape
You filled my heart with love
Although you were only 1.99
To me, you are priceless
Dear little teacup,
I cannot wait to place you beside
All of my precious collections
With your lovely violet finish
And courting man and woman
Surrounded by trailing little flowered vines
Dear little teacup,
I imagine you've been lonely
Without your friends for so long
Don't worry little teacup
For I will keep you safe
Aug 6, 2022
Aug 6, 2022 at 8:24 PM UTC
Christ is actually a Freemason,
I am busy tree-chasin'.
An alligator is flying through the water,
Sin is flying through a thief's spotter.
Clair is flying Bush's stealth bombers.
Jun 1, 2015
Jun 1, 2015 at 1:23 AM UTC
It's getting to be posh
all these new folk
with their dosh.
buying up the property
leaving nowt
for you and me.
It's not the same
not as it was
because,
our street's got
a brand new name.
'Petunia close'
sounds like a dose of something bad,
awful sad,
that it's getting to be a bit posh round here,
next year,
I won't recognise
the pie and mash shop
the garage pit stop
it will all be gucci,reebok
smoochy bars,
fast and frantic tarty cars.
I'm moving out to Birmingham
at least up there they still
eat spam,
I may move further North to Carlisle
they'll not change
not for a long while.
Anyway
I made a fortune
holding on
not selling too soon.
(The problem is,
not the solution
or gentrifying
or more pollution
it's the weeding out
and in their place
making space for
evolution)
Nov 3, 2014
Nov 3, 2014 at 2:31 PM UTC
The wait
massages my soul
as I become still.
My breathing
finds a cadence
like a monk in meditation.
In my dream
you pose for me
as your tongue
licks nectar
from petunia buds.
I conjure
florescent shades
unlike those
any artist
can splash
on canvas.
The wait for you
is as near to heaven
as I fathom
I will get
while here on earth.
Mar 16, 2014
Mar 16, 2014 at 2:06 PM UTC
Budded, broke unto true bloom.
Petunia by any name.
Stalking petals in the room.
Presence of flowers but, a game.
Silken twists of pretty petal.
Thine beauty played to music loud
To the hell of heavy metal.
Enough to wake dead ones, in the crowd.
Sleeping souls that cannot hear.
Beat of tree trunks as they fall.
Holding none, who still live dear.
Trunks of trees, making poles, as such support, the sleepers call.
The voice of twisted sisters here.
Listen close and thy shall hear
(c)Livvi
Sep 22, 2015
Sep 22, 2015 at 5:27 AM UTC
“black velvet
Petunia,
coming of age.
Early-blooming
Petals spread eagle
on the bed.”
|| shoo.shu ||
Jan 26, 2016
Jan 26, 2016 at 4:48 PM UTC
Soft and smooth, I am not
married yet but
the bed knows me
well.
Jazz hands, sucker
punch, daintily like
ballet -- I am in
full bloom.
Crescendo with my
fingertips, petunia,
rose. The bed knows
me well.
Warm, disgust,
the ****** of the orchestra.
Plush, a slight stir
and a deep breath.
I marry in the bowels
of the night, ink,
glint stars. Lovingly and
pressing, I do
my own.
Apr 3, 2016
Apr 3, 2016 at 3:43 AM UTC