Long Pushing up daisies Poems
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Dad is pushing up daisies today.
He did away with himself on New Year’s Day.
He lodged a bullet into his own chest.
Less than a week later, he was laid to rest.
Down to Atlantic City, you and Mom would roam.
All our depressed father could do was stay home.
You desired to dump more money in a casino.
Dad pleaded with you not to go.
What a horrible scene you witnessed with your eyes.
Our father fashioned his very own demise.
Of course, you were filled with regret.
However, you too easily disregard and forget.
Even that didn’t stop you from losing your money.
Do you think destroying yourself is funny?
Robert Pettit
a poem for someone who likes orange marmalade
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a poem for someone who is not looking
a poem for someone with no cavities
a poem for someone drawing a rectangle
a poem for someone with a seeing-eye dog
a poem for someone listening to Three Doors Down
a poem for someone freezing to death
a poem for someone who is not wearing green
a poem for someone who is ice skating
a poem for someone who owns 24 shoes
a poem for someone out on the corner
a poem for someone slicing green pepppers
a poem for someone wearing a clown suit
a poem for someone milking cows
a poem for someone counting to ten
a poem for someone who is pushing up daisies
a poem for someone getting their first tooth
a poem for someone who has taken a bullet
a poem for someone clicking a 'like' button
a poem for someone who is living in South Africa
a poem for someone eating a soft taco
a poem for someone found guilty
a poem for someone found not guilty
a poem for someone, anyone
No if, and's, buts or try out your luck
No not even a maybe
But before too long I feel I'll be gone
On my way to pushing up daisies
No sense standing here shaking in fear
Crying out like a baby
I feel the walls closing in with the creak of the lid
Faster than a chance to save me
What comes around goes or what goes around comes
Seriously you need to believe
Soon on the other side if anyone decides
By chance that they might need me
Six feet in a hole all except for my soul
Air tight they say for safe keeping
With nary a sound I take it all lying down
Plenty of time for inward thinking
Here in my new home with dirt ceiling and floor
In this little room they graciously gave me
Spending all of my time in mid-excersise
An eternity of pushing up daisies
Yours truly never heard, seen, no lies
particularly when alone
facing my (pushing up daisies) demise,
without pretense nor guise,
he honestly decries
smelled, tasted, nor touched, any size,
and essentially knew nothing besides
ancient fruit grown in Japan
for past 1,000 years as Earth flies
thru space, now more about loquats,
plethora of details to exercise
memory bank, though
this poetaster still tries
to appear learned, no matter
me no expert, I reckon eyes
aforementioned small yellow size
egg-shaped acidic fruit
great breakfast, lunch,
or dinner sup prize
for dessert never knew the evergreen
eastern Asian tree of rose family,
in Thorndale residents
at somber occasions,
or holidays edibly feast
as modus operandi to eulogize.
If ever opportunity
finds agriculturally cocksure
and propensity doth arise to venture
to savor succulent juice of Loquat,
savoir faire mine mean
mien to one epicure
this wordsmith, whatever
his wordsworth as whitman,
he will need to remove lower denture
minor inconvenient truth (er tooth),
where jaws comprise juncture
and/or chop delectable treats
into byte size morsels.
Perhaps before I lay
me down to sleep
forever and a day
launched into death
be not proud, aye
will strive to appease
culinary yen oy vey
searching high and
low unexpectedly axed
about diddly squat (a spot,
pimple, or sty) seated
please and lemme
introduce myself, cuz
thar thou looking
for specific monsignor okay
thy my quest, I wilt thus assay
to indulge me secrete,
and rejoice hip... hip... hooray
if thee will allow any which way,
yours truly to supplicate,
perhaps magic discovery
after I pay obeisance and pray
to Mother Nature
my hunger, she will allay.
If ambition to satiate loquat all naught
please scatter cremated ashes,
upon bed of loquat sought
but ne'er found,
cuz earnestness to secure
coveted desire fraught,
not necessarily in vain if I got
repurposed to commingle,
viz this pauper devoid of haute
cuz thrift stores find me
where clothes get bought.
Alone in your world of solitude, you do not wait for anyone to care
your mind and thoughts are satisfying, and with you do they share
wisdom and knowledge they are your light, what was once far is now brought near
seeking answers for all of your questions, to them guided by your inner ear
Meditating and illuminating, this world is but a testing ground for your soul
you've been reincarnated, given another chance, this world is really your parole
keep in mind with your time here, many above are watching what you do
your life ceasing and again being brought, to a place which no one has a clue
While judging your life, to the hairsbreadth of truth, your actions they will surely
measure
for sins committed will you be punished, but for your good awaits you unforeseen
pleasure
what is it all for, you question, the wisdom of this world is it really part of life's goal
you don't know, but heaven wishes it so, maximizing the rewards to be earned by
your soul
While reading my words and contemplating their meaning, maybe asking how do I
know
what audacity I must have to write all this, thinking I just made up words for this to
flow
then know, if you follow the truth your soul will not lie, truth is only whispered to the
discerning ear
failing to achieve reward for your soul while still here, something really deserving of
your fear
After all has been said, do not regret, it pays to reevaluate your direction and take
note
if you think that after this life you'll be pushing up daisies, why bother trying to stay
afloat
plan and purpose have we all been put here, expectations for us to try and achieve
desire for us to pass this test, to overcome our challenges and just start to believe
my mom’s not pushing up daisies
having gone to her eternal rest in Spring
her restful place is where her soul has gone
back to earth with its raindrop-moss
(springy, as if for a tiny bunny
or hallucination-size “wabbit”)
off track, the violet urn
next to the frame
that holds my mother’s face
and my attention
confused by the unscattered ashes
contained. she’s there
or elsewhere
or both ways
dizzy the thoughts
and my nephew
on and over a couple
mountaintops where is he
particles placed, displaced
proper, improper
does it matter
it all matters
and the occasional shock
of a true blue viewing
passing by the other room
while relative remains
seem sentiments of denial
until a video snaps
you out of it
suddenly appears
the ghost
or a huge photograph
reminds you
why your there
in that chair
listening to the air
breathing
Sometimes, I am given to wonder, why poetry
and stark reality must be torn so asunder?
Why the huge stress on a new babies cheeks?
When governments worldwide totally reek?
Why is winter weather or a flower so adored?
While all nations have food shortages that are
woefully ignored!
This is in in no way a denial that wonderful
things do exist!
Nor do I encourage writing a poem, with the shades of Oliver Twist!
Poems that have but a hint of how we actually are?
End up unread, and as unknown, as the planet Mars!
Short, and meaningless, oh yes, these are ogled and read like crazy.
Poetry that requires a pinch of thought, ends up, pushing up daisies!
11/23/2022
Never get caught in his sight
If u are, u're in for a fight
Don't mistake him for a fool
Listen up! I'm about 2 take u 2 school
Run as fast as u can!
Better watch out he's a bad man!
Heed my warnings
If not, u will see no more mornings
Pushing up daisies
He doesn't come off as crazy
Keep an eye on both of his hands
Or u might find out why he's a bad man
He's kept the evil at bay for a long time
But now, vengence is on his mind
A day late and a dollar short
U better come up with a plan of some sort
Silent and deadly
His hands r always steady
U r going to find out firsthand
Why I keep telling u he's a bad bad man
Eyes in the back of ur head
Red dot on ur forehead
Hide under the covers in ur bed
U will never see his style and swag
Think fast or u'll end up in a body bag
On ur own 2 feet u will have to stand
Square up cuz he's a bad man
Silver tongued devil
He functions on a deadly level
Always gets his target by any means
U might catch him rockin jeans
He might be wearing black slacks
Let just cut to the facts jack!
Run as far as u can!
Goddamn, he's a bad man!
GRAVE THOUGHTS
unseen
even though protocol
states 6 feet under
all along
walking up to the stone
pushing up daisies
with my feet
until his mate
fades away
and a fresh dig
even then a tent
covers the gaping hole
but we circle back
and now
only a bandaid board
covers the open wound
we peek - can’t help ourselves
we don’t see
a wooden coffin
instead the object’s
encased in cement
and i find that 6 feet
is hardly anything
at all
and realize her mate
resides
just a shovelful away
they could almost
hold hands
and i want to reach
toward the man
i met as an infant
the one
that loved me
and i’m sad
i’ve walked over
corpses
souls reside
over my head
solace kisses
heaven sent
and we drive away
an indelible image
left in my eye
a snapshot
underneath the lid
5/30/2017
“You’re a daisy if you do.”
Doc Holliday
ITs THREE O CLOCK AND ITs O K
the local joke
a triple homicide
in thirty seconds
can see pale faces
through the coffin glass ~
too many face consequences
Wyatt, Morgan, Virgil, Doc Holliday,
spray bullets and jargon
at the famed Cowboys
Billy Clanton, Tom and Frank McLaury ~
pushing up daisies
buried at Boot Hill
it’s grave
Holliday and the Earps
will have to answer
for their fame
Big Nose Kate, the local prostitute
slept with Doc
and Sheriff Wyatt had his common law
wife - she kept her life private ~
Tombstone, Arizona infamous!
3/9/2023