To Planty

Seph’s House
Somewheretown, U.S.A.


Dear Planty—

Seven years ago, you went to live at Seph’s house. And seven years ago, you were about 2 and a half inches tall.

Today, you are still at his house, sitting in his bedroom in a little green pot. And today, you are about five inches tall.

I wanted to say how sorry I am to hear that Seph’s been neglecting you. Aunt Rose tells me that you go for weeks (& months!) on end sometimes without getting watered? Tsk, tsk! Seph doesn’t seem to have been the best owner—we had doubts about him when you went to go live there, we tried to tell you. But you wouldn’t listen. Not that I’m trying to make you feel guilty…

But, I must also commend your efforts. For I know that you are the most forgiving of plants. Cause you’re still around, even if you don’t get watered. We’re very proud of how you’re taking life.

I hope Seph will be watering you more often now.

Stay strong. Stay green. Please reply soon to tell us how you’re faring.

Your cousin,


10 thoughts on “To Planty

  1. Dearest Planty:
    I am not anti-
    Planty, but my dear
    I am incompetent, I fear
    I must admit that I lack
    Whatever turns thumbs green from black.
    So if I were you, I’d take my advice –
    I don’t want to have to warn you twice:
    Plantys die from my embraces,
    So make your home some other places.

  2. Yes, candy is also dandy
    But quicker than liquor and candy
    My plantys always die
    I still insist I’m handy
    At bad poetry, but often randy,
    And you reject it in the blink of either eye.
    Because it’s gritty and sandy,
    It deserves that modus operandi
    ‘Cause it mentions gas or drinking too much rye.

    How long shall we continue to bandy
    Back and forth, our skills not grandy?

  3. That’s not the gas I was talking about
    Nor did I ever mention grain
    Your poem might be fair, no doubt,
    But you missed my point again!

    Please take no offense
    I meant it to be funny
    My awful poetry and nonsense
    Not gloomy or cloudy, but sunny!
    Therefore I end up being trite
    And grasping too hard to rhyme
    And so, too often for your site,
    They come off as offensive slime.
    But never fear, from now on
    Any Excellence in Bad entry
    From me, will only be a poem upon
    Which applause, from the noble gentry,
    Or you, or any child, will resonate loudly
    In the Halls of Fame, and you can post
    Whatever I write, quite proudly
    On any site where you’re the host.
    Herein is the problem I’ve always had
    I don’t know when to quit my Bad
    Should I add another couplet or two?
    Or do I stop now, and give all of you
    A break.
    I think I should stop now –
    To which you can reply, “And how!”

    I could go on and on.
    I won’t. Really. I’m done.

    Or am I?

    • Your ditty made me l o l
      Why you rhyme so very whell!
      And I knew you spoke not
      Of deisel & grain
      But sarcasm is heavily
      Programmed into my braine.
      I love to make jokes
      About everything
      Fun it pokes
      Instead of awkward stings.

      And I think you shouldn’t stop
      To satisfy mere mortal’s thoughts
      About the proper length of a po’m
      (If you did, you might as well go home.)

      Should I stop?
      Might as well.
      Lengthy poems may be swell
      But the way this puter is set up
      My wrists soon get tired
      Of typing, unpropped!
      The En’

  4. My smile, as well,
    Is a mile long, can you tell?
    Why stop when I’m on a roll?
    Because my stuff is rot, or so I’m tol’.
    Not by you, of course, I mean
    By others who my rhyme have seen.
    The en’.
    Your frien’.

    • Will the fun ever, ever end?
      How much time on this will I spend?
      Will I slowly lose all my friends?
      If I keep writing BP?

      Will they all despise me,
      And will they chastise me,
      Refuse to fraternize with me,
      If I keep writing BP?

      And will I get blacklisted,
      And get defriended from friend-listeds?
      Even if I don’t Facebook, (Perhaps it’s twisted)
      No FB, if I BP?

      And if BP ≠ FB,
      And FB = Bad,
      Then BP = FBP
      Which is my Favorite Brand of Poetry.
      He he.

  5. Pingback: Planty’s Plight: A Happy Ending | House of Happy

  6. Pingback: To Rhododendron | House of Happy

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