Best Pistils Poems
Stamens and pistils
delicately poised
Shamans and pistols
making too much noise
Soft buzz preferred,
a silencer’s desired
Pollinator’s sense
the triggers just fired
Nectar brings balance
agape open wide
Willing the seeker
to do laps inside
Comes with a snag
also stitch in the side
Fulcrum of a rose
the thorn realised
My soul’s not a flower
just gives and takes
Wants what it craves
accepts all, even fakes
Opens too early,
closes far too late
Can’t tell if I’m full,
yet knows when I’m sate
Possesses a thorn,
and stabs by design
Fulcrum of my soul’s
human not divine
Protects at all costs
only thing that’s mine
Not pain or loss,
just my life to define
How did a cherry kiss? Bitter flower petals with sweet pistils.
So laden they act as halos while we breathe the love
in a pink hollow, silence sounding like taste, acting like epistle
to hold this moment in a silvery image, like moon, or dove
low, low, a bowl formed while sunshine flickers above.
Chains of yellow petals hang over our deck, the leaves hands--
offer welcome resting branch, our sheltered home.
Seeds follow close, fragile like beans, hard case to feed the land
crawl before God, they say, be grateful as we weed and stir loam.
Together seeds and flowers and hands make a life a poem.
Awaiting the sumac, the flame at summer's ending is fruitless
we've passed the feathering, the pimping of red underneath bristle
the deer horn softness crawling out in oddest places in a mess
lining the sand pond, above the purpled iris, the pestle
of stone and sun, no rain to bring down sumac's fiery trestle.
Vulturous crows squawk and fight the ring-billed sea gulls
waiting, one in the bared hollow hands of the cottonwood
the other fat-bellied and waddling after rain finally dulls
we're under hoodies, under shivers, our neighborhood
waits the pinking and mossing, will it unfurl new wood?
Splatter painted, Pollock blessed, leggy I stand,
among the green grass and healing Plantain
in a kaleidoscope of color panned.
A walking canvas in the meadowland
stems, humorously stippled to entertain
splatter painted, Pollock blessed; leggy I stand.
Blush brushed by daylight, a cheeky garland;
a stand bloomed within thin skinned constraints
in a kaleidoscope of color panned.
Pistils between petals unknown unplanned,
joyous the sound of honey bees restrained,
splatter painted, Pollock blessed; leggy I stand.
A plantigrade intrusion, a new brand
surface mounted digits adorned prearranged
in a kaleidoscope of color panned.
So bright the upright parts, so very grand
one can but dream the crown gloriously manned
splatter painted, Pollock blessed; leggy I stand
in a kaleidoscope of color panned.
Mused: Bella online Literary Review Winter 2015
Spray your love in the masochistic mist,
shapely satisfying the illicit itch...
With handcuffs upon the wicked wrist,
narcotic nectars that will bewitch…
Salacious secretions that must assist,
appeasing appetites that shall enrich...
Salivating on parts hardly ever kissed,
exploring erotica within its niche…
Licentious desires amidst negligent night,
engulfing erections are craving...
Passionate pistils partake in their plight,
tender thoughts are misbehaving…
Bodies in motion divulge in delight,
as animalistic aphrodisiacs are raving...
Concupiscence convulsions do bite;
willing wanton wizards are waving…
Hold me tight as we twist and twitch,
upon luscious landscapes yearning...
Libidinousness lactations in their stitch,
beauteous breasts are burning…
Carnal covetousness stings their pitch,
for evocative emulations returning...
Leaving humble humanity in the ditch,
lacrimal lewdness upon learning.
Oct.15.2019
Itch, witch, glitch or twitch
Sponsored by: Nina Parmenter
Background Music...Sade
"No Ordinary Love"
With Female Virtual Voice
N/A for contest
My love like steel and silk
cuts through you
splutters your blood
watermelon juice down a throat
Wipes it with yellow silken ribbon
for you to suck afresh
that you may find your
Godly seed within
My love like dragonflies and bees
silently landing on stamen or pistils
alchemising nectar into patterned
dust upon transparent wings
Earth rewards my love with morning glory
steel severs sunflower stems
silkworms crawl into a wet rose centre
pollen stolen in sparkling dew
My steely silken love refreshed
from your flowered stickiness
Morning Glories dance with ease
trumpet flowers among weeds
twirling petals pirouette
with a dainty, shy coquette.
Swirling purples blend to white
pistils are a bee’s delight
glory visions, how they rise
from low canyons to grand skies.
Flowers dance to nature’s tune
crickets chirp and songbirds croon
lively leaves rustle, they are fans
critters spy the scene at hand.
Morning Glories dance with ease
trumpet flowers among weeds.
6/26/2019
HONORABLE WINNER POEM
Allpoetry June 26
Contest Prompt: Tactile
_________________________
we watch red petals on velvet couch fall
pistils are blood cells raw opened
falling on white cushion watching
grey feathers from parrot fly satin
mohair filaments shy shiver wet
eating figs we tactile break juicy
stroking —
knifed you one loaf for eight
near and far you are my star
crazed or tranquil polishing brass
fingers tactile over my belly
sailing oceans with oil spills floating
ship hull slip waters feeling cold
stroking —
fish dying as gills ooze dna crawling
king then peasant or poet, know it
I feel skin tactile eating figs sticky
weaving words regretting regression
how you escape depths, visceral mate
Persephone presses for ocean peaches
stroking —
slippery scales tactile move slimy
sailors breaking bread on a blue deck
forefingers stroke thumb touching nerves
I watch enthralled tactile oysters slipping
shore with pink shrimp crawl urging
cell membranes stretch, waves rippling
stroking —
lick it
tactile
tender
__________________________
"Immaculate"
I’d like to write something
beautiful for once,
divinely dripping with honey
and milk that washes white
like stamen juice over the uncut,
the bees all come to drink
the heady dew,
stroking their black down
over dusky aubergine-eyed
blue forget-me-knots,
the nots touched by thorns
those slippery rosary beads
coddled warm between the hidden
breasts of petulant nuns
bending in their black habits
unfettered roses
pistils sticky with stigma
covertly kneeling before their
uncovered dreams
of nakedness blanketed
in the sun's light
warm and flaming
as a forbidden kiss
plucked passionately
immaculate
(LadyLabyrinth / 2023)
pistil.
stigma.
Although flowers bloom it’s awkward to say that they are flowers
because they are not flowers, but thorns disguised as yellow pistils
and stamens surrounded by the petals made of pieces of colorless
paper. Moreover, their fragrance bears no meaning at all because
they bloom in the night,
and each time when the scorching sun brands the cactus’ skin
it cries out loud from the pain of the thorns pierced through
it’s burning flesh to form renewed skin,
then, surprised by a heartrending cry,
the birds flap their wings to fly in the air abandoning the cactus.
However the birds may be, they only are lifeless drones
flying over a desert. And since they are lifeless, they
don’t know the meaning of life, and that’s why they only see
the thorny flowers standing open arms in the midst of the desert that is
filled with ashes of death—nuclear wastes, abandoned poisonous chemical
solutions polluted waters that drive lives to the edge of death.
To the saguaro cactus standing in the midst of man-made miseries,
nonetheless, dreamed to have an audience with
the mystic Queen of the Andes,
and in order for him to fulfill his dream,
to have a long journey toward the south moving along with the sun,
and then, after crossing the delicate line marked zero,*
climbing up the Andes for a higher ridge that is higher than the drone.
And as you go higher the wind starts to rise;
when the wind gets stronger to cut through the skin,
then saguaro’s thorns start to prick its own body from
loneliness unbearable,
and that is the time ripe for
the mystic Queen of the Andes to reveal herself
from the clearing fogs, behind the thick and heavy veil of clouds.
She appears in a dress embellished with tens of thousands of
not overly extravagant or pompous but graceful flowers that
bloom centenary.
She is the tree, immaculate and with inviolable dignity,
she bears the blooms in the serenity of the high and deep mountain.
Today too, the saguaro cactus under scorching sun dreams
a dream of seeing the elegant Queen of the Andes someday,
even afar it, stands as ever.
Enveloped in the cloud, though Queen hides her image
she has left her sweet scent behind,
in the sweet scent she left, the thorn flower saguaro stands
willing to wait another one hundred years to see her again.
*Zero: The Equator
Their fiery blossoms swayed against the sky
In breezy weather and Mama and I
played games, describing how
the long, gold-tipped pistils wrote,
on air, sweeping pollen poems.
No eye that saw could help but read.
Their blooms were red against the green,
And in the early morning wet we deemed
We saw the blood of homegrown heroes,
Who died for duty, deftly limned ---
Dreams to occupy two minds
That loved the moves, in wind,
Of red hibiscus past their primes.
Picasso painted me ugly.
Two lips slung over a rusted hanger.
One eyebrow burnt for attention's sake.
Let's tell Grandma how much fun we had today.
Picasso is still at work.
Monet swallowed your stupidity.
Five teeth missing and nary a barbed retort to bend.
One un-photographed smile was left behind.
Let's tell Grandpa his prized lilacs are in mourning.
Monet is still at work.
Seurat poked your larynx.
The roses in your hands may be the thorns in your side.
Ivy and Sumac spice the teas I serve the unfortunates.
Let's tell Auntie June her parasol spikes are dull and snapped.
Seurat is still at work.
O'Keefe smears one simply.
Stamens and pistils shoot the misanthropes dead.
A spare will be guarded for the one's I've missed.
Let's tell Uncle Ed the lessons you've learned today.
O'Keefe is still at work.
DaVinci played baccarat with Stalin.
Swelled hands made it difficult to paint distinctly.
Dirty tongues are as useful as frayed dishrags.
Let's tell no one anything.
Let's tell no one nothing.
(naughty, bastard boy -
using double negatives in one sentence).
Pay one tuppence to the tillerman
and remind the collected town criers -
I'm at work.
We're all
at Work.
Petunias share shades of blue
with velvet centers gilded gold.
And white pinstripes enhance each hue,
marking petals vivid and bold.
Roses boast scented scarlet swirls
with crimson centers at their hearts.
And velvety, magenta curls
that exceed the sum of their parts.
Tulips mimic majestic bells,
flaunting colors from plum to fawn.
And their waxen beauty excels
in tints; only Nature can spawn.
Daffodils form trumpets mellow
with green pistils, cinnamon crowned.
And stamen are dusted yellow
where nuggets of pollen abound.
Flowers are Nature's living gems,
a plethora of rare jewels.
And in clusters or single stems,
when all is said the flower rules.
(Quatrain)
11/17/2015
While I'm reading a poem about it on the previous page
the girls come over to visit their boyfriends and dance
in high shoes and perfume. Their legs are strong and their voices high.
And the guys get high and hard thinking about what the girls are like
behind their eyes.
That says more about me than reality. And it's exactly four lines.
Ken Patchen would say his angel smells sweet and sassy.
I feel the bony fingers of mine who has been working to stay alive.
Enough small poetry. One must conceive of a project--
say a poem about a bridge--or stop writing
and instead walk over the bridge at sunset and see the city in a nuclear
war
the clocks, the Watchtower and the docks gone and no smoke.
I still exist but I'm late for my job. I'm dressed well
in honor of true love and Spring which both outlast the holocaust.
The manager cans me with the cold hard eyes of one who accepts the
rules entirely.
Goodbye to the rows of dead metal desks and goodbye
to those who can take it longer than I.
The guys downstairs do not read poetry and very little prose.
The General Theory of Employment, Interest and Money does not
occupy their minds.
The sex pistils of the mountain daisy is no concern of theirs
and the man upstairs who plays the horn is less than a curiosity but makes
more noise.
When I feel like this nothing matters and this is good--
get warm with wine, turn out the lights and turn up the radio--
if only there were a woman who liked the down and out life too.
In the end someone sticks a gun in my face in the South Bronx.
How I got among the fire escapes in the sooty alley I cannot say
but it is one of my earliest memories. Perhaps it is my grandmother
holding my hand
or one of the clowns. I say Drop that goddamn gun and he blows me
away.
Ecstasy shivering in musical keys
Squeezing, compressing melodies
Relaxing., exhaling an ode to the joy
Echoes of delight, pistils and pollen
Breeze succumbs to whispers benevolent
I open my petals...the clouds are angry
Emptiness fades the dreams of gardens
The Sun? ...just a Mirage... a prism in the desert
Sculpting naked hopes in indigo of sadness
A requiem or a Never ending story ?
Uprooted Soul exhales The Miracle of Hanging Gardens...
copyright@iolandascripca2012
Bud of a flower,
open, reveal thy beauty,
and color our eyes.
I cannot picture,
this earth without your presence,
you are needed in life.
Your plant family,
400,000 species,
grass, daisy, orchid, are some.
Remnants of you, see,
your kingdom trace back to a,
Jurassic era.
now embrace sunshine,
attract guests with your color,
that they might find you.
Both male and female,
with pistils and stamens,
boundaries are broken.
-For atop your stem,
reproductive organs dwell,
encased in petals.
Pollination needs,
help, ask the bees to carry,
pollen to stigma.
Help is rewarded,
Nectar, a sugar-based sweet,
a feast you must seek.
Please walk gentle,
for some have intentions that,
are carnivorous.
Water, sun, soil, air,
and carbon dioxide bear,
Photosynthesis.
The process makes food,
chlorophyll provides color,
and ends the cycle.
Germination is,
the start of growth, for seeds to,
emerge from the earth.
The roots push down and,
anchor the seed into soil,
as the stem rises.
When petal, pollen,
leaf and stem dance in the wind,
life begins again.