Long Hothouse Poems
Long Hothouse Poems. Below are the most popular long Hothouse by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Hothouse poems by poem length and keyword.
(inspired by ‘Dusty Rose Dreaming’ by poet vb)
We’re powdered city girls heading into a club,
bright orchids entering the hothouse
spreading fun with noblesse oblige,
qua somethings suited for silver screens.
Our attention’s as uncertain as the stock market.
Experts at mixing trickery and disguise,
we’re but vague summations of nature,
as we sparkling preen, like excited atoms.
Rouged and kohled to unnatural colors,
dressed in silk-whispers to tease and entice,
in neon-light, broken by par-cans, scanners
and champagne flutes, we’re superhero-like immune
to societal judgment and aghast rebuke.
In our few, fleeting nights of youth
let our voices chorus in laughter
What’s it to you? Tell the truth.
.
.
Songs for this piece:
Baby You’re a Superstar by NuDisco
Love Land by the Blenders
Nostalgie Du Voyage by Nightflight
Three coins tossed at once; each coin is given a value of 2 or 3, depending upon whether it is tails or heads, respectively. Six such tosses make the hexagram. Some fortune-tellers use an empty tortoise shell to shake the coins in before throwing them on a dish or plate.
A Sonnet Lipo-gram No Letter A
Flyby moments of springtime, sweet impress
deeply rooted in the feel of the skin
Discern the hour of its serville prowess
then bloom with kindrid spirit, be its twin
Flowering florets with midget whole buds
sendings shivers down your comfy dorsum
Sleep inside this hothouse with silent thud
then rouse gently, like the weightless vellum
Time for betterment is here, find your pound
weigh it in, turn the compost of your plot
Let bygones be bygones, cover the grounds
with redress, then grow your own blessed lot
Hold the tortoise shell, put three coins in it,
then consult I Ching, the way you see fit.
The Venus Sun-Trap
Bright sister of the Earth defines the sky at eve and dawn
For similarities not at all, a hothouse orb intensely strong
Of water next to none that would see it boil and frazzle
Earth’s closest sister dons sulphur clouds that really makes her dazzle
Bright Lucifer and Vesper that heralds an evening prayer
Two stars not one named by the ancients for her light so fair
This Roman goddess of beauty and love rages a polar storm
Her hellish mantel submits non stop to molten rocks that warm
Bright Venus, second to the sun. the messenger goes first
She’s first for an inferno that would make the devil thirst
And more transcends them all with atmospheric pressure
Ninety times more than Earth, her fiery crown a treasure
Bright lady whose carbon greenhouse is her estate
Two hundred three and forty earth days, it takes her to rotate
The slowest of the lot, her magnetic field not much
But her volcanic life and magma are very hard to match
Bright morning star that twinkles in the fading night time sky
I know exactly who you are, so clearly seen by human eye
Too hot for human mission and short lived the probes that land
One day you may be conquered with your secrets well in hand
White Wings
Perceived upon a sunny day, a flutter by sailing the still
Dancing a sequence with paper wings seeking to alight
And flit a nomadic path through warmth and perfect haze
Fragile life that traverses the blooms to spread the seed
But fast fading beauty that’s sought by human hand
To make extinct the dancing fairy with snowy fan displayed
Far from the cocooned confines of change
She tastes the summit of liberty that is her right
And clutches the uncertain straws of future
As nature struggles to even up
Drought
Relent the ruthless stream of extra violet and torrid sear
That drenches the fields with arid draining the verdant
Into patchy brown and frazzled mass of ocher
While fading pools display their depths of cracked mire
Look away I say from clear blue skies of stark
That dry the lips of those who view the sunlit scene
Instead seek the solace of shade below the gasping trees
Who long for days of cool and droplets fine
Restore again the summer hues of varied green
That sate the herd and make anew the faded color
How long the eerie still of hung and dried
That turn the dermal outer into leathery crevice
How long can ozone‘s layer stave the lesion
Of hothouse gas, man made poison
That tips the balance and seals the planet’s fate
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ki7rptpm85M
Lilacs and daffodils seasonal thrills
spilling on the lawn lots of sunshine and light
beaming from a window I hold still
breathing in April, I no longer feel the chill
roses and daisies joyful gardeners dig
waiting for colors of spring to win big
tiny birds chirp while passing the twig
bonnet smiles and kisses for each sprig
marigolds and violets scented like heaven
springtime blooms in a hothouse of seven
nurtured irrigations from a moistened glen
just feed them love and never say, when
albeit time for grooming and wild flowers too,
I know its that time when everything grows anew.
Sponsor: Regina McIntosh
Contest Name: Breath of Spring
March 1, 2021
Warming up to the sensual murmur
of a predawn dream.
It was a wave troubled night
the cold-grizzles
bent thoughts into driftwood shapes.
She echoes,
her body heat can almost be seen.
Who she is, is a writhing question mark
beneath squeezed-shut eyelids.
An ******** pumps images into flesh,
an overused past simulates
composite likeness’s.
Erotic hothouse flowers bloom,
yet they are only skin deep
and wither too soon.
Legs are swung over a shipwrecked bed.
Head and face rubbed hard,
jaws chew air, shreds of brain fuzz hang
before they empty-out and fall.
Not turning the kitchen light on,
hands flat on the cold breakfast counter,
shoulder blades moving up and down -
still trying to shake her off.
A last image of her floating face down
in an unwashed coffee mug.
In a shadowy sink,
gently
I wash her away.
SCENARIO
ostentatioun
everywhere
spreading
in the
hothouse
of
incongruous
reflection
ageless &
timeless
elevated
living
a
paraphrase
supposedly
overwhelmingly
in an
atmosphere
of
astonishing
perfection
flawless
beyond
observation
an
epochal
retrospective
of appreciation
in contrast
& spotlit
in appearance
so visually
available
&yet mysterious
impervious
impassive
monumental,
in
reflected
profile
NOTE:THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE using spaces&breaks without grammatical symbols ,the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and responds thus making this enigmatic form a two way interplay & interpretatIon unique to the moment& changing according to mood is inherently variable.
They bloomed together
within the same state of mind
though separated
by zones of time.
Sultry words sprouted
sprig-like inklings flourished
as they bound each other
to a burgeoning erotica,
yo florid images.
O such efflorescence!
O how the swelling vine
can cling and clutch
at far distant hearts,
sadder yet the perfidy
of too hungry a need,
for indeed
he also tendered
to many other female offshoots,
and she herself was a veritable
Venus Fly Trap.
In such a way,
they wove their sensual spells,
a hothouse sorcery
doomed
never to be close enough
to ever take root.
She's the look of a hothouse flower;
She seems to be losing power-
Like a rose in need of summer shower!
Like a bird retreating to summer bower!
Hair plastered, her dress a mess,
She's been under a current stress.
Susanna didn't mean to transgress,
But, she's a tendency to obsess.
Her eyes wild, and full of remorse,
Desperation left Susanna no recourse.
When comes the time for the discourse,
She shall wilt, of course!
She's a certain look of fright,
In her slow and hopeless flight.
Though none yet know of her plight,
Her future's suddenly not so bright!
She's the look of a desert bloom,
Sweltering in some unhappy room.
Susanna seems about to swoon;
She's danced to the wrong tune!
On return, first thing, I view
my garden with sleepy eyes.
Straight away, I summerise,
nothing died.
I pull a few offending weeds,
as I go along the paths.
New colours cream,lilac,red and yellow.
Daffidols bulbs that split in halves.
As I reach the cherry tree,
a tear comes to my eye.
Buds of pink, Mum's birthday,
May 2nd......She died.
Bulbs I planted last October
are trying to break free.
From that poor clay soil I
put them in.....silly me.
My rose tressles have blown down.
Taking rose plants with them.
The baby orange tree, in hothouse
has babies hanging from the stem.
My garden gives me so much pleasure.
You would not understand.
Unless you tend one, just like me.
Midwives to nature....unplanned.