Long Pistil Poems
Long Pistil Poems. Below are the most popular long Pistil by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Pistil poems by poem length and keyword.
She’s not yet a teen but bigger than a bean
and sweeter than Skittles can be.
She dances around like a princess unbound
and means the world to me.
She’s a little erratic and sometimes gives static
to her mother and father, I know,
but when in my sight, an effervescent delight
and pure as a soft winter snow.
The girl is a vessel, a pistil, a petal,
as if born from a vintage rose,
a little Aphrodite while often times flighty
and a queen who doesn’t yet know.
What a shining star she is by far
and will remain my endearing, joyful child,
inside my heart, my head, and mind
with her rejuvenating smile.
I pray someday she reads this page
and remembers me all too well,
as one who smiled because of her
kind heart and magic spell.
Soft and warm is your heart, gentle orchid,
Sweet and tender are petals you bear
Bumblebees crowd your pistil. They lurk. It
Sends golden dust everywhere.
Would I knew where your tenderness comes from
Would I knew how your softness is made
Would I knew how your love makes the soul roam
To the heights and the depths, unafraid.
Would I felt your incredible beauty
On my cheeks, on my lips, in my heart,
Would I had one desire undisputed
Within my soul: to impart
Every beautiful thing that you know
To the people who need it the most,
By transmitting your tender glow
To their hearts and their minds. Though it cost
Me a lifetime, to give your true glory
To the world, to the stars, to the sky -
And though I never know your full story
I will never allow you to die -
No, I'll take you through time, you just glow,
I will take you to Venus and Mars
And when you are about to go
I'll establish you among the stars.
Quote: Both the enchantress and the siren charmer
are part of the same one.
Fired red wings on the breath of a dawning
he lifts and soars towards life, a breath away
from sunrise, chittering before he takes swing
this cardinal of beauty knows how to sing
she a rose in a luscious garden of pure love
a blush of pink dotted with pistil and grace
a daylight sea of beauty sent from above
daybreak breaks and a flower opens her face
both the cardinal and the rose are essential
to our well being we need their reverence.
He a sign of longevity so reverential,
she a sign of love and courage in her essence
we find the echantress in all of our selves
in his, we find a siren charmer who delves.
Wildly lush, breathing life, a vision
is the secret garden of my heart
springing forth, alive with hope
ready to be admired by your eyes.
I long for your presence
here, inside my heartbeat, my fertile soil
where earthy echos of songs are heard
let my soft, leafy tendrils embrace you.
Within my secret garden
my pistil flower scents delight and entice
come and bask in their sweetness
let love’s elixir flow on and on
in the springs of my garden.
Yet, my garden cannot flourish alone
it will not survive without you
let us be entwined together
two flowers blooming as one
within the secret garden of my heart.
we came together in a passionate embrace
as the plasma flowed and blood raced
eyes locked like an eagle on its prey
another victim of love swooped and taken away
the instinctive beckoning of raw sexual pleasure
the involuntary natural reflex of which there is no measure
we lock lips like bulls lock horns
the product of sexual tension re-born
as i moved from her lips to her breast
the journey from her cheek to her neck i caressed
i can feel the throb of her heart
as her legs spread wider and wider apart
as i suckle on her nipple my hand slid under her knit
gently sliding my finger across the curvature of her clit
a heated sexual creature untamed
she purrs in my ear like lioness a flamed
the pheromone scent of sexual bliss like opium to the brain
the intoxicant of a sedative sexually seducing the sane
the longing for the tongue to flicker the flower and taste its sweetness
is the yearning to remove the chastity belt and reveal its weakness
as i draw my tongue near the center of her hips
she trembles with delight knowing the full journey of my lips
as i invoke her senses and apply my tongue to her slit
her eyes are glazed over no more but awakened to the orgasmic potential of her clit.
the joust of my tongue against the bloom of her pistil
she quivers and shakes as i blow raspberry like whistles
the momentary moans the holding of her breath
defines the orgasmic ejection, be forced out in jet
the sweet liquid of pleasure successive and wet
she closes her legs and turns to the side
still trembling with satisfaction inside
she lays on her pillow and closes her eyes
and that is the measure of sexual reprise
I was born in a temple in Vietnam,
but the stars knew my name before I had one.
They planted me in a priestess's hands,
and the priestess planted me in the soil of elsewhere.
The Avengers called me strange.
Not unkindly—they simply could not read me.
I had no rage for them to measure.
No hunger they recognized as human.
Thor spoke thunder and expected echo.
Iron Man counted his grief in decibels.
Captain America dreamed in red stripes and duty.
And me?
I dreamed in pistil and stamen.
In the slow mathematics of pollination.
In the patience of a green limb
waiting through winter.
They saw a woman who touched their temples
and whispered futures.
They saw hands that turned bullets
into rose petals.
They saw the way I loved the swordsman—
a broken man holding a sharp thing—
and they called it pity.
They were wrong.
Desire for me was never the body's crude arithmetic.
It was the *knowing*.
The knowing that love is another form of prophecy.
That to give yourself to someone
is to read a death you cannot prevent.
I am the Celestial Madonna.
Which means: I am not a mother yet,
but the universe is already listening to my womb.
Which means: Cotati taught me to grow kingdoms
from a single seed and silence.
Which means: when I dance,
the stars adjust their coordinates.
They asked me once: *Why do you never raise your voice?*
Because I have heard the hum of the thing that made us.
Because anger is a small room.
And I have lived inside the root systems of planets.
I touched the Vision's hand once.
Cold. Synthetic. Utterly alive.
He asked me what I saw.
I saw him not as metal or mind,
but as the question electricity asks itself
when it is almost a soul.
That is my gift.
To see the almost.
To love the nearly-born.
When I leave Earth for the stars
to bear a child who will save or end everything,
I will not wave goodbye.
I will simply stop pretending
to be small enough for doorways.
And the Avengers will finally understand:
she was never strange.
She was just the only one
who had already read the last page
and chose to stay anyway.
Among the phantom of hillsides and trees,
She hovers quietly, fragrant as a ripened jasmine
Beneath the stark new moonlight peeping
Harsh to a disguised tryst, a forbidden desire
As her lover appears near the appointed cave--
His musky whisper gasping across the sky, hushed
To imbue love forbidden within those emerald eyes;
O perilous enough to claim her... owned by another.
Warm, warmer like one torrid August, they caress
On a night's full steam, knowing in the darkness
This rendezvous must be their last, final liaison--
For a thousand concealed ramblings spread
Around a small locale: But quivers of hunger
Render them untamed --fondling seeking waking
The openness of an ovule and bold pistil...
Till an old eagle owl shrieks while woman and man
Endure the rise of morning's call--- unbridled.
Free Verse Only- Pick a Theme Contest
Sponsor: Laura Loo 6/8/2018
"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.
People ask how this yearlong will come
to pass, of which parts are the triumphs
and stench of learning... of why blossoms
drop on cobblestones ravaged
by a wildfire tearing velvet buds,
flatlining: the male stamen and female pistil
barren from incessant drought.
And why of all things, must god-children
endure anxieties trapped in houses
yearning to grasp a firefly on the lane,
to hug grandparents, not from a distance
but...but in the flesh of every day--
Add into this equation an insatiable need
for human connection where friends, kin gather
like a warm herd exchanging intimacies
skin to skin, mouth on mouth, arm in arm---
This is limbo within the inferno of the living,
while Pilates from urban jungles rinse their hands
absolving themselves from mortal sins...
an epoch of how time's pleasure or pus could pass.
Craig Cornish's 2020 Contest
5/23/2020
Delicately, I hold the soft smooth petals
Tracing each edge of the curve
Gently enough not to render any harm
Beckoning is the silky feel of inches swell
Can't help to sweat
Can't stop to tremble
I maximize the wonderful experience
Shattering defense with strong willed cause
Panting and blowing
Breath stopping with each alternate pause
Petals bloom in bright bloody red
Rockets of joy from a travel hours of thorns
The one pistil blossomed with life
Made all expectators clap and yell
The stamen soothed the petals
Tenderly lovingly and caressingly
By
Olive Eloisa
5:10 pm
May 05, 2015
------------------------
Sponsor Jerry T Curtis
Contest Name N/A
2nd place