Long Pistils Poems
Long Pistils Poems. Below are the most popular long Pistils by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Pistils poems by poem length and keyword.
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
In the shadow of your red lips, angels revile your smile,
A definition of love, where instincts meet in style.
The egg, rolling in infinity, cries in pure moments,
Overturned clouds, round tombs, in my mind's playful torments.
The budding shoots eagerly drink destiny through flowers,
Whose matured pistils erupt in the dawn of dreams' showers.
Your love, without perfumed words that die,
Of my cult, crooked crosses for atheists, a backdrop to defy.
In the astral shadow of the New Earth, the world's wind spins,
Abject stars swarm toward the Universe's hive, where it all begins.
Eternal rotation, in reverse, summer igniting the air,
Imponderability sparking a call in a frail alphabet's lair.
A firm point, a unique end, the start of a calendar's grace,
My transparent eyelid, a humble leaf, the first and last place,
Torn away with modesty, when your pity weeps true beauty,
Dusting cheeks with my virgin loves, singing your story as duty.
More poppies grow along the asphalt road
Where mankind once came then went away
Flowers don’t remember men because
Orange colored petals form like cups of tea
Primal stems built thick to hold the system up
Containing powdery pistils erect in solid black
Anther/filament merge to form perfection
Soft to the touch dressed up in wonder
Standing tall to nourish bees with nectar
So there are no thoughts worth thinking of again
Winds come gentle to make beauty genuflect
Thick and flexible they bend the knee today
Sunny days know no boundaries to life’s effect
To the sometimes comings and goings to death
But poppies forget everything once again
When they fall into a bed of roses fast asleep
The sun goes down, forgets to turn off the lights
Nature is not perfect but well worth the time it spent
With poppies when you come to think of it
vrrroom buzzzzzzzz vrrroom
cars in a circle
touch each other crash
bungled-stuttering engines like
frustrated flying insect?
bungle-stuttering
hits and misses faulty transmissions
Petals and sepals touching
Stramens and Pistils
developer seeds and fruit blossoms
O' hymenopterous succulent
chewing mouth parts
Petals and sepals touching
stamens and pistils
developed seeds and fruit blossoms
Encountering chance obstacle hindrance
In mid-flight voicing working flights
Suckculants flights buzzing
Stigma touches tongue of feathered vertebrate
Buzz-Buzz! Sucks-sucks suckculants
9/12/19
Where Bumbles Bounce Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: craig cornish
Hungary 1956
The innocent flowers peered gingerly
Through the stench in the iron pavement
Hesitating, then stretching the petals greedily
To drink of the sunlight of Possibility...
Czechoslovakia 1968
Beaming, grinning, grown men giddy with laughter
Liberty unleashed! Gone Repression's manacles
Now marching, shouting, swelling to a gale force
Unstoppable, sweeping aside all resistance in her path...
Happy Endings
...When, bludgeoned by cement-faced tanks
Petals ducking inward, collapsing
Pistils and stamens suffocating
Vanished smiles annihilated
Choked on oxygen-depleted
Placards of Freedom unbetrothed...
...All the flowers died...
...All the people withered...
...Crushed -- oh-so --Happily --ever --after
black velvet visioning vast void
kaleidoscopes glittering joyed
sanctified symphonies decoyed
cherubs cheer shimmering stars
darting dancing across Mars
awed are we, telescopes focus
seeing Suns burst hocus-pocus
bouncy brides in lacy locus
sky vineyards pour wine splashing
blood red hibiscus dashing
mind boggles as Darkness unfurls
penetrating strikes into pearls
goddess petals flourishing whorls
gold pistils dripping syrup
Presence is widely worshipped
ruddy fingers touch depth, pitch sing
observation salty tears bring
guide us to exalted High King
heralded by rose angels
seraphim soft enables
point piercing ignites another
quarks entangle quantum lovers
ink deep sizzles like no other
each space hollows of God's Eyes
Infinity dies then rise
•
existence an eternal tango
eating spheres orange mango
Being neither panto or nando
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
with natural binaural and visual ambience...
courtesy bumblebee pollinating clover
Diaphanous wings yield live airplay
vibrations undulate thru ethereal airway
rippling glorious edifications allay
gorgeous fauna and floral array
ears and eyes beheld
awesome buzzfeeding display
flight of the bumblebee laden with pollen
analogous to elegant performance
starring Faye Dunaway.
Crossword puzzle momentarily
distracted by amazing fete
observing crucial insect necessary
transferring pollen to pistils of flowers
with each subsequent visit
impossible mission to differentiate
one amongst countless
gently rumbling Bombus.
June 14th, 2020 thoughts
of doomsday far and away
pitch perfect afternoon yippie yie yay
I could squander hours
observing miracle worker relay
unwittingly alighting then planting pollen,
i.e. the male gametophyte
(DNA) of seed plants
transported to female part of flower
to enable plant to reproduce.
Quintessential lesson relearned
live life foreplay
until... hair turns
more'n fifty shades of gray
pronouncedly more noticeable since salons
and barbershops under lockdown
onset of coronavirus
(COVID-19) spells hooray
satisfying grim reaper
until vaccine acquired
meanwhile (back at the ranch)
think laboratory smart people linkedin,
qua advocating preventive measures,
a fancy word for test
iz pseudo synonym immunoassay
whispered to yours truly courtesy
twittering and tweeting blue jay.
How uncomplicated existence
allotted to birds and bees
simple straight forward purpose
additionally as by-product
to cultivate cheese
just cut away any moldy part
lest thee exhibit symptoms
synonymous contracting poison
(less painful than scorpion sting),
nevertheless nsync with illness
expanding thru body
on par with generic
garden variety archetype disease
ah, I sure wish being human
constituted less cumbersome complication
instead comprised
supercalifragilisticexpialidocious ease
as iterated with aforementioned
half dozen simple life forms
some of which can survive extreme temperatures
and/or even suffering thru a deep freeze
now upon reaching the end,
I expect nothing more emphatic
than ye to ejaculate Geez!
"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.
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.
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