Long Stamens Poems
Long Stamens Poems. Below are the most popular long Stamens by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Stamens poems by poem length and keyword.
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
splashing. sunshine.
etched glasses with paint in mind -
water goo.
rose reds and blueberry blues.
as if handling a ginormous flatscreen,
the canvas placed.
splash...splash...splash
like a conductor with an orchestral skill.
the maestro puts on his visor and busies himself,
squeezes the trigger, the water bottle
set to diffuse. his plants flourish in their bath.
he sees them grow before his playful eyes,
stamens wear black mascara.
they soak up the sunshine
like bathing beauties.
twenty hues in ketchup-sized bottles,
arranged like dutch tulips on the dais,
hold still as the gardener plucks
a plastic stem with his hand.
appearing as a mad horticulturist —
this artist’s in demand.
3/23/2020
"WHITE LILY"
When the first
snow-white lily
sprouted from drops of milk
spilled from Hera’s breast
and on her lap sweet Hurcules
rested, baby feather fingers touching
she smiled a surrogate mother’s
fantasy, to make time stop still
reached her hands to
touch the Heavens
creating something of her own
this not from her body torn
her very own Celestial Galaxy
the Milky Way was born
White Lily
lilium
leirion
lilium
leirion
golden ochre anther
Venus rose from
sea of foam
envious with eyes of green
marred it’s beauty
with male pistil
ardent jealousy
White Lily
I am the Rose of Sharon,
Lily of the Valley
Sings the Song of Solomon
Flowers of the Field
White Lily
Springtime Nazareth
blessed Time of Flowers
Our Lady and Our Lord’s
Holy Annunciation
Gabriel fresh from Heaven’s Gate
white petals at his feet
Shining Light Illuminates
Announcement Incarnate
White Lily
Black Night of the Soul
Garden of Gethsemane
not hiding from His enemies
He looks upon their
clean beauty as He prays,
speaking secrets to their stamens
He smiles at their response
3 petals each flower displays.
White Lily
Sacred blood spilt on soil
The water from His side
drink His tears filled with blood
His white robed
Apostles of Hope turn to HIS Light
now they're sanctified
blooming from His Spirit
death denied eternally
WHITE LILIES
(Lovejoy-Burton/2018 Jan)
1.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9JIDoEC2pUU
1 John 5 (NIV)
I’ve crucified the hands of the final clock, in silence,
Time, suspended, hangs life in eternal pain,
Circling the universe, searching for your flower of color,
Lost among the stars, in planetary systems, like a calling.
I swear by what I feel, on earth I have found myself,
Beyond the belt, majestic, enduring, like an unfulfilled dream,
Through the dust of stamens, compact and virile, uninterrupted,
Our love grows, an immeasurable pistil, a silent thought.
Seeds chosen from impure stars have sprouted in us,
Budding in your dreams and mine, like a string of rains,
Morning wakes us from eternal vice, slaves to love,
Yawning, we drag ourselves to work, burdened by nature's memories.
On the way, you gift me, gratefully, a deceived smile,
Thinking of the confabulating night, an unlimited, tempted dream,
From every moment of memory, a few obscene whispers,
Nature reciting to lost gazes, lightning, eternal rains.
Storms outlined with the thrills of ancestral sins,
Finding delight only in me, an astral season,
Immeasurable delight, a dance of shadows and light,
In me, the place where sins and dreams intertwine in peace.
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
Through frayed seams a rosy dream bleeds
needled and re-stitched
with threads of time and love and hope..
and still — a rosy dream bleeds
the miscarriage of a promised rose garden
leaving me bereft but for entwined bands of gold –
contemplative thorns tempt my angst
moony moody barbs bristle twigs of tenderness
sigh— it’s not a laurel wreath worn atop my brow
as I sit alone with a squeamish friend
my blue-sky-to-storm-cloud introspection —
as your distant eyes deserted mine long ago
Winter's beast laid bare a cerebral graveyard
lost you wander amongst laid-to-rest neurons
worn headstones of thoughts and laughter and memories…
you wonder why they hide — why they died
the crackle of cognitive circuitry quiets
branched-lightning fades from unwitting clouds
and aged roots of reality perish
our red rose finished fallen to pieces
you-and-me-petals a messy heap like old potpourri —
yet in dark’s hush love’s scent lingers on our dream pillow
Oh nostalgic sepals embrace me!
my heart yearns to return to the bud
to the fullness of our June bloom —
instead, I bury desires beneath life’s litterfall;
amid pollenless stamens and leaves of one-sided reveries
and cage my fear my despair behind purple thistle facing the light
as I free a smile for you, my love —
you my sun that still parts the rain-bearing nimbus
I know that people find me strange
I don't alway think the same
I look on life so different
Than others some time do
I look at what's around me ,
In a deep way ,
A flower is not just a flower
If you really look inside
It's creation is such wonder
And full of life and colour,
But when you look deep inside
You can see what makes its wonder
The petals of different colours ,
the stamens for the bees
You see it's not just a flower ,
As it feed the bees
So every thing that has life
We need to survive
Even if it's not perfect
It's important for life
It's made up of tiny things
That only God could do
And it's the same in life
With people to ,
To get to know some body
You have to look deep inside,
As just like the flower
There is beauty you can find,
You have to reach deep in there heart
To really get to know
And understand how it is
For people you don't even know
For some times there goes
The grace of god ,
Looking from the other side ,
And we feel lucky
We haven't got there life,
So when you meet some body
For the first time
No matter what , if there not ,
Perfect as you may like ,
Deep inside there is a heart
That is like the beautiful flower ,
That try so hard to blossom
Even if not perfect
It's nice to find the room
To place with in your heart
And you will then find
That person is in fill bloom
It goes to say that in life
Animals to have a heart
And they to will give you love
Even when your apart
For they to feel like we do
And think deep inside
They understand our feeling
And are always by our side
So next time you look
into your dogs eyes
Your see deep understandings
They understand you and your life
Susan gage ??
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
In a meadow of wildflowers
On a hillside in the spring
I watched a ballet of butterflies
With various colors fluttering
The sun provided the spotlight
On this colorful outdoor stage
Accompanied by an orchestra of songbirds
With a fresh north breeze turning the page
The choreography was stunning
Their movements so precise
Each flower beckoning the butterflies
Using their beauty as a luring device
With butterflies exchanging partners
Kissing stamens and pistols, too
The cycle of Mother Nature
Through this ballet was coming true
I sat in awe of this beauty
Watching the colorful pageantry
Thanking the wonderful performers
For staging this show just for me
by Joe Flach written and posted on 4/3/12 for the Butterfly Kisses contest