Short Pistil Poems

The pistil and the stamen
stood upright and waiting
for the bee.
Honey, can you pollinate me?

The wisteria pods burst
on the cicada's feet
as off it flew
to more vines so sweet.

Every day
within the play
of insect and plant,
sex provides the wonder
of evolution's dance....

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I want to hold the little wonder

I want to feel the little thunder


Of the strength in the pedicel

Of the union in the receptacle 

Of the calm in the pistil 

Of the adventure in the stamen 

Of the smooth flow in the sepal 

Of the endless beauty in the petal


I want to learn of the tubule wonder

I want to learn from the weak thunder...

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talking of fire and passion
watch a scented pistil
guiding the asteroids, did you

hear the flawless silence
after the cuckoo’s call, an interruption,
a suspended pause, then a 

high pitched cascading note, moon
is still hanging out on the western sky,
it is dawn

sun is coming out from the hazel bed
violence must cease
clouds are meditating


SATISH VERMA...

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Tulips
undress themselves
in the warmth of spring sun,
creating new seed for next year
again.

Tulips
again


Tulip flowers have one pistil (female) arising in their centers, with 6 stamens (male) arising from around the pistil's base.  This means that tulips are self-pollinating and do not need other flowers to pollinate in order to make seed....

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it all begins
as One
the pistil and 
stamen
inseparable 
within the 
white lips 
of your
petals
pressed perfectly
paused
perfumed
perfused
by the hint
of desire
to see you
open
unfurled
awakened 
moistened
held in palm
of angels
ready
ready 
ready to be
born
in the 
love of lilies



Originally published in "Dance of Divine Lovers"
Poems of Sacred Sensuality  © 2014 Joseph A Adler...

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I have a bowl for a head
I have a bowl for a head
Hollowed out for flowers
You'd think I'd be dead 

I hold my soul in a lotus
My soul is in a lotus
My soul is a redhead
As you already noticed.

In this rhyming epistle
I've got ivy and thistle
Hear a tune that I whistle
To my stamen and my pistil.

Butterflies are my persons
We set out on excursions
Such pleasant exertions
Cuz my head is a bowl....

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Sweet tender flower...
I love you.
Been long in the Garden...
In search.
You speak to my senses...
In silent, poignant eloquence.
I long to wake with you...
Feel the warmth of morning's smile upon us.
Look upon you...
For my vision's own delight.
Ooh... 
Savor your musk.
Fulfillment is ours.
I've nourished your roots...
Soothed your pistil...
Love's in bloom.

Copyright 2016   Iger Rolyat   All Rights Reserved...

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Sleep little tulip the night has come
You need your rest before morning sun
Close up your pistil, fold in your leaves
Tuck all your petals into their sleeves
And while you're asleep I'll be here close by
I'll whisper my love in the breath of a sigh
For my love is silent, none know how I long
I keep to myself, save for poem and song
And if the day comes when no more I can say
I'll still love you tulip, just from far away...

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Mary’s arbor is adorned 
with white petal tresses
and twists of heritage roses
that wander wistfully upwards
with perfumed breezes 
that waft in luxurious languor.

Sweet scents woo hummingbirds 
to sip its pistil delights
while monarchs fly in to play
then zigzag away
where restless bees hum and indulge 
to a distant tune…

…in a place where sunlight 
happily winks 
with unfettered delight. 






6/7/2021...

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She traces line from terra-forma
receptacle arises 
from stalk;
winding flow,
imagery appears as
sepals blanket bud.
Ovule gives way to fruit,
an arising style
with stigma flares pollination;
marriage of pistil and stamen
and a new life is revealed;
a celebratory blush and 
petals shield gentility of bud;
light waves meld with pigment,
a thirsty flower births,
sips mother’s milk as
Gaia sculpts her 3D garden.

...

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Mouth-watering Honeysuckle!
Your irresistible scent lures
Me to your tubular flowers
As you do the lone hummingbird
And moth and for the same reward:
To taste your abundant nectar.
Thousands of your golden flowers
Have quenched my springtime craving
For your flowery sweet liquid
Hidden deep within your dark spathe.
Once more I slowly extract your
Center stamen out through your scape
Dragging behind your small pistil
And the bead for my waiting tongue....

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To stay put
without a trace of hurt,
I have come back to you.
When, halfway, the perception falls
off, like landing of a dragonfly.

Tilting moon will tell you the
secret of the scar. Those tiny
irises come alive when tears
start melting in your eyes. A 
tiger moth will ask why the pistil
was blind ?

I was waiting, crawling, among
the honeybees. To find the
dawn in the sleeping night. An
absurd dragging of
the summer, when chill was around.


Satish Verma....

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This is a funeral
Why don't you accept
This is a funeral
And this is the death

The candles are burning
The red curtains drawn 
The oak casket glittering
Like a pistil of dawn 

Nobody knew you
So why's there a wake?
Your work-life undid you
All rigid and fake 

Here's how it pares down:
A brief eulogy
A shovel of gravel
And it's all done by three

Then your friends will forget you
By the light of a screen 
Full of afternoon football
And unkillable dreams...

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There in the meadow where the morning dew kisses the first light 
the boysenberry makes love to the coming day.
the sun shone upon her wet petals,
she spreads her corolla,
attracting suitors to her aroma filled stigma, 
no longer is she protected,
take me! cries her pistil erected,
she is ripe and anxious to receive,
her ovary swollen with anticipation, 
her petals burning for the new conception,
there in the meadow the boysenberry makes love to the coming day…


cheers!...

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