Nov 2013
A hum among our tall crowd of flowers,
a small cylinder in feeble sunlight
hops along a rainbow before showers,
tin clouds now suffocate the yolk from sight.
Dressed in a garish old knitted jumper,
I watch as it slurps every face dry
and can you hear? The grumble of thunder
but still the bee murmurs, fizzes on by.
Sun covered up, a cloak made of metal,
not long until all drains choke, gutters leak,
this insect sits on a topaz petal,
looks out for a first silver drop to break.
Now the bee jumps, has committed its theft,
a blur in a downpour, exiting left.
a small cylinder in feeble sunlight
hops along a rainbow before showers,
tin clouds now suffocate the yolk from sight.
Dressed in a garish old knitted jumper,
I watch as it slurps every face dry
and can you hear? The grumble of thunder
but still the bee murmurs, fizzes on by.
Sun covered up, a cloak made of metal,
not long until all drains choke, gutters leak,
this insect sits on a topaz petal,
looks out for a first silver drop to break.
Now the bee jumps, has committed its theft,
a blur in a downpour, exiting left.
Written: November 2013 and April 2014.
Explanation: A Shakespearean sonnet in iambic pentameter written in my own time that may or may not be part of my third year university dissertation regarding Sylvia Plath (who wrote several pieces on bees) and Ted Hughes. This piece is likely to change somewhat over the next few months.
Explanation: A Shakespearean sonnet in iambic pentameter written in my own time that may or may not be part of my third year university dissertation regarding Sylvia Plath (who wrote several pieces on bees) and Ted Hughes. This piece is likely to change somewhat over the next few months.
(31/M/Northamptonshire, England)
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