'beehives' poems - Hello Poetry

Ellen Joyce Jun 2013

I placed you in a boat of pinks and blues with a smooth white satin sail and let you lie beneath the sky so pregnant with infinite possibility that the night might tear at anytime and unleash a loveliness so heavenly it would turn us to a pillar of sugar and whip us up into candy floss beehives for the angels to play dress up with. We are the multicoloured whispers, each one a syllable in the cacophonous swishhhhhshhhhhshing melody of the dewdrop chiming, petals kissing rhyming, intertwining of all that is beautiful uniting in the crescendo of the wind. The soft sensations of angels breathing warmth on skin, shimmering shadowing of the ripples in the satin of a sail brought to life as if to hail the glory of the universe. Water and wind and the will of the world gathers momentum and movement to wrench down to the depths of our heart and I feel the unfathomable maul to our caul and begin to tear us there in the place that has held us for so long. There is no flood of blood pooling at my feet on the just forming glistening path being marked with frost and crocuses and the knowing that you are not here but that we are still we. You are drifting into the inbetweens, where reality is a ***** word and your story, our story still unfolds in the pitter patter merry dance of keys and tongue beating our being into a rocking chair and a lullaby. I have dreamed you almost to life, and though not alive, we are five.

This is a scrap, snippet, fragment of something that's been sparking for sometime and is in need of a quiet space and time!

#family #longing #infertility #pregnancy #motherhood

WhyamIaSpoon Nov 2012

Nameless

WhyamIaSpoon Nov 2012

Nameless

flesh smirks cautiously
silent beehives squelching elk
leaps glumly, mules snarl

bluebird builds, rigid
foundlings disappear lamely
incarnations peck

raw conjurers acts
devious shady agile
rosemary boasts, stare

starflower hovers
depression gives birth snidely
harps romping mustang

Red Panda Poetry Apr 2017

Ode To A Pencil (Earth Day 2017)

Red Panda Poetry Apr 2017

Ode To A Pencil (Earth Day 2017)

You were once vast, large and never lied
Stretching far and reaching high
Now you are a wooden twig
Pulled away and Broken by a pig
The pig who didn't care for what used to be
the magnificent tree
who sat in my yard by the garage and the pool
In which, you had rule,
over all those tiny sapling oaks
who now look up and mope
Because trees are limited and rigged with beehives,
but many see that as the loss of their wives.

This was brought up many times during Earth Day, Pencils. So we owe them and Conrad Gessner, for inventing the pencil. Some people bury their family members in their yards, under a favorite tree, so that is where the last line came from.

#earth #day #pencil #pencils #tree #trees #beehives #oak #oaks #ode

Joseph Paris Sep 2015

Unsonnet

Joseph Paris Sep 2015

Unsonnet

The moon is missing
Old stories oppress the scorned clock's hand
What is this interminable waiting?
Lost are the World's metaphors
Lost and fled to a dark place
Once beehives born in new orchards
They now dissolve in time's dead way
And die in the viciousness of niceness
Densely social and devoid of empty
Do I dare ask these forbidden questions
She is missing, missing to me
I know where she is but I can't find her
  but now I see the harvest corn
  and a bursting city of goldenrod

  (this can only mean good)

#little #bee #adayinthelifeof

Sam Temple Dec 2015

a sociopath looks at mass shootings

Sam Temple Dec 2015

a sociopath looks at mass shootings

feeling like I should feel bad
experience sadness for innocents
and anger at bad people,
gun toting murderers
without care
threatening the fabric
of my burgeoning police state…
but I do not –
eyes light up at daily headlines
unwound minds blindly destroying.
human land mines, primed and
in line at your local grocery
mostly just waiting for that moment
when they can really show them
all –
I call this the road to the end
humanity’s demise realized
live on the five o’clock news
nightly…
it’s alright we lie to our children
telling them sleepily not to hide
and abide the tide of rising
genocide
on the young and dark skinned
who are destined to win in the end
when those left on the planet
share similar skin
let me begin, again –
last punch I threw
was in 2nd grade
got hit in the face in 6th
but didn’t make a fist
already leaning to a pacifist
in the mist of my drunken
father’s fists.
shot a deer in my 15th year
and put the gun down for the fear
of some cosmic shear…
still ate meat without feeling defeated
but cheated myself by disguising these choices
as voices in my head…
with an unruly hand planning on writing poetry –
but I love the disillusion
the growing confusion
that is a fusion
of people in sheep’s mindset
letting psychopathic dictators
dictate their lives
pill popping wives in new-age beehives
naming children ‘Chandelier’ and ‘Compromise’…
I accept my sociopathy
and embrace myself as a dying race
those willing to face the truths
and not try to sooth the pain
while knowing these are the last days
and sit amazed
while blazing legal marijuana –

Acuriousnature Aug 2016

No Birds, Just B's [Alliteration game]

Acuriousnature Aug 2016

No Birds, Just B's [Alliteration game]

Blithering blather of bothering biting bothers that botherly blather their blantant blatherings of bumbling bemusings brought by bringing blue berries back by blue babaoons bumping beehives behind bubba bears big buggy before biggoted bums braving boorish battles

Just something I wrote a few years back. Time for some retro posts!

#fun #game #alliteration #bored #challenge #oldworks

Lily Gabrielle Oct 2013

You, again

Lily Gabrielle Oct 2013

You, again

Here's to pianos.
To uncut toe nails and broken jaws.
Here's to sweaty palms and fancy door knobs.
The last tissue in the box and third graders who know every single dinosaur.
Here's to prickly legs and furless cats.
Slamming doors and rubbing alcohol.
Fun house mirrors and wet towels.
Here's to the boy with the sweaty armpits,
And the biggest heart in the room.
Here's to all the girls who will never give him a chance
Because his hair is greasy
And he always has pieces of apple stuck in his braces.
Here's to grandmothers holding their children's babies for the first
And last time.
Here's to six foot tall nine year olds
And acne covered foreheads.
North Ohio and beehives.
Here's to wrinkles and back pain,
And the kids who never change for gym class.
Here's to burnt papers and wrongful convictions.
Faked I love you's and backwards t shirts.
For every broken leg and broken heart,
Seasonal depression and ADD.
For unshaven armpits and ripped jeans.
Frequent showers and twisted ankles.
****** mattresses and forged signatures.
Here's to the things that remind me of you.

Justin S Wampler Apr 2015

Into the Eyes of Disarray

Justin S Wampler Apr 2015

Into the Eyes of Disarray

When I meet her gaze,
it rips the soul from my body
and ***** it through time and space
into her hollow and vacuous eyes.
Into the vacuum of her being.

I find myself in her mind
and step tentatively over the creases
and folds of her grey brain,
avoiding the beehives hanging like grapevines
from the ceiling of her skull.

But my eyes adjust to the light
and I see that my fears are misplaced,
it's not hives hanging inside her mind
but a series of dark rainclouds
behind black and blue skies.

It's too dim in here, thinks I,
where's all the sunshine?

If it's true, and her sun has died
I would douse myself and burn alive
just to provide her a little reading light,
just to dry out her rainy skies and
maybe brighten up her nine lives.

If it's true that her moon is hollow and dim
then I would be proud to fill it up again,
I would be happy to reinflate it's craters
with my final dying breath,
with all the essence of my being.

And I would hang it there in the night,
surrounded by the hole-punched skies.
So maybe when it reflects my self-immolation,
light would shine down through her beautiful eyes
and into that long-neglected mind.

#love #thoughts #you

Christos Rigakos Jun 2012

a thousand what-ifs swarmed before my eyes

Christos Rigakos Jun 2012

a thousand what-ifs swarmed before my eyes

a thousand what-ifs swarmed before my eyes,
and stung me as if I had rocked beehives,
the woulda-coulda-shouldas, if-only-I's,
all buzzed their screams, that he'd be still alive,

yet I had done all that I knew to do,
the breaths of life I gave him, much too late,
the EMT's three-quarter hour, their crew,
could not revive my father from his fate,

his heart had fibrillated, lifeless eyes,
were blind to all, his ears heard not our screams,
upon my breath his breathing finalized,
he fell to sleep the sleep where are no dreams,

now on that couch where father there reposed,
not we nor our dear cat to rest there goes

(C)2012, Christos Rigakos

English (Shakespearean) Sonnet

Rest in Peace, dearest Father,
2/1/1943 to 5/11/2012

Reece AJ Chambers Jan 2017

MK

Reece AJ Chambers Jan 2017

MK

Look at the ones
with beehives for mouths,
ejecting out opinions
to anyone caught in a net
of overworked words,
every opinion delivered
with a lethargic varnish,
each one a sting
as a glob of soap in the eyes.

But we use our voice
with our lips tightly shut.
Let the art inside us
buzz like a sneeze
waiting for release,
blast out in a fizz
of ink and smudged fingertips.
Hear the consonants trickle
like a tap not quite turned off,
the vowels rising and falling as waves.

Spill your thoughts if you must.
Make a point.
But don’t hurl them at us
with a sour taste ,
sharp as an already grimy blade.
Use them sparingly and well,
let them linger before
evaporating in a trail of steam,
as if a ***** of sunlight
before it slithers
beneath the horizon.

Written: December 2016.
Explanation: A poem written in my own time, partially inspired by the writings of Marina Keegan, an American student who sadly passed away several days after graduating from Yale in 2012. Feedback welcome. A link to my Facebook writing page can be found on my HP home page.
NOTE: Many of my older pieces will be removed from HP at some point in the future.

Jamie F Nugent Mar 2016

Sending Letters to the Sea

Jamie F Nugent Mar 2016

Sending Letters to the Sea

The black cloud will shroud
The multicoloured rainbows -
A hard rain is going to fall -
The honey bear won't wake
From her hibernation,
She will dream of placing
Her paws into golden beehives.

The swallows will migrate swiftly
To African shores of green and blue,
They won't be coming back soon.

Our black-cloud sky
Will be composed of ravens and crows,
Squawking tuneless nocturnes
Whilst pecking at our windowpane.

Where are our rainbows?
Where is our sunshine?
Where have our honey bears
And our swallows gone?

-Jamie F. Nugent

— The End —