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Beau Scorgie Apr 2017
Sunlight pirouettes
through a window.

Translucent zebras
dance upon the stage,
dance across
a little honey bee.

Petals of paper
weaving through
the day.
Like tiny footprints
to lead the way.

Lead a zebra,
lead a honey bee,
to a delicate daisy flower
where they might sit
in silence
or discuss
how peculiar it is
that a honey bee
just might fall
in love with a zebra.
K Balachandran Apr 2017
An eager honeybee,
hovers over a book of poetry.
Ah! sweet subtlety.
sunprincess Mar 2017
Was a sweet sunny day
when I saw a little bee
happily zipping along
singing his sweet song
he zipped right past me
I chased him around
and around an oak tree
trying to capture him
and make him all mine
so I could have my fill
of his sweet tasting honey
everyday all the time
xoxo
Nora Mar 2017
Honeysuckle queen
Charming, stinging, so serene
Royal subject I will be
Your venomous kiss
For which I plea
insp by the eponymous movie (1955)
A bored Poet Nov 2016
One day a bee
Was flying happily
By a meadow curiously
He saw a sunflower
Shone brightly

Bewitched he flew closer
To the beautiful splendor
Of which was simply was
An elegant little flower

They chatted all day
With no obstacles in their way
Until night came
Then everything changed

The peculiar flower had to go
But with no goodbye to go
She just closed up where she was
And not a single stop or pause

Sadly, the bee left
Leaving the flower he just met
Thinking to himself that time
I'll try harder next time
Sethnicity Nov 2016
White light blowing away my Black shames Pure in sight through head window panes

Sorrows woven foam pie brain she games Share his leisure bee twin fab wick dames

Lies that line our veins white sheets draping, Like wind wonder walls breaking

Breath taking, width all dis clarity my cries remain Unshaken, Dis dam S Forsaken,

While the sight sauced swirled beams me down and
     vacant.
Visually stimulated, Beat sequence motivated
Metaphor: Unaware bachelor @ Bachelorette *******
Sethnicity Dec 2016
Why *** lie *** mowing a way Black Reigns, Pull in spite blue wind Blow win Chains

Saw row dove in foam pie strains stare his pleasure bee twin faux brick dames

Lies tat lie wow stains high streets raking like father calls, waking

Sleep shaking width gall dis charity may sky is carry me disdain forsaken

Smile the sight sauced swirled dreams key drown complacent
Visually stimulated, Beat sequence motivated.
K Balachandran Oct 2016
"I easily forget names" his confession rings loud.
She smiles as if she knew this all the while,
She is a woman who forgives, like nature.
She loves his big hands and the promise
Of caresses to sow goosebumps all over
The infertile earth.Suddenly fecundity arrives.

Then, the scents, pheromones wafts to his mind
Speak the same language in different accents
At times it is read as the whispers of winged desire.
The purple hues of arousal, and if read from an angle
Different,it spells sin in black, in calligraphic letters

The flow he is, that dances through hills and dales
Wind and water romancing red earth and ocean.
Where once blood spilled in fierce battle with foes,
A tree full of flowers now smile,a magical moment of life!

She is the drop that oozes under the moss, gathering speed
The fog that spreads and embraces the extended woods.
She defies the limits of mind and touch ebullient galaxies.
She is the field of ripe corn, mellow yellow, gently swaying.
The seeds she collects and keeps safely in her living repository.
Whatever she spills becomes her on which tomorrow smiles.
At the window wind knocks,breaks the egg shell of a dream.
She emerges, opens the door, finds him gets charged once more.

It was raining outside, an auspicious hour, like blooming lotus,
Time to conduct fertility rights,for seeds to come alive.
He feels the stirrings nature creates, arranges all
Necessary things, he towers above all
He is the sun that spreads his warm rays around.
She is the fecund red earth to be sowed  at nature's behest.
The horns blow aloud, she heard, and closed her eyes.
Felt like a flower, ready to open her petals for a bee folding wings.
Maggie Emmett Sep 2016
To make a prairie it takes a clover and one bee,
One clover, and a bee.
And revery.
The revery alone will do,
If bees are few.
Poem 1755 by Emily Dickinson, 1830 - 1886
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