#bumblebees
postpone the bitter trip
until he relapses
a grown-up kid
averting the bumblebees
he‘s cluttered with
Sep 20, 2020
Sep 20, 2020 at 4:52 PM UTC
Can I be your honey with my stinger bunny?
Sting away those ill willed emotions and make you laugh at all things funny
Help that smile glisten a little more
Isn't it strange?
For the Sunshine Sunrise to feel butterflies
All fluttering around thoughts of you
How do you do? Firebird
Naturous charm, who ever thought a heart could be captured as such
Run with me in this meadows, lets play hide and seek.
Let us feel the energy between us, of us as separate beings.
My job had always been to help the growth or so I thought
You have taught me to grow within myself so that I do not Rot
Your arms are such a safe place, although I feel bothersome
Aug 13, 2020
Aug 13, 2020 at 10:11 PM UTC
The sky is eye wide open
so bright a lapis lazuli hue.
The houri fair maid of heaven
colour in every shade of blue,
up to the door, she must have come through.
See the rosy spring's
bumblebees are on their wings.
Ah, the sweet flowing southern breeze
wafts along with the blue bees.
It must have thought,
humming up on a high they go,
but no!
The sea sitting deep beneath is out and about
jumps to blue sky and slides down from the clouds
sweeping the land dance on the rivers.
By now, the silent land's sleeping beauty must be
wake by the mellifluous water nymphs.
The bottom is still a far cry; the water is cascading,
so are the bumblebees softly descending.
Beneath the open heaven's painting
into the honey spring, the punters take a peep.
Apr 21, 2019
Apr 21, 2019 at 7:17 AM UTC
She's like a wildflower,
Beautiful and carefree
She goes with the flow
And finds beauty in everythin'
Her only motivation - the sun and the wind
The ability to love herself, a power within
She counts the bumblebees as they buzz by
While some come to stay others just say _'Bye.'_
She treats them kindly and gives them her all
Sweet and vulnerable, in hopes they don't sting
After all, herself,
Another human being
May 22, 2019
May 22, 2019 at 1:14 PM UTC
Bumblebee Books
My Grammy was my special hero who taught me a loving respect for books.
She said books teach us and widen our world,
they never give a fig about a reader’s looks, or if they new clothes.
When June came the yellow trucks would arrive
from the school-system for Grammy to repair.
For this was 1952, where a book had to survive.
We had glue pots with tongue-depressor tongues,
and tape and scissors and huge erasers, pink
and white for the ink marks dancing on the page.
Words and words and words, all to make you think.
Big bumblebees would swarm about the pots of glue,
touching their tongues to the white Elmer’s taste.
We trimmed and erased and I learned of far-off lands.
We were careful that our glue never went to waste.
Unwanted and unloved, treated with savage brutality,
this was a place of freedom and acceptance, a world
where little girls found hope and safety so she would
grow into a woman who sits with a book, legs curled.
Nov 4, 2018
Nov 4, 2018 at 12:00 PM UTC
I used to hate yellow,
Then my soul turned to lemon juice
And now my lips are painted
As a new sunrise
Which changed the words I spoke.
With sour lemons slices
That attracted Bumblebees
And everything
To my lemon soul.
Mar 2, 2018
Mar 2, 2018 at 5:06 PM UTC
Six months on, and hundreds of offspring later,
She is much too languid to even move.
The listless queen bee is stung repeatedly;
Her own children have seemingly turned on her.
Once good and dead she is tossed from the nest.
Merciless? Or mercy killing?
I will leave you to decide.
Mar 22, 2015
Mar 22, 2015 at 10:54 PM UTC