I zip up my astronaut suit,
plop the cubed veil onto my head.

In my hat, I am the observer
Living behind the netted television.

Dressed for pain avoidance.  No tears.
(Perhaps I should wear this out on dates)

A tall metal teapot with its accordion attachment rests,
on guard, in my yellow stained gloves.

Together, we enter the boxed colony
The teapot’s steam spurts clusters of buzzers into the air—

I grab coarse honeycombs, drain the
visions of nectar.

When the day is over, I gather the jars,
amber sucrose, the ***-colored concoctions, to head inside.

In the kitchen, the timer aches to sing as the clouds
From the pumpkin loaves clog the room.

I hold my honey and I store my bread.

was an aperitif to an aphorism,
an apothecary of aphrodisiacs,
an apiary of my ever-buzzing thoughts.

She slipped streamline as maraschinos
into a Manhattan, that strike of sugar
staining the most bitter days a color no chemical dispels.

She was an enigmatic row of beakers
shelved in an ancient pharmacy
at the base of the Janiculum.

Her shape was incense wisps, her
touch a song sung in 1940s noir,
her locking gaze acrophobia itself.

Alliteration ran thick through her blood,
she painted like Debussy composed.
No single organism in the universe could’ve imposed

anything on her – well, maybe.
Maybe she’s just a girl, the way that I’m a boy –
no air of denigration here.

She was intricate, but altogether simple. Empathetic-yet-
tangible, her character was incredible.
It was not the beauty of her face, the body

that held her mind and laughter,
not the dazed sting in my hand as it cupped
in hers – it was her autotelic way and her hope.

And now her imaginings hang,
framed in my house; little landscapes of the heart she left;
retreats that prove I’ve loved and been loved.

Sleeping has cost me
Dreams about Birds
Exotic and Pretty
Colorful and dead

Brain, why?

The first night
I spoke to the abandoned
left behind by ****** owners
because they live more full lives
than humans could ever dream
Big and Fluffy
Beautiful creatures

The second night
I lived among them
In an apiary of my own
their light, hearty songs
Ringing in my ears
Then I woke to that
outside my window

The third night
I felt stressed
My small bird
grey with colorful wings
kept flying away
I wanted it in it's cage
I wanted to play with it, too
He kept losing his feathers, balding
And finally, he died in my hands
Limp

The fourth night
I don't sleep well
The fifth night
I sleep worse
I don't retain
those nights' dreams

Brain, why?

water drips steadily into the black sink
there is no warmth here
some breathing relic of a bygone era speaks lively volumes on death;
rigor mortis racks the bodies of intent listeners
there is honey and dirt on his breath
he has been in the apiary
round eyeglasses grow brittle and their lenses blurry, closing the window of his soul to a loving corpse who cannot smell the dirt on his breath
honey and cologne
where has he been?
water drips steadily into the black sink
he touches her arm;
fleeting warmth,
bitter cold,
here again

It’s probably not that you were awesome
(but you were)
It’s probably not that it was worth it
(but it was)
It’s not even that you deserved it
(but you did)
It’s that your words became an apiary
And all my bees built honeycombs with the curves of your face
Now your words no longer come
nor does your smile grace me
The sweet honey has drained into the jars of my heart
And I’ve tried to forget you
but the syrup on my tongue remembers you
it puddles into the hexagons of your name
whispering like bees wings





I strengthen myself with sugar
and beeswax feeds my flame
that I harvested on a day my feelings decided to dance around you
like bees they nestled in your flowers
How long will I eat of your honey?
How long will your sweetness remain in my memory?

In the house of death the old ones chant
strange couplets & mysterious narratives-
that like the tumble-weeds wisp through the picket fence....
& flows, sweeping down the dark byways & pathways.....
echoing out over the empty lawns-
they hold sway, beckoning otherworldly beings.

& on the porch my girlfriend sits
swinging on the lover’s seat
with her long glimmering hair radiant
more luminous than fireflies a glorious raiment-
& as she swings the floorboards creak their own riddle.

A unicorn from the world next-door prances up the gravel road.....
& places his soft enigmatic head upon her lap...
& as she strokes the snow-white curls of his mane.
carresing his horn with her long fingers.
The unicorn closes his eyes & falls asleep-
Trusting in their affinity........

The elms & chestnuts sing
as the stars & moon skinny-dip.
In the throats of their branches
the limbs of the trees begin to leaf....
Surly the world is coming to an end.....

As the huntresses pull up
in the driveway in their pickup trucks.
Humming with their sharp spears:
“so many unicorns from the world next door
are eating up the antique roses of civilization
in the flower beds of providence
Unicorns are emptying our dying fountains.”.
They whisper through the spaces of their teeth....

& as the sky unfolds with alien constellations.
the brook behind the house cries itself bitter-
the bulrushes & the tangleberies,
the rumpleleworte & rhubarb wither
next to the apiary of treachery
& then our the fountains die.....

Was an aperitif to an aphorism,
An architect of aphrodisia,
An apiary of my ever-buzzing thought.

She slipped into me streamline: Maraschinos
Into a Manhattan. Oh strike of sugar,
Stain the bitterest days a red no chemical dispels.

She was a cryptic gallipot
Shelved in an apothecary
At the Caelian's base.

Her shape was incense wisps, her touch
A song sung in 1940s noir, her locking gaze
Eros himself.

Alliteration ran thick through the blood.
The paintings? Like Debussy composed.
Nothing in the universe could’ve imposed

Anything on her!— Quit it, you idiot...
The admiration, the visions that adorn her:
Subjectively supernatural—

Maybe she’s just a girl, the way that you're a boy—
No air of denigration.
She was intricate, but altogether simple.

I encountered her in stifled confessions.

It was not the beauty of her face, the body
That held her mind and laughter, not the dazed sting
In my hand as it cupped in hers—

It was her autotelism and her hope.

And now her imaginings hang,
Framed in my house; little landscapes of the heart she left;
Retreats that prove I’ve loved and been loved.

My apiary buzzes.  On the breeze, nectar is wafting
Like an elegant perfume no money could buy.
They are as tendrils of the same vine,
A symbiotic call and response.
Their mission lofty . . .
Life

******* softly
Slip past quivering
Lips.
Teeth pull on tongue
In concentrated bliss.
And golden honey,
Scent laden narcosis,
Drips onto saturated
Skin.

Love is a strong emotion
That can be recognize by those with ambitions
Despite of the greatest promotion.
And it is a peaceful war
That can be fought by those with star

In the strong tunnel of misery
Love seems to stand at the entry
And create an empty vacuum
Which gives rise to narrow two doors

Between the fallacy interpretations
One claims to be  love,
While the other embrace hatred
In collective joy, hatred  endows apiary
That excavates the thoughts
Of the victim in doubts

Incumbent authorized in fallacy
All works strongly to achieve void
In accordance with the mind,
The love forces of the alimentary
Is left out for the primary
to digest in great wallow.

While hatred desolate
in the boulevard of isolate
Solitude is filled with a great agitation
with the aim to stop the mutation
but all was rendered impotence
in the anxiety to achieve all pleasures

The mystery in love
can be understood by the competitors
who bang within the exacerbation
irrespective of the condition

Nevertheless, love have fate,
but the salary of love is Hate
which its extravangancy
is filled with vacancy.
In sincerity love blinds knowledge
And indemnifies the hedge

By Chidubem Gerald
For Inquires: e-mail, chidubemgerald@yahoo.com

It's a morning of glorious blue skies
In my arms sits my jewelry rose
Giving me heaven on earth
Taking every hell from my life
Sinking my world in sumptuous love
Shelling me with virginity fragrance
Bombing me with eerie blue kisses
Rushing me to eternal nirvana blues
To make honey in the apiary of love
In running rivers of overflowing bliss!

vacancies for yellow jackets also available

alternately titled: eave'n roofs houses nidus

If ye dear reader find yourself
as an under appreciated
busy buddy buzzfeeding bee -
hive got just the solution.

When me and the misses
entered side door here
yesterday September 26th, 2021
where both of us live
within one bedroom unit
at Highland Manor Apartments,
we espied hexagon-shaped paper cells
constituting partially completed
reasonably priced
state of the art abode.

Nevertheless, these
myopic eyes of mine
identified when closeup
tiny sign advertising real estate
large enough to house me,
an average size bugaboo.

Yours truly itching to move
to cozier quarters
no matter facilities roofless
imposing long overdue necessity
to strip down trappings
to bare minimum.

Tricked out with state of the art wizardry
microscopic computer processing chips
adorn six identical geometric sides
indeed allowing, enabling and providing
global linkedin telecommunications
beamed in across
bajillion miles from deep space.

All kidding aside
Hymenoptera quite the builder
with innate abilities as their guide
neither prejudice, nor afflicted with pride.

Ever mindful of insects with diaphanous wings,
yours truly quite aware of pain regarding bee stings,
which commentary brings
me to recall the following incident when
quite so many years ago...

Mine eyes espied a glorious shade tree
on a recent brutally hazy,
hot and humid July summer day,
where below the gnarled roots
glazed occipital nerve did not see
yellow-jackets minding their own beeswax
when derriere i.e. did essay
until deux stingers re:
accessible bared skin
apiary members did flay
vulnerable hide bound
part of my right knee,

whereby toxin induced to feel
slightly queasy and appear ashen gray
yet possessed response
to stand up and immediately flee
as cohorts per hive stirred
with protruding stingers ready to lay
into another area of ripe human flesh
with consistency of brie
yet, no intent to be cheesy – nay
on the con tray or re:

only attempting to find good humor
to stave discomfort at bay
which quick thinking found me
summoning medicinal salve
to keep any potential swelling away
thus this mister mom trotted
into Belmont Hills lye bray r e
soaking damp washcloths
(I packed in plastic bag
to cool thyself) and pray

all the while mouthing expletives
more emphatic than oy vey
healing powers of self
would allow this chap to feel okay
enough until my then
thirteen-year-old youngest daughter
and tutor would sashay
out into the blistering heat
so we could be on our home bound way.