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Cné Apr 2017
slipping in her wet painted petal
bitten by the sting of his bee
her first time, he fumbles being gentle
excitement dancing in his driving need

instinctively possessed
arcing her hips experimentally
his maleness sweetly carressed
teasing his need, tremendously

each submersion in her sweetness
peaking waves swelling in her breast
entwining rhythmic explosiveness  
pulsating gush, plunging over the crest
Metaphorically speaking... lol
elle jaxsun Jul 2018
looking at
sedona red
rock layered majesties

against bright, cerulean sky
and marshmallow clouds
droplets dripping, pecking our cheeks

sitting on
the balcony of a casita
holding hands with my peace

surrounded by forest green
and buzzing honey bees
they mingle with the flowers

and i mingle with my peace
06102018
MisfitOfSociety Sep 2018
The bees don't care what you say,
The bees go their own way.
Don't be like a monkey,
Rather be like a bee,
You can't tell them what to do,
the bees just defy you.

You can hold down the seas,
but you can't hold down the bees,
Who are you to tell them what to do,
We are the many run by the few.

Newton is my god,
god is good,
god is great.
Forgive me father,
for I have sinned.
I am sorry,
for questioning thee.
Bless upon the fruit that fell and freed us!
Bless upon the monkeys that gave birth to us!
Bless upon the pictures that they painted for us!
Bless upon the cosmic scaled **** that made us!

You are my eyes,
my prophet,
my seer,
my revelator,
put thoughts in my head,
and I will repeat what you have said
Our thoughts are not our own,
We are not safe, even in our home.

Monkey see, monkey do,
we are the many run by the few.
Don't be like a monkey,
rather be like a bee,
don't do what they say,
forget what you have learnt and levitate away.
*** did I just write.
Chris Neilson Aug 2018
Along the bus filled corridor
from the south of the city
through the Victorian architecture
of Withington and Fallowfield
to the world food of Rusholme
with its plethora of barber shops
shoe shops, shisha bars, cafes
Philips Park and the eye hospital
then the university quarter
students like woolly hatted ants
a human tide of books and backpacks
our future professional generation
of doctors, scientists and philosophers
part time poets and musicians

Into the city centre bustle 
of hipsters and hustlers
high flyers and homeless
rough sleepers and penthouses
side by side in a sea of incongruity
The roman settlement of Castlefield
now sky scraping soulless concrete
in this original city of industry
where workers downed tools 
in cotton mills for anti-slavery 
American Civil War brethren
built on old world immigration
integrated into a working class
of blue collars, graft and toil
bones of its makers in its soil

Images of the lost industries
now decorate ornate beautiful bees
scattered in and around the urban sprawl
timely reminders of our heritage
of Northern grit in all its colours
of invention, science, sport, music and art
of protest, achievement and inspiration
a city that's historical
a city for the here and now
a city for future nascent talent
a city that's changed the world
Manchester, a city for all ages
I wrote most of this after returning from a hospital appointment earlier this year but have now added to it to bring it up to date
Shofi Ahmed Apr 21
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
blue bees 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 long deep-sea burst deeper
sweeping through the land the rivers dance.
By now the silent land’s sleeping beauty
must have woken by the mellifluous water nymphs.
The bottom is a far cry the water is still cascading
so are the blue bees softly descending.
Beneath the open heaven’s painting
into the honey spring, the punters take a peep.
Knit Personality Jun 2017
There once was a beehive of bees
That hung in a haven of trees:
   Busy with ease,
   They'd buzz up a breeze,
And life was, for them, the bee's knees.

#
Steve Jul 2018
Born on the horns
Of unicorns
Bees n’ trees n’ phantasies. 
 
Bleepin’ buzzin’ 
Squadrons by the dozen
Wings n’ stings
Black n’ yellow plump things.
 
Listen sissin’ 
Bumble bees go missin’ 
Stings n’ zings
A fluffy insect clings.
 
Mourned by the horns
Of unicorns
Could bees n’ trees be phantasies?
 
Pecked her necked her
Busy bees inject her
Zings n’ blings
And rainbow rings.
 
Hummin’ comin’
Soldiers started drummin’
Swarms n’ storms
In uniforms.
 
Wishes kisses
Serpents sendin’ hisses
Storms n’ thorns
Stripy little life forms.
 
Flowers n’ honey
Bumble bees not funny
Thorns acorns
Trees worth more than money.
 
Born on the horns
Of unicorns
Bees n’ trees not fantasies.
Certain species of bee have been added to the endangered species list worldwide, not our humble bumble bee but their numbers are in a very worrying decline nevertheless.
This little poem is a general plea for all of the environment and it was inspired by the little bee pin designed and available from https://cheryljonesdesigns.com/

It's worth remembering about bees, if they do go they'll bee taking us with them!
Corey Oct 2017
Dancing circles in the low morning sunlight
Approach, and the hum crescendos and livens
like Bolero.
At first, you barely hear it; then your skin ripples, ears buzz, and hairs stand on end;
Until finally, your vision is blurred with a swarm of black, and your skin feels more alive than ever.

Retreating back to the hive as the sun rises, and heat settles, the bees fan their golden palace; working hard to keep it cool inside
Like the applause after the final notes, thousands of wings flutter out of sight creating the softest, yet loudest of whirs;
The bees drum their sound into the air.
“The bees drummed their sound into the air” -Sue Monk Kidd, from The Secret Life of Bees
Sam Hawkins Jul 2018
from where I now am at home
easy on my blue couch

a wisp of a thought had come to me
with that -- circles of you
spiraled and cut messages in the air

clockwise danced around dangling
pinpoint flowers holding
sips

white and white again, each petal
accompanying rush of shallow river water
talking over rock

if I had had the notion to
carry you home in a pocket
would you have nipped at me on the way?

this is to say
I have carried you home today
and you are now no further from me
than my very breath

quantumly
this is ever so

I buzz
while you fix dinner
CK Baker Feb 2017
late night by the holland sill
white framed and frilled
alongside the meadow
down by the grand
where cat fish
and cow pies
and silly yellow bees
make their stay

there are swings now
and empty barns
(with quiet corners
and broken walls)
echoing chambers
that speak of the past
...and little dogs
not big ones

the plaster cracks
and wheat sways
from a warm west wind
it’s about time
for that late afternoon pour
you know how it cleans the soul
old percy would say

and flanders
(the holder of those pigs)
who fed us good
with sow and milk
as we plowed the
dusty fields
into the
hot summer sun

i can still hear the screams
of river dreams
the grand slams
and flints run dry
the barks
and breaks
and bends
a world past
with forbes
and dolls
and crab apple trees

think i’ll take a trip
up the back lane
they’ve cut the brush
and opened the line
The fear and uncertainty
Is lying straight ahead
We have to face reality
It's a fact it must be said.

We live in a world of confusion
We see it on the news
And we are often disillusioned
Properganda is what they use.

The mighty they make us shudder
We hear them everyday
No agreement amongst each other
Just fearful words they say.

No wonder there's  addiction
With Drugs and alcohol alike
Predictions from politicians
They never get it right.

Many stop and wonder
About this Nuclear age
It takes one foolish blunder
From a simple act of rage.

Things may not be as obvious
As Destruction from a Nuclear war
Mother nature waits before us
She stands outside our Door.

The shape of this world is changing
But not in the way we may think
Man seems to be endangering
Many creatures could become extinct.

Now all of this seems troublesome
With a planet that no more could be
The end of this world is sure to come
When there's no more  Honey Bees.
Fearful times we are living Nuclear threats
And wars .But it is mother nature that is more likely
To bring this planet to its knees .It is said that without
The Honey Bee or let's say the little garden Bee.
This earth couldn't Exist.The sad news is they are in decline.
At least that's what the experts say.it is time to act and preserve
These little creatures not to mention other creatures.
Scarlett Jun 4
I want to slash at my skin with the same intensity that the beehive in my skeletal frame has when the worker bees attempt to seal all the broken parts of me sickly sweet

I want to scream so that It goes hoarse because if I’m not being heard what’s the point of having one anyway

I want to take the weight of their spines lift the broken onto my shoulders so that the shrapnel embedded feet they own no longer have to sink deeper
Embedded further

I want to feel love like the love my parents have in the subtle ways  that they check in on each other
In the small favours, they do for each other

More so

I want to hear her voice say the words I have always longed to hear the words that I know won’t be said the words that are difficult to comprehend
Shadow Dragon Sep 2018
Three orange lights
waiting in a cue.
Warm, pudgy and sweating.
Squeezing the last drop
of pure sweetener
down your throat.

Delicious syrup
growing and spreading
on the finger tips.
Feeding the eager.
Melting bright nectar
dropping down the thighs.

Saliva sprinkels
on the piano lips.
Playing chants
of lust and thirst.
Lavish liberation
buzzing for more bees.
Corey May 13
I invite you to lift your eyes
and see the pleasures around you

the bees pollinating flowers
butterflies fluttering by

birds singing in the trees
clouds gliding across the sky

sun shining across the field
squirrels scurrying across branches

fish swimming in the river
deer walking through the woods

leaves swaying in the breeze
rain falling from the sky

ducks paddling in the pond
people walking down the street

lift your eyes and relax them
into the sight of simple things
Chris Saitta May 18
Like the frog of batrachian notes in the inkwell of swamp,
And the bee waggling hieroglyphs to the papyrus of hive,
Like the flight of birds in the palm of radiating skyline,
And the sad might of the world to the caged dog’s eye.
CA Guilfoyle Dec 2016
Now these clouds
the cold mean greys
sideways rain, the north lands I remember
the drowning choke of smoke and fire
traveling the dark road to your home
the black and spark of stars
we watched through the night
before the killing dawn
before the foggy cold that held us down
the clinch and grasp a slow stinging wasp
gone the fragrant hum of bees
the honey meadow petals.

Only a fleeting summer - we gathered
now swallowed in the autumn thunder
the bruising cold of November.
good pollinators
the bears like to raid their hives
helpful honey bees
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