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Robin Carretti Jul 2018
The burr shaking in a
Bohemian Awakening
(Long) vintage stare how
her words were spelled
out snake tongue (Short)
The Death
Whats Up* Chap of a sport
Whats Up Doc
Going tick tock Mr. Rick
Don't trick this document
Oh! where did it drop
What!! He made the drop
dead gorgeous dress?

Born to die last lip of the spoonfuls
Cut to the chase with my chap lips
More deaths on the rise to deliver 
 
How love was the
mind controller
Hands out of the grave
couldn't hold her
Like the Boulder Chief head
Hothead on her shoulder
The better herbs of medicine
His racing car hot flame
gasoline

The Rapsody of her melody
holding on to her life
What a unique wife
Until time changes her moods
Opening up her world of flower buds
A different silence of home goods
We do believe we can be

The Champions

But the fallout of promises
Or jobs never big advances

Oh! Christ
Her chapped lips needed some
time to heal where is her next meal
The heat catching a death of cold
But staying alive the second
wind hot Ferrari Italian drive
Feeling deathly-sick faking
your death was no trick


Who disappeared never
really certain
if it was truly their
Building the fire mountain
Don't keep complaining
where the time went
Death of a cold wishes
not to die
where is our youth
Only takes one amazing birth
Lips kissing the fountain
The fortune teller booth

Who would want her chapped lips
Baby Ruth crunchy bar
down the mountain
The love confused her the
death would be
faster going once or twice up
Guilty trip or the graveyard shift
Hangover ski lift with her
Beeswax for chap lips
Taxman on the number rise flirting
What a good chap
In her coffee cup a little Robin birdie
told you

You made your own grave
time on my side or hanging
by a thread of stitches
Hats off up and away
Getting a green facelift of witches
You lived so far the good life
Feeling so wanted
he cooked your meals
He cleaned up your mess wearing
The Chef Apron 
 *He's Wanted
the sign
All over the world,
his face is wanted
The fool lips the fuller up lips
The heart went out of touch a deathly cold
She is wearing her heart-shaped lips
Doing what she is told
How the world has been
smudged with
rules
Noone knows where here

All her cracks of her lips
The cute button nose
Not Rudolph the Reindeer
The hunt for the ****** nose
Up close and personal
Lip to his lip journal
Such odds of numbers
So many even deaths
like tumblers
Through the loopers
Love and resentment
The world is a village commitment
Mcdonald Man beef and the
melted lady
cheese
whooper
You got an alert notice
The cast of spells the
fire went high
You couldn't even put it out
The death of a Salesman novice
Papercut snip computer nasty chip
The charcoal grill felt like it burned you
The fires new hires of California
The peace sign
Imagine people with no

Holy water
Whose mind is in order
The Dementia patients
Your own flame so many hot flames
The rest of the world caught a death
of a cold like an old flame

*The Goddess of Venus

The darker edge his cool hummer
Going on a shoot with chapped lips
Who is really keeping tabs

There was nothing to believe in to hold
To restore how do we balance the world
But we are not Gods
Chapped lips caused
such an alarm
All things take time then
it's in harm's way
Someone will understand to pay
Like a settlement
Deathly gray hairs on the pavement
Getting hurt but the best Godly soil
is still their like dirt
There was no reception hell broke
loose riot
Everything was naked sound
No time to sing a duet to
feet on the ground love couplet

That snow drift fall on your face
Who will be where you are in
the next century place

Perhaps your last picture
before you die
How the singer live on
to be remembered
  Why are we not discovered
Can we be saved from redemption
Like you have been squirted on
Like Heinz Ketchup did you catch up
To get his kiss did he feel your death of cold
But never to exist
What is on our bucket list?
This was something I thought of not everything we breath is pure that we adore
times are changing don't you feel your getting a death of a cold to think about it
samasati Oct 2013
big sweaters, ghibli, acrylic paint, cafes, knit blankets and unplanned afternoon naps on the couch, gardens, bananas, vanilla almond milk, soft yarn to crochet into ****** scarves, candles after midnight, the big trees with bulky roots, patio furniture, pianos in random buildings, the internet, manatees, the boundless colours of nail polish, peanut butter & honey, rubber boots, pens that write well, fresh new notebooks, skylights, american netflix, mothers that understand, tête à têtes, one glass of sweet white wine, awkward eye contact that turns into comfortable kissing, airplanes, fresh air, baseball caps, the female collective, the really good dark chocolate, flowers, pumpkin spice lattes and ***** chai lattes, candid laughter, yoga, oceans, high waisted shorts, striped t-shirts, docile cats, playful pups, french presses, integrity, sunscreen, meerkats, penguins, chameleons, autumn leaves, fall fashion, ruby woo mac lipstick, osho, dynamic meditation, compassion, siblings, scrambled eggs, smart phones, garageband, metronomes, hot glue guns, quinoa, ferry boats, soft hands, bicycles, real people, fat snowflakes in ample, graceful *******, backpacks that don't hurt your shoulders, hair conditioner, multi-vitamins, soft sand under bare feet, people that own up to lies, clarity, samsara, satori, samasati, visions, echinacea, lavender oil and frankincense, ambrosia apples and ripe avocados, authenticity, Morgan Freeman's voice, good kissers, *******, iced tea on a hot day, curtains, the smell of beeswax, art galleries, hand massages and foot massages, reiki, plums, mild thunderstorms, soccer *****, good surprises, when birds don't **** on your head.
I wrote this with my momma one fine morning!
there is always so much more to add.
Robin Carretti Aug 2018
Hearts another beat a second
A+ made the grade rare meat
Why is everything told to
us in a heartbeat
This is getting way too sweet
"Lips took Beeswax" bittersweet

Someone got stung B-
Strong sound muffler
Joyride Owl Hoot clever
Sweet and sourpuss
honey babe

Her mustard lips of custard
Hot temperature rising
The spicy lady opening
up new horizon gate

Too many sad rides
empty plates last joyride
Gas empty blame the county
Why did we call this joyride
without knowing
your fate

The others are more noticed
Fashionably they came late
Dine and the Wine joyride
romanced money upfront
advanced

Lips like jewels left their stale
You were the chosen one taken
for a ride from
a crooked male

Like bushel big loot basket
Rock the Kasbah rocket
Golden joyride ticket the
pickpocket
Getting away with ******
****** lips in the gasket

The joyride so beat looked
disheveled new love
unraveled
So messy but **** neat
looking, Lexus,
She looks mighty fine like
Venus, I beg you to zoom

And the love after all the treats
Sherlocked in his room
The devil made me do it
All flushed and deep red
Hearing his joyride of beats
What was really going
through her head
Hard rock ambient
painter deviant

The holiday like racing hot rod
Harvest Halloween of a joyride
Two peas in dark maze pod
Igniting a hot fire
Her lips need to decide
Who was underneath the
fumes of his fire

The coffee taste accelerating
Do we feel the pulsing beat
What a high anxiety peak
High intense flavor
You waiting for his joyride
Christmas and Hannukah
Tree to decide that's easier
But wait for true love above all
the gifts to deliver
Like bedrock meeting
Monster ride plant-eating Bug
More slugs my chinch
Inchworm of books at Joyride
College Dorm horn alarm
Manifestation enjoying
her joyride
What a conniver
Greece with my niece
vacation
Basil New rival tea
Pomegranate Cherry-bomb
Blonde Bombshell
Culture novelty joyride
Ring my servant bell
Met their sanity tomb

Her hand's dainty they shine
and sparkle
Her lips know how to jingle
Arace for hearts of stories
and memories
Always the death hand takes
a ride to the winding road of
the cemeteries
Just stay for the moment
think about the
Joyride forth of July
Our firecrackers went off at
the same time
Brie cheese favorite time
English tea and crackers
Like two lips sublime read
her diaries in his designer dockers

Going to the end of the earth lips
light up New York City galleries

Needing the fresh corner
Sunset taking lowrider Boulevard
Hollywood Oh! No world
Wildly satanic or the carefree type
Her joy smile he's sold on skype
Benevolent triad remembering
The mad magazine
MLM Maserati longevity Master
Of the joyride gun blaster
"Lips build like a Pyramid"
Becoming irresistible
Not to humble

Lips race Joyride to gamble
Nothing weakens to crumble
Baking a crumb cake its
doable stays together but
things unnamed not like
a marriage

We get blamed joyride
got damaged
We become gullible
What becomes of the broken heart
someone isn't reliable
Lips are not responsible
Leadership has you cornered  
To stumble upon her lips
Rendered steamboat surrender
How he tumbles
Mr. Grey Poupon Mustard seed
He plants her like his
only joyride
In need
We are all Jupiter the moon
joy to the world
All the boys and girls being
taken for joyrides

The Beach boy's video games
Spy lips whose to blame
Phillip screwdriver
But they take a ride
All you could pick a hot buffet
feasting she is still wearing
hot lipstick
Men have their choice of
they're next
Joyride Bride about the money
Wall-Street cars of hobbies
investing
Yeah right?
Lips take a joyride can we all please take a moment lets decide what we will do.
Is it really up to you for the road always him light that fire trim lips glow joyride fires out you tell the world what it is all about?
Victor Thorn Jan 2011
I.

I used to be a crocodile.
I knew no risks, no tears, no joy
no excitement to lure me above water,
no work, for it was cut out for me
in the shallows with the small fish,
no heavens to make up for,
no hells to hope for,
no soul to shatter on mid-spring days
when all life is but a nightmare
and clouds are all but
******* on my head,
who granted to desired effect
that siren hoped for,
who sits upon the sandy shore
and whispers sweet songs to me, myself
evolved,
and repeats me back
the songs I taught her,
"Over and over again,"
she mocks.
How Neptune did churn his waters
to beach a loveless Odysseus here
shall ever be unbeknownst to me.
But
beeswax I have fixed in my ears,
but
now I cannot hear my other friends
in the trees.
but
once I make my flight from this island,
away from the crocodiles,
and starvation,
and sirens,
I will take it out, and
I will hear!
by God! I will hear
and be heard!

II.

No sound.

The siren's lips move;
the water recedes.
the sky grays.
the crocodiles come.
I am drawn near
by her lotus lips that bid me down this tree
but
I must not dismount.
but
a second siren in the trees
has been picking out my beeswax.
Two songs.
The reptiles draw ever nearer to
the siren, her song is the loudest.
The second siren sings a song
of warning                              and captivation.
              

I dismount the tree
to fight back the green menace, and save
the first siren.
I knew these fellows once.
They were my friends,
and now do I slay them.
I see only jaws and red blood now,
and now am I defeated.
The crocodile has taken her as prey,
so familiarly,
for I was a crocodile
once.
Copyright January 2011 by Victor Thorn
jude rigor Feb 2020
in an ancient forest                      a chalice somewhere raises
dirt ridden murmurs                   in a temple of fire
caress the roots of                        beeswax begging
the trees                                         for raw sin
no one kneels                                at the foot
where there is flame                    in the palm
seal the sarcophagus                   we break bread
into the immortal night              binding books
we meditate                                 in holy dreams
for medicine                                we won’t need
honey burns                                us dogs of hell
gentle call                                    in the light.
something from my poetry class
Robin Carretti Jul 2018
Her pulse rate
Please match me
"Bee's high"

No fireflies to burn my money
Honeycup fingers devour it
The yellow- brick road pours it
The Van Gogh yellow
Honey Queen Bees follow
their fellows
Am I Waiting? 12345_*

The first mate
he ain't got my sting
The others don't mean a thing
The headset swirled to pitch black
Watch your tattoo back blinded
by your yellow
Too many honeycombs
spoiling his ring,
His honey like some hot disease
What an increase in salary
month of June
All the Kingsman double sting it

On the ebb, to triple play it
It's a  Lil- Deb on the ebb
buzzing the personal
Up close the sting
One of a web kind
He makes his move
"Google it" checkmate

Miss Butterfingers her
clicks get stuck
He caught her act
What a stinker

He checked her off the fate
of a singer

To update, on the ebb bees
Sting Shrine what's mine
But why on your time?
That parking meter roar lion coins
build me a buttercup
What a buzz cut please shut up
On the ebb of my interns the
a seduction that's no crime

The Queen of Cherchez
So the lemon square
Bee's at 1960 Worlds fair
He took the bait
La Femme au-fait
Post date, 
 The ebb bees
two lips stick like beeswax
The ebb of everlasting sales tax

"Les of the Mohicans"
of her most desirable
words he narrates,
The honey-blush trees
Upstate

Bees on his proposal knees down
The Queen's bees money

Money for nothing and your
checks for free our freedom
Dire Strait music shrine
Sunshine Gold free state
She donates her heart he awaits

Like 100 degrees hottest light
The golden armor shield
Bees were coming to America
Oh say can you see by the
Dawn-Sting Night

His overflow
His soul the magnitude
every heartbeat
extremity on the ebb of destruction
On the edge of our sanity web rated

Taking a long devouring breath
Like it came at birth
Ripleys believe it or not
forget me not flowers bees
Love was true never to
be false eyelashes

He touched her skin
He goes deeply drawn in
Sting shrine all the envy of mine

Ebb of the darkness her virginity
like a novice

The sting buzzes shes the naughty novella
His sunrise spread with his pocket knife
That honey (Goddess) sun Italiano

Sting shrine like Valentine her Spa treatment
To be raised in the
"Amazon Prime" Honeybee sticky hands

Facebook take a look everyone is an open book
On her ebb of the Emmy multiplying
I hear the bees **** seduction
Geology is the Bees Queen hot Sting
Her impulses she tried to hold back
But went forward with her
desires of him
Her draws bumble bee lingerie
She was the drawback
Wanting her ringback
Honey eyes were set back
And I'll be back to slingback

Asteroid Ebb of her hub ******
God
Wicked impulses being
aroused by his hot yellow rod
Like the smile increased
her face value
All body textures of virtue

What a pressure body point
Attuned to the sting shrine
The Monk the bees are alive
with the sound of
music modifying her sting Gods
Got reckless Moms whats the odds
Like a shock of eternal love, I'm sold

Toxicity facing our reality  
That's the jungle of publicity
Duplicity like the twin city
Both smiled bright yellow and black
Dress Bumblebee sexuality
To its authenticity

Her color of lips
build his sexuality
Beehive sanctuary
Playing the flute
Ebb Bees are so cute

Her name is Brooklyn
beehive of hair
Heres the shock waves bride of
Frankenstein
Changed to better
brains of Einstein

They both stare face to face
Her ebb of the tip
of her ***** with Grace
We earned this day
Be happy I crown you
Queen each and
every day
On the ebb of seduction or darkness, we need more circuits to react to get more into the Godly light or be on the ebb of your seduction and fight a better education just see how far you can go
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2016
i hate to break it to you kid,
i'm not mindful of narcissus'
economics that's all oh so very modern...

but women are their own orbit,
more chance to find a single mother
than a single father...
it's against nature to make the man
without god,
as it's against nature to make the woman
with god...
thus we have the tectonic plates
making man with god, accepting
or doubting, church or laboratory...
and woman... an eroticism of jaw eaten
faces... but a kiss to be a fingerprint
likened to erasing the dangling of the bitten
jaw... erased only once by the aphrodisiac of sirens'
wail of aquatic opera so damnable that only
one man heard it, while others scolded
being in audience with beeswax...
and by second chance, erased, indeed,
but only by the suffragettes as the new nuns...
as the new nuns dare comply to change,
like every male become female and
vice versa,
and the popes disclose their continual
loss of matrimony in their misogynistic
involvement in ******; if i'm not the pope
and do no encounter such practices,
i'm not a pope at all!

only a ninth spoke as the necromancer,
and of the nine spoke clearest,
as it spoke, it dawned on me
that sauron was invisible for the sword
to strike, a gravity enveloping,
a gravity envelope, rather than a skin
of infinite diadem sharpenings,
for nine rigs unto men,
seven unto dwarfs, three unto elves,
but none unto the orcs... strange....
ORC ARKHAN MORDOR ARRAC!
Like Oedipus I am losing my sight.
LIke Judas I have done my wrong.
Their punishment is over;
the shame and disgrace of it
are all used up.
But as for me,
look into my face
and you will know that crimes dropped upon me
as from a high building
and although I cannot speak of them
or explain the degrading details
I have remembered much
about Judas -
about Judas, the old and the famous -
that you overlooked.

The story of his life
is the story of mine.
I have one glass eye.
My nerves push against its painted surface
but the other one
waiting for judgement
continues to see . . .

Of course
the New Testament is very small.
Its mouth opens four times -
as out-of-date as a prehistoric monster,
yet somehow man-made
held together by pullies
like the stone jaw of a back-***.
It gouges out the Judaic ground,
taking its own backyard
like a ****** daughter.

And furthermore how did Judas come into it -
that Judas Iscariot,
belonging to the tribe of Reuben?
He should have tried to lift him up there!
His neck like an iron pole,
hard as Newcastle,
his heart as stiff as beeswax,
his legs swollen and unmarked,
his other limbs still growing.
All of it heavy!
That dead weight that would have been his fault
. He should have known!

In the first place who builds up such ugliness?
I think of this man saying . . .
Look! Here's the price to do it
plus the cost of the raw materials
and if it took him three or four days
to do it, then, they'd understand.
They figured it weighed enough
to support a man. They said,
fifteen stone is the approximate weight
of a thief.

Its ugliness is a matter of custom.
If there was a mistake made
then the Crucifix was constructed wrong . . .
not from the quality of the pine,
not from hanging a mirror,
not from dropping the studding or the drill
but from having an inspriation.
But Judas was not a genius
or under the auspices of an inspiration.

I don't know whether it was gold or silver.
I don't know why he betrayed him
other than his motives,
other than the avaricious and dishonest man.
And then there were the forbidden crimes,
those that were expressly foretold,
and then overlooked
and then forgotten
except by me . . .
Judas had a mother
just as I had a mother.
Oh! Honor and relish the facts!
Do not think of the intense sensation
I have as I tell you this
but think only . . .

Judas had a mother.
His mother had a dream.
Because of this dream
he was altogether managed by fate
and thus he ***** her.
As a crime we hear little of this.
Also he sold his God.
Jonny Angel Feb 2014
I want to be a hippie,
join a small commune,
set up my camp
way out in the woods,
near the back forty
& the railroad tracks.

I want to swim naked
with them pretty chicks,
braid natty dreads,
go tubing on the river,
make beeswax candles
& tie dyes.

I want weave dream catchers,
paint glitter on Venetian beads,
sing happy songs,
create new stars,
eat whole wheat bread
& make Tabouili salads.

I wanna dance,
circle the blazing fire,
shout out at the moon,
splash myself in patchouli,
smell ****-smoke in the air
& indulge in tantric things.

I don’t wanna
hurt anybody,
break any laws,
just wanna spread love,
blow kisses to butterflies,
ride double-rainbows
on magic carpets
& be a hippie.
i am grateful for stretch denim on days
when
          **** it
is a fashion statement
for lavender laundry detergent
because that smell reminds me of the home i've built in my head
for tea at
2 a.m.
when all the things i've done race in my head
because the next morning, i usually get my **** together
for colds
because they make eating an entire roll of cinnamon buns
completely justifiable
for the mountains that surround me
for NPR and good, rated M fanfiction
for def poetry when i can't find the right words
for finding a pack of cigarettes when it is only
11:30pm on a thursday night
and i am well past drunk in a slightly damp armchair
for harry potter and neil gaiman
for when twenty dollars fills up my gas tank
for my grandma's potato salad and biscuits with honey
for feminist zines that make me want to smash the patriarchy
for burts bees chapstick and jasmine-green tea
for friends who let me cry on their
bedroom floors
for books that keep me entertained
(even if that means me crying in my bathtub while reading them)
for courtney love and joan jett because those *******
have ridden in my car with me over many
heart-breaks
for well-water and sulfate free red wine
for johnny cash and new orleans and whiskey
for salt-- because that **** can wash away anything
for farmer's markets and co-ops
for bottles of water  and for cookie dough
when my mouth
is the consistency of cotton  and my mind is a little bit gone
for warm days in January and cold days in September
for breakfast and for hikes that begin at five a.m.
for summer nights drunk on wine and a little too much fire
for friends who call me 'momma bear' and for friends that call me 'baby bird'
for poems that give you cold chills
and flowers stolen from my neighbor's yard
for skin that smells like the sun and sage
for beeswax candles
and the smell of clean laundry
for days when i wake up and realize
i could have died on a bathroom floor
Erin Suurkoivu Oct 2016
a thousand restless fingers
pluck along my nerves
and crawl swarming bees
over my flesh
******* dry honey
and I as a comb am empty
waiting on the waxing moon
to bring in the tide
exposed and littered
on the cracked seabed
lighting beeswax candles
impromptu runway lights
for those aeroplanes
who always fail to land
and wasted afternoons
fade into wasted nights
tossing to and fro
I sleep
under the cupboards instead
Featured along with other fine poems in my poetry collection, "Blood for Honey", available on Amazon or through Lulu.
Red Nov 2018
my skin is candle wax
I burn my being in search of a purpose
my thoughts melt and liquify
feelings simmering until I'm a puddle person
I scrape away my entity in search of a core
charred flesh beneath my fingernails
addicted to the sting I'm the lighters *****
scoop myself empty and present my entrails
j f Jan 2013
The desk is a refreshing change of pace from the
uneasy comfort of the bed. I
eye the flimsy container of trail mix
lying in wait, my lightly salted prey.
rolling from beneath the body-like warmth of my
blanket cocoon,
I stumble towards nourishment.

I attack my snack,
and settle into the
beeswax halo of drunk hung Christmas lights,
mistakenly onto an uncapped felt pen,
tip bleeding into a beige throw
bought for a newly redecorated room.

Unnoticed, the stain spreads,
advancing on the threads of the throw.
I will, perhaps, see it tomorrow
and curse silently,
and wonder if it can be
hidden by rearrangement and ultimately
decide that a little folding will do the trick.

Outside, the snow freezes a fresh exoskeleton,
primed for crushing the footprints of strangers.
Luna Tuesday Mar 2016
Lighting a candle before my bedside,
I slip a small piece of my past
underneath the brass holder
to catch the waxy overflow.

A pink envelope addressed to
(my love)
encases the torn and tattered teardrop-filled
piece of stationery paper.

Your words mush together with the
slight scent of beeswax and sage
and my mind wanders off to an unknown place

3 am:
Awaking to the smell of
an almost-smoke
burning my nostrils

burning my curtains
Is this what it was like
loving me?

Loving you was an ongoing river
each rush getting away from me
the second I felt it
while the rocks, the biggest burdens,
stay in place,
unmoved, unsolved

The light of the candle flickers
as I watch the fiery masterpiece
flow over the room

I lit the candle before my bedside.
I knew the consequences,
repercussions
of loving you.
Aa Harvey Jul 2019
Don’t bee late for Flight-school


Ok…Are you sure you have got everything that you need?
There is nothing you have forgotten?
Nothing you want to get before you leave?
Are you sure you don’t need to use the lavatory before you go?
Oh!  Have you got enough honey?
Enough clothes to wear?  Some beeswax for your hair?
Are you sure you are ready to leave?
Yeah…

Don’t worry about me Mum, I’ll bee ok.  
I have been preparing for this day since I can remember.
Oh!  Have you got your mittens?  It gets cold in September.
Mum; chill out.  I’m going to bee fine
And the next time you see me I’ll bee able to fly!
Now Son; are you sure you don’t want me to give you a lift?
No Dude; thanks, but it’s only a short trip…


It’s time for me to go.
Oh I know, I know; don’t bee late, hurry along
And go and meet your mates, don’t bee late.
I’m sure he will bee ok Love.
We love you Son.
Yes!  We love you Humble!  And his Mum gave him a great big hug!
I love you guys too and I won’t bee gone long.
Just a few days and I will bee done
And then you can say “You know he flies as well now, my Son.”


With that Humble walked out of the door
And soon he met his mates, all four.
They were up ahead so he ran to catch up.
Oh ‘ello Humble.  What’s up?
Hey Bee-Real, what are you doing here?
Just walking little Prince here to flight-school.  He fears.
He worries too much if you ask me;
Got no sense of direction, see.
Oh well; what will bee, will bee.
Hey Humble.  Hey Prince.  How’s things?
Don’t ask.
Bee-Real laughed.


Hey Humble.  Hey Blondebee;
What do you reckon we are gonna see,
When we walk through those big doors?
Bee-Real said “You’ll see ‘em all flying about an’ that, I’m sure.
They got nothing better to do, I’ll bet ya.”
Hey Tiny Dancer.  Hey Hum;
Today’s gonna bee fun!
Yeah, for you it is, you already know how to fly Mr. Superfly.
Some of us just have a natural ability; Hey ladies.
Said Tiny Dancer as two bees flew by.


Humble and the others,
Had to walk through the offices of the Bee-Air institution,
Before they were eventually lead to the building,
In which their training instructor was waiting,
For them to begin their training mission.


So there it was…Flight-school.
Wow!  That’s cool!  
Said Humble as they opened the huge doors,
To reveal a huge area painted sky blue from wall-to-wall
And in the centre of the large room there was a swimming pool.


What’s with the water, Bee-Real?
That’s for when someone fails.
If your wings get wet because they are not like a shield of steel,
Then they say pack your bags.  It’s time to bail…

Well; see you later guys.  I’d love to stay, but I gotta fly.


As Bee-Real left and the small group of four joined the line,
Flight Lieutenant McFly began to talk.
After a little while the training had begun
And soon it would bee time for the tests…


As Humble walked up to take his place for the first attempt,
The Flight Lieutenant said,
Show us what you got kid!
And Humble did!
He flapped his wings as hard as he could!
He rose off the ground a little and then he floated back down.
Nice attempt.  Try again.  
Some of the other bees were joking behind the Lieutenants back.
Hey you; I can see what you are doing over there.  
Stop clowning around.


Humble tried three times and it didn’t work.
Tiny Dancer tapped him on the shoulder and said My turn.
Then he leapt into the air and flew around the room.
Well done lad.  You really know how to zoom!
It seemed like everybody else did too;
To Humble at least.


Eventually, all that was left was one last bee.
Even after being trained by Flight Lieutenant McFly,
Humble was running out of time.
Everyone else had learned to fly.  They were all watching.
There he was…the last bee in line.


Nobody believed he could do it;
Not even him…
Until he only went and did it!


Humble soared into the sky!  He flew so high!
And so fast around the room
And as he passed the bees below, he shouted out Zooommm!!!
He was gone in a flash,
So quick to dart back up into the air
And as he landed in front of the cheering bees in his class,
After flying behind the artificial clouds and trees,
The lieutenant said,
“Congratulations!  You have all passed!”


Nobody fell into the swimming pool.
Humble later found out that nobody ever does.
As he flew home, he felt, so cool!
And all along the flight path that he took home,
Could bee heard the sound of Humble B. Bumble,
Qualified flier,
Humming along…

At last Humble had found the right note to sing his unique buzz.


(C)2017 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Z Martin Mar 2013
Today I straightened all of the hairs on my head
whether they needed it or not.  I like being organized.
Ironing out the kinks in my leather jacket with a baseball bat.
I try to cut the blues from the spinning record,
flicked numbered matchsticks across vinyl to
set the fleshed room on fire,
don’t touch me, I’m a real live wire.

Being on top of my **** is like handmaking
beeswax candles, I twist & turn, carving wax
in the air—There is always more to do, I
always tried to cross t’s and
sort the junk mail from the paychecks,
accidentally dropping cigarettes into the piles of post.

Out of the corner of my eye, I watched you
lick postage stamps for the outgoing flood.  
The laundry gets done even though I’m
too tired to pull my key out of the door.

I am in control of my own destiny.

I smoke Coca Cola & drink cigarettes for breakfast
because I don’t roll out of bed on the right side
of any given day, and
yesterday I put my foot
through the television
because tap-dancing on the shards
of the wood-paneled tube from dad’s first marriage
sings gnashed-teeth harmonies
with the microwave’s low groan at 3AM—

I used to eat cold spaghetti in torn jeans and nothing else
while you flipped through channels on basic cable
to hear the collage painting the end of the world.  You were
always an empty can that year, you saved
orange peels to fill with oil to burn—
your name whispers itself into the grease hissings and
I hear it over the skyline and I cannot seem to find a match
to strike to light the last crumpled smoke in my pack—

All I want to do is send you photographs with singed corners,
photographs of your letters, attempts to burn away
any sight of you, ways to cut&bin;; the flint that ignites
the only bonfire in my eye.

And sometimes I wish I could just scream at you until
the flowers crawl up the brick walls of your apartment;
my kitchen smells concrete like celluloid ashes and
if I snap my fingers to break broken promises and
floss my teeth with violin strings I might not miss you
anymore.
Merry Sep 2019
She’s the spider on your shoulder
Holding you, cold and tight
She’s all eyes, slitted blue,
And the longest legs you’ve ever seen
With flaming locks of orange
Which burn brighter than the embers
Of bridges she’s destroyed in arson
And when she smiles, corner to wicked corner,
It’s not hallowed beeswax on her lips
Which gives them that crimson hue
She’s slow and steady wins the race
That your pounding heart
Is susceptible to losing to
Saccharine sweet with a smile to boot
She will have you licking hers
Steeped in honey, polite and courteous,
She spins you into her silken web
Not even of lies, but you fumble regardless
And then she eats you whole
ottaross Dec 2014
Wrapped in a blanket against the cold night
Like a paper-wasps' nest
in a black-and-white birch tree
dusted with snow;
Like the wick of a hundred-times-dipped beeswax candle,
awaiting the flame.
I roll over and pounce,
thinking of the beeswax deodorant
you bought when I said it would
smell good on you---

Bees! You've got BEES in your armpits!

And even though you're not ticklish there
you laughed.

Your mischief beard hangs
like bristle fingers from your chin
and touches my neck in a way
that keeps me between thoughts
and closed eyes.
Del Maximo Dec 2013
ambience and warmth
elemental, mysterious, aglow
the scent of beeswax or fragrance
mesmerizing drips and puddles
a flame’s pin point
a keyhole in the darkness
opening to another plane
where memories breathe
and flicker within the light
like an old time frame by frame movie show
playing back the details in your mind’s eye
anniversaries commemorating lost loved ones
undiminished pain sheds yesterdays tears
in the stillness of your heart
churches light candles
symbolizing God’s presence
people light candles
in memory of loss
expressing the present tense
of their love
© 12/15/13
Beau Scorgie Apr 2017
i watch
as little things
become big things.

little things
others might discard.

tiny hands
place wooden eggs
inside empty play dough cups
all in a row.
mummy which ice cream you like?
I smile before answering,
the flower and vitamin c one please
okay good he says.
i place a beeswax crayon
inside tiny hands
in exchange for
my ice cream.

i watch
as he drops
tiny, special things
inside a tiny bag.
a very hungry caterpillar bag.

a wooden tool,
a waterlemon jigsaw piece,
tiny plastic spoon
and empty tic tac boxes.
so many tic tac boxes.

i regret that
i am an impatient woman
and some days forget the beauty
in these little things.

i watch
as he takes sweet breaths
with eyes closed,
through cupid bow lips.
i am reminded
these are not the little things,
but the big things.

if there was one thing,
one big thing,
i could bless him with,
it would be that
he may never
lose his eye
for life's little things
too long.
Alexandra Nov 2012
You smelled like beeswax
In your yellow sweater when I met you
On his bed

Such bright eyes
Big sister, big dreams
Told me to follow mine

So I did

And I climbed mountains

But I should have stayed behind
The coffee and the *****
Lemonade summer on your breath

I saw you waste
a w a y
with bottles in your teeth

You should be full
Like Sylvia
but-

Now everyone is skipping rope
And crossing finish lines
My sister, blonde haired beauty

She's still waiting at the gate.
Elioinai Apr 2019
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?
Honey remembers the shape of the comb
they say
Just like my feelings remember the shape of their home
Away
Far away
Doug Potter Dec 2016
is like cotton twine,
if you put a match

to string, it will
burn away,

but if dipped
in beeswax

the flame will be
slow and sure.
crystal holly Jun 2017
give me back the days
when you’d press me like a flower
against the wall
and whisper little nothings
so cinnabon sweet
they’d swirl around
my head all day.
when we’d walk
spring streets coated
in magnolia leaves
you, mr. chivalry
curbside, protecting
every milky bone in
my body.
i crave
one more afternoon
tangled in sheets
with you,
fingers tracing
places i want
discovered by you
only.
another beeswax flavored
kiss, to get me through
the solstice
not yet gone,
already missing you.
mark john junor Nov 2013
as daylights shine wears thin
and evening is leaning on you heavy
like the engine of time has
forgotten to grease its wheel
your futility fueled smile has lost ground
in the struggle with the grin
of the man wearing a clown suit
he is a rainbow of laughs
he is the face behind the face that
you look into with approaching dread

the obvious winds of encroaching rain
tread briskly past my quiet ear
a motorcycle engine winds up its gears
in the summer like distance
like an echo in this autumn brink of evening
pretence of the storm
a few scattered cool drops of water
fall casual to the hard red surface of the patio
its faded and tattered paint beset with taint
here once sat a small brick wall
its remains scattered amongst the litter
in the overgrown weeds
as the rain begins in earnest
she leads me inside the house
and to a bedroom not used by shooters
the two of us sit in silence and listen to the passing storm
a woman without a word enters and
gathers herself in a corner

outside the window
sunlight creeps back over the world
reveals the man with the clown suit
sitting waiting for you outside the window
he had waited all his life
and he waits still
in his comfort chair
its worn plastic form strains but holds
his heavy thoughts
as the world passes in two's or threes
all the laughing faces
and the desperate lookers eyeing the safe harbour
he had waited all his life
inspite of the noise and garbage
he sits here and plays with the firebox
its heat keeps him from getting
a frozen heart

the three of us
leave the shooters house
making roads for the soothsayers den
only she can settle our earthly delemia
me, her and the clown
full on night gathers around our swift feet
the lights of the carnival
reflected in the puddles left by the last rain
the already stale the water is disturbed by our passing
the air smelled like cotton candy
and is full of noise
the soothsayer is mute
her lips sealed with beeswax
because she is mourning her camera
cause the camera was once her ticket out of town
it was gonna be a one way nonstop to hollywood
but it ended up being hollyweird and it wasn't in california
the four of us head for the interstate
if you cant solve it
run
JR Weiss Jan 2011
i met you once
in a dream.
married for years
the pickpocket and
the traveling salesman.

fish rained down on our wedding day
and our friends released doves.
my dress was a million rose petals
and your tux dripped ink on the church's carpet.

we laughed and loved each other
chewing beeswax and
painting silly faces on our knees.
it was a lovely dream
drinking in the deepest love
and swimming through the cool waters
behind our little green house.

you told me you were afraid of the waking
i couldn't lie so i said
so do i.
we ran
but the alarm and the bright morning found us
i woke and you
were just a dream again.
no closer then a cloud.
a wish whose cologne
clings to my hair.
KM Ramsey May 2015
you say it like it's my fault
like i shook you
goddess of earthquakes
and my fault lines
etched into my face don't
give you the answer you're looking for?

you look upon me like an alien
like some creature who crawled forth
from a darkened alleyway to
burn in front of you
and pull you
a moth to the flame
Icarus flying too close to the sun
you melt
when you're in my arms
and i in yours i can see
the beeswax of your eyes
slowly turning to a viscous liquid
a rain-shower of that infernal desire
emotions that ***** like needles
piercing veins to slam home
a neon poison
higher than ******
to know my power
and hold that pulsing dripping
heart of yours
within my secret place
my holy of holies and
all i want is to tear the veil
and expose the bare truth
no more hiding in the shadows
a divine face you cannot look upon
i imagine god gets lonely

what is the meaning of a beauty
that cannot be seen?
that will consume every part of you
with a single glance
burn your eyes to charcoal
the only smoking remnants of
those bottomless brown cups of coffee
that swirl in your irises

i consume the world around me
more more more more more more
if left alone i would eat your heart
a feral animal
the pure incarnation of natural rage
thunderstorms in my eyes
and lightning bolt curls
blood-stained lips still dripping
with your 98.6 degrees
that same fluid which rushes
to your cheeks when
i shock you yet again
though you shouldn't really be surprised
anymore

if you know what's good for you

don't look at me
he should just walk away
Universe Poems Dec 2022
Sheep, pig, cow, or ox fat
Tallow widely used
500 BC is when the Romans,
began producing tallow wax,
with an unwound strand of twine,
for light at the time
Everyone was asleep,
but the candlelight was not meek
Together
1500's, beeswax,
light the way forever
Soy and coconut are also true,
in lighting the way for you

© 2022 Carol Natasha Diviney
Ross J Porter Jun 2011
Buzzing, like bees fresh from a field of clover blooms -
The beautiful din of childhood conversation.
Sweet frosting dripping through layers of love baked cakes.
The smell of beeswax melting to puddles in flames.

Colors, akin to the late evenings proudest show,
Waiting to be ripped apart to reveal their gifts,
And streaming across the room in wisps of wishes
From family and friends making happy memories.

The jubilant ring of children singing brightly.
The sudden hush as hopes and dreams are planted.
A mighty breeze of faith, held for a year, exhaled.
Lights of age extinguished, replaced by childlike glee.

Scooped frozen cream with slices of honeyed layers -
Plated, shared, enjoyed by young and mature alike.
These, a very taste of wide-eyed innocence and sweet
Memory of bygone years spent loved and nurtured.
g clair Sep 2013
Not entirely crazy though a little bit insane
outside in the daylight, her mind runs as clear as rain.

I took the test they gave me
to find a compatible fellow
Roses are red, Violets are blue
but my heart is screaming yellow.

Bottled up my beeswax
showered off the gloom
drew a breath of sunshine
pouring through her room.

Talking to a stranger
not the average Joe
wait until I meet him
the only way to know.

Yarrow is a color
I heard the Asian mutter
hold the petals 'neath your chin
to see if you like butter.

An over-ripe banana
brown speckled, getting soft
waitin' for his perfect match
the others he has scoffed.

Not easily misguided
I won't buy into hype
Perfect match confided
He's not the risky type.

Yellow is not fade proof
it washes out in time
hang your heart out here to dry
wind blows it off the line.

Whatever is the point here
of how she did you wrong
your history's no matter to me
it's always the same old song

No longer scared, just waiting
been down around the block
tasted and been tested
bid farewell to bio-clock.

Today I am feeling ready
tomorrow I'm bleeding blue
orange you glad I'm yellow
a bright and crazy hue?

I don't need the internet
or men to entertain
just read my lips
and bring some chips
I'll meet you at the train
Alexander Akin May 2015
I can grow my love taller than Eiffel
I can open up your heart like petals
Pour my essence in your quintessence
Like the beeswax melts in the sun
have you melt my heart in yours
Under the spell of love I can do all
Wait,  there is no height I won't climb
Can lead a rescue team for your
There is no army I won't subdue
as long as it takes me to you
If that is all what I need do
Hey, it is either only me and you
Else, it would be me against the world
Cupid now?
come out the underworld
Will you?
Never tarry, Godspeed in your steps
shoot your venom right into the chest
then will I become the wholesome lad
who rides on love's wave to win an olympiad
Terry Collett Feb 2015
Two monks pick fruit
from bushes
in the abbey gardens,

the early
afternoon sun
blesses

their tonsured heads,
a black beaded rosary
hangs

from the leather belt
of the younger one.
I polish the wood

of the choir stalls
with beeswax
and a yellow duster;

I remember her softness,
her opening wide,
the scent of hair

as I moved in
and lay there.
The Austrian monk,

head to one side,
sups his soup
in the refectory

off the old
French spoon,
listening to the reader

read of Cromwell,
and the thought of Compline
and bed quite soon.
MONKS AND A NOVICE IN AN ABBEY IN 1971.
Haley Desiree Nov 2010
It’s in the beeswax candle
that burns
on the kitchen table
next to half empty cups of stale coffee.
It’s in the pure oxygen
that pumps
in and out of her weakened heart.
I can hear it in Judy Garland’s velvet voice
singing her to sleep
in the background.
I feel it in her goodbye grip.
I can see it in her relieved eyes,
her dropped jaw.
In my determination to fly,
I have to find a balance
between the elmer's glue,
which failed
when I flew
too close
to the sea,
and the beeswax,
which stung
more than
my own back
when I thought
it'd made me free.
My pride will be my breaking,
I'm sorry for mistaking
acid for honesty.
Walking out the door her husband says,
I’ll be back in an hour. He said that last time
After threatening her with violence, she retaliated
With a garden hose, the only ****** weapon within reach.

She turns over the memory of her wedding day looking for red flags,
Remarks to herself how methodical it all was,
Vetting her prospects— a bookish disposition and a stable desk job—
And thinks to herself
It’s a wonder anything came of it at all.

There’s a list of Odds and Ends on the kitchen table.

She closes her eyes to imagine
Ticking boxes on that List of Odds and Ends with a number two pencil,
Three children conducting a bank heist,
On the table a corner reserved for beeswax,
Raspberry jam,
And a bucket of mud.
She laughs to herself.

Some sort of commotion has seized control of the air outside.
Perhaps the children are arguing over
Who holds open the sack, the door, waits outside
Or perhaps they’re coming to collect
The woman wrapped up
In a garden hose, a necklace
Of her own design.

Loaded up on the stretcher, they carry her out, she says
I’ll be back in an hour. The woman next door stands on her stoop,
Clearly she could not have seen this coming.
She forgets her own birthday.
Written from prompt: « She forgot her own birthday. »
Drew East Dec 2012
I sink in
I rest my knobby elbows on the hard glass
            my dark, fuzzy, pinpricked reflection stares up at me
I place my cold palms on my hot eyes.
These eyes, they've seen too much
            yet, nearly not enough
My chapped lips,
            stingingly soothed by minty beeswax
My clothes
            plaid polo flannel, red, green, tan, black, white, jumbles, like me
My cold feet stick out,
            they rest painfully on a wood bar long stripped of stain
An old soul trapped with the mind of a child in a teenager's body.
This be will interesting.

— The End —