"honeybees" poems
.
*Honeybees, birds and blooms unfurl
an enchanting spell
when spring comes by here
Memories waft 'neath burled rustic trellis
where flowered tendrils grasp fleshly
like the newness a love once tenderly embraced
Songbirds in your garden sing
of swooning memories rapture.., of velvet eyes,
the fragrant spicy nectar hidden within her walls
A song of honeyed bees' sweetest stinger,
and the poignant ***** of intoxicating surrender
lingers, bemused spellbound by a thorny heirloom rose
Sharp beauty beloved like a blameless trap
caught blissfully, breathlessly inbetween
all you wish for and all your wanton needs
Desire 's wellspring an unspoken passion
coquet swollen buds adorn blossoming,
sensual, untamed carnal grace
A picture perfect natural beauty;
sunlit chassé … feathered brush, demure blush
dancing with basket of lace petal’d perfume
For to colour a heart's blank pages
rapt in the poesy a joyous ecstasy ..,
enrapture with rainbow's luscious taste
What seems lost is but a tender vestige unfound
a passing moments innocence lost
to steal away like rumors of gold
These silent reveries seep from a hole in my heart,
as if ripe strawberries of yore, gently weeping sweetness
when pricked by a thorny rose
The ides of spring do still bleed a timeless ache
onto the page ... sweet naivety stung
by a mesmerizing dart to the heart
Songbirds in your garden do sing
of sweetest things immersed in nature's nectar
blissful memories sleeping in the petals of a rose*
Sung to the wind by a song sparrow — ♪ ♫...✩ ☼✩ ✩☺✩
Aug 14, 2016
Aug 14, 2016 at 12:08 PM UTC
Soft petals opening on a flower.
Showing the shy and delicate flesh between the folds.
Displaying true femininity.
Graciously accepting the honeybees return to ensure that there will always be life to enjoy.
Mutual respect must be present as neither the flower nor honeybee alone can create new life.
Aug 7, 2016
Aug 7, 2016 at 3:24 AM UTC
Sunshine on delicate pink
warms and sweetens blackberry nectar.
Scents of nectar
attracts honeybees.
Amber stripes and transparent wings
weave a tapesry on my canvas.
Jun 7, 2014
Jun 7, 2014 at 1:10 PM UTC
Hello, Mrs. Honeybee,
how are you today?
My soul is heavy,
my body is *****
and my mind is wandering away from me.
These summer days,
always slip away
filled with scraped knees,
and honeybees,
jeans stained dark with blood.
Goodbye, Mrs. Honeybee,
your summer days are gone,
and I never ever got to say
goodbye.
May 27, 2015
May 27, 2015 at 3:16 PM UTC
There is a bench in the back of my mind,
Where I like to come and sit.
Where the winds of my thoughts blow gently about,
but I don't have to
think about it.
I sit on this bench in a garden so sweet,
it smells of honey and dew;
the fragrance of dreams billows quietly here,
And I like smelling the roses,
too.
I come to this bench when I am angry or sad,
When I'd rather search clouds for shapes;
I grow trees in abundance and let honeybees roam,
mend broken ideas wrapped
'round old tapes.
This bench is my place for when I must hide -
Secret safe nobody shall find.
I surround it with good things and breaths of fresh air,
this bench at the back
of my mind.
Jun 15, 2012
Jun 15, 2012 at 4:20 AM UTC
When one thousand years has passed us by,
I hope mother earth is still beautiful
And there's fruit trees and grass so green,
And fresh air to breathe that's clean
There's animals alive of every variety,
fireflies, ladybugs, and honeybees
I hope there's an amazing blue sky,
with songbirds together flying so high
And I hope most of all flowers still grow,
and there's a winter with falling snow
Jul 25, 2018
Jul 25, 2018 at 1:14 AM UTC
**
*Fresh rain drop showers
sprinkles on her bubbly face;
A joyful scenery;
with vivid flowers
and honeybees scampering;
canvass as teary
her infectious smile,
joins with the chirp of birds;
Obviously happy*
**
Dec 20, 2012
Dec 20, 2012 at 1:53 AM UTC
Draw the warmth off of every person you should meet , each and every soul , hold a seashell to your ear and listen to the ocean , blow a kiss to the past and present , make a wish , flurry dandelion seedlings across a green field .. I pray for you to receive great imagination , my dear child , love with all your heart, be thankful as you lie in bed each night , dream of adventure and tall tales , puppy dogs and honeybees , sand dollars at the beach , exploring high mountains , climbing Chestnut Trees ...
Oct 2, 2015
Oct 2, 2015 at 12:13 PM UTC
There in the field she came to me,
The last of the silver honeybees.
I could see the years worn in her face,
Lost in the dark, one foot in the grave.
She held the ache behind her eyes,
So young to have her throat closed tight.
Poor girl, an orphan, with ribs of steel
Bone cage laced too tight to feel.
Then came the lonesome cosmonaut,
Betwixt the stars, those years he lost;
A nomad’s tale, nor here nor there
Too high up to come down for air.
Celestial darlings, they go round and round,
Dysphoric we hasten the final burnout:
From birth to evanesce, the hedons expire
Would love rot my teeth for afflictions less dire?
Last came the poet, out from the gloam
******* on pennies, and ink soaked through bones.
She gathered her strength and fell from the sky
While friends in high places twinkled goodbye.
Jan 9, 2023
Jan 9, 2023 at 4:23 PM UTC
In the twilight zephyrs
under milky way skies
I stroll beside my peacock plumed God
Along the banks of the Yamuna river
with captivating charm
He teaches me
the Language of Love
Honeybees buzz around us
even though the coral pink
sun has melted into a
puddle of nectar at
His silken lotus Feet
and all the flowers have
folded their drowsy petals
raven heavens raise their
ebony veils and a
chorus of rhapsodic stars
chant Krishna's glorious name
I feel His raincloud blue face
close to mine
lightning from His eyes
strikes my Soul
...and We dance...
A trillion psychedelic umbrellas
whirling, dazzling Sufi circles
beneath the Golden parasol
of God's enormous
Love
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Aug 7, 2013
Aug 7, 2013 at 9:25 PM UTC
And then I too
am part of the silence
that casts its post-sunset stillness
throughout this swamp white oak's great spread.
It seems as though even the hive of honeybees
and the nearby nest of baby birds
have stopped to admire
the feeling of the world
tilting on its axis; sinking through space.
We all gaze further upwards,
those bees and birds and I.
And nestled in the remaining twigs above,
is the shockingly finite dance
of the leaves... of the stars.
The shadows that hang from the top-most branches
cast their way down around me
and coat their way all over the ground, making it
easy to forget the height—
the ultimate suspension. Because
born within my skin
is a swamp white oak,
stretching its branches through the
grey matter in my mind,
over-taking and over-whelming.
At the end of it all is me:
a tiny little acorn laid
by an impossible evolution
of people into trees.
Every cell becomes leaf and
the heart a listening ear. Amongst
the chorus of the frogs,
the owls, the coyotes—
the chorus of the woods around—
is that shift
so revered.
The shift of the Earth.
The Earth tilting
on its axis.
It’s time to admit that the maps and
man’s little green boxes there,
are nothing but products
of a continually
diminishing temper... showing
that when this swamp white falls,
it won’t just be a wood
that’s finally left barren.
It won't just be a body
left emptied and charred.
Please, I think, as the bark gets flimsier
and flimsier
beneath my feet. As the wind gets fiercer
and fiercer
howling in my ears. *Please. Let this lone acorn
standing here
sprout into something.
Let a swamp white oak
be seen.*
Apr 22, 2014
Apr 22, 2014 at 6:27 PM UTC
The expendable existence.
That uncomfortable rat on your skin.
The cut in your gums that bleeds when you chew.
The last feasible member to fit on an ascending elevator.
Warm.
Hot.
Itching.
The spinach in your teeth.
The tear in your jeans located too close to “there”
The treacherous unzipped jean fiasco.
That crumb on your face.
Where is it?
‘To the left’
Is it gone?
‘A little more’
How ‘bout now?
‘Got it.’
The untied shoe.
The untucked shirt.
The eyelash stranded on your face.
The rainy wedding day.
The gold earring under the fridge.
The luggage thats flying to London instead of Zimbabwe.
These are the unwanted little honeybees of everyday being.
cracked mirrors, guitar-snapped strings,
welts of fire and third wheel things.
Feb 9, 2013
Feb 9, 2013 at 7:04 PM UTC
A cosmic ray dispersed into creation
Tail wagging upstream with elation
So many victims fallen to ************
Anxious seed sprouting with incubation
Privileged To exist
we have no choice
Growing like a cyst
No time to rejoice
Cognitive effort to grasp us being alive
Ponder the place from where we derive
Reasons for life and why we must strive
Are we honeybees with earth as our hive
Pray to the heavens for when we"ll arrive
Greeted with a smile and god"s high five
Effortlessly we all continue to live and be
Subconsciously evolving the human tree
Temporarily renting this vessel of a body
Surreptitiously evading death to be free
Sep 2, 2013
Sep 2, 2013 at 1:46 AM UTC
they say you should
fear flowers for they
grow in adversity,
adapt, and face
the sun, and
when we
were little
we ****** on
the stems of gardenias
like honeybees with our
nimble, sticky fingers. And
today I learned to ride a bike
with no hands and a sweat
plastered shirt clinging to
my spine, so, instead,
shouldn't you be afraid of me?
Sep 28, 2014
Sep 28, 2014 at 8:50 PM UTC
Dancing honeybees
would understand my desire
when I kiss your lips
Apr 5, 2017
Apr 5, 2017 at 6:56 PM UTC
I could write an entire poem
about the way it felt like a million honeybees buzzing around my insides when you'd grab my arm as I walked past you
and how it felt like each and every one of them stung me when you stopped noticing when I walked past you
or about how I felt like I could talk to you forever when we sat in that coffee shop for the first time
and how I learned that there's no such thing as forever when I found out that it would also be the last time
And I could write a billion stanza's
about how I can understand Darwin's theory of evolution, and why you should never fight the current if you're drowning, and why the moon seems like it's following you on car rides
but could never understand why you loved that girl for 2 years when she stole every bit of your innocence and everything that made you whole
And I could probably make a long list
of different words that describe how you look on a Monday morning
like tired
and sheepish
and unamused with the slow pace of traffic
Or write a novel
on why you stopped wearing your seatbelt the day your mother stopped wearing her wedding ring
But I suppose
that all I'd really be trying to say
is that I miss you
and that I still feel the stingers of the honeybees stuck in my skin.
Jun 21, 2014
Jun 21, 2014 at 8:02 PM UTC
Today I watched a log near the shore
wait for the Mississippi's current to
push it past the lone rock in its way.
Two and a half hours later it
caught the current, and gained
enough momentum to float ahead.
The log was forced from its comfort zone,
but wanted the change,
and embraced its own currency.
It got stuck along the way
(probably more than once)
but trusted the process
like flowers trust honeybees.
Today
the log is as much a part of me
as I
am a part of it
Ready to ride the wave
Ready to converse with the current
Ready
Ready.
Moving forward, I'll think about
that log from time to time
when I'm stuck in captivity,
holding on to hope that I can
find a current to carry me away.
May 9, 2017
May 9, 2017 at 12:13 PM UTC
Five pedals folded
Clothing honey nectar in a gown
Waiting for the warmth of sunshine.
Waiting for honeybees
To gift life to their blackberry child.
Jun 9, 2014
Jun 9, 2014 at 12:22 PM UTC
*A lone tree, in all its glory stands
in the courtyard of my heart;
evergreen all these years,
proud of its songs heard as green waves
nourished by the sun in my sky.
Without that tree, I can't be
a comely girl once came
there for an ecstatic dance, then
sat below its shade with a smile
all through a day and night
then in the courtyard of my heart
she became a constant presence.
The wind's tunes sung paeans to her,
the verdant courtyard
was filled with sun and songs;
the tree's first spring it was.
A long season of flowering followed,
pink and white blossoms
with heavenly scent was abundant
all through the year on the tree's crown.
Like a moving cloud, honeybees
swarmed around singing songs of love,
joy of communion fallowed by the pain of parting,
the season of fragrant blooms soon came to an end
and with that she too left,
telling me that I'll be her true love always
whatever happens to us,
In that tree, the witness of our love
she tied an invisible ribbon that bound us too tough to get loose,
that embraced me whenever wind played with it,
I and she were mere shells
presence of love, alive in the precincts, of the tree
that makes me alive, now and for ever.*
Dec 21, 2013
Dec 21, 2013 at 1:09 PM UTC
When I’m older, I’ll give more of myself to the yellow morning. By then, I’ll have a front porch where the honeybees join me for breakfast, and I won’t worry about the sting any longer than I should, and the day will be enough. But for now, I am still waiting for a flood, still waist-deep in the rain. I am taking communion with the things that hurt, letting them melt on my tongue like hot wax. The broken clock, and the hollow haunting, and the songs that say what I can’t. I think the winter knows me better than I’d like to admit. But sometimes, the heaviness feels a lot like being held, and so I let it crush me.
Oct 11, 2021
Oct 11, 2021 at 9:59 AM UTC
Scientists say when the honeybees die, the people will die. That is horrifying. Not our imminent doom, but the extinction of the adorable honey bee. If you converse with these insipid creatures, you will discover bees are jocular and discerning creatures. They are sarcastic and even petulant, that I find to be risible. Their immutable ability to enhance their minute brains renders their vocabulary elementary; however, their impish nature endears them to me. Honeybees aren't dying, but listen to their buzz closely, they may **** you with hilarity; at least, that's the buzz.
Jul 20, 2013
Jul 20, 2013 at 7:21 PM UTC
*pretty women around the world
when they see me, they smirk
and some shake their head
and say, **"who is that girl,
who is that beautiful girl?"**
some even roll their eyes
and say my ego is huge
and i need to be brought
down to size
i laugh at them and say
"I don't wear any rouge"
whenever i sashay into a room
I flip my hair, give a big smile
and strike a pose
And all the sweet honeybees,
every last one
fall down on their knees
and offer me a red rose
some even beg and plead
"marry me please"
and some give a loud whistle
just to capture my attention
and all of them in unison
exclaim with an excited smile
"wow! you rock!"
yes, glamor girl, that's me
for every last honeybee
many kisses I blow
and I give them a special wink
and whisper, "yes, I know"
xoxo*
Mar 14, 2017
Mar 14, 2017 at 4:35 PM UTC
Come on girl
it's time to fly
Don't let this gray sky
hold us down
The water may swirl
but we won't drown
Ain't nothing but the wind
and the rain keeping us in
Let's get on out of here
and get some air
Driving sideways
through this storm
Running its fingers
through our hair
Like a swarm
of honeybees came
Singing Love is like a hurricane
and Here comes those tears again
Writing words
upon my window pane
Come on girl,
it's just the wind and the rain.
Oct 8, 2016
Oct 8, 2016 at 7:12 PM UTC
Seagulls and blackbirds hover the sky
Bright coloured flowers they multiply
The city such a depressing sight
With factories cars and traffic lights.
People are working to earn their pay
They save for a break a nice holiday
Maybe a cruise to a tropical land
Or just to the beach with sea and sand.
We are not made to take in the fumes
From moterways were the traffic looms
We belong with nature and fields of green
With fountains trickling from mountain streams.
We look out at our garden what do we see
Bright cherry blossom and sweet honeybees
All these things bring a smile on one's face
Away from running in this busy rat race.
Time it has come to take one's ease
Breath in the air and feel the breeze
No need to rush there's no were to go
Just look at the colours inside your rainbow.
Jul 13, 2018
Jul 13, 2018 at 2:36 PM UTC