She is a flower
And I am a honeybee
Nuzzling her petals

Careena Mar 2014

If you be the flower
I am the bee
Drawn to your delightful mystery

We the hidden, now exposed
I cannot find my home.

My dance is despair,
All is salt-sweet, where is she
Who calls the us, the we?

Why do I fly
And where do I go?

The here is a tangle of
Too much bright delight
I fall, I fly, it is un-right

Lost, alone, I spin
Imploding from within
I have what we need
But the others are not here

Wet comes
In bitter spurts
And I know fear
I am afraid.

I had no need to know of this
Going, I, alone
Wings rip each drip
Oh, I go

We the hidden, now exposed
I cannot find my home.

is the flower
and I
the bumbling

Brent M Webb Sep 2014

Bumblebee Husband arrives at home,
hangs his hat on the rack,
puts his suitcase on the floor,
hears laughter coming from
the bedroom.
Puzzzled, he walks to the door
sweating, turns the handle,
a moment forever burned
into his memory.

Next, Cut to scene, night,
camera focuses on a ratty bar
on the edge of the downtown,
the air is thick, humid,
the low glare of neon paints
a desolate parking lot,
the neon sign reads 'The Hive'
and the hum is mind-numbing.
Bumblebee Husband sits at the bar alone,
Grasshopper Bartender absently wipes
the bartop with a dirty rag.
Bumblebee Husband is hunched over his drink,
drowning his sorrows in fermented honey,
grizzled, unshaven. Although surrounded
by the hushed din of conversation,
Bumblebee Husband only hears the
menacing drone of the clock.

The bar closes, we find Bumblebee Husband drunk,
pissing on the brick alley wall,
he looks up at the stars,
feels the cool night air on his face,
wonders what his life would have been like
if he had ended up with Mantis Girlfriend from
College, has the sneaking suspicion that it would
not have ended well, either.

Next, Bumblebee husband is sitting in his car,
the parking lot deserted. Hiccups, thinks of
the last conversation he had with
Bumblebee Wife, she screaming at him.
"Buzz off!" she yelled, he hears it now
echoing in memory. He remembers seeing
them at the divorce hearing,
He wonders how she could have left him.
Left him for Cockroach Boss...

Tears streaming down his mandibles,
he takes the handgun from the glove compartment.
and hopes it will only
for a second.

Collette Abatta Oct 2011

The bad seed  ::  takes root  ::  roots extend ::  in the head  ::  A constant branching  ::  budding bursting ::  away  ::  and away  ::  and away  ::  roots branch and extend  ::  The Holy Schism  ::  Mother's breast  ::  bisected  ::  salt and milk  ::  curdle  ::  then settle  ::  into the nine creamy layers of Hell  ::  roots extend  ::  bury into Her pith  ::  bisected  ::  a honeysuckle rut  ::  Mother screams  ::  a poisonous  ::  foam  ::  spraying Her wither around  ::  killing  ::  the sacred cow  ::  ::  ::  there  ::  there She is  ::  the pretty blight  ::  the slit  ::  in the stem pursed tight  ::  down lower  ::  over two hills  ::  to a black and blue lagoon  ::  Mother in bloom  ::  Her putrid flower  ::  slaps open sloppy  ::  wide ::  open ::  for osmosis  ::  for curdled spore spew  ::  sucking flaccid  ::  with lips and teeth

Brent Fisher Aug 2015

Hey I heard you liked the same person I do.
Well those rumors are true, and furthermore
I know for a fact that the last person she
slept with is now dating her best friend.

Where does it end! But the best part is,
no one knows that he's secretly meeting
her sister out behind the math building
before class, but wait, I saved the best for last.

I want you. Bad. But I'm not sure where that puts us.

Stolen in tact the passion, that field now lacks
No boundaries, this weight is lifted off my back
Running fast on the tracks

In the cracks of my skin crawls the experimental
Paranormal treasures for your plunder
Nose in the pheromones  

Will your molecules react?
Love is chemical.

The spirit of life hides in the flowers
That I jacked, just to give to you, pretty girl...

So maybe you'll be defenseless
To my emotions I wish to unpack

Oh there you are..
This is yours.

Science + Love = Sexy
Paul Sands Jun 2015

the air seized it’s chance today screaming
“fuck me!”
and every seed burst
obligingly in a torrent of stars and silken hope
yet a mere quarter hence
the deciduous mantle will slip, dowager dry and lentigo browned,
to dance tiny pirouettes with devils of dust & grit
amongst a litter of sepia confetti as summer’s rusted brides fall
their contract fulfilled

In honour of all the cotton fluff filling the air today here’s a older reflection of a previous years event
Amy H A Mar 2015

A butterfly is beautiful until you feel you're sly,
moving close to touch her wings,
and then she may not fly.
But on her feet is magic that makes one flower,
Disturbing the dainty butterfly
Means fewer blooms for you.
Wonder, gently.

I wrote this poem inspired by experience.  At the time I was reminded that my pop always used to say, "You can wonder and wonder, and you'll still never know."  I realized how much we hurt others when we make assumptions.
Knit Personality Jan 2015

Bouncing, boundless butterflies,
Bouncing in the balmy breeze,
Bouncing in the boundless skies,
Bounce between the brown-barked trees,
Bounce on by the bumble bees.

Buzzing, zipping bumble bees,
Buzzing in the zesty skies,
Buzzing in the zesty breeze,
Buzz into the butterflies—
Bumping— making butterbees.


In splendid repose
One blooming rose lies gleaming
Hummingbirds kiss her

A wind whispers their secrets
As the pollen keeps drifting

This is my first shot at a Tanka. Feedback is most welcome. I can’t really help getting somewhat anthropomorphic about it. Thanks Chaetura for reminding me of the word anthropomorphic.
Next page