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Aa Harvey Jul 2019
I’ll never bee kissed


Every weekend, Humble would go to the same bar,
In the same part of the hive, with the same group of mates.
He always went on the same Friday night and nothing ever changed.
Until one day there came message that The Pollinator band,
Were playing a gig outside the hive at Bee Pride
And as Humble arrived, he saw all the honey-fungus mushroom lights!


There was a huge crowd, so Humble pushed his way through
And eventually he made it to the front.
Some bees were drunk, some babes were happily screaming
And there, stood next to Humble, was a bee-punk.
She looked like the other bees, but she was a tattooed rebel.
She looked at Humble and his bees-knees began to wobble.
Then in-between Humble and the bee-punk stumbled her boyfriend
And Humble thought, typical.


Later, Humble couldn’t believe what he was seeing.
The crowd of bees began to split apart;
I must bee dreaming, he thought,
As the music disappeared.
No sound to bee heard from a thousand cheers.
All he could see, all he could hear,
Was a Queen of undeniable beauty approaching.
The beat of Humble’s heart began to quicken,
He was in shock at the look of this fox!
She was unlike any other and he hadn’t even been drinking.
He knew right away that he loved her
And he would forever love her for all his days.
It was Colpo Di Fulmine; make no mistake
And luckily for him, she felt the same way.
She walked up and gave Humble his first kiss
And his entire life was changed
And then she said “Hi Cutey, what’s your name?”


He was left speechless,
He had actually been kissed!
It was like nothing he had ever experienced before
And no other kiss would ever bee the same since.
This was Humble’s first kiss,
It was unique.
He had finally managed,
To find his true love!
…or did he?


(C)2017 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Hilo Shaka Sep 2015
Little girl
Blonde beneath
Papaya tree
Barefoot squish
Slimy seeds
Push between
Tiny toes
Runs away
Familiar jungle
Strange pollinator
Carries eggs
Fruit caviar
Feet planting
Tomorrow's garden
jolly Mar 2019
Scissors and slanted fingers
Skeletal trills
Stretched, hung, resembling my pollinator
sliding down my throat, and cut
cut,
cut
and choke on the blood
Thicker than pink or red
and purple and black
beneath my father
https://drive.google.com/file/d/10M_LLO-VgAJe1lvYRQ3bKc2bd3W3FS56/view?usp=drivesdk
K Balachandran Dec 2013
Sun drenched wild grass, in an ecstatic swirling dance-
didn't forget to tell this boldly to her lover, eager to please her:
"gentle breeze, how tantalizingly you caress and titillate,
but to tell the truth, I'll long still, for a robust wind, an ace pollinator."
Nature has her own designs, though civilizations have modified the appearances considerably...
Rajinder Sep 2018
You, the ashen alyssum
homing in on dark bushes
breeding maggots
feeding on flesh.  

You the fetid parasite  
carrion, the rotten stink
a toxin laced tongue
devouring pith.

You, the stench of
malignant blossoms
a venomous creeper, you
had to attract snakes.

You live among the graves
the poison pollinator,
a corpse floret
of foul odour.

You the venin
cloaked in smirk
a shrew, spiked with malice
must be crushed,
must die.
Allen Robinson Nov 2016
A thick yet viscous golden
brown nectar of sweet purity

The small hex cells filled with
precious heartfelt goodness  

Honey bee designed and
coaxed by Mother Nature

The tiny flower pollinator
labors and toils non-stop

A TASTE OF HONEY
perfect until the last drop.
In the spring time
I walk through the city
Palms up
Touching every flower
I can
And think myself a pollinator
Inheriting the passing petrichor
The sweetness of red mud
And isn’t that enough?
The bees momentary visit
To the flower
Asking her to grow
Palms facing up
Karijinbba Jul 2021
One Man Woman I am!
who can my will bend?
My ancient Rickpt is married
He froze ON me, in shame I weep!
I exist only as buried loot in his
memory chip a known fool.
An awakening in my mine.
My true North king he was.
I remember him well.

A new identical lover
Is cradled in the fabric
of Indian space for me,
between yearning voids.
and virtual true love in poem,
our grace reads true. our enemy
snare titens
Distance norrows.
Single flower pollinator
Virtual jaanam prēmī
My shame is iced blue.
Let thine ink flow
to paint my loner gates light
and end my bitter mourning.
at zone, Twighlight.
Spill thine heart my friend
to mary golds own woods.
Write thy verse clear
sōja prēmī soojan premee
~~~~
Rich-Rdd fair well beloved.
I so wish you well.
~~~~~
By Karijinbba.
7595/7-21
https://youtu.be/6KvO7dUZEYk
Ken Pepiton Aug 2021
Time makes no resting places,
such occur in time spent, unredeemable,
waiting to see the effect,
suffering now to be,
wait, a call, yes
or
no, I have no terms to offer. Redeem the time
you have,
don't feel the need to borrow on eternity.
----- jump cut ---

Salve on the wound, ******* spits out the bit.

Mount up old man, we got an old tale
stuck in a Shalomic message state during
an ego war.
-- there are those scribes
-- wrestling, like kittens with the yarn…

Heir of winds am I, in mind to be.
What would I do,
eh, Jesus, what about you?

peace, be still, I'd say, in a voice so small,
few feel the call to listen to the first word
plied off the point in ever outward,
pearling, pear shapes,
stem to pollinator,
being all we may imagine,
in a given moment of peace past understanding.

With a prosaic drumming mixed in the humms.

Bees at ease in my perennially
blooming rosemary hedge. These fingers tapping.
Peace made for a moment -in some future, moment redeemed.
It has been 13 years since anyone told me to get a job.
Stories are always rising with seeds,
Actions pollinated by characters,
Who spread actions in the world.

Then with apex the story grows,
Quickly or slowly depending on itself,
Having their own characteristics,
Kind of of pollinator, eater and habitat.

However it has an end,
Caused by the age or damage,
Not able to go back,
Just to set forth.
I turn to you
     lips red with love
                      such a violent pleasure,
it drips from me in streams.
Reaching for you
I am undone
                  collapse
a wave
abandoning
rage on the shore,
leaves bowing
                                          “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry”
I was unprepared,
no one told me it would be so hard to be human.
I did not know
that remaining soft
was a daily choice,
kindness an hourly one,
empathy and honesty
needing to be chosen
again
again
again
again
again
every moment...
If only
I had stayed
curled up
               /with no body/
in that deep place
where we
are all formless.
But I
wanted sunlight
I wanted
flowers
and the soft songs of bees
I wanted
arms,
a wet tongue,
I wanted
knees,
and toenails,
and freckles,
and knuckles,
and eyelashes
wanted
all of this strange, cumbersome beauty.
If I had been told
this was the price;
so much heart it beats to get out of you,
the unrelenting need to be loved,
so many words that my tongue grows swollen,
raw skin and blood in my palms,
skinned knees,
lost teeth,
the confusion of something I think is love,
the inability to make the people you care about stay,
learning to say goodbye,
learning to let the same person go
a thousand times over
because their is always
one more thing
you wanted to say to them
If only I had been told all of this first,
I would have forgone this human form
chosen something more fleeting,
perhaps a pollinator;
Holly Blue,
a few beautiful months
of sunshine
and flowers
and summer breezes,
feet small enough to rest on the softness of petals
to taste the sweet secrets of spring’s blooms
before the sky gathers me back into her arms.
But I did not know,
jumped in blind and laughing
waiting for miracles
dreaming of bird’s songs
and warm arms
to wrap around other bodies.
                                                                Yes
                                                                   Yes
                                                                     Yes
                                                    I have seen miracles!
                                               I have heard the birds!
                                 Been warmed by so many other bodies
                   I have been given, so much more than I could ever have imagined.
                                                         But at what cost?
                                                             Look at me!
                                                                                                  lips
                                           teeth
                                                                              hands
                                                          chest
                                                          all stained red;
                 the metallic taste of love
heavy in the air
              too much
                       too much
                                      too much
                                                             it pours out of me.
                          We were not taught what to do with this.
I turn to you,
              overwhelmed with love
and you cry out
             perhaps in fear
                                          perhaps in joy
                            and in that moment
             I question
                                                     why why why
                everything.
I pray
           to be made simple again,
                                       return me,
                                                       to that deep place
                           where all things rest
                                      wait formless,
                                                  till they are called back into the light
                                  I promise;
                                                         next time
                                                I grow hungry for the sun,
                                                                I will choose a creature
                                             who does less harm.
Graff1980 Aug 2021
In fear of death
toxic products
sell themselves.

The landscape becomes
a graveyard of
rusted metal
and worn-out tires
surrounded by
green growth,
gray gravel roads,
and massive
towers with long
cylindrical tubes
that obscure the
heavenly scenery.

Boundaries are cornered by
fields of unfulfilled
corny potential
and metal fences
that gives the pretense
of security.

Twisted tangles of tiny blue flowers
are pursued by the perfect pollinator
as black birds perch precariously
on long stalks of wheat swaying in
the wind till the bird takes off again,

while a sassy sweat bee
keeps stalking me
cuz, I am super sweet.
Scarlet McCall Feb 2020
Buzz
From HortiDaily: "In a few countries, bumblebees are not available and manual pollination must be used... It pays to remember.. that without proper pollination a tomato plant will not produce premium fruit.
When tomato plants are pollinated manually, the best method is by using electric bees. These are battery operated vibrators. Staff must vibrate every plant in the glasshouse three times per week "

Tomatoes won’t ripen right
without pollination.
It helps to have a bumblebee
to give that good vibration.
But if you lack the bumble,
there’s another way, you see:
Your plants all can be pollinated
manually.
You will need to use some labor,
and wield a good *******--
the electric bee will soon become
your best-loved pollinator.
Your fruit is premium
and you’ll want to keep its savor.
don't know why this poem disappeared from my profile
Travis Green Apr 2021
Black passion in action
Licorice lyrics levitating
Creating emotional explosions

Stoked souls flowing
With the speed of light
Desires brightening
Filling the night

Temporal words spinning
In your swag nation
Wet alliteration
On your dark lips

Nectarous melodies
Hurtling through the air
Enchanting stares
Colored with elegant vision
And plentiful precision

Bathed in flavor
Sexalicious pollinator
The dominator
The amazing contaminator
Releasing a museum of frequencies
Making the bassline burst
With whirling thunder
at Cherry Hill, New Jersey Unitarian Fellowship

Boyce Brandon Harris cremains
(approximately one fourth entire contents)
offered, interred, and eulogized
within ‘Tristan’s Pollinator Garden,'
which constitutes minute arboretum
bore witness to immediate family of said deceased
yours truly plus eldest and youngest sister
each of us communicated solemn words
to recall admirable, inimitable,
and unfathomable father,

whose passing (evident previous six months,
whereby his declining physical health)
unfettered, presaged, and indicated imminent death
now his invisible spirit
dwells amidst the spiritual abodes
encompassing three offspring,
he and the late Harriet Harris begat,
whose lives analogous
to quasi orphaned grown children
all adults with independent lives of their own.

We (progeny of our father and mother,
the latter deceased
approximately fifteen and a half years)
convened at above mentioned site
see fourth line of poem
to consecrate, designate, and generate
extemporaneous heartfelt sentiments
honoring his wishes,
mixing joys and sorrows,

regaling poignant occasions
before shoveling soil
punctuated silent benediction
courtesy Reverend Margret A. O'Neall,
Developmental Minister eloquently enunciated
reassuring, healing, and comforting words
to small congregating crowd
comprising half dozen plus people.

Come spring two thousand twenty one
a hearty shrub or tree,
(yet to be decided upon)
will be planted within sanctioned
space, whereby Mother Earth

will allow, enable, and provide
nondescript ashes to mingle
subterranean flora and fauna,
whence roots of former will help filtrate
cremated body once housing
Boyce Brandon Harris.

He who helped bring us
(meaning Amélie, Matthew and Shari)
into existence forever spirited into the future
linkedin by actions
genetically, indirectly and knowingly
hashtagged, kickstarted and tweeted
said son and daughters
who possess his corporeal heritage.
wide range of sunlight
pollinator favorite                
blooms long, spiderwort

— The End —