"pollinator" poems
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.
Jul 5, 2019
Jul 5, 2019 at 5:15 AM UTC
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
Sep 29, 2015
Sep 29, 2015 at 8:03 AM UTC
*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."*
Dec 30, 2013
Dec 30, 2013 at 1:26 PM UTC
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.
Sep 22, 2018
Sep 22, 2018 at 4:06 AM UTC
~
*Restless traveler
sit still,
and look pretty
under the apple tree
the interconnection,
your milligram smile,
best in motion,
you run with honey
you pond and stream,
rivers in your mouth,
the deep taste of survival,
so few will remain, after
the pollinator
with dizzy spells in flight,
a promise flits away
from your swear jar,
you and your wings
mean more to me
than milestones
of osmosis
But is it me
you'll really miss?*
~
Feb 13, 2025
Feb 13, 2025 at 1:32 PM UTC
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.
Nov 8, 2016
Nov 8, 2016 at 12:10 AM UTC
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
Jul 30, 2021
Jul 30, 2021 at 11:03 PM UTC
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.
Aug 4, 2021
Aug 4, 2021 at 5:08 PM UTC
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.
Jul 3, 2017
Jul 3, 2017 at 11:57 PM UTC
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.
Nov 21, 2014
Nov 21, 2014 at 4:15 PM UTC
You were born on a Wednesday.
It was snowing, I think.
I nearly died, and you too,
My blood pressure screaming as your heart rate bobbed and weaved,
A reaction to the terrible ordeal of being born.
The night I learned you were a girl
I lay in bed alone and asked you about yourself.
What is your name?
Beatrice,
you said.
Bee.
A name all your own, belonging to only you.
Beatrice the First:
Shakespeare’s snap dragon heroine;
Dante’s ethereal guide.
Traveler and pollinator;
Wings and a stinger.
Daddy was scared but I didn’t know until later.
He made jokes and played “Something’s Rattling, Cowpoke” by Ben Gibbard on the Bluetooth and held my right leg when it was time to push.
And suddenly there you were.
More alive than the Holy Spirit on Sunday morning,
Bigger than poetry
Bright as a technicolor daydream
And so substantial.
We did it. We made it.
The Tibetans believe that we are all wandering souls.
That crazy movie, Enter the Void, I think about it all the time.
We choose.
Did you choose me?
A willful, chronically sleep-deprived, anxious mess?
How did you know it would work out?
How did you know that my life would not start until, with an audience of doctors and nurses and your family, you were laid in my arms that cold night?
I have such doubts but this I know:
I will choose you every moment of every day and still
it will not be enough to repay you for giving me the gift of yourself.
Dec 15, 2024
Dec 15, 2024 at 1:15 PM UTC
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
Mar 4, 2019
Mar 4, 2019 at 8:58 AM UTC