An Ode To The HoneyBee

[bluerains]

The sad mystery surrounding the humble honeybee and
Colony Collapse Disorder phenomenon is a global warning like a canary in a coal mine
..lets focus our hearts and minds on the beauty of the honey bee...and pray for the
healing of our friends....

http://www.earthfiles333.com/earthfiles/EarthfilesPodcast/5FB2CEDD-2557-4B39-82E4-198BF8CB97B7.html

http://www.celsias.com/blog/2007/03/15/bee-colony-collapse-disorder-where-is-it-heading/


busy bees decline
sultana honey halts
butterfly fallout

http://static.flickr.com/82/258341596_8ed0b75928_m.jpg

 

[bluerains]

Profound...

On A Honey Bee

Thou born to sip the lake or spring,
Or quaff the waters of the stream,
Why hither come on vagrant wing?--
Does Bacchus tempting seem--
Did he, for you, the glass prepare?--
Will I admit you to a share?

Did storms harrass or foes perplex,
Did wasps or king-birds bring dismay--
Did wars distress, or labours vex,
Or did you miss your way?--
A better seat you could not take
Than on the margin of this lake.

Welcome!--I hail you to my glass:
All welcome, here, you find;
Here let the cloud of trouble pass,
Here, be all care resigned.--
This fluid never fails to please,
And drown the griefs of men or bees.

What forced you here, we cannot know,
And you will scarcely tell--
But cheery we would have you go
And bid a glad farewell:
On lighter wings we bid you fly,
Your dart will now all foes defy.

Yet take not oh! too deep a drink,
And in the ocean die;
Here bigger bees than you might sink,
Even bees full six feet high.
Like Pharaoh, then, you would be said
To perish in a sea of red.

Do as you please, your will is mine;
Enjoy it without fear--
And your grave will be this glass of wine,
Your epitaph--a tear--
Go, take your seat in Charon's boat,
We'll tell the hive, you died afloat.

Philip Freneau

 

[RhymeFairy]

his window net suit,

made me feel
as if a space invasion
were upon us.

spiky white hair. googling rolls
for eyes. stepping inside a hurricane
of bees, with lil white houses
lined up, row upon row.

a gravitonal tux, per-chancing
a meeting, with the queen.
placing his order for more
sweet meat.

off the backs
of winged soldiers to the table
of honeycombed goo. clover
never tasted, so good.





bounced your bee ...

 

[bluerains]

Thank Fairy...

I did a google for poems and found very few classics ..so this is a subject with a blank canvas...pen on owinged one..

Poetry of Amy Lowell
A Dome of Many-coloured Glass

Roads


I know a country laced with roads,
They join the hills and they span the brooks,
They weave like a shuttle between broad fields,
And slide discreetly through hidden nooks.
They are canopied like a Persian dome
And carpeted with orient dyes.
They are myriad-voiced, and musical,
And scented with happiest memories.
O Winding roads that I know so well,
Every twist and turn, every hollow and hill!
They are set in my heart to a pulsing tune
Gay as a honey-bee humming in June.
'T is the rhythmic beat of a horse's feet
And the pattering paws of a sheep-dog bitch;
'T is the creaking trees, and the singing breeze,
And the rustle of leaves in the road-side ditch.

A cow in a meadow shakes her bell
And the notes cut sharp through the autumn air,
Each chattering brook bears a fleet of leaves
Their cargo the rainbow, and just now where
The sun splashed bright on the road ahead
A startled rabbit quivered and fled.
O Uphill roads and roads that dip down!
You curl your sun-spattered length along,
And your march is beaten into a song
By the softly ringing hoofs of a horse
And the panting breath of the dogs I love.
The pageant of Autumn follows its course
And the blue sky of Autumn laughs above.

And the song and the country become as one,
I see it as music, I hear it as light;
Prismatic and shimmering, trembling to tone,
The land of desire, my soul's delight.
And always it beats in my listening ears
With the gentle thud of a horse's stride,
With the swift-falling steps of many dogs,
Following, following at my side.
O Roads that journey to fairyland!
Radiant highways whose vistas gleam,
Leading me on, under crimson leaves,
To the opaline gates of the Castles of Dream.

 

[My Erotic Trail]

Bee-careful
by My Erotic Tale ©

Buzz' Buzz'
hovers orange and black
little legs lag
stinger hangs low

vibrant wings
fluttering
buzzing

circles red
with silver rim
no body saw him
land
then go in

sweet nectar of pop
cool drink
a day that's hot

hand grasps
and picks up the can
lips pucker to the opening
thirsty ready anticipating
then ...the scream

Buzz' Buzz'

 

[RhymeFairy]

Oh my goodness, lookie what I found in my "drawer"


Back on 07/04/05 Art and I were bouncing around about bee's, this was my take. Needs a lotta work, BUT I remember writing it and that was a lotta fun ~

So be brave ... face those bee's and tell us about'm ~

the bee's the bee's

honey bee's have taken me
captive. made me
their queen. such a novel thing
to do.

reforming my body
they sugared me sweet
combed betwixt honey
I am their heavenly treat.

my mind they keep a-buzz
with all the slow news
words they twitter
flying me so-high

combining nectarous longings
with sinful pollination, sniffling
their legs of prey
I am tied
within the glue
of life.

I dare not budge
from behind
my kingdoms door.
thinking I shall stay here
forever more...


*buzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz*

After re-reading this, I think I shouldn't repost,
but for academics sake, I shall.
See how much we grow here at Lit.

~~slinkin' off ... to find a better bee poem for you Blue

 

[GuiltyPleasure]

this isn't so much an ode as a reqiuem.

 

[Liar]

An oldie...



DJ Buzz Crucified

Don Juan scans
the field of sweet
nubile nectar
and quivering leaves

this flower deflowerer
lover of amaryllis
aviation acrobat
cruising his reign

where stains of sun
escape through
the lush to blush
the cheeks of a single
swooning lily
so nervously swaying
her virginal beauty

and Don Juan
descends

just as the metal
and nylon
from above

time
skips
a beat

now mummified
Don Juan hangs
pinned to a plaque
behind a glass window
shining the sun
through greasy
fingerprints

the young lily
long since crushed
under the rough sole
of an over zealous
entomologist

 

[annaswirls]

Honey Bee- Tom Petty

Come on now, give me some sugar
Give me some sugar, little honey bee
Dont be afraid, not gonna hurt you
I wouldnt hurt my little honey bee

Dont say a word, bout what were doin
Dont say nothin little honey bee
Dont tell your momma, dont tell your sister
Dont tell your boyfriend, little honey bee

She like to call me king bee
She like to buzz round my tree
I call her honey bee
Im a man in a trance
Im a boy in short pants
When I see my honey bee
And Ive got something to say

Look here now, peace in the valley
Peace in the valley with my honey bee
Dont say a word, bout what were doin
Dont say nothin little honey bee

She give me her monkey hand
And a rambler sedan
Im the king of milwaukee
Her juju beads are so nice
She kissed my third cousin twice
Im the king of pomona
And Ive got something to say

 

[GuiltyPleasure]

Sylvia Plath's father was a bee keeper. She wrote several poems about bees and honey.

 

[Angeline]

This is the first poem I ever memorized and probably the poem that made me want to read and understand poetry.

I can't imagine a world without honeybees. What will I (and Winnie-the-Pooh) do?

The Lake Isle of Innisfree
William Butler Yeats

I WILL arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,
And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made;
Nine bean rows will I have there, a hive for the honey bee,
And live alone in the bee-loud glade.

And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,
Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings;
There midnight's all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,
And evening full of the linnet's wings.

I will arise and go now, for always night and day
I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;
While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements gray,
I hear it in the deep heart's core.

 

[WickedEve]

I think this is my only honey bee--or any bee--poem:


Buzz About Bea
WickedEve - 2004

crushing flowers
wild skin
Bea dipped
in honeyed sin

a buzz over
secrets billowed, breezes
baring indiscretion.

there's hum in the hive,
center of town,
where they gather,
congregate and speculate.

rumors are drawn
sweet from the field,
spread through combs
in whispered stings.

 

[Liar]

I can't imagine a world without honeybees. What will I (and Winnie-the-Pooh) do?

It's a very funny thought that, if Bears were Bees,
They'd build their nests at the bottom of trees.
And that being so (if the Bees were Bears),
We shouldn't have to climb up all these stairs.

-WT Pooh

 

[bluerains]

“Meditations in Time of Civil War” (1928)

William Butler Yeats,

VI
The Stare's Nest by My Window

The bees build in the crevices
Of loosening masonry, and there
The mother birds bring grubs and flies.
My wall is loosening; honey-bees,
Come build in the empty house of the stare.

We are closed in, and the key is turned
On our uncertainty; somewhere
A man is killed, or a house burned,
Yet no clear fact to be discerned:
Come build in the empty house of the stare.

A barricade of stone or of wood;
Some fourteen days of civil war;
Last night they trundled down the road
That dead young soldier in his blood:
Come build in the empty house of the stare.

We had fed the heart on fantasies,
The heart's grown brutal from the fare;
More substance in our enmities
Than in our love; O honey-bees,
Come build in the empty house of the stare.

 

[GuiltyPleasure]

The Arrival Of The Bee Box

I ordered this, this clean wood box
Square as a chair and almost too heavy to lift.
I would say it was the coffin of a midget
Or a square baby
Were there not such a din in it.

The box is locked, it is dangerous.
I have to live with it overnight
And I can't keep away from it.
There are no windows, so I can't see what's in there,
There is only a little grid, no exit.

I put my eye to the grid,
It is dark, dark,
With the swarmy feeling of African hands
Minute and shrunk for export,
Black on black, angrily clambering.

How can I let them out?
It is the noise that appals me most of all,
The unintelligible syllables.
It is like a Roman mob,
Small, taken one by one, but my god, together!

I lay my ear to furious Latin.
I am not a Caesar.
I have simply ordered a box of maniacs.
They can be sent back.
They can die, I need feed them nothing, I am the owner.

I wonder how hungry they are.
I wonder if they would forget me
If I just undid the locks and stood back and turned into a tree.
There is a laburnum, its blond colonnades,
And the petticoats of the cherry.

They might ignore me completely
In my moon suit and funeral veil.
I am no source of honey
So why should they turn on me?
Tomorrow I will be sweet God, I will set them free.

The box is only temporary.

(From Ariel by Sylvia Plath)

 

[MsBug]

THE BEE


Like trains of cars on tracks of plush
I hear the level bee:
A jar across the flowers goes,
Their velvet masonry

Withstands until the sweet assault
Their chivalry consumes,
While he, victorious, tilts away
To vanquish other blooms.

His feet are shod with gauze,
His helmet is of gold;
His breast, a single onyx
With chrysoprase, inlaid.

His labor is a chant,
His idleness a tune;
Oh, for a bee's experience
Of clovers and of noon!

-Emily Dickinson-

 

[bluerains]

by Wallace Stevens

One chemical afternoon in mid-autumn,
When the grand mechanics of earth and sky were near;
Even the leaves of the locust were yellow then,

He walked with his year-old boy on his shoulder.
The sun shone and the dog barked and the baby slept.
The leaves, even of the locust, the green locust.

He wanted and looked for a final refuge,
From the bombastic intimations of winter
And the martyrs a la mode. He walked toward

An abstract, of which the sun, the dog, the boy
Were contours. Cold was chilling the wide-moving swans.
The leaves were falling like notes from a piano.

The abstract was suddenly there and gone again.
The negroes were playing football in the park.
The abstract that he saw, like the locust-leaves, plainly:

The premiss from which all things were conclusions,
The noble, Alexandrine verve. The flies
And the bees still sought the chrysanthemums’ odor.

 

[My Erotic Trail]

I've been as busy as a bee... finishing lit's earth day story contest... now... poetry <grinin'

 

[champagne1982]

Clover Honey

Each hollow petal wrapped around a secret
well of nectar beckons in pretty pink
promises of sugared kisses
on her lips. Teased full with silver
wings and skilled flutters inside
her blossomed buds; released
temptation wafts through the field
and draws laden honeybees - rest
for a sweet moment before you
continue the journey home.

 

[darkerdreamer]

yellow and black serve as
poor camouflage
against vibrant
reds, purples, whites.
yet,
you appear unafraid.

is it millennia of emboldening,
or a giant fucking stinger
that make you brave enough
to drink from my soda?