The dumbfounded apiary
It has struck dumb the humming bee
The Queen is dead like still-born lamb
Mute mellifluous dithyramb
The hive is numb a hollow tomb
And honeycomb a waxy womb
The honey workers of the comb
Took crumbs of wax and left their home
In stillness like a catacomb
They make their way to distant coomb
Off on a prom climbing the air
With great aplomb yet unaware
On a limb far away from hive
On strange corymb they can't survive
Succumbing now to nature's debt
I doubt they'll see a new sunset
Benumbed sadness in my heart's plumb
For, I shall miss their subtle hum
Take my hand,walk with me,
Like the light,let me lead you to the farm
A music show awaits;
Bees humming within the isolated apiary
Cows moe in their grazing circles,
While sheep's bleat amongst them;
Donkeys braying, dogs barking in a distance,
The rooster throws in a mix with a crow,
The pigs grunt,grunt,grunt here and there.
The herdsman whistles, the birds chirp nonstop;
The wind blows by,a cool refreshing we get,
Before granny's hungry cat hisses,and purrs by my one side eye.
Let me start without an apology
Because you, honey, need not be in apiculture
Every second you bee apiece apiary
As I fall for your rich honey droop apace
Take me to space if you must but never cause apathy
Because you dug in my heart with a never closing aperture
And when in your presence I fumble on words like one with aphasia
Darling the gospel you preach to me makes you an apotheosis of an apostle
Sometimes your therapy I take like you were an apothecary
Or maybe you are but again you make me aplomb
Knowing fully well you're the apostrophe
That omits my imperfections like an apparition
Let me make an appeal
Because if I don't all this might not be applicable
So I appreciate your every applause
As I apprehend
This love you shower me with a posteriori
You need a Recording Diary
For grabbed answers to enquiry,
Diary for retrieving the truth
Hands in pocket for chatting with Ruth …
Heed not the size of your Diary,
It can long notes pack on Apiary:
Hives of bees now the idea of Ruth
Testing out some Managerial Truth
With a Diary business opens
Two hands in pocket nothing happens.
Always Diary for the asked question,
You can’t in mind keep all suggestions
Opinions won’t be favorable
Your bursting rebuff conceivable.
FLOWER - FAIRY
Frolic Flower-Fairy
pretty face festal
sleeps on smooth petal
on Moonlit night starry.
Frolic Flower - Fairy
wakes up at dawn.
Dews glisten on lawn.
She flies to apiary.
Frolic Flower - Fairy
flaps plume and fin
silky shiny thin,
flies staying wary.
Frolic Flower - Fairy!
From blooms sips honey
Dazzling day Sunny.
Ceaseless rays not weary.
Frolic flower - fairy
in misty dusky twilight
prances, dances delight.
Rhythmic steps on bed flowery.
Frolic Flower - Fairy
appears in dream of child
entering fairy - guild.
Children in dreamy memory.
11/02/22
Be Creative
Contest by Eve Roper
Q: Bees Bees Who Needs Bees,
Who Even Needs the Knees of Bees.
A: You need bees and I need bees
We all need bees to be.
As geese slowly cruise around the edge of the pond;
small gosling’s hurry to keep up.
The first light of the new day begins to peek
above the horizon off to the east.
A man with his coffee sits upon the deck
and ponders his day.
Mists of the early morning move like tendrils
across the water and dew twinkles in the
green grass of the yard.
The Beeman, donning hat and veil, slowly
walks the path towards the apiary just as
a peach sunrise ignites a Georgia sky.
the old apiary
my mind hums
with recollections
-------------------------------------
Review by Kazuko Nishimura ~ Haiku Masters ~ April 2018
By pairing the photo of an old, now abandoned apiary with this haiku, the audience can immediately imagine the sounds of bees buzzing around, working hard to create honey. For the narrator, those buzzing sounds may confuse or distress his or her mind by bringing back old memories, but involuntarily remembering past events is something everyone can relate to, making it easy for the audience to connect with this work. The sound of bees buzzing and the soft light in the photo show hints of spring.
http://nhk.jp/haikumasters
In every battle
There are colors that paint
As the time ticks and
The brush strokes
Hues are seen
Not by the eyes but
By the heart that leaps like ghosts.
Yellow says yes under the moon's romance
And the green transcends
The inevitable tie of tea and man
Calm, fresh and life well-loved
For the red comes aglow
In the mother's breast
And the cradle that gathers
The angels--mirth and hope
Captured in the bottle, preserved.
Never will they pink
For the orange and purple will mingle
Like a chamomile orchard and apiary
Where the gentle wind brings forth white
The color of handshakes and doves
Then the feathers caress
The dreams of the young
To tread the road, to meet one
Who will help her loads
And the blue foreborne
As well as the dark
For they are perched along the way
There at all times night or day
Even the rainbow could lure the sight
For years it's chased by thousand knights
It's not there yet it hid
The golds of which the colors where not yet told.
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