The Bushy Creek Spring Makers Market is the call
Poetry and bee motels selling on our stall
busking in daylight
fireside songs at night
Camped out for two days we're gonna have a ball
Call them bee motels cause we don't drink alcohol
different native bees are sealing up a hole
young ones will hatch out
adults will buzz about
Collect pollen and nectar in nature that's their role
A billionaire died
after swallowing a bee.
I'm glad it wasn't you,
I'm glad it wasn't me.
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
succulent so bee
the virtuous nectar sweet
lovely bee so taste
8/7/26
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr.
His stoic, weathered façade
Subdues an ancestral angst
Silences the unwept tears
Of duty’s diligent dissent
Soft lights mock his withered soul
Highlight the emptiness of now
Echoing forever’s endless “OOOOM’
As darkness swallows all
The thorn means no harm
For it is but a Rose’s champion
Sworn to solemn solitude
In service to his queen
The flowers open wide
Their scented sensuality
Pandering to the buzz
Of pollinations gigolos
A forlorn star
Sits on a passing cloud
The knowing do not know the unknown
If they did
They would know
What they don’t know
Garden -
My den
Pristine,
And clean.
Bees, wasps
Sun drops.
Birds dart,
My heart
Does sing,
Mood swing
Green grace,
My space !
Copyright © 2026 by Crystal David John
Nature’s patterns repeat—they’re alive,
From meandering rivers and butterfly wings,
To zebra stripes and the leopard’s spots—
Patterns appear wherever you look.
Now don’t be deceived—nature has its tricks,
Some patterns shift; it’s a survival instinct.
Take the tide, drawn by the pull of the moon—
No wave reaches shore in quite the same place.
The spider’s web, so delicate and thin,
Its shape shifts when dew settles in.
A snowflake, formed in sixfold symmetry,
Yet no two snowflakes are ever the same.
Tessellating hexagons in hives and mud—
From wax and honey, the patterns take form.
That rainbow up high, with its coloured light,
Shifts and changes with the place you stand.
There are countless more patterns to find,
From grains of sand to lightning on high—
Don’t forget the spiralling sunflower seeds:
Nature’s patterns shift in plain sight.
A beekeeper came to my school,
although I don't believe him.
Who would want to keep a bee?
Did he decide it on a whim?
He came to school in a funny suit.
His face was even covered.
Was he hiding from his bees
as he went undercover?
He said the bees made honey
and several other things.
As you go about your business,
be careful of their sting.
love a quiet day
nothing to do but relax
a fly in the house
I have many thoughts
write poems and do some art
the fly has a friend
my garden lovely
me and kitty take a stroll
bees chase us inside
Number of Words: 25
************************************************************************************************************
Short lines must I carve,
Or else I shall starve;
Twenty-five words, a firm decree:
Let me fly like bees,
Chasing scents on flowers, free.
yellow and black
an army of honeybees
ready for the sting
golden sun climbs high
longest day kiss the warm earth~
sweet scent mounts to sky
hills carpeted green
eager leaves drink summer light~
nature`s gift unseen
bees buzz all around
a rhythm of lazy heat~
time seems to slow down
birds` songs fill the air
sparrows hop from branch to branch~
sun`s wrath to beware
berry tastes so sweet
rays of sun, intense and bright~
ice-cream, such a treat
day`s orb sinks to rest
colours bleed across the sky~
mix of hues at best
dance of green fireflies
tiny sparks in twilight's gown~
a charm to the eyes
warm air holds its way
crickets start their nightly song~
hearts feel light and gay
silver moon shines high
sparkling stars in firmament~
darkness fades with sigh
the northern star gleams
guiding wise sailors at sea~
half the world in dreams
feasters quit their rooms
bonfires burn into the night~
flower crowns in blooms
the world feels soft grace
a moment held in its prime~
midsummer's embrace.
It’s not the birds and bees that speak;
O the colorful verbiage of flowers and trees.
It’s not the chirps or the buzz, cheek to cheek;
the waft of rose, lavender, magnolia breeze.
It’s not the high-minded sun, bright yellow;
sunflower’s reach on dizzy-toed stems.
It’s not the ebon chock full of moon-marshmallow;
It’s the intoxication of jasmine and primrose gems.
It’s not green leaves that wave in Summer season;
maple reds, snow-white pussy willows, and cherry.
It’s not the sticks and stones, nor pests high treason.
It is the birds and bees with two legs, making merry.
bumblebees buzzing
thirsty thieves on a thistle ~
soft sunrays sparkle
People talk of the birds and bees
As a placeholder for the broader world
Reproducing in fecundity along with May flowers.
But there’s a deeper reason for the association
And it’s the sight and sound
Of them being relentlessly busy.
We notice them, their flights
And their buzzings and chirpings,
And more importantly we feel those sounds
In our very core,
A vibration that relieves of us stress
Releases endorphins
Makes us whole, and thus holy,
And reminds us
Maybe we too should take the time
To dance and sing, and build our nests
In the rejuvenating comfort
Of spring’s warm embrace.
(5/3/26)
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.