Best Honeybee Poems
They start thick—
not the polite kind you stir into tea
not the mild drizzle on breakfast toast
but the kind that runs hot
slow
dangerous
coating your tongue before you grasp
the price of its pleasure.
They start golden—
dripping off the comb
sun pressed into their marrow
too rich, too syrupy—
gumming up the gears of your schemes
too luminous for hands that flinch from light
too wild for walls meant to contain them.
You want squeeze-bottle love.
Clean.
No bees.
No stingers.
No buzz.
But they ferment in kitchens
where no one thanks them—
same way their grandmothers did
spooning fire into each serving
stinging their own tongues
just to stay sharp—
drizzling down your better judgment staining
Sunday shirts
unraveling wedding vows
spilling past boundaries
no one asked them to obey.
They get called—
too much.
too loud.
too open.
too shut—
like they were born to fit into your grip
instead of slipping right through it.
You try to jar them.
Slap on barcodes:
Best before.
Handle with care.
Discount if damaged
for quick sale.
But wild honey won’t kneel—
it contradicts logic
defies preservation
reason
perfumes the air
wrecks your thirst for tradition.
You mistook raw for reckless
Reckless for ruin
Ruin for something to fear.
You laughed when they wept—
like grief was a spectacle
like tenderness was weak
like softness
was a defect to be filtered out.
But by the time you realize
she’s the rarest thing
you ever tasted—
she’s already sweetening
the hands that never swatted her
And now,
we sit here—
jars without lids,
spoons still sticky—
trying to remember
what it meant to taste something
that never begged to be caged.
Maybe—
the glass wasn’t meant to hold her.
Maybe—
it was meant to shatter—
to let something wild
and feral
flood in
and leave you
pleading
for ruin.
—it’s a reckoning,
unapologetic,
untamed,
final.
so, here's the thing.
when you kiss me, there are no tsunamis.
there is no hurricane behind my eyelids and there is
no earthquake underneath us.
but there is the buzzing.
like a million, swarming bees,
rattling around inside our veins.
the buzzing is you, all soft and safe and
the swarming, well, the swarming is me.
i am all chaos, all the time.
that unending rattling
inside of your skin.
but in reality, aren't we really just the bees?
all lost and never really found, but searching -
always searching.
so tell me, honeybee.
what comes first -
the buzzing or the bees?
Beautiful bush called tango hummingbird mint
Glows a fiery blue with oranges in a glint,
Hummingbirds, honey bees, butterflies too,
Love this plant with the orange and the blue.
I have been trying to buy these bushes for a while.
I am always polite and use my best smile.
I call them on the phone and give them my credit card,
Always out-of-stock, as these are amazing out in the yard.
I have come to a conclusion; there is only one way.
I have thought of it for a year, six months, and a day.
The only way to snag a tango hummingbird mint
Is to find a start off a neighbor, and not a skinflint.
Honeybee
you say you are
just one of many -
but you help
my flowers grow
and you always
sweeten my day
Skylark
you say your song
is just ordinary -
but your melody
is my morning sonata
it makes my heart sing
a song of hope
while the sky
is still dark
Friend
you say you
are nobody special -
but the irony is:
that is exactly
what makes you
special
My name is Harvey Honeybee,
I like to buzz around,
I'm looking for some flowers,
But they're nowhere to be found!
I've been looking for days,
And lots of lonely nights,
And it surely seems like,
Something has happened to my sights!
Where are all my buzzy friends,
I wonder where they could be?
I can still remember,
When they use to buzz with me!
Oh! I remember now!
I was caught in a jar!
And I must've been in it...
Longer than an hour!
I also remember!
I was caught in the summer!
Then turned loose into this winter cold!
While still in a slumber!
So I'd better go...
Before I freeze!
The wind is really cold!
And It's making me sneez-z-ze...AH-CH-O-O-O!!!
So I'll see ya later...
Because I want to stay alive...
Yes, I have to hurry...
And get back to my hive.
Busy behives
Several painful stings
Is it really worth it?
Written for the Questionku contest. Third Place.
The hornet looked down on the field below,
Then said to his honeybee friend,
“That alluring sweet scent that does blow,
Means I’ve got work to attend!“
The honeybee nodded, “Yes, let’s quench our thirst,
We can have fun on a nectar spree,’’
‘Well true, said the hornet, but I saw it first,
So that field belongs just to me-"
The honeybee turned without making the buzz,
She always made when saying goodbye,
The hornet took stance and shook all his fuzz,
As the honeybee let out a sigh-
The honeybee asked, “Why can't we agree."
Where's all your manners and charm?”
Then looking down she was surprised to see,
Something that gave her alarm!
The honeybee tried to warn her friend,
By spinning and turning around,
“Better stop now ‘cause you’ll come to your end,
If you dare fly into that ground-“
The hornet smirked and became very loud,
“I’m greedy and I don’t care-
To me, more than one is a crowd,
And these flowers I’m not going share-”
Now the pitcher plants intently gazed up,
Applauding the words that were said,
They knew that the selfish, greedy hornet was "SUP,"
And would end up ‘midst their petals with dread!
Now dear reader, I hope the lesson here is one that you will heed;
Misfortune may await you, if you take what you want with greed!
End of Poem -
but FYI Pitcher plants emit a sweet scent, attracting bees
and other insects and once an insect ventures into the
mouth of these plant, it will face a long, suffering death...
The honeybee; the maid of flowers:
Selflessly she toils for hours,
filling up her pollen stores---
never grumbling at her chores.
Sips of nectar keep her strong
as she labors all day long,
pollinating field and arbor,
and making honey in her larder.
Humble as her kind may be,
their loss would be a tragedy.
The earth would shed a mournful tear,
were honeybees to disappear.
The cockroach is a great success,
a paragon of hardiness.
It serves no queen and tends no hive;
its sole concern is to survive.
And this it does---to our chagrin:
Wherever we home, it settles in---
to feed and breed at our expense,
exploiting without recompense.
A champion at adaptation,
it garners no appreciation:
Were cockroaches eradicated,
their absence would be celebrated.
Two species doing what they do best:
The one a friend, the other a pest;
one a blessing, one a blight:
Worker by day or scourge by night.
According to its occupation,
each kind has earned its reputation.
Consider, now, society:
Are you a cockroach, or a bee?
i love the early morning rasp of his voice
the birthmarks and burn scars
midsummer skin
i love the sticky rash of lust
the way a heart ticks until it implodes
the sugar soaked kisses
i do not love the way he smacks my face
the way he pushes too hard
the ways he does not love me kindly
i do not love my swollen cheeks
my bruised hips
my blood
i do not love my blood
i love the touch of innocence in the morning
before i have upset him
when we bask in apologies and ignorance of all our yesterday's
when the whispers are not wasps nests and he grins like greek god
when everything is beautiful except i say stop and he doesn't listen.
everything is beautiful except blood vessels clawing at the surface.
everything is beautiful except trying to scream when you've forgotten how to breathe
"please don't" puts him at ease
"don't touch me" doesn't mean anything
"i love you" tosses the dice
i lick arsenic off collarbone
slice the tongue, gargle blood
say goodnight like it's the last
could be the last
he cracks my bones between boulders
between fists
there is no difference
between matchboxes and kisses
seduction and resistance
him and his father
i feel like the guy that plays the flute
calls the snakes.
he slithers around my body
like intimidation
like he's sizing up the prey
like all those secrets in the wasps nest have been beaten out
swarming
buzzing around my head
like he makes me call him "honey" because he knows i'm drowning in it
and the one stinger i have would change nothing
who strikes first dies first
and i'm feeling courageous
feeling like a death wish
he paints me in blacks and blues.
violent hues.
the canvas colored in control is quite the masterpiece
and she's tired of being sculpted
tired of being the victim at his hands
cold and cracked.
i do not love the aching of nostalgia
the dry empty palms
the fear of hearing his footsteps in the middle of the night
but i love the fresh faced stranger in the mirror
the skin that does not rip itself off
the comfort in silence
in safety
i love sunsets that look like honey and breathing in
knowing i'm not drowning anymore
saying "you will never be a real man"
and knowing
knowing
i have stung him
" The Honeybee and The Ant ... "
(From The Solomon Studies Series # 8)
(Eccl. 3: 11 / Prov. 6: 6 / Matt. 6: 26, 28, 29 / Job 35: 11)
Go To The Ant O' Lazy Ones
and To The Honeybee Busy - Under The Sun ...
------- ------- ------- -------
The Honeybee and The Ant
Both Are Hard Workers Who Get The Job Done
The Honeybee and The Ant
Both Live In Colonies, As A Family of One
The Honeybee and The Ant
Both Store & Stock A Surplus Food Sum
The Honeybee and The Ant
Both Increase Labor For Needed Income
The Honeybee and The Ant
Both Send Out Scouts - Vanguard & Beyond
The Honeybee and The Ant
Both Have Antennas That Locate & Summon
The Honeybee and The Ant
Both Obey Their Own Queen Mother's Tongue
The Honeybee and The Ant
Both Observe The Seasons & Time's March Drums
The Honeybee and The Ant
Both Have Warriors That Have Protected & Stung
The Honeybee and The Ant
Both Are Ready To Sacrifice For The Colony's Young
The Honeybee and The Ant
Both Have Crossed Our Paths & Ventured Among
The Honeybee and The Ant
Both Gather In Numbers - That Make Counting Numb
Tho' One Can Fly & One's Little Feet Run
Tho' One's Home Is Below Land & One's High Strung
One's In A Cozy Nest & One's In A Honeycomb
One - We Kiss Their Lip's Spit & One - Eats Our Crumbs
One Is Silent In Its Way & One Can Actually Hum
One Pollinates Pretty Flowers & One Joins Picnic's Fun
The Honeybee and The Ant
Both Live For Each Day & Prepare For What's To Come
The Honeybee and The Ant
GOD Made Them Small - But Their Instincts Carry A Ton
The HoneyBee and The Ant
Both In Methods & Ethics: Can Teach Us Some
For Even The Honeybees and The Ants
Copy Ways of The Creator & His Masterworker-Son
(Prov. 8: 30, 31)
O' GOD Bless The Honeybees and The Ants
Written & Copyrighted ©: 1/8/2014
by: MoonBee Canady
I am a honeybee,
an indefatigable worker
I work just as hard as an ant.
I don't work alone, of course
I have a colony behind me!
I'm a crucial part of the ecosystem
You'll find me feeding on nectar
or pollen in the meadow, in the garden,
in the park, even roadside.
I'm not far wherever flowers are available.
I make my nest up in tree trunks,
dry caves, telephone poles, rock crevices,
deep in the jungle, to name a few.
I'm not as irritating as the house fly
buzzing about your ear. I leave you be
but I'll sting you mercilessly if you
invade my nest, so wisely stay away!
My quotidian activities include
producing honey, pollinating flowers,
fruit trees, field crops, nursing the grubs
and defending the nest vigorously
I can be male or female
I'm more powerful as a female than male
As queen bee, I rule the roost. I'm surrounded
by thousands of dedicated workers
all hatched from my eggs, and they
follow my lead. Again, I'm more powerful
as a female, and don't you forget it!
On hot days, I fan my wings in the hive
to keep it cool. Bet you didn't know that!
I use my antenna to detect and translate
dance messages in the darkness of the hive.
I use my jaws to cut a hole in flower petals
so I can reach deep into nectaries
with my long tongue.
Now, excuse me while I get back to work...
making more honey...
oh, and fighting off honey badgers!
Submitted for...
Bee Creative Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Matt Caliri
Date written: 06/07/2020
Date submitted: 06/17/2022
From where I hover, I can see
pink, white and yellow in the grass
A lily dear enticing me
exhaling perfume as I pass
Her dainty face a weather-glass--
Then humming low sings from my soul
as I alight as bold as brass
and steal sweet morsels from her bowl.
If I come to you in summer fields
full of fragrant bell-shaped flowers,
would you fly that I might follow
to watch you dance before your fellows
in floral-edged soliloquy?
With vibrant tempos fundamental
you turn and run and circle 'round,
find vertical inclination
to correlate the invitation
and fly the pathway now revealed--
Then come again to summer fields,
full of fragrant bell-shaped flowers.
Note: researchers have found that when a honeybee searches for and finds a source of food, it will return to the hive and communicate to the other bees where the food is through a type of dance.
Buzzing about, On wings of black
Wearing gold stripes
He lands on a pretty lilac
And sits there for a bit
Mr. Honeybee
Works all the day long
Drinking from the sweet pea
Nursing his appetite
With flavors bold as the fruit tree
Brilliant blooms
So lively and vibrant
They seem to breathe perfumes
Of joy through the air
As Mr. Honeybee resumes
Weaving through the sunshine rays
That wash through his plumes
In blushing warmth
While he hovers and assumes
He’ll gain one more delicious rose
Nursery Rhyme Three
Eve Roper
March 22, 2021
Fee Bee is the Queen of the Hive
With drones to make her feel alive
She eats royal jelly
To fill up her belly
So the Hive will survive and thrive