Best Honeycombs Poems
Cityscape
The artist’s hand reshapes yesterday
In straight lines
Of hard edges -
Peaks of
Right angles perfected
Missing oblique or obtuse –
Claiming the horizon
In full frontal
Silhouette
Cut from ebony shades,
When daylight sinks into the shadows
And twilight goes down meeting midnight
One dimension pyramids,
Floors layered by steel reinforced
Triangulated honeycombs,
Octagonal rounds
Gather cotton clouds
Topping off their naked crowns,
Lofty spires
Scrape the midnight
To gather far flung stars
Flat rectangles with jute box tops
Soar with arches -
Lines leaping up and sliding down -
Squares low and squat,
Took up their space,
Yanked from the line,
Openings left
Like toothless
Grinning;
Concealed within the cityscape unblinking
The murmurings of urban sighs,
No rise and fall of breathing,
Foundation’s feet bound in stone
Swaying only when magnum cores
Tremble moving plates east to west, north to south;
Unseen
The doorway cradle songs
Of shivering dreams,
Desperation
Pacing
On the nineteenth floor
Fauna’s night perfume
Floating up behind dark floral gates
Of swirling iron
Grids of neighbors – blocks of neighborhoods -
Graphs of boulevards winding round,
Absent from the cityscape.
Inspirational verse – “When the lights go down in the city and the sun shines on the bay; do I want to be there in my city….I want to be there in my city.” Journey
Once upon a time
My lady called
I stood mesmerized
At ocean’s cusp
Glinting, glimmering, gleaming
Thousands of sparklers
Dot her sequined dress
Shouting
Look at me!
Look at me!
Breathless ripples strew pebbles at shores edge
Cormorants perch on hips of slate
Eyes of diamond reflect starry nets
Starfish mouth warm honeycombs of tide pools
Waves of breast, milky white, feed the minions
Feet of clay glue her honeyed presence
Roaring, rumbling, ripping
Like the sea serpents
Who call her waters home
She crashes
Into shore’s stationary sentinels
Whose feet she laps unceasingly
Capricious as she is
This lady is not fickle
The meditative state
Which hypnotized and paralyzed
Is there
For your embrace
Summer is over and the farmer now rests from his toil,
Having labored hard to wrest his crops from the fruitful soil.
Fall has arrived and all the crops have been gathered in.
The corn, wheat and soy beans lie dormant in the granary bin.
It was a good year - his farm was favored with abundant rain.
Thankfully, there was no wind or hail, an anxious farmers' bane!
Pecks of onions, pertaters and carrots are preserved in the cellar,
Along with bushels of resplendent apples - golden, red and yeller!
The hogs are ready for market but he'll keep a pair for meat,
And he'll butcher a steer or so to ensure there's enough to eat.
His wife jammed mason jars full of beets, termaters and peas,
And there are a few honeycombs filched from the gullible bees!
He and the boys used crosscut saws to hew cords of wood for heating,
To warm their Victorian home from the winter's snows and sleeting.
There are jugs of cider to sip and ears of popping corn to pop,
As the family enjoys a roaring fire to reminisce with lore to swap!
The humble farmer was so grateful that on his knees he knelt,
To offer his gratitude to the Lord, a simple prayer most heartfelt.
A benevolent harvest moon smiled on the pastoral scene below,
Seemingly to bless the peaceful panorama with its mellow glow!
To mill pond at dawn's new day
rippling sunbeams over the calm surface play
freely amongst the stately swans gliding there
in contented pairings, turning sees' a hare
and leveret munching on borage and honeycombs
breakfasting, as a polluted tributory stream foams
with poisonous effluence five hundred yards away
to mill pond at dawn's new day
He
calls back
the lost bee
to climb between
last falling blossoms
of his attracting lips
To sip , to feed on nectar
To feel his pollen on her skin
But it is too late for honeycombs
and the enamouring blush of their Spring
8 line max. Contest old or new for Rick Praise.
DON’T GET ME STARTED
1. About taxes, we have to pay them so why bother
Wasting breath complaining? And they’re spent on
Useful stuff like nuclear weapons and world-tours for
The Prime Minister and keeping teenage shoplifting kids
In jail (where they belong) and allowing major embezzlers
Or inside-traders to be under light-supervision on open prison-farms.
2. About Richard Nixon, a president who got caught
Doing what practically every president does,
And did trivial things like achieving rapprochement with China,
Ending the war in Vietnam, and signing nuke treaties
With the USSR. What a waste of time.
3. About bees, because why should I put up with stings and all their buzzing
Just for honey, when I don’t even like honey or beeswax?
And don’t tell me about the hexagonal architecture of honeycombs.
Buckminster Fuller did it better without stinging or buzzing anyone.
4. About sushi, which is a bit too fishy for me. I hate fish,
With those big staring eyes in the shop, or floating pathetically
Around In the shrimp-pan gazing accusingly at me.
5. About Australians, wanting applause for kangaroos, wallabies or Melbourne.
How about a round of applause for Canada for having beavers, or the RCMP?
6. About rap “music” which really should be called crap music
7. About dogs
..................................................
( Don't get excited, politically, sexually or architecturally. No nationalistic or animal rights complaints, please. It's only a funny poem.)
Genuine love is loveless
Whereof the heart is beclouded
With mystic, monastic and metaphysical aura
Only minds as deep as the Congo river can contain.
'Tis when fair love subsist
That spiritual, ethical and philosophical
Transcend all mundane forms and allures
That are subject to the acid test of time and change.
'Tis to disdain honeycombs
To find relish in bitter herbs is rare
And have wants and longings lay in catacombs
Beside the sweet amusing bed of roses it is but to dare.
'Tis to know what it is
Love dwells in spirit and not physique
And its form is literal but not imaginative
And its essence not naive but rather philosophical!
Both Jing and Ling
Perfect match of nature
Are walking in Wuhan City,China
Have hand in hand
Before the king of death
The Corona Virus attacks on the city.
Unaware of dangers
From unseen little warrior
Smiling faces smile in spring of life.
But misfortune play game
And Ling caught by a dangerous flu
When they planned to manage life.
Multi , mass and print media
Were making hue and cry
The researchers and inventors
Raised their hands that the Virus
Can't be killed or defeat by
Present Vaccine and medicines .
Jing wants to hold Ling's hand
But scared girl say,
'don't touch me, friend '.
Do you know ? My dear
Virus spreads in touch
So keep four feet away, dear.
Ling wants isolation (quarantine)
Jing want close relation
Both are made for each other .
But a new enemies the covid 19
Originate fear ,conflict and debate
Where lovers exchange arguments.
Women are always right
So Ling won the Nobel fight
She was going to isolate
From her lovely soulmate
Desperate Jing prayed Flora
To bless and save life of lover.
She comes to bless
Have necter in golden honeycombs
Which is full of honey
To save Jing's honey
She want return promise from you
Nature, creature will live in harmony.
If you want to be winners
Against the king of death Covid 19.
Say Namste without sake hands
Keep distance and wash hands.
Luke warm water, turmeric milk
Practice Yoga to keep yourself at less risk.
Be aware ,Do aware
Stay home the few days
Be safe yourself and world from the ways.
All Mighty will help his sons and daughters
Keep patience and faith
The God is mighty then the demon virus.
Summer times; and winter season:
Lovely time and everything happening,
Blue skies and warm mornings,
Beautiful trees and green grasses
Frozen lakes and dim appearances:
Nothing but fogs and mirages
Last month went fishing with my nephew
Last week went sailing with a few,
I guess nobody likes the oceans
Runner aways and out casts,
What a blue season:
Rainy forecast and mixed up emotions
Took days to settle;
And i was assisted by natives.
From wannabe to being sting by bees
Honeycombs and bee traps:
Sisters with beautiful garments but dreadful spirits,
No sweetness; no wine
Just dreamless-dreams,
O what happened to the mistresses!
Boys growing up
From summer to autumn:
The trees that once had its leaves;
Now how they departed,
Early growth but premature death
World war: man throwing tantrums!
End of The Cassava
Like cassava we planted corruption in the farm
Like mangos we plug corruption from the trees
Like Ram we rear in the land where it sold
Like pounded yam we pound our yam of corruption like house we cap it lake a dwelling house of heaven
What can be said to your eyes that eat us blind? What can be said in the eyes of the pest, which eats deeply to the cassava end's?
What can be said to the corrupt mind that steals all the unripe mangoes?
your corruption stings in bees of honeycombs
like injection it passes through ass of we
when it came the wind shakes it like to brake all
the corrupt pest feeding on the cassava agar
aardvark they sleep on the land
Your inequality grave emerged us
in the ownership of the production of us
on the Thailand of your corrupted land
smaller it remain
your minority took over
in disarray us you go
To the red conservatory room our mind kept, we to save…
to the green stadium room, we hope of non corruption
Like the gladiator you came
alas, encompass by corrupt mind
like the Kong skull you choose your mind floating on the sea of your farmland
but nothing get doing
agal us from the pray of corruption
let you be honor
by our Pam-oil and white pap
on that conference point shall it be hooked
like rainbow killer
shall it go array to grave
Not one, three bowls of lovely pomegranates
Look, the passion incarnate
Love or hate as you like, please don't desecrate
Gateway to glorious ecstasy
Of serene sensuality holding supreme creativity
And the all seeing mighty eyes!
Invitation to the abundant festival of inhalations
‘Come, honeycombs are ready
Bees throughout eternity, come and benumb
Come here and swamp the boat’
Under the lavish moon there in the dark lagoon
---------------------------------------------------------------
25 February,2016
Contest: Visualize Scrutinize and Remark
Sponsored by:Forever Malta
Vagabond Reveries
I awoke one apple-ripe autumn afternoon,
While shifting my necessity to care, dreaming,
To gaze upon the twisting trail in reveries of untethered reality
A quest for halcyon enigmas that chased me into cloudy castles.
And glancing back over fields of maize and green apple trees
I dreamt of meandering - suntanned faces, gentle eyes,
Campfire stories told in stargazer mists on childhood summer nights
Country roads and country stores with squeaky hinged screen doors.
I saw through mists kaleidoscopes of skyscraping cities, living postcards,
Steaming, groaning, sweating-swaying -
Crowded avenues named aspiration and pipedreams of working faces
Pushed into honeycombs of question’s smoke reflecting my reflection.
Through gossamer fleeting fragments rumbled symphonies
In movements of freight cars and highway hum
Vagabonds of REM sleeping tugged at chugging feasts
Of my winter-spring planned fetes and wakes and festival jubilees.
A wispy scent of reminisce felt the rushing, ever rushing, sun
Dashing headlong ahead of earth in my wishing stars
Pulling earth like a dawdling toddler running into chimeras of
Fleeting dawns and uncatchable dusky time in taunted moonlit glee.
Stormy darkness of gypsy memories throbbed in lightning flashes
Illuminated my godless thundering regrets
On wild midnights stumbling through windswept briar tangled valleys,
Soul soaking rains of prodigal shame, and I remember waking to grace.
9-4-21
Contest: "V" New or Old
Sponsor: Constance La France
1-23-23
Contest: Poetry Marathon Mile 24
Sponsor: Mark Toney
24 Lines
Don't trust those metaphors, my darling
They all lie
The wind is the air's alphabet
The earth knows the cosmic way by heart
Birds sing from hunger
Stars understand people
Better than people understand each other
Sometimes the rain flagellates itself
Like penitent monks
The cars' headlights are happier
Than the eyes of the drivers
The paths of the deserts lead to temples
The dead create dreams for us
That play like sci-fi movies in our sleep
A frog swallowed by a greedy stork
Croaks bravely: Long live the rights of all living beings!
A worm has reached the top of a grass blade
And calls out: Here's the helm of the world!
Black oil erupts in the Arctic
Mixing naturally with falling snow
Many of us are like the full moon
The blood of a rose has signed its name in the headlines
African lions offer communion
To young antelopes before eating them
And toreros in the corridas kill the bulls
In honor of their love betrayals
Time is born to be filled like honeycombs from hives
And you are born so I may be a poet
Don't trust the metaphors, my darling
The entire breed of human beings
Is a lying metaphor
"Chidinma"
Your name is celestial like Manna!
I have not forgotten the way you taste
Nor did the flavour left my savouring mouth.
Honey is sweet,
Sugar is sweet...yet don't taste the same!
Don't ask me why
My mind have refused to forget you
Don't ask me why I still feel the same cosmic
And butterfly effect each time your name is mentioned.
"Chidinma"
I pick your face up every morning,
Beautiful as the morning sun.
Your name is sweet. It drops as from honeycombs;
It tranquilizes me and lures me to sleep,
Each morning, it boots my whole body awake and drags me out of my bed
Into a lengthy reminiscence of the beauty that is you.
The constant image of your bright face
Reveals how embarrassed the sun always is.
Your feminine candour, resembles heaven as described in the book of Ezekiel.
Nothing is as fearful as the thought of not knowing you.
With you, there is no shame,
Nothing is awkward.
You turn my every word into melody;
That is, love, love, love and love!
Your smile meteors across heaven, brightened by the fire from your heart
I love being part of you. You smell like home,
Home is sweet, home is blue like love,
Which sometimes is red like the pepper
In your Okra and Vegetable soup garnished with smoked fish:
I hunger for it every now and again.
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Whistling
winter keeps us
silent.Cold moments
turn into bright yellow
buttons along the path.
The coltsfoot has flourished.
A few insects are beginning to stir.
Honeycombs stick sweetly in the
mouth. Changing surfaces, when
spring breaks.Makes your stomach
tingle with hypersensitive details
in this sonnet's time.Everyday
emotions rainbow painted
an verdure sheen,
overwhelming
excitement
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