Long Hive Poems
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I’d plow four rocky acres, maybe even five,
For a taste of the honey from my Honey’s hive.
No one spices the clover like my lover does
When we meet in the meadow and we buzz, buzz, buzz.
She’s a blue ribbon winner at the county show;
Sings a nice little number, ends in E-I-O.
She can flirt with the judges and they think it’s cute;
When she winks like a barn owl, they shout hoot, hoot, hoot.
Buzz, buzz, buzz, hoot, hoot, hoot.
Dance ‘round the hen house in a chicken suit.
Learn how to juggle, break an egg or two,
Then we’ll make rooster jealous when we doodle-do.
See the ducks swim in circles on the lily pond
And that one lonesome froggie in the mist beyond.
We can drop our pretensions (standing back-to-back),
Then we’ll slip in the water going quack, quack, quack.
I’m a ham-fisted farm boy, Sugar. Holy cow!
Got a stool and a bucket and I do know how.
We’ll have sweet cream and peaches once the milkin’s through,
When our lips come together and we moo, moo, moo.
Quack, quack, quack, moo, moo, moo.
Work like the devil with a pitchfork, too.
Warn all the pigeons we’ll be pitchin’ woo
When we meet in the hayloft and we coo, coo, coo.
Once there was a haughty queen
who decided to spend more time on
her own:
here, there, she flew everywhere
followed by a lovesick drone --
She said: "little man, you're not
in my plan...please find a poem
all your own!"
Himself, no good at gathering nectar...after
thought said, "The heck with her!"
Wasting no time, instead of wallowing
in self-pity, moved to the big city, wrote
a book on Hive Theory: how drones are
mere sex objects, sleepless, eyes bleary
With profits from his book, opened a bank
offering no penalty early liquidity -- finally, some
respect for drones, bee dandies feeling hopeless
and weary. Up till then having little other choice
but to serve the whims of Her majesty, often royally
finicky, they began investing their nest-eggs of sweets
for retirement in our protagonist's very successful,
totally liberating, high dividend paying -- novel
Savings And Drone.
Written: November 20, 2023, For Joseph May Contest
________________________________________________
How pointless to fight for global friendship.
We scatter sand, catch the wind, and waste life.
We could gain a faint peak or bright red ship.
We slide further as shades withdraw the strife.
Despite our confusion, we hound our quest.
The sound venture perseveres to renew.
Nonetheless, the grave gateway is behest.
We grunt a hive to our shock to pursue.
Yet whose charitable tide is smoothing?
Is akin to the vast, unknown ocean.
Deep into our souls, your love is soothing.
That would be requesting your direction.
You are being heard, your palm is raised wide.
Who would be keen on an erroneous guide?
never afraid to ask many a question
never afraid to undertake a suggestion
are those with forward thinking drive
as they reach out further so they strive
steering away far from the hive like mind
and the blindness eyes of most humankind
not becoming lost inside the vast mind invasion
or falling for the tricks of one true great salesman
they don`t want to lose what they freely own
rather bled blood then be another duplicate clone
so they live their lives risking to be ostracized
never being the ones to become totally comprised
listening to both sides before making a decision
something we`ve lost with this new world vision
because they have different views and opinions
they are told they are societies biggest villains
Silent in its violence
the sun lays ancient fire-fingers
on the heat-scoured concrete of the promenade:
boxy seafront chalets tilting and creaking at angles,
scorched, salt-stiffened gardens,
sand dunes, a screaming blue sea.
It is so difficult to accept a loss, a deprivation.
Innocence flaps its winding sheet behind me,
its mummy cloth of myth.
As from an isolated moon I see
the first cold breaker rush to engulf me -
an underwater undulance,
undercurrents of menace, of malice.
The sand-strewn strand stretches into infinity,
shimmering with the visions, the voices, the echoes,
the faceless departments of government and society.
I watch the insouciant people around me,
they possess a flatness, like blank paper.
They hump and lug plastic picnic paraphernalia,
ridiculously, all beach grime and blistered backs,
reduced to a red cindery glow.
Ice creams, scooped from the freezers
in trinkety seashore shops,
are clutched in sunburnt hands.
They are spreading striped sunbathing mats,
snide and smiling slyly.
Is it a mirage, a delusion,
dredged from the desert-dry air?
The air snags in my throat: the flat summer stench
of warm wood, sun lotion, billowing cotton -
blank but expansive. The creaking, the flapping.
A strange wind howls and banters in my ear
and the train shrieks through its station,
the station of my brain -
a riddled red abyss, poker-hot.
The sun is sinking -
a disc of fire, a blood clot.
Water floods the ridgy shallows,
eddying into treacherous pits.
The black gun muzzle of my mouth
blasts the oxygen from the air.
My nerves a hive of wires suffering
the scarlet atrocities.
Pokers put out my eyes.
Squeezed by the forceps of agony
I see nothing, there is nothing
but a mirage of wavering dunes closing in
and the sea splintering; a multitude of glass glittering.
I emerged / born with a silver pen in hand
…and a tempest raging within.
Words writhe, a serpent's coil
…tightening their grip
A soul adrift in a sea of
…self-made iniquity.
I buried my daddy
…in the black shoe
…by the Yew tree
Yes, I, the beekeeper’s daughter
…bearing the weight of hexagonal cells
A hive of memories
…buzzing with secrets.
The bell jar shattered
….a fractured hive.
Its glass walls no longer a prison
…but a shattered cocoon
……a metamorphous!
Pain and disdain drip like honey
…a bittersweet nectar of survival.
He, a poet
…crowned in the harsh light of fame
Bound in chains of duty and shame
His words
…a romance of lure and alarm.
Echoing the sirens' song
…enticing and harmful.
Yet, his tongue
…a viper’s forked lie.
Whispers truths and half-truths
…conjuring illusions to die.
Wandering the maze of being
A little fugue of
…fractured fairytales.
Each note a fleeting glimpse of clarity
Lost in the discordant
…cacophony of life's emptiness.
Like my "Little Fugue" a dance of shadows
A journey through the corridors of the mind
Seeking answers in the interplay of light and dark
Striving for harmony amidst the chaos
Parchment of blood and ink I leave
A riddle of life and death's plea
Maniacal madness with visions slight
A macabre dance upon the night.
Ariel, brings lightning and fire!
With heavy heart
…I sealed my children's room.
Softly kissed them farewell
……Extinguishing the final flame within.
Enveloped in oblivion's velvet veil
………Yielding to the oven’s cold caress.
…………No, more morning songs...
Inscribed a cryptic goodbye
Breathed in the silent slayer.
For, I Lady Lazarus
…Dying is an art
……Faded into the ether…
Her blacks crackle and drag, a fire of new birth
Flames licking at the borders of life
Consumed by oblivion's greedy blaze
Lost in the vast cosmic ray.
The embers die
…a fleeting spark gone
No masterpiece
…….just dust reclaimed
A silent echo in the void unstained.
A mystery lost
………never quite explained.
Yet, God's Lioness
...Fierce and Untamed
Roaring her defiance
…Covered in darkness…
----
Underneath the star-strewn skies
A fleeting passing note.
Lost in the vast expanse
Living on the edge
For, I am but a speck of dust.
Sometimes we're sacrificed to rooms void of light.
To the caw of the crow and the scent of the night.
Silk of the mind, breached by snakes -chains of cold.
Moment by moment they peck away at the soul.
Roses and razor blades strewn on the ground.
Gifts have been given to help figure it all out.
There are hordes of dark forces willing to devour you.
Only a few angels commissioned to buffer the blue.
Blessed light poking through blackening veins.
Cherish the warmth like drought does a cool rain.
Take your sledgehammer soul, shatter the shroud.
It may take a few blows, but it'll surely come down.
Gather up the roses; leave the razors behind.
Pay homage to angels-step gently into the light.
Harvest the sweet honey from the silenced hive
Embracing the grace of birdsong and shine on.
Some letters seem superfluous, you’ll cede:
but with no tulips, spring would not be spring.
We’re used to think in terms of things we need.
Desiring counts for more; it bids us sing.
I find my mind more keenly focuses
on simple schemes: the white-on-green of flocks,
or under trees, those shy, but lovely, crocuses
whose joy it is to greet the equinox.
Who’d miss a ‘b’? But bees provide our fruit.
They fertilise our shrubs, to help us thrive.
‘C’ is not useful. Yet no surly brute
would brook the brine. We need both tide and hive.
Some things, we find, we smoothly do without,
but spring’s the thing we’d never wish to flout.
Mama bear pins up clothes on the line.
April day is wonderful, breeze is so fine.
Grandma is in the kitchen, tasting vinegar wine.
Children and husband are waiting to dine.
Little brother is doing a chicken dance goofing off.
Siblings are laughing, observant deer gives a cough.
Daddy brings a compliment, he is no sloth.
Best day in the spring, according to gossip McGoff.
I linger in my bee hive watching the bear family.
They appear as normal as any bear family can be.
I love watching their excitement from my dangling hive from the tree.
No one has any idea all of the activity this bee can see.
Things, I want things,
Give me things,
Here is a ring,
Let us accumulate things,
And compare are things to their things,
They are evil,
Their things do not compare to our things,
There was a man who taught us love,
But we killed him with a thing,
And when he rose,
Instead of rising like him?
We built things, to fly through the sky,
Things, I want things,
Give me things,
Here is a ring,
Let us accumulate things,
And compare are things to those stupid people,
We stole their things, we steal their things,
And when they fight us, we kill them with our things,
We call them terrorists, for they have far too few things to be heroes,
I want things,
Give me things,
Things I can rub,
Things I can drive,
Things I can use to be the king of the hive,
And of course, my things can do anything,
My heroes destroy things,
My architects build them back,
My sister has Cancer,
My brother has Diabetes,
And we have things for those,
But they don't work,
If they die, where will they go?
If they go somewhere will it have things?
I want things,
Give me things,
Things I can drive,
Things I can use to be king of the hive,
For who knows what's coming,
And I cannot find my soul,
Aww who cares?
Things are better!!!