Bee considerate
I wrote this childish poem for a group of fourth graders during the month of April 2008 in celebration of National poetry month.
A butterfly alighted gently on a flower.
Along came a honeybee that had the same desire.
Sir! Said she, ” did you not see I reached this blossom first? '
'I did', said he, 'but why can't we surfeit our nectar thirst? '
'Because”, said she, 'you must agree it’s but a tiny bloom.'
'It’s when I drink, I flap my wings....there isn't any room! '
'Perhaps your right' he then took flight and hovered noisily.
She then looked up, and said, 'good luck! ” appreciatively.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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Related quotes
Is that spring going to come?
When March was sleeping, two other
Gentlemen began rather
A heated argument. The 1st
Was April, the 2nd, of course,
Was May. So, April and May
Were both crying that the main
Month of spring was… Guess which one, but
Although March was in the hut
(Number 2, there’re four huts all
In all) , you should choose April or
May. April said, “It’s my time when
Snow-drops begin to bloom, and
Everyone can feel spring’s come.”
“Ha-ha! ” laughed May and added, “Some
Snowstorm, and no one can
See your tiny snow-drops. When
I rule nature, all the trees are
In blossom and bushes too! ”
“But
Unless I melted snow, they
Couldn’t blossom, my brother May, ”
April objected.
“Unless I…
Wow! You can melt snow, guy!
So, it isn’t the sun that
Does it! ” mocked May.
“I can laugh at
Your conceit, May. For example, March thinks
You and June are as like as two peas, ”
April said.
“ I don’t care, ”
May replied, “A brown bear
Sleeps less than this sleepyhead! ”
“Are
You about my best friend March? ”
Somebody cried outside, and
February came in. “Well, when
Is he gonna wake up? ” he said.
“Answer one question, and we’ll let
You wake him up, ” April and May
Stopped February on his way
To March’s bed, “Which of us is
The main spring month? Feb, tell us, please! ”
“What a question! No doubt,
It’s March. Until he gets out
With me, spring won’t begin, and
Winter will continue more than
Ninety days. But I’m not gonna
Work any longer. I wanna
Enjoy my holiday. Now
Let me wake him. Oh! How
Long I’ve been waiting for it! ” cried
February, but at the sight
Of their faces he laughed, “What’s
Happened? Ha-ha! You think it was
A bad idea to ask me,
Don’t you? ”
“We’ll never agree
With you! ! ! First of all March is your
Friend! ” April waxed indignant.
“First? ”
February smiled, “And what else?
Time’s flying! ”
“Nobody says
You and March differ too much! ”
It was May, “And… And there is such
A thing as politeness, if you
Talk with a host! ”
“If I should
Forget about March because
He’s sleeping, I can’t. Well, I’ve lost
My patience! If you wanna be
The main, you can be, but let me
Wake March as it isn’t a leap
Year now! My time’s up! Keep
On arguing but without
Us as we’re getting out! ”
February caught his sleepy friend,
Then said, “Bye-bye! ” and out he went.
poem by Konstantin Ananin
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A May Burden
Though meadow-ways as I did tread,
The corn grew in great lustihead,
And hey! the beeches burgeoned.
By Goddes fay, by Goddes fay!
It is the month, the jolly month,
It is the jolly month of May.
God ripe the wines and corn, I say,
And wenches for the marriage-day,
And boys to teach love's comely play.
By Goddes fay, by Goddes fay!
It is the month, the jolly month,
It is the jolly month of May.
As I went down by lane and lea,
The daisies reddened so, pardie!
'Blushets!' I said, 'I well do see,
By Goddes fay, by Goddes fay!
The thing ye think of in this month,
Heigho! this jolly month of May.'
As down I went by rye and oats,
The blossoms smelt of kisses; throats
Of birds turned kisses into notes;
By Goddes fay, by Goddes fay!
The kiss it is a growing flower,
I trow, this jolly month of May.
God send a mouth to every kiss,
Seeing the blossom of this bliss
By gathering doth grow, certes!
By Goddes fay, by Goddes fay!
Thy brow-garland pushed all aslant
Tells - but I tell not, wanton May!
poem by Francis Thompson
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MAY' is here again
May is here again
I pray this month does not bring pain
Last month I was thinking of a calling trip
To a country God gives and they sip
Where happiness is called above
Hearts are white like dove
If I go, I may never return again
Because may has brought no pain
To tale of bountiful counts
How many followed last month in tuneless sounds
April had lodged my heart in cramp corner
A peep at the future, May can take me further
Exotic journey, April has call
In May due season my pains will fall
Might of last month I can’t retain
May is here again
poem by Godspower Oshodin
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[Month of] April
The stranger warmth of the young sun obeying,
Look! little beads of green begin to grow,
And hidden flowers have dated their tops to show
Where late such droughty dusts were rudely playing.
It's not the month, but all the world's a-maying!
Come then with me, I'll take you, for I know
Where the first hedgethorns and white windflowers blow:
We two alone,, that goes without the saying.
The month has treacherous clouds and moves in fears.
This April shames the month itself with smiles:
In whose new eyes I know no heaven of tears,
But still serene desire and between whiles,
So great a look that even April's grace
Makes only marvel at her only face.
poem by Hilaire Belloc
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Butterfly
You could flap your wings a thousand miles away
Butterfly
A laughing salesman sings
His world so far away
Butterfly
Butterfly
Butterfly
You could take the storm away forever every day
Cause you're mine
And i don't know what to say
You could let my smile disappear for a year
Cause you're mine
That's the only way i like it to be
Butterfly
Butterfly
Butterfly
Butterfly
You could flap your wings a thousand miles away
I'd still feel the pain
I'd still feel the pain
You could flap those eyes a thousand miles away
I'd still feel the way
I'd still feel the way
Butterfly
Butterfly
Here she comes now
Here she comes now
Here it comes now
Here she comes now
Here it comes now...
When we get to the best part
It happens all the time
You tell me all your lies
You tell me all your lies
You get your kicks from seeing me on the floor
Tied to your bed
Tied to the things you said
Butterfly is coming back
Butterfly is coming back
Butterfly is coming back
Butterfly is coming back
Butterfly
Butterfly
Butterfly
Butterfly...
song performed by by Verve
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Peach Blossom at Dalin Temple
Person between fourth month fragrant fragrant end
Mountain temple peach blossom begin bloom out
Great regret spring go not find trace
Not know change over this here come
Across the world this June, the petals all have fallen,
But the mountain temple's peach blossom has just begun to bloom.
I regretted so much that spring had gone without a trace,
I didn't know that it had only moved up here.
Medley: Hallelujah / Last Month Of The Year
(l. cohen/traditional)
Hallelujah was originally contained in leonard cohen's various positions, while last month of the year is a blues traditional. on the cd booklet this song is credited only as hallelujah.
I heard there was a secret chord
That david played and it pleased the lord
But you don't really care for music, do you?
Well it goes like this :
The fourth, the fifth, the minor fall and the major lift
The baffled king composing hallelujah
Hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah
Well your faith was strong but you needed proof
You saw her bathing on the roof
Her beauty and the moonlight overthrough ya
She tied you to her kitchen chair
She broke your throne and she cut your hair
And from your lips she drew the hallelujah
Hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah
Baby i've been here before
I've seen this room and i've walked this floor
I used to live alone before i knew ya
I've seen your flag on the marble arch
And love is not some victory march
It's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah
Hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah
There was a time when you let me know
What's really going on below
But now you never show that to me do ya
But remember when i moved in you
And the holy dove was moving too
And every breath we drew was hallelujah
Well, maybe there's a god above
But all i've ever learned from love
Was how to shoot at someone who outdrew ya
And it's not a cry that you hear at night
It's not somebody who's seen the light
It's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah
Hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah,
Hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah...
[and here starts last month of the year]
Tell me what month was jesus born in
Last month of the year
Tell me what month was jesus born in
Last month of the year
Got january, january, march oh lord
Got april, may and june lord
You got july oh yeah
September, october and november
Got the twenty fifty
December is the last month of the year
What month was jesus born in
Last month of the year
What month was jesus born in
Last month of the year
Got january, february, march oh lord
Got april, may and june lord
You got july oh but
September, october and november
Got the twenty fifty
December is the last month of the year
(thank you melbourne)
song performed by by Jeff Buckley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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An April Joke
Oh, it was a merry, gladsome day,
When the April Fool met the Queen of May;
She had roguish eyes and golden hair,
And they were a mischief-making pair.
They planned the funniest kind of a joke
On the poor, long-suffering mortal folk;
And a few mysterious words he said,
His fool's cap close to her flower-crowned head.
Then he laughed till he made his cap-bells ring,
At the thought of the topsy-turvy Spring.
''Tis a fair exchange,' he said, with a wink--
'It is!' she said, and what do you think?
The flowers that should bloom in the month of May
Every one of them came on an April day!
And they looked for April showers in vain,
But all through May it did nothing but rain!
poem by Carolyn Wells
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A Not a Poem Poem
A Not a Poem Poem
I will not write a poem
For I am not a poet
I cannot makes things rhyme
I’ve tried for quite some time
So will I write a poem?
NO!
I can’t write poetry
I’ve tried to all my life
Once, I tried to write a poem
About a husband and his wife
It sounded really silly
So I crumbled it up into a ball
That’s why I decided
That I couldn’t write poetry at all
Am I gonna write a poem?
NO!
Well, I’ll try to write a poem
But it will be really bad
It will be absolutely lousy
It will be completely horrible
It won’t be up to snuff
People will say, “Who wrote this stuff? ”
Will my poem be good?
NO!
Can I write a poem?
NO!
Will I write a poem?
NO!
Well, what do you know! ? !
I wrote a poem!
And it’s a pretty good poem, too!
I guess I can write poetry if I try
The next time I’m asked to write a poem,
Will I say no?
NO!
Song # 36
In the month of April
I behold the showers
That from heaven fall
So we can have the flowers.
In the April month
You know May is near,
That the birds will sing;
The sky will be so clear.
poem by Luis Estable
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The Killer Of Poetry
whoever defines
what poetry is and
how must it be written
kills it.
poetry is alive
it is in the fragile wings of a butterfly
it flutters and hovers to the flower that it likes
whoever it favors
shall bloom in full
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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July....
July is the month where the families get the barbeque grills fired up.
July is the month where the night sky is light up with fire works.
July is the month where many families go out of town to be with family.
July is the month where many kids are dreary because it’s a month away for school.
July is the month where America gets to celebrate its independence from England.
July is the month where many people are dying of the heat of the summer.
July is my favorite month because it’s the time that I get to be myself around my family.
poem by Natasha Ligons
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I Turned Into a Butterfly
In a warm spring day
the bee flied far away.
It had left its shelter
to collect the sweet nectar
from the beautiful flowers
using God’s dower.
When the bee flied over the honey flower
it couldn’t see me, a poor caterpillar.
I looked at the bee,
I looked at the sky,
I also wanted to fly
learning the world around
and not to creep on the ground.
Burning with passion, tearfully
I had said hopefully:
“I love you the bee.
I would agree to do anything
if only I could fly with you.
Don’t tell me adieu!
I haven’t any view from the ground
I just feel to be bound to the ground.”
I was lost in tears.
Having enough sufferings during the day time
I had fallen into a deep sleep
as there was no more strength to weep.
But when I woke up in the morning chime
I thought it was still a dream time
as I could now fly into the sky,
I turned into a butterfly.
The same morning having seen me
the bee’s heart melted with joy.
Oh, boy! It was in love with me at first sight.
Together we had a wonderful flight.
Now we are flying together
in the fields, in the woods, in the gardens
and our love hardens.
The flowers give us their sweet nectar drink,
there is no more troubles to think.
©Larisa Rzhepishevska
December 12th,2010
poem by Larisa Rzhepishevska
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I Was a Caterpillar
In a warm spring day
the bee flied far away.
It had left its shelter
to collect the sweet nectar
from the beautiful flowers
using God’s dower.
When the bee flied over the honey flower
it couldn’t see me, a poor caterpillar.
I looked at the bee,
I looked at the sky,
I also wanted to fly
learning the world around
and not to creep on the ground.
Burning with passion, tearfully
I had said hopefully:
“I love you the bee.
I would agree to do anything
if only I could fly with you.
Don’t tell me adieu!
I haven’t any view from the ground
I just feel to be bound to the ground.”
I was lost in tears.
Having enough sufferings during the day time
I had fallen into a deep sleep
as there was no more strength to weep.
But when I woke up in the morning chime
I thought it was still a dream time
as I could now fly into the sky,
I turned into a butterfly.
The same morning having seen me
the bee’s heart melted with joy.
Oh, boy! It was in love with me at first sight.
Together we had a wonderful flight.
Now we are flying together
in the fields, in the woods, in the gardens
and our love hardens.
The flowers give us their sweet nectar drink,
there is no more troubles to think.
©Larisa Rzhepishevska
December 12th,2010
poem by Larisa Rzhepishevska
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A butterfly finds its way back
A butterfly finds its way back
It was a drift from the path
It took place sometime back
Because our heroine sensed a lack
In the taste of nectar in the flower of the park
To the same park this flock of butterflies
Used to come and enjoy the sweet and nice
Nectar in the red and blue poppies
And fly back with this sweetened hobby
It was more an excuse than a reason
For this drift, but a thought’s treason
To deviate and critically question
All that were followed in mindless unison
Our young colourful one with whistle
In her wings, over a time turned hostile
To this tradition and thought it futile
To be in the flock and went away for a while
Others in the group became worried
Wondering where she would have been carried
Was she in the insect flower got buried
Or was by ants after an injury curried
One fine morning suddenly the butterfly was sighted
And she joined the flock as if nothing got slighted
And told others she followed the path less lighted
For a flower who became with her less delighted
She expressed to join the flower of flock’s choice
And be ever with it without making any further noise
The flock has no words to say but to rejoice
The retrieval of the butterfly with her vouching voice
poem by Bashyam Narayanan
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The fact that they're a congressionally chartered group should no more incline people to give to that group than the fact that it's National Pickle Month should make them eat more pickles.
quote by Barney Frank
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Clap your wings Butterfly
Clap your wings
Butterfly, Butterfly
Clap your wings
Flutter by and fly
Your rainbow flower skin.
Strikes out glaringly beautiful in the sun
Whenever you take off the land and run
Your delicate beauty alone is breathtaking
Beautiful feelings inside of me keep awaking
When you clap your wings and fly
Butterfly sing with me
Beneath any tree
Clap your wings
Flap your wings
Flutter by and fly
Let's look up to the skies
Together on a lovely summer day
Before you decide to say goodbye!
2006 - Sylvia Chidi
poem by Sylvia Chidi
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I Wrote This Poem And That Poem And Another Poem Again
I WROTE THIS POEM AND THAT POEM AND ANOTHER POEM AGAIN
I wrote this poem and that poem and another poem again
The world of poetry was open to me
And I could go on and on in it
It was a dream come true
A world which opened when I moved through it
A place I wanted to be
A place of beauty and peace and spirit and imagination
A good good place
The world of poetry was open to me
And as I wrote my way through it
I felt God had given me a gift of life
And I should at least know enough to be grateful for it-
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Butterfly Fly Away
You tucked me in, turned out the light
Kept me safe and sound at night
Little girls depend on things like that
Brushed my teeth and combed my hair
Had to drive me everywhere
You were always there when I looked back
You had to do it all alone
Make a living, make a home
Must have been as hard as it could be
And when I couldn't sleep at night
Scared things wouldn't turn out right
You would hold my hand and sing to me
Caterpillar in the tree
How you wonder who you'll be
Can't go far but you can always dream
Wish you may and wish you might
Don't you worry, hold on tight
I promise you there will come a day
Butterfly fly away
Butterfly fly away, butterfly fly away
Flap your wings now you can't stay
Take those dreams and make them all come true
Butterfly fly away, butterfly fly away
We've been waiting for this day
All along and knowing just what to do
Butterfly, butterfly, butterfly, butterfly fly away
Butterfly fly away
Butterfly fly away
poem by Zack Horton
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A disagreement with T.S. Elliot (Partial Sonnet.)
I question T.S.Elliot’s remark
on April and the jist of what he said.
Some genius loves to languish in the dark
Lapping with the lilacs of the dead? *
So shakening the wakening of the year
Nostalgia and necrosis lay entwined*
For those who covet fantasies of fear
Hoisting sombre umbrellas o’er their mind
For me, this month’s allure has NEVER flagged.
(Coz “April” was the first lass wot I shagged!)
* Inspired by the quote:
“ April is the cruellest month, breeding lilacs out of the dead land, mixing memory and desire, stirring dull roots with spring rain.” -T.S.Elliot
poem by Reece Kaye
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