Daffodils
Un vert soldat returns from war,
in green vast spreads and daffodils,
with bees to buzz above the gore,
he bleeds in haze from deathly bore,
dropping red drops on weeds and flor',
euphoric feed this ground of kills,
Un vert soldat returns from war,
in green vast spreads and daffodils,
O maker of the bees and flow'rs,
this is the field he run when small,
with birds on trees singing to stars,
the buzzing bees don't know of wars,
amid the souls that take this course,
utopian was his standing tall,
O maker of the bees and flow'rs,
this is the field he run when small.
poem by Giorgio Veneto
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Related quotes
07. Love, what is Love?
love, oh what is love?
flowers in so many shapes and hues
giving sweetness to butterflies and bees
in so many shapes and hues
in the field, a buzz, a joy, these insects
help create another world
another paradise, warm colourful flower garden
for lovers of the world
help spread cheers everywhere
with the sweetness the flowers
where the flowers are, the butterflies, the bees are
where there is love, joy spreads
wide as the field
just look at the butterflies and the bees
how they cheer up the field with their songs and dance
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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The Bee-Boy's Song
Bees! Bees! Hark to your bees!
"Hide from your neigbours as much as you please,
But all that has happened, to us you must tell,
Or else we will give you no honey to sell!"
A maiden in her glory,
Upon her wedding - day,
Must tell her Bees the story,
Or else they'll fly away.
Fly away -- die away --
Dwindle down and leave you!
But if you don't deceive your Bees,
Your Bees will not deceive you.
Marriage, birth or buryin',
News across the seas,
All you're sad or merry in,
You must tell the Bees.
Tell 'em coming in an' out,
Where the Fanners fan,
'Cause the Bees are just about
As curious as a man!
Don't you wait where the trees are,
When the lightnings play,
Nor don't you hate where Bees are,
Or else they'll pine away.
Pine away -- dwine away --
Anything to leave you!
But if you never grieve your Bees,
Your Bees'll never grieve you.
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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Sulking Flowers
Comparing the bees to the wandering males of human species,
Disheartening the waiting souls at the threshold of floral genesis,
For the pollen these bees brought unknowingly,
The generous flowers tip the nectar unconditionally.
Bees are the messengers, not the rapists as human,
Bees are the servants, not the incest driven as human,
Bees are the courier carriers, not the molesters as human,
Bees are innocent, not the illusionists scoundrels as human.
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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My! My! Honeycomb
(ronnie scott/ steve wolfe)
Producers for bonnie: ronnie scott, steve wolfe
Recorded in 1975, this was bonnies first ever recording! lyrics taken from careful listening.
Here I am in the city
With a picture of you in my head
I remember that night
The words you said
You told me I was pretty
With the moon shining down on my hair
Im hung up on you now
But youre not there
My! my! honeycomb
The bees are buzzing, the birds have flown
Wild, wild honeycomb, leave my honey alone
My! my! honeycomb
The bees are buzzing, I should have known
Sweet, sweet honeycomb, leave my honey alone
Wrote you so many letters
I was hoping youd answer with flowers
Then I sat by myself
To watch the hours
But you didnt come boy
Not a word, not a call, not a thing
Dont you know how it hurts me
When you sting
My! my! honeycomb
The bees are buzzing, the birds have flown
Wild, wild honeycomb, leave my honey alone
My! my! honeycomb
The bees are buzzing, I should have known
Sweet, sweet honeycomb, leave my honey alone
Leave my honey alone
My! my! honeycomb
The bees are buzzing, the birds have flown
Wild, wild honeycomb, leave my honey alone
My! my! honeycomb
The bees are buzzing, I should have known
Sweet, sweet honeycomb, leave my honey alone
song performed by by Bonnie Tyler
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sonnet: The Bees Never Give Up
Every time, they crush the bees to death and
Steal away their sweet honey in a trice;
And wax to make candles of immense size;
The Queen bee escapes to another land.
The bees comeback; with vengeance start again
A small bee-hive in the very same place!
They work extra in the sun and in rain,
Buzzing to flowers in a frenzied pace.
And soon their hive has been rebuilt and full,
Of sweet honey and larvae that are fed;
The bees continuing without a lull,
Searching for more nectar in every mead.
How well Nature takes care of its species!
Man must learn from the bee-hive and the bees.
poem by John Celes
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Mango Grove
Dark green canopy
Of mango trees
On terraced fields
Traverse
In the month
When trees
In romance blend
Butterflies of all hues
In jocund mood
Bright sunshine
In shadow of thick clouds
Buzzing bees
Swaying with gentle wind
Spread fragrance
Of sprouting buds
Below
The field
Covered with
Carpet
Lush green.
poem by Sanjay Mehta
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Tuvvi Tuvvi
SERENADING THE SEASON OF SPRING WITH SMILES
ARE THE BIRDS SINGING MELODY OF TUVVI TUVVI
DANCING TO THE BEAUTY OF BLOOMING DAFFODILS
ARE THE LEAVES IN THE WIND WHISTLING TUVVI TUVVI
USHERING THE WARM SUNSHINE OF THE SPRING
ARE THE WALTZING SHADOWS SINGING TUVVI TUVVI
BORDERING THE GREEN GRASS ALL AROUND BEAMING
ARE THE SWAYING TREES SINGING TUVVI TUVVI
WELCOMING THE BRIGHT SPRING IS THE BEAUTIFUL MORNING
REFLECTING ITS LIGHT ON FLOWING STREAMS OF SINGING TUVVI TUVVI
SEEING THE SIGNS OF NEW LIFE PRAISING
ARE THE GRATEFUL HEARTS SINGING TUVVI TUVVI
BLOOMING ARE THE FLOWERS IN SPRING COLORS
INVITING THE BEES BUZZING TUVVI TUVVI
FILLING THIS WORLD WITH SWEET SOUNDS OF LAUGHTER
ARE THE CHILDREN SINGING TUVVI TUVVI
Transalation of Poem by KUVEMPU
poem by Mittur Ramprasad
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Knees Of My Bees
we share a culture same vernacular
love of physical humor and time spent alone
you with your penchant for spontaneous events
for sticky and raspy, unearthed and then gone
you are a gift promised sent with a wink
with tendencies for conversations that raise bars
you are a sage who is fueled by compassion
comes to nooks and crannies, is bound for all stars
you make the knees of my bees weak, tremble and buckle
you make the knees of my bees weak
you are a spirit that knows of no limit
that knows of no ceiling who baulks at dead-ends
you are a wordsmith who cares for his brothers
not seduced by illusions of fair-weather friends
you make the knees of my bees weak, tremble and buckle
you make the knees of my bees weak
you are a vision who lives by the signals of
stomach and intuition as your guide
you are a sliver of god on a platter
who walks what he talks and who cops when hes lied
you make the knees of my bees weak, tremble and buckle
you make the knees of my bees weak
you make the knees of my bees weak, tremble and buckle
you make the knees of my bees weak
you make the knees of my bees weak, tremble and buckle
you make the knees of my bees weak
song performed by by Alanis Morissette
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Bees: An Allegory
"O bees, sweet bees!" I said, "that nearest field
Is shining white with fragrant immortelles.
Fly swiftly there and drain those honey wells."
Then, spicy pines the sunny hive to shield,
I set, and patient for the autumn's yield
Of sweet I waited.
When the village bells
Rang frosty clear, and from their satin cells
The chestnuts leaped, rejoicing, I unsealed
My hive.
Alas! no snowy honey there
Was stored. My wicked bees had borne away
Their queen and left no trace.
That very day,
An idle drone who sauntered through the air
I tracked and followed, and he led me where
My truant bees and stolen honey lay.
Twice faithless bees! They had sought out to eat
Rank, bitter herbs. The honey was not sweet.
poem by Helen Hunt Jackson
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Telling the Bees
A Colonial Custom
Bathsheba came out to the sun,
Out to our wallèd cherry-trees;
The tears adown her cheek did run,
Bathsheba standing in the sun,
Telling the bees.
My mother had that moment died;
Unknowing, sped I to the trees,
And plucked Bathsheba’s hand aside;
Then caught the name that there she cried
Telling the bees.
Her look I never can forget,
I that held sobbing to her knees;
The cherry-boughs above us met;
I think I see Bathsheba yet
Telling the bees.
poem by Lizette Woodworth Reese
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Daffodils
Ho! You there, selling daffodils along the windy street,
Poor drooping, dusty daffodils - but oh! so Summer sweet!
Green stems that stab with loveliness, rich petal-cups to hold
The wine of Spring to lips that cling like bees about their gold!
What price to you for daffodils? I'll give what price you please,
For light and love and memory lie leaf by leaf with these!
And if I bought all Sydney Town I could not hope to buy
The wealth you bring of everything that goes with open sky!
My money for your daffodils: why do you thank me so?
If I have paid a reckless price, take up my gift and go,
And from the golden garden beds where gold the sunbeams shine
Bring in more flowers to light the hours for lover-hearts like mine!
poem by William Henry Ogilvie
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Bees
Bees are messengers from up above:
Filled with goodness and with love.
Unlike wasps, they mean us no harm:
They are more friendly and have charm.
On fine, silvery wings, the bees take flight,
When the sun's warm rays are shining bright.
They collect up the pollen in their sacs,
Then, to their hives, they take it back.
They carry out their duties with a smile;
Their souls full of cheer all the while.
With keenness, they carry out their work;
Their responsibilities, they do not shirk.
Bees have such an important role to play:
We would be doomed if they died away.
Plants and flowers would cease to grow,
And supplies of foodstuffs would soon be low.
Of bees, there is no need for us to be scared;
About their work, they passionately do care.
If we leave these dedicated workers well alone,
Near to us humans, they will not dare to roam.
They will not sting us, unless they're provoked,
For them, using their sting is certainly no joke.
If a bee ever stings you, you may well cry,
But the poor old bee, well, it would then die.
Unlike wasps, bees are not considered pests,
Even though they are very similarly dressed.
Bees are really fabulous, bees are really brill:
A bee, you should never ever, on purpose, kill.
poem by Angela Wybrow
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The bee nest
In Primary school
we played in the field
above the school
in break time.
There we discovered
a hive of bees
under a overhanging
shelve of rock
and I told the other kids
to leave it alone
and went away
to play on my own.
One of the kids
(Peter Conn)
threw three broken bricks
into that bee nest
and that swarm of bees
came like lightning bolts
thundering in.
He ran like a flash
and passed me
with great speed
where I was playing
with some dinky toy cars
and when I looked up
I saw the sky
turning black with bees
and that fool escaped
the consequence of his deeds.
I hardly had time to get up,
never mind to run
when there were bees stinging
and targeting in
from everywhere.
Like a scapegoat the bees
took me for the enemy
and buzzed in
and they came
in great numbers
and that whole swarm stung me
all over my body.
I was swollen up
like a inflated doll,
couldn’t see through my eyes,
could hardly breathe
and got a terrible rash
and were almost unconscious
when we arrived at the nearest hospital
where my mother was in a great panic
and the doctor injected me
a couple of times
and put a drip in my arm
and after that for a while
bees were deadly to me.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Two Children
Two children (small), one Four, one Five,
Once saw a bee go in a hive,
They'd never seen a bee before!
So waited there to see some more.
And sure enough along they came
A dozen bees (and all the same!)
Within the hive they buzzed about;
Then, one by one, they all flew out.
Said Four: 'Those bees are silly things,
But how I wish I had their wings!'
poem by Spike Milligan
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A Spring Morning
The sky is the shade of cornflower blue;
The clouds in the sky, are extremely few.
Caught by the sunshine, everything glows.
A fresh, cooling breeze, now gently blows.
With bowed heads, daffodils seem a bit shy;
I gaze, admiringly, at them, as I pass on by.
Their deep, rich purple, the crocuses show;
A lovely contrast, to the daffodils' yellow.
Green buds are seen on branches, once bare;
Stunning outfits, they will, very soon, wear.
Blossom on a tree, is as white as fresh snow;
Decorating its branches, both high and low.
Birds sweetly sing, high up in the tall trees.
I can hear the familiar buzz of the busy bees.
The butterflies chase each other, to and fro.
Nearby, I hear the call of the noisy crows.
Dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, I happily roam;
For the first time, this year, my coat is at home.
In the cold weather, I rush everywhere so fast;
In the sunshine, I dawdle, so my walk will last.
Upon my skin, I can feel the warm sunshine;
The sun brings me cheer, and I'm feeling fine.
It really is a most pleasant start to the day,
And, fingers crossed, it will stay that way!
poem by Angela Wybrow
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Rivalry only yields fruits.
Plants vie with each other
To give flowers in different colours.
They have to catch eyes of bees.
Bees vie with each other
To imbue force with their breeds.
They have to be early birds.
Flowers are colourful.
Bees are black moors.
A perfect combination.
Woman, mind your face.
Man, mind your force.
25.04.2002, pakd
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Behind The Veil
The withdrawing bees sit on the blooms,
Dusts of yellow fall and start to groom,
The prosecuted flowers, accused of waywardness,
The bees are brought to identify, the lady pregnant,
Points the finger at one, who is in prime,
To take care her deposit in the silent shrine,
Bees get off guard, wrong genetic code,
The community of bees not to want to ride,
And conspire to keep the blooms on guard,
Each matured flower to be covered,
From the wavy petals to the leggy stem,
Just an opening for the rays to peep in,
The blooms on cover, not to attract the bees,
The blooms watch and enjoy exclusive.
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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No Worries
when man cuts a tree
God spreads a thousand seeds
when man destroys a pond
God sends a new river
when man destroys the sea
God sends the tsunami
when man kills the bees
God sends more stings
when man kills the birds
God sends back the wind
so why worry?
for every lost creature
God is Here and He
Creates another
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Bee Sonnet
I was going to write you a sonnet
with much wisdom, both in it and on it.
But while walking near trees
I saw millions of bees
and came home with two bees in my bonnet.
Every bee has and uses his stinger,
and, once stung, it will burn and may linger
well this happened to me,
then another mean bee
put his stinger right into my finger.
So you see, I've known many a bee
who came down from some innocent tree.
But to write you a sonnet
with two bees in my bonnet
was prevented by bee number three.
poem by Herbert Nehrlich
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Beautiful Bees
Bees be a buzzin a buzzin be the bee
but the only problem is there not buzzin in the fields.
Greed is the seed, the seed of which is greed
We've hurt the bees to meet our needs and treated them unfairly.
Money is the honey and the honey is the money.
They are slowly disappearing from all our interfering.
Stalling with the Pollen, the pollen that is stalling.
Please stop the pesticides and let it rest awhile.
Bees keep on buzzin, Keep on buzzin bees.
We need them for our future to build our family trees.
poem by Aine Carroll
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