En.Citatepedia^®.ro

The Bee with Honey Combs her Hair

The Bee with honey combs her hair
with yellow pollen pads,
in honour of the sun’s gold glare,
the golden pollen adds.

This she applies with special care –
‘tis one of her few fads –
to head and thorax, everywhere,
which her detractors mads.

Nectarine nectar necklace fair,
demanded by ‘light winged dryads’,
and furred abdomen cincture rare
masks caudad sting with which she’s clad.

Antennae waving in the air
send signals by the chiliad,
she has ‘no time to sit and stare’
copes, mopes not in jeremiads

Ant’s industry, with more to spare,
hive spirit strives without gonads
for common weal, she’ll, feeling, share -
an asset all admirers glads.

Sweetness for the shaggy bear,
hyrdromel for fair maenads,
without this worker who would bear?
who gold dust to hamadryads?

That she’s so fair and debonair
as on her jaunts she gads,
while they forbear their wings to tear, -
this each among them sads.

Thus idle drones to deep despair
she, heartless, drives, - poor lads -
in swarm-storm buzz, [s]trum_pet the air
in concert, tuned like strads.

How’er they fare, their one nightmare –
benighted Galahads -
is their reget so few can share
the joys of being dads!

The royal jelly she’ll prepare
with care so myriads
of future generations fare
as well as she by gad s!

poem by Jonathan Robin
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The Bear and the Hare

The bear is always bare. I have never seen a bear who was not bare. Or does he or she wear a coat of hair? Where does he or she go to buy a coat of hair so that he or she won't be a bare bear? Coats cost money. Bare bears have no money.

But bears eat honey. Even bare bears eat honey. And this bear had a honey who wanted a coat of hair. So when she said to her honey, 'Honey, I want a coat of hair, but I have no money.', her honey replied, 'Honey, I have no money to buy a coat of hair. But I do have honey. Maybe I can sell my honey for money.' So he sold his honey for money so that his honey could have some money to buy a coat of hair and not be a bare bear.

This bear had a friend who was a hare. This hare has hair. Is he bare? He is not a bare bear but a hare and hares have hair. But he is a funny bunny and likes a sunny spot even when it is hot because he like to have fun in the sun. But this funny bunny could not find a sunny spot to go to have fun in the sun until one day a fair came to town.

The bear and hare of course went to the fair. What a pair! The fair was quite far so the bare bear and the hare with the hair decided to ride the street car. To ride the street car, they had to pay a fare. I say that was quite an affair - to see the bare bear and the hair paying for their fare. The bare bear had no pockets in which to carry any fare. The funny bunny had no honey to sell to get some money to pay the fare so that he could go to the fair. The fare cost ten cents. But that makes no sense. It isn't fair to make a bear who is bare and has no pockets to hold a fare or a funny bunny who has no honey to get money to pay a fare to go to the fair.

Subsequently, the bare bear barely got on the street car after the funny bunny hopped on, the bare bear and the hair were there sitting in chairs riding in the street car to the fair without paying any fare. Along the way they saw a mare. They did not care about the mare. They wanted to get to the fair. Have you every seen a bare bear sitting in a chair? I once saw a bare bear sitting in a chair at a fair but he wasn't bare.

To get into the fair the bare bear and the hair had to pay another fare. And still the bare bear had no money to pay any fare to get into the fair. And the funny bunny had no money to pay any fare to get into the fair. So what did they do? How did they get into the fair? As I said, I saw the bare bear sitting in a chair at the fair but he wasn't bare.

Tell me if this is a poem. Thanks.

poem by Ben Gieske
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Satire II: En Excedent 'Ca Va' (Un Bout de Semiologie) 'Fare Fair' Excess (A Semiological Dig)

'Demandez vous de moi, 'Ca va? '? ' 'Ask of me, 'Fare fair? '? '
'Ca va? ...Ca va? ' 'Fare fair? ...Fare fair? '
'Ca va....Ca va? ' 'Fare fair....Fare fair? '
'Tout va.' 'All fair.'
'Beaucoup trop 'Ca va'.' 'Much too much 'Fare fair'.'
'Un 'Tout va'.' 'One 'All fair'.'
'O! la! la! le temps! ' 'O! la! la! the time! '
'Helas! un n'est pas tout va! ' 'Alas! One is not all fair! '
'Adieu! Mon Dieu! ' 'Good bye! My God! '
'Il est, et est Temps.' 'He is, and is Time.'

poem by Douglas Scotney
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58

Butterfly, butterfly
you live up there
high up in the sky
steer and you veer you
there and here
flower to flower-
dine on fairy fare
and nectar-water
apparently without a care;
all time defy
living on family gold-
isn't it really time
you had a caterpiller?
Beware the coming cold.
It isn't fair.
If you, too, were
stuck with hair
with only half my sucker power
and saw clear
on carrion to feed
you too could vermin breed
sure and awfully sure, I'm
sure that if you only tried
you could be
a bug like me
annoying everyone
always on the outside
trying to sneak in
or the inside on
longing to get out
anger self justified
seeming not to care-
Shape up or you're done for
there, Butterfly-
Yours, in envy and despair,

Fly.

poem by Morgan Michaels
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The Respectable Burgher on "The Higher Criticism"

Since Reverend Doctors now declare
That clerks and people must prepare
To doubt if Adam ever were;
To hold the flood a local scare;
To argue, though the stolid stare,
That everything had happened ere
The prophets to its happening sware;
That David was no giant-slayer,
Nor one to call a God-obeyer
In certain details we could spare,
But rather was a debonair
Shrewd bandit, skilled as banjo-player:
That Solomon sang the fleshly Fair,
And gave the Church no thought whate'er;
That Esther with her royal wear,
And Mordecai, the son of Jair,
And Joshua's triumphs, Job's despair,
And Balaam's ass's bitter blare;
Nebuchadnezzar's furnace-flare,
And Daniel and the den affair,
And other stories rich and rare,
Were writ to make old doctrine wear
Something of a romantic air:
That the Nain widow's only heir,
And Lazarus with cadaverous glare
(As done in oils by Piombo's care)
Did not return from Sheol's lair:
That Jael set a fiendish snare,
That Pontius Pilate acted square,
That never a sword cut Malchus' ear
And (but for shame I must forbear)
That -- -- did not reappear! . . .
- Since thus they hint, nor turn a hair,
All churchgoing will I forswear,
And sit on Sundays in my chair,
And read that moderate man Voltaire.

poem by Thomas Hardy
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After Death

THE FOUR boards of the coffin lid
Heard all the dead man did.

The first curse was in his mouth,
Made of grave’s mould and deadly drouth.

The next curse was in his head,
Made of God’s work discomfited.

The next curse was in his hands,
Made out of two grave-bands.

The next curse was in his feet,
Made out of a grave-sheet.

“I had fair coins red and white,
And my name was as great light;

I had fair clothes green and red,
And strong gold bound round my head.

But no meat comes in my mouth,
Now I fare as the worm doth;

And no gold binds in my hair,
Now I fare as the blind fare.

My live thews were of great strength,
Now am I waxen a span’s length;

My live sides were full of lust,
Now are they dried with dust.”

The first board spake and said:
“Is it best eating flesh or bread?”

The second answered it:
“Is wine or honey the more sweet?”

The third board spake and said:
“Is red gold worth a girl’s gold head?”

The fourth made answer thus:
“All these things are as one with us.”

The dead man asked of them:
“Is the green land stained brown with flame?

Have they hewn my son for beasts to eat,
And my wife’s body for beasts’ meat?

Have they boiled my maid in a brass pan,
And built a gallows to hang my man?”

The boards said to him:
“This is a lewd thing that ye deem.

Your wife has gotten a golden bed,
All the sheets are sewn with red.

Your son has gotten a coat of silk,
The sleeves are soft as curded milk.

Your maid has gotten a kirtle new,
All the skirt has braids of blue.

Your man has gotten both ring and glove,
Wrought well for eyes to love.”

The dead man answered thus:
“What good gift shall God give us?”

The boards answered him anon:
“Flesh to feed hell’s worm upon.”

poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
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Pair_Con_Fection

His love paired teamed perfection
with which no dreams compare,
so seemed, upon reflection,
an idyll bright, right rare.

Synaptic thought deflection
sped thoughts led on to pear
where one plus one reflection
begun with perfect pair.

He, after introspection,
decided then and there
into two parts he'd section
fruit for cute beaut to share.

Two parts two hearts' confection
apportioned as in pair, -
the first for her selection,
the second layer his prayer.

The inner her inspection
entrusted with due care,
the outer, - his election -
was not the choicest fare.

He offered for delection
fine fruit to lady fair,
the outer skin's defection
pear pared, prepared, dared dare.

Alas he met rejection
which led into despair,
and then to lead dejection -
more than one man should bear.

Here's no talk of erection,
nor censorship to spare,
the case cites misdirection -
not going anywhere

because one man's projection,
however debonair,
may lose sense of direction
if heart, mind, three make there.

The moral in connection
with these lines - be aware -
‘ware snare before detection
of core accord, beware!

Another recollection
in good stead stands who'd spare
his days from genuflection
in jail cell solitaire.

Advance with circumspection,
don't venture unaware,
avoid brash interjection
deserving angry stare.

Where peach and cream complexion
is apple's eye, if there
heart's spurned then wormed affection
turns to snare none repair.

Life's light verse in[ter]jection
between dark, dark - joy rare
where there's no resurrection
to compensate for care.

No 'au pair' for compensation
leads to story's swift cessation
waiting Reader's approbation,
welcoming congratulation.

(7 May 2008)

poem by Jonathan Robin
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As I Enjoy the Joy of Knowing You

AS I ENJOY THE JOY OF KNOWING YOU
Nestor endured two hundred years despair
Awaiting joy, anticipating you.
Tristan Isolde took within his care
As compensation for not knowing you.
Sweet Capulet with Montagu did share,
Hero Lysander loved, - both ill did fare,
As neither knew the joy of knowing you.
Nature rests its case, perfection fair,
As now I know the joy of knowing you.
To be! - a miracle beyond compare,
As I enjoy the the joy of knowing you.
Soul sends to soul, serenity to share
Here on this earth as shed is every care,
All through true joy of knowing you for YOU!

poem by Jonathan Robin
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Seasons of My Love

I loved a maid as fair as summer, with sunrise in her hair
There lived no other in the world could in my heart compare
Her eyes were stars of midnight bliss, her laugh a meadow breeze
I would have done all that she asked, so quick was I to please

I loved a maid as red as autumn, with sunset in her hair
Embraced in velvet lullabies, such sweetness did we share
We were all we ever had but we were wild and free
And in the lands you would not find a soul as lark as me

I loved a maid as white as winter, with snowflakes in her hair
The seasons of our love had both a beauty and despair
Two hearts that beat as one were we, our song was meant to be
And in the skies you would not find a dove as spry as she

I loved a maid as bright as spring, with blossoms in her hair
I loved her fierce, I loved her true, we were doomed; we did not care
The hands of time would take from me, even she was not to spare
In the whispers of my dreams, I still see my maiden fair

poem by Leonard Snow
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Awning

Responding to the soul that seeks true Way
One sees shared light, delights that prayer, prey,
Occupy space better traced in play
Mending blending.

Whimsical the beat that spurns defeat
Impounding sounds still striving to complete
Timeless aspirations. Why compete?
Hands spread for giving.

Outcast is care as fair life’s future fare
Turnaround Cause and Effect prepare,
Dreams revive, alive, revile despair
Omens rough refelting.

Of night’s perils none remain despite
Regrets on others often lost when flight
Simpler seemed than search. Views flash insight
Rare, stop brash pretending.

One scent Life tracked is turning cold,
One more for you new cards could hold,
Maybe to free, in key, behold
Wor[l]dwide ranging.

In tandem totems false could be
Topsy-turvy turned, to see
Humanity, so much at sea,
Outreach beginning.

Unhestatingly this rhyme,
Tale tells to welcome well sublime
Drives out vainglory’s storied crime, -
One never-ending.

On thought-frame polychrome fair maid’s
Renaissance resonates as fades
Spineless cynicism’s spades
Restrictions ending.

Eyes again are open wide,
SPin from confusion, hope denied,
ONce more to core beliefs inside -
SEnd signals worth defending…

poem by Jonathan Robin
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Dink's Song

(b.gibson/b.lomax/j.lomax)
This is a blues traditional that has been performed also by bob dylan. jeff performed it several times in his concerts, and he performed it also live on-air for the music faucet, a wfmu radio broadcast, on october 11 1992.
If i had wings like noah's dove
I'd fly up the river to the one i love
Fare thee well, my honey, fare thee well
If i met your man, who was long and tall
I'd hit his body like a cannon ball
Fare thee well, my honey, fare thee well
One of these days and it won't be long
Call my name and i'll be gone
Fare thee well, my honey, fare thee well
I remember one night, a drizzling rain
Round my heart i felt an achin' pain
Fare thee well, oh honey, fare thee well
When i wore my apron low
Couldn't keep you from my do'
Fare thee well, my honey, fare thee well
Now i wear my apron high
Scarcely ever see you passing by
Fare thee well, my honey, fare thee well
Now my apron's up to my chin
You pass my door and you won't come in
Fare thee well, oh honey, fare thee well
If i had listened to what my mama said
I'd be at home in my mama's bed
Fare thee well, oh honey, fare thee well

song performed by by Jeff Buckley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Airtalk

One, two, three, four, five, six.
Its sad that air is the only thing we share,
No matter how close we are theres always air between us.
Its also nice that airs something we all share,
No matter how far apart we are an air links us.
Its sad that past is something we can never share,
No matter how close we are the past is between us.
But its also nice that without the past
Wed have never known each other,
No matter how far apart we are it brought us together.
Yes, its very nice to have someone to share,
Theres something very nice to have someone to care.
We may not share our past but we have our future to share.
Its sad that life is such a heavy thing to bear,
No matter how close we are its easy to despair.
Its also nice that you and I know its what we all share,
No matter how far apart we are we can learn to care.
Theres something very nice to have something to share,
Theres something very nice to have someone to care.
We may not share our bodies but we have our minds to share.
Yes, theres something very nice to have something to care,
Theres something very nice to have someone to share.
We may not share our language but we have the world to share.

song performed by by Yoko Ono
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Airtalk

One, two, three, four, five, six.
Its sad that air is the only thing we share,
No matter how close we are theres always air between us.
Its also nice that airs something we all share,
No matter how far apart we are an air links us.
Its sad that past is something we can never share,
No matter how close we are the past is between us.
But its also nice that without the past
Wed have never known each other,
No matter how far apart we are it brought us together.
Yes, its very nice to have someone to share,
Theres something very nice to have someone to care.
We may not share our past but we have our future to share.
Its sad that life is such a heavy thing to bear,
No matter how close we are its easy to despair.
Its also nice that you and I know its what we all share,
No matter how far apart we are we can learn to care.
Theres something very nice to have something to share,
Theres something very nice to have someone to care.
We may not share our bodies but we have our minds to share.
Yes, theres something very nice to have something to care,
Theres something very nice to have someone to share.
We may not share our language but we have the world to share.

song performed by by Yoko Ono
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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An Ode

WHAT boots it to be great?
To live in royal state
And feast with kings,
Since now all things
One doom await?
5
What boots it to be fair?
Sweet eyes and golden hair,
And youthful bloom,
Since in the tomb
All foulness there?
10
To live in royal state—
That is not to be great;
Sweet eyes and golden hair—
That is not to be fair.
What is it to be great?
15
Content with thine estate;
To serve thy God and King
In everything—
That is it to be great.
What is it to be fair?
20
Sweet modesty to wear;
To keep thine honour sure,
Thy bosom pure—
That is it to be fair.
Much boots it to be great,
25
Much boots it to be fair.

poem by Frederick George Scott
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Faith Flights To Flower Heavens

heart muscles surrounded in a reservoir of blood
pollen call is rainbow pot of gold to El Dorado
vessels of golden one flower air in fertilization
flights seed flowers in colours shapes miraculous

heavens ablaze with colour shape smell lure scent
heaven promise nectar pollen rewards await joy flight
heaven wing tips away thick bee hair pile insulation
heaven journey flights thick pile warm in cold weather

bumble bees fly flight build up electrostatic charge
flowers well grounded pollen lured electrostatically
attracted compelled to bumble bees pile when lands
pollen covered bee enter flower heaven charge pollen

pollen charged priority preferentially attracted to stigma
stigma better grounded than other parts of visit flower
wealth amassed pollen all mother load easy pick treasure
bumble bee pollination gifts life to seed crops wildflowers

Copyright © Terence George Craddock
See also the poems ‘Flights Of Impossibility’ and ‘Pollen Call Is Rainbow Pot Of Gold To El Dorado’.

poem by Terence George Craddock
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Unanswered Letters

Unanswered Letters
Written by: Wilfred Mellers, Friday, January 28,2011 @ 6: 22 AM

She has made it apparently clear
The letters that I write falls on a deaf ear
What have I done wrong I’m not aware
For the love I feel inside is still there

If only I knew I could’ve made it better
She refuses to now answer my letter
Her love fit me like a warm cozy sweater
Haunting my dreams for I cannot forget her

Like a stifling man needing air
Attitude given is so unfair
Without you I am nowhere
For no other woman to you can compare

Not hearing from you is like a nightmare
My eyes for you I will impair
In the midday sun I will stare
For life without you I cannot bear

My solemn oath to you I do swear
Wanting you for life for we are the perfect pair
Moments of heavenly delights we do share
A better life for us I came back to prepare

Questions asked do I dare?
Is it your intention to give me a scare?
Are you taking your love elsewhere?
Has my circles now turned square?

I was always looking out for your welfare
My precious gem found so rare
This is leaving me in utter despair
My heart is in need of a desperate repair

Hurting so badly if you are unaware
On my sleeves my heart I wear
Down the middle of my soul there is a tear
Broken my heart for I have not a spare

This to me is not fair
Each night I recite for you a prayer
My spirit now bound to a wheelchair
My love for you I’ll always declare

No more do I hear the fanfare
No one is longer home when I get there
Broken are all the drums of snare
I lay back in my lonely armchair
The lust for life I no longer care

poem by Wilfred Mellers
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Shall I Wasting in Despair

Shall I wasting in despair
Die because a woman's fair?
Or make pale my cheeks with care
'Cause another's rosy are?
Be she fairer than the day,
Or the flow'ry meads in May,
If she be not so to me,
What care I how fair she be?

Shall my heart be griev'd or pin'd
'Cause I see a woman kind?
Or a well-disposed nature
Joined with a lovely feature?
Be she meeker, kinder, than
Turtle dove or pelican,
If she be not so to me,
What care I how kind she be?

Shall a woman's virtues move
Me to perish for her love?
Or her well-deserving known
Make me quite forget mine own?
Be she with that goodness blest
Which may gain her name of best
If she be not such to me,
What care I, how good she be?

'Cause her fortune seems too high
Shall I play the fool and die?
Those that bear a noble mind,
Where they want of riches find,
Think what with them they would
That without them dare to woo;
And unless that mind I see,
What care I how great she be?

Great, or good, or kind, or fair,
I will ne'er the more despair;
If she love me, this believe,
I will die ere she shall grieve;
If she slight me when I woo,
I can scorn and let her go;
For if she be not for me,
What care I for whom she be?

poem by George Wither
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Song II

Shall I, wasting in despair,
Die, because a woman's fair?
Or make pale my cheeks with care
'Cause another's rosy are?
Be she fairer than the day,
Or the flow'ry meads in May;
If she be not so to me,
What care I how fair she be.

Should my heart be grieved or pined
'Cause I see a woman kind?
Or a well-disposèd nature
Joinèd with a lovely creature?
Be she meeker, kinder than
Turtle-dove or pelican:
If she be not so to me,
What care I how kind she be.

Shall a woman's virtues move
Me to perish for her love?
Or, her well-deserving known,
Make me quite forget mine own?
Be she with that goodness blest
Which may gain her name of best
If she be not such to me,
What care I how good she be.

'Cause her fortune seems too high,
Shall I play the fool and die?
Those that bear a noble mind,
Where they want or riches find,
Think what with them they would do
That without them dare to woo.
And unless that mind I see,
What care I though great she be.

Great, or good, or kind, or fair,
I will ne'er the more despair;
If she love me, this believe,
I will die ere she shall grieve.
If she slight me, when I woo,
I can scorn, and let her go.
For, if she be not for me,
What care I for whom she be.

poem by George Wither
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The Manly Heart

Shall I, wasting in despair,
Die because a woman's fair?
Or my cheeks make pale with care
'Cause another's rosy are?
Be she fairer than the day
Or the flowery meads in May --
If she be not so to me,
What care I how fair she be?

Shall my foolish heart be pined
'Cause I see a woman kind;
Or a well dispos-ed nature
Join-ed with a lovely feature?
Be she meeker, kinder, than
Turtle-dove or pelican,
If she be not so to me,
What care I how kind she be?

Shall a woman's virtues move
Me to perish for her love?
Or her merit's value known
Make me quite forget mine own?
Be she with that goodness blest
Which may gain her name of Best;
If she seem not such to me,
What care I how good she be?

'Cause her fortune seems too high,
Shall I play the fool and die?
Those that bear a noble mind
Where they want of riches find,
Think what with them they would do
Who without them dare to woo;
And unless that mind I see,
What care I though great she be?

Great or good, or kind or fair,
I will ne'er the more despair;
If she love me, this believe,
I will die ere she shall grieve;
If she slight me when I woo,
I can scorn and let her go;
For if she be not for me,
What care I for whom she be?

poem by George Wither
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Sonnet XV

Dear Mansergh! Of the few this breast who share,
And share in pitying sympathy its woe,
You best my vast excess of passion know,
And all the sorrow I am doom'd to bear,
While thoughts can present with the past compare.
Shall memory e'er that summer-day forego,
When thy fair Mate did every care bestow,
And vermeil fruits and fragrant wreaths prepare,
In honour of my Child, to dress the bower!
And when the sweet epitome of grace
Tripp'd o'er the walks, and honied every flower,
You mark'd the opening beauties of her face;
Mark'd how my captured soul was lost in love,
And trembled for the dire reverse I prove.

poem by Brooke Boothby
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Independent Bee

A hive of bees, as I've heard say,
Said to their Queen one sultry day,
"Please your Majesty's high position,
The hive is full and the weather is warm,
We rather think, with a due submission,
The time has come when we ought to swarm."
Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz.
Up spake their Queen and thus spake she -
"This is a matter that rests with me,
Who dares opinions thus to form?
I'LL tell you when it is time to swarm!"
Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz.

Her Majesty wore an angry frown,
In fact, her Majesty's foot was down -
Her Majesty sulked - declined to sup -
In short, her Majesty's back was up.
Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz.
Her foot was down and her back was up!

That hive contained one obstinate bee
(His name was Peter), and thus spake he -
"Though every bee has shown white feather,
To bow to tyranny I'm not prone -
Why should a hive swarm all together?
Surely a bee can swarm alone?"
Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz.
Upside down and inside out,
Backwards, forwards, round about,
Twirling here and twisting there,
Topsy turvily everywhere -
Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz.
Pitiful sight it was to see
Respectable elderly high-class bee,
Who kicked the beam at sixteen stone,
Trying his best to swarm alone!
Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz.
Trying his best to swarm alone!

The hive were shocked to see their chum
(A strict teetotaller) teetotum -
The Queen exclaimed, "How terrible, very!
It's perfectly clear to all the throng
Peter's been at the old brown sherry.
Old brown sherry is much too strong -
Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz.
Of all who thus themselves degrade,
A stern example must be made,
To Coventry go, you tipsy bee!"
So off to Coventry town went he.
Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz.
There, classed with all who misbehave,
Both plausible rogue and noisome knave,
In dismal dumps he lived to own
The folly of trying to swarm alone!
Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz.
All came of trying to swarm alone.

poem by William Schwenck Gilbert
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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