Telling the bees
It was the year before last that
I started to notice it.
Bees wandered into the house
then didn’t remember the way back
Bees. Whose sense of direction used to be
great than any Indian scout;
as if mankind had lost its most valuable gift
-what might that be?
Scientists are still working on the reasons.
There were more lost bees last year;
when they’re half exhausted and quieten down,
staying on the window pane for a few second more,
I take a jam jar and a piece of paper
and take them to the door
talking to them as I did when
I buried that baby swallow when I was four;
indecipherable words that I would use
to a cat run over in the road,
a child in pain; some sort of sounds
of consolation for what’s beyond words anyway
that only music could express.
It’s ancient: you should talk to bees;
tell them of all that affects the house, the family;
when there’s a death, you put a piece of black cloth
on the hive. In return, they do things for you
that are beyond your notice or their explanation.
How can I tell them, we’re so sorry for you, we don’t know,
when we do we’ll tell you; it’s probably our fault,
chemicals and stuff. So far this year, only one
huge bumble-bee, I couldn’t catch it;
it hid from me. Perhaps they’ve learned
whatever it is they had forgotten;
perhaps they risked their lives
to warn us: you too have forgotten
something that could kill your species:
you too, have forgotten the way back…
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Related quotes
Wild bees, lost souls
The bees, this year,
have come before the swallows dare
and take the wings of April
inadvisedly;
ignoring the cloud of jasmine around the open door,
incurious, it seems, about the front garden’s offerings,
they swoop into the house,
take a left turn where the corridor gets darker,
and land up in the front room; where
they swoop again, then like lost souls
start for here and there, change flight-plan,
and end up nosing uselessly against the window
which doesn’t open; crawl a bit; and
surprisingly soon, fall down, on their backs,
legs folded in some final surrender
just enough like a human being, to chill…
I take the kitchen strainer
since it’s larger than a jam-jar, reaches further,
dab a touch of first-aid honey on the rim,
persuade them to settle on its promise,
and whisk them off to the front door,
tap them into freedom.
I thought that bees were focussed, busy, pretty bright,
with radar, iPods, mobile/ cell-phones all built in;
this year, they’re aimless as illegal immigrants
hoping to exist, but not to work..
surely even wild bees have a sense of home?
‘Go back where you came from…’ I yell at them
like some nationalist speaker at a rally…
there is now no Limbo for these lost souls, it seems;
bees, who through the centuries
were said to have close links to human souls…
it’s puzzling, disturbing, too close for comfort,
or for ignoring.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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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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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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Telling the Bees
Here is the place; right over the hill
Runs the path I took;
You can see the gap in the old wall still,
And the stepping-stones in the shallow brook.
There is the house, with the gate red-barred,
And the poplars tall;
And the barn's brown length, and the cattle-yard,
And the white horns tossing above the wall.
There are the beehives ranged in the sun;
And down by the brink
Of the brook are her poor flowers, weed-o'errun,
Pansy and daffodil, rose and pink.
A year has gone, as the tortoise goes,
Heavy and slow;
And the same rose blows, and the same sun glows,
And the same brook sings of a year ago.
There 's the same sweet clover-smell in the breeze;
And the June sun warm
Tangles his wings of fire in the trees,
Setting, as then, over Fernside farm.
I mind me how with a lover's care
From my Sunday coat
I brushed off the burrs, and smoothed my hair,
And cooled at the brookside my brow and throat.
Since we parted, a month had passed, --
To love, a year;
Down through the beeches I looked at last
On the little red gate and the well-sweep near.
I can see it all now, -- the slantwise rain
Of light through the leaves,
The sundown's blaze on her window-pane,
The bloom of her roses under the eaves.
Just the same as a month before, --
The house and the trees,
The barn's brown gable, the vine by the door, --
Nothing changed but the hives of bees.
Before them, under the garden wall,
Forward and back,
Went drearily singing the chore-girl small,
Draping each hive with a shred of black.
Trembling, I listened: the summer sun
Had the chill of snow;
For I knew she was telling the bees of one
Gone on the journey we all must go!
Then I said to myself, "My Mary weeps
For the dead to-day:
Haply her blind old grandsire sleeps
The fret and the pain of his age away."
But her dog whined low; on the doorway sill,
With his cane to his chin,
The old man sat; and the chore-girl still
Sung to the bees stealing out and in.
And the song she was singing ever since
In my ear sounds on: --
"Stay at home, pretty bees, fly not hence!
Mistress Mary is dead and gone!"
poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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House At Pooh Corner
Christopher robin and I walked along
As the branches lit up by the moon
Posing our questions to owl and eyore
As our days disappeared all too soon
But I wandered much farther today than I should
And I cant seem to find my way back to the woods
So help me if you can Ive got to get
Back to the house at pooh corner by one
Youd be surprised theres so much to be done
Count all the bees in the hive
Chase all the clouds from the sky
Back to the days of christopher robin and pooh
Winnie the pooh doesnt know what to do
Got a honey jar stuck on his nose
Now he came to me asking help and advice
And from here no one knows where he goes
So I sent him to ask of the owl if hes there
How to loosen a jar from the nose of a bear
So help me if you can Ive got to get
Back to the house at pooh corner by one
Youd be surprised theres so much to be done
Count all the bees in the hive
Chase all the clouds from the sky
Back to the days of christopher robin and pooh
So help me if you can Ive got to get
Back to the house at pooh corner by one
Youd be surprised theres so much to be done
Count all the bees in the hive
Chase all the clouds from the sky
Back to the days of christopher robin
Back to the ways of christopher robin
Back to the ways of pooh
song performed by by Indigo Girls
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Return To Pooh Corner
Christopher robin and I walked along
Under branches lit up by the moon
Posing our questions to owl and eeyore
As our days disappeared all too soon
But Ive wandered much further today than I should
And I cant seem to find my way back to the wood
So help me if you can
Ive got to get back
To the house at pooh corner by one
Youd be surprised
Theres so much to be done
Count all the bees in the hive
Chase all the clouds from the sky
Back to the days of christopher robin and pooh
Winnie the pooh doesnt know what to do
Got a honey jar stuck on his nose
He came to me asking help and advice
And from here no one knows where he goes
So I sent him to ask of the owl if hes there
How to loosen a jar from the nose of a bear
Its hard to explain how a few precious things
Seem to follow throughout all our lives
After alls said and done I was watching my son
Sleeping there with my bear by his side
So I tucked him in, I kissed him and as I was going
I swear that the old bear whispered boy welcome home
Believe me if you can
Ive finally come back
To the house at pooh corner by one
What do you know
Theres so much to be done
Count all the bees in the hive
Chase all the clouds from the sky
Back to the days of christopher robin
Back to the ways of christopher robin
Back to the days of pooh
song performed by by Kenny Loggins
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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House At Pooh Corner
Christopher Robin and I walked along
under branches lit up by the moon.
Posing our questions to owl and eeyore
as our days disappeared all too soon.
But I've wandered much further today than I should
and I can't seeem to find my way back to the wood.
So, help me if you can I've got to get
back to the house at Pooh corner by one.
You;d be surprized there's so much to be done,
count all the bees in the hive,
chase all the clouds from the sky.
Back to the days of Christopher Robin and Pooh.
Winnie the Pooh doesn't know what to do,
got a honey jar stuck on his nose.
He came to me asking help and advice
and from here no one knows where he goes.
So I sent him to ask of te Owl if he's there,
how to loosen a jar from the nose of a bear
So, help me if you can I've got to get
back to the house at Pooh corner by one
You'd be surprized there's so much to be done,
count all the bees in the hive,
chase all the clouds from the sky .
Back to the days of Christopher Robin and Pooh,
back to the days of Christopher Robin,
back to the ways of Pooh
song performed by by Kenny Loggins
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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The House At Pooh Corner
By kenny loggins
From uncle charlie and his dog teddy, liberty records, c1976
Christopher robin and I walked along,
Under branches lit up by the moon.
Posing our questions to owl and eeyore,
As the days disappeared far too soon.
Now I wandered much further today than I should,
And I cant find my way to the three-acre wood.
So help me if you can, Ive got to get
Back to the house at pooh corner by one.
Youll be surprised, theres so much to be done,
Count all the bees in the hive,
Chase all the clouds from the sky,
Back to the days of christopher robin,
And pooh.
Winnie the pooh doesnt know what to do,
Got a honey jar stuck on his nose.
He came to me asking help and advice,
And from here no one knows where he goes.
So I went in to ask of the owl, if hes there,
How to loosen a jar from the nose of a bear.
So help me if you can Ive got to get,
Back to the house at pooh corner by one.
Youll be surprised theres so much to be done,
Count all the bees in the hive,
Chase all the clouds from the sky,
Back to the days of christopher robin,
Back to the ways of christopher robin,
And pooh.
song performed by by Nitty Gritty Dirt Band
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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House At Pooh Corner
By kenny loggins
From uncle charlie and his dog teddy, liberty records, c1976
Christopher robin and I walked along,
Under branches lit up by the moon.
Posing our questions to owl and eeyore,
As the days disappeared far too soon.
Now I wandered much further today than I should,
And I cant find my way to the three-acre wood.
So help me if you can, Ive got to get
Back to the house at pooh corner by one.
Youll be surprised, theres so much to be done,
Count all the bees in the hive,
Chase all the clouds from the sky,
Back to the days of christopher robin,
And pooh.
Winnie the pooh doesnt know what to do,
Got a honey jar stuck on his nose.
He came to me asking help and advice,
And from here no one knows where he goes.
So I went in to ask of the owl, if hes there,
How to loosen a jar from the nose of a bear.
So help me if you can Ive got to get,
Back to the house at pooh corner by one.
Youll be surprised theres so much to be done,
Count all the bees in the hive,
Chase all the clouds from the sky,
Back to the days of christopher robin,
Back to the ways of christopher robin,
And pooh.
song performed by by Nitty Gritty Dirt Band
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Daring JearBear
He’s not the average scared bear,
He’s a bear that really dares.
Dares to climb high into the sky,
up to his tree house as bees fly by.
Bees flying around his honeycomb,
Really close to his tree house home.
He swats them away with his big bear claw,
Then he goes into his house and has a gnaw.
He naws on his favorite bite,
It’s a hamburgers filled with dust mites.
Then he goes to cut some zzzz’s
Then he starts to dream,
of funny things like buzzing bees.
Then he feels a sting,
it’s a real bee stinging his knee.
He jumps up and makes a roar,
he runs out his tree house door.
Jumps down to the ground
and jumps in the lake,
he feels relief and has a great day.
Written by Suzae Chevalier on September 20,2011
www.christinasunrise.com www.purplepoems.com
poem by Christina Sunrise
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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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Daring JearBear
He's not the average scared bear,
He's a bear that really dares.
Dares to climb high into the sky,
up to his tree house as bees fly by.
Bees flying around his honeycomb,
Really close to his tree house home.
He swats them away with his big bear claw,
Then he goes into his house and has a gnaw.
He naws on his favorite bite,
It's a hamburgers filled with dust mites.
Then he goes to cut some zzzz's
Then he starts to dream,
of funny things like buzzing bees.
Then he feels a sting,
it's a real bee stinging his knee.
He jumps up and makes a roar,
he runs out his tree house door.
Jumps down to the ground
and jumps in the lake,
he feels relief and has a great day.
Written by Suzae Chevalier on September 20,2011
poem by Suzae Chevalier
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Thousand Pieces
When I was born
My heart's shattered
Into thousand pieces
That's why
In my life
I always search my lost pieces
One by one
I look for it in many places
Piece by piece
I found it in many hearts
It is strange
Even though I
Never experience before
I feel like
I have known it
For a very long time
Memories
Favorites
Dreams
Fe elings
One by one
I collected many puzzles
Year by year
I got it back in many ways
Desires
Wills
Vows
Reasons
One by one
I take through many wounds
Piece by piece
I keep it in many stars
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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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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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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Family Forgiveness
Forgiven not forgotten that is,
The way it has to be.
For the teen that use to be,
The nine year old girl whom eyes now,
Turn to water falls with the site of the bedroom,
Her daddy not to long ago tucked her in for the night,
And her little brother and her shared their pillow fights.
Forgiven not forgotten that is,
The way it has to be.
For that teenage girl,
Knowing that her sister,
Her own bloods hand constructed all of this,
Makes it even more heart breaking.
Even after all this time has gone by,
That same teenage girl can’t understand,
Why would her own blood destroy,
Her real dads house after he is dead.
The disrespect lay there so apparent,
green and in dirt.
Forgiven not forgotten that is,
The way it has to be.
For destroying all that is left,
For destroying all that you were holding on too.
Once to be a respectable mans,
Nine year old girls play house,
But now is only just a house of pot.
Forgiven not forgotten that is,
The way it has to be,
Because she is my sister, and I have to.
It is in the contract,
And my conscience tells me so.
This will always be,
Forgiven but not forgotten.
poem by Mrs. Cynosure
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For Reasons Ive Forgotten
(written by jamie ohara)
For reasons Ive forgotten now
We brought love to an end
Aint it funny how the little things
Seemed so big back then
Damn the pride that makes me want
To break instead of bend
For reasons Ive forgotten now
I lost my one true friend
Its lonely tonight
Lookin back on yesterday
Seein the fool I was
Feelin the price Ive paid
And the crazy thing about it is
I dont even remember
Who was right
Who was wrong
For reasons Ive forgotten now
We brought love to an end
Aint it funny how the little things
Seemed so big back then
Damn the pride that makes me want
To break instead of bend
For reasons Ive forgotten now
I lost my one true friend
song performed by by Trisha Yearwood
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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