Dearth Of Bees
Spring, and pretty flowers have opened up, even those
that pretend they are not in a loving disposition.
Not many bees around anymore because of chemicals
farmers spray on crops many have gone metro and lost
interest, fly low over still water so they can admire their
flying skill, or sit on the sunny wall of my house full of
self admiration; some hang languidly around a honey jar.
The few that still take interest in beautiful flowers are
exhausted and dropp dead long before the day is over.
Pretty flowers close petals over moist carpel and hope
for a better luck tomorrow.
poem by Oskar Hansen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Flowers
(orbison/dees)
When I was a boy I ran among the flowers
Looking left and right at the bright array
I played through the spring, whiled away the hours
Lingered with the flowers every day
Flowers, pretty flowers, flowers, lifes bouquet
Flowers, pretty flowers, flowers, along the way
Flowers, pretty flowers, flowers, lifes bouquet
Flowers, pretty flowers, flowers, along the way
When the summer ends and the storms of life are over
When the winter comes and the petals fall away
They may write it on my stone, he was just a roller
But he stopped to pick some flowers along the way
Flowers, pretty flowers, flowers, lifes bouquet
Flowers, picked some flowers, along the way
song performed by by Roy Orbison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Capeweed
Originally from South Africa and quite pretty indeed
Those flowers in Spring that cover the paddocks they are known as capeweed
With bright yellow petals and a dark brown heart
From all others quite easy to tell them apart.
Unwanted in Australia or 'twould seem that way
About them the farmers have no kinds words to say
But like thistles they survive deadly toxic spray
Though quite pretty to look at on a bright Spring day.
No strangers to the paddocks they are quite well known
And they have a beauty that is of their own
In late Winter and Spring in abundance to be seen
Their bright yellow flowers dapple Nature's own green.
The farmers cannot kill them off though hard they do try
And with each passing year they seem to multiply
In the paddocks they seem to dance in the breezes of Spring
When the weather is warming and the nesting birds sing.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Cut Flowers
If you love me - please never bring me cut flowers
Because I know that they will die soon after a few hours
I would feel that whatever the flowers represent
Would be equal to the time we have left to spend
Straight stems, soft petals and a lush green leaf
The hours and minutes are numbered - you better believe
Picking a flower is like a sure sentence to death
Like taking a fish out of water watching his last breath
Cut down their life brutally shortened with a sharp knife
All hope diminished knowing that they will not survive
Sure the flowers may get nourishment from the water in the vase
But their life is over as they know it in just a few days
So do not buy any cut flowers for me pretty please
I rather watch them outside visited by many bees
It is so beautiful to see them sway softly outside
And so sad to see them slowly die and lose their pride
© 2011
poem by Kristina Louisa Carr
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Armenian Folk-Song--The Partridge
As beats the sun from mountain crest,
With 'pretty, pretty',
Cometh the partridge from her nest;
The flowers threw kisses sweet to her
(For all the flowers that bloomed knew her);
Yet hasteneth she to mine and me--
Ah! pretty, pretty;
Ah! dear little partridge!
And when I hear the partridge cry
So pretty, pretty,
Upon the house-top, breakfast I;
She comes a-chirping far and wide,
And swinging from the mountain side--
I see and hear the dainty dear!
Ah! pretty, pretty;
Ah! dear little partridge!
Thy nest's inlaid with posies rare.
And pretty, pretty
Bloom violet, rose, and lily there;
The place is full of balmy dew
(The tears of flowers in love with you!)
And one and all impassioned call;
'O pretty, pretty--
O dear little partridge!'
Thy feathers they are soft and sleek--
So pretty, pretty!
Long is thy neck and small thy breast;
The color of thy plumage far
More bright than rainbow colors are!
Sweeter than dove is she I love--
My pretty, pretty--
My dear little partridge!
When comes the partridge from the tree,
So pretty, pretty!
And sings her little hymn to me,
Why, all the world is cheered thereby--
The heart leaps up into the eye,
And echo then gives back again
Our 'Pretty, pretty,'
Our 'Dear little partridge!'
Admitting the most blest of all
And pretty, pretty,
The birds come with thee at thy call;
In flocks they come and round they play,
And this is what they seem to say--
They say and sing, each feathered thing;
'Ah! pretty, pretty;
Ah! dear little partridge!'
poem by Eugene Field
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Purple Flowers
Purple Flowers
To my Violette
Memory;
Of my mother.
Alive and laughing pretty,
putting flowers in a vase,
water for the roots.
Why mommy, why do you do that?
A little boy full of wonder___
life can be like that.
So I can save them and see them,
because I love you.
Picking purple flowers,
purple flowers in the rain,
purle flowers hide my pain.
You do love me dont you mother,
purple flowers,
stain.
Charles R Hice
Copyright ©2006 Charles Hice
poem by Charles Hice
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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In dry Namaqualand
In dry Namaqualand, in the stretched out paradise,
there are pretty flowers showing their faces
that rise after the first rain in that semi-desert,
appearing for days long in colourful splendour
when the sun shines over the hillocks.
Early in the morning tourists come when the sun is out
when wild flowers year after year sprout again,
to leave in their busses in the late afternoon
in dry Namaqualand,
in this way farmers are visited without any sign of respect
are trampled upon by every jolly John with a vehicle license
and later the visitors become a pain
while the local farmers wish for the flowers to languish away
rather than to have to point them out
in dry Namaqualand.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Paper Flowers
You seem like a girl who likes to tell her bed is made
You seem like a girl who likes to wear her pearls
Well Im not the type who likes to dwell,
Save my money or kiss and tell, yeah
Oh why does she water them, paper flowers?
This girl walks up so graciously,
Slips something in my pocket so secretly,
I said: honey, whats this you gave to me?
Oh nothing, water, wait and see
I said: paper flowers, they cant grow!
Just giveem water and let me know,
Giveem water and let me know, giveem water
And let me know
Oh why does she water them, paper flowers?
Paper flowers...
Oh why does she water them, paper flowers?
Paper flowers...
Shes dressed in black as you can see,
She tries so damn hard to be the enemy,
Shes got big black boots, get outta her way,
She wants to kick tomorrow, punch yesterday,
Kick tomorrow, punch yesterday
Oh why does she water them, paper flowers?
Paper flowers...
Turn a light on, turn a different light on
Turn a light on, turn a different light on now
Turn a light on, turn a different light on
Turn a light on, turn a different light on now!
Oh why does she water them, paper flowers?
Paper flowers...
song performed by by Live
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dusty Springfield
(blossom dearie / norma tanega)
Dusty springfield, thats a pretty name
It even sounds like a game
In a green field, hobby horses play the dusty game when its may
Pink and paisley skies shining in green eyes
A magic pin wheel
London flowers in her hair
Dusty springfield
Silver starshine over crystal waters
Petals fall from her glance
Flowers sparkle
With a dew of morning, feathers float from her dance
Suddenly the songs the thing
Fill your cup, come to the spring
And youll stand so still
And youll feel the thrill
Dusty springfield, thats a pretty name
Pretty as a pearl
What a pretty girl
song performed by by Dusty Springfield
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Beautiful Camellias
The camellias bloom in Winter when the skies are cold and gray
When the sun shines at it's weakest and the Spring seems far away
Each tree an individual by the shade of flowers they bear
An avenue of camellias of one shade of flowers more often than not rare.
In shades of pink and creams and reds the colours one might name
Each is an individual for no two look the same
The beautiful camellias resplendent in their flowers
They bloom in lawn and garden on Winter's coldest hours.
In late fall in Victoria in the Southern Hemisphere
The flower buds on camellia tell Winter days are near
And before the wattles come to bloom towards the end of July
The flowers on the camellia tree lose their petals and die.
The beautiful camellias bloom in the cold winter showers
And long before the southern spring they will have lost their flowers
And on June's coldest and wettest day great beauty I can see
A mass of pink flowers blooming on the green camellia tree.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Love Spring
So Spring warm weather upon with you watch
bloom flowers: Tulip, Orchid, Cherry ect..
That awake Springtime beautiful blue sky
With me, feeling of peace with Spring
Pollen of the flowers trees everywhere
To let you know the Spring coming
Green grass with flowers fill us with joy
Outdoor full of activities
Spring gently warm our souls
To the Spring 's love within you and me forever.
poem by Natasa Tocuc
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Rose Tree Of Winter
In the cold winds of Winter she stands thorny and bare
In Summer large beautiful red flowers she did wear
The Rose tree of Winter not a pretty sight
At a time of year with litle warmth in the sunlight,
When the birds in the sunlit gardens will nest and sing
She will wear her new leaves and rosebuds of the Spring
As a tree the rose tree does not grow very tall
Compared to most trees she does seem very small
But in her full bloom none as lovely as she
In her cloak of flowers she's a beautiful tree
But in Winter she stands there by the garden wall
Of the garden trees the most forlorn one of all
And though it may still be a few months from the Spring
The white backed magpie on the blackwood tree sing
But without her leaves and flowers prickly looking and bare
The rose tree looks drab in the cool morning air.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Portulacca
As soon as I open my eyes,
I quietly rush to the balcony,
And watch with bated breath
As the Sun rises.
Dainty Portulacca come to life,
As if to say Hi.
In their vibrant hues and colours:
Yellow pink, red and orange flowers,
In small pots lined in a row,
Full of light and glow.
Enchanted, I watch them for a while
And feel happy and smile.
As I gently spray them with showers,
I am filled with a sense of wonder.
How these delicate flowers can be so sturdy,
And keep blooming despite hot dry winds,
Which makes us humans wilt,
I thought with a little guilt.
It’s really thoughtful of God,
To send these flowers when it’s so hot.
As the heat becomes too much to bear
These pretty flowers fill me with cheer.
poem by Mamta Agarwal
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Pink eucalyptus flowers
Pink eucalyptus flowers
(The flowers are out)
Are scented honey sweet
For bees to buzz about.
Pink eucalyptus flowers
(The flowers are out)
Are fair as any rose
For us to sing about.
poem by Lesbia Harford
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Ode to the Plum Blossom
Wind and rain escorted Spring's departure,
Flying snow welcomes Spring's return.
On the ice-clad rock rising high and sheer
A flower blooms sweet and fair.
Sweet and fair, she craves not Spring for herself alone,
To be the harbinger of Spring she is content.
When the mountain flowers are in full bloom
She will smile mingling in their midst.
Outside the post-house, beside the broken bridge, Alone, deserted, a flower blooms.
Saddened by her solitude in the falling dusk,
She is now assailed by wind and rain.
Let other flowers be envious!
She craves not Spring for herself alone.
Her petals may be ground in the mud,
But her fragrance will endure.
poem by Mao Zedong
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Active Bees Fly In The Garden
Beautiful flowers in the orchid,
Active bees fly in the garden round and round,
They are humming around each and every flower,
They go around smelling for honey flavor,
Are those flowers Poppy or Rose?
While the bees find lots of flower,
They are happy and dance forever,
They will consume lots of honey,
They will inebriate and buzz
as if consumed wine in a winery!
poem by V.K. Kanniappan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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To You My Beloved
The gate is ajar
The gate of my heart, fondly and lovely expectant
The gate is ajar
Roses are beautiful
Roses with petals and engraved with love
Roses are beautiful
My mother's milk
A taste so fresh from breasts like yours erect
My mother's milk
Honey is sweet
Done by bees with flowers' nectars
Honey is sweet
To you my beloved
My heart's love petals, sweet is a cool sunny day
To you my beloved.
poem by Charles Jagongo Ogola
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a Sheaf of red roses
Today I saw
a sheaf of red roses,
which a florist displayed.
The petals was still closed
and was fresh,
as if just cut from the trunk.
The roses were spread wildly
and something of their fragrance,
drifted outside in the air.
The flowers caught
various people’s eyes and some bees,
were flying around at the door.
I just had to get those flowers,
but remembered
that my darling loves sweet peas more.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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These Little Ones
'What of the garden I gave?'
God said to me;
'Hast thou been diligent to foster and save
The life of flower and tree?
How have the roses thriven,
The lilies I have given,
The pretty scented miracles that Spring
And Summer come to bring?
'My garden is fair and dear,'
I said to God;
'From thorns and nettles I have kept it clear.
Green-trimmed its sod.
The rose is red and bright,
The lily a live delight;
I have not lost a flower of all the flowers
That blessed my hours.'
'What of the child I gave?'
God said to me;
'The little, little one I died to save
And gave in trust to thee?
How have the flowers grown
That in its soul were sown,
The lovely living miracles of youth
And hope and joy and truth?'
'The child's face is all white,'
I said to God;
'It cries for cold and hunger in the night:
Its little feet have trod
The pavement muddy and cold.
It has no flowers to hold,
And in its soul the flowers you set are dead.'
'Thou fool!' God said.
poem by Edith Nesbit
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Violets
SENT IN A LITTLE BOX.
LET them lie, yes, let them lie,
They'll be dead to-morrow:
Lift the lid up quietly
As you'd lift the mystery
Of a shrouded sorrow.
Let them lie, the fragrant things,
Their sweet souls thus giving:
Let no breezes' ambient wings,
And no useless water-springs
Lure them into living.
They have lived--they live no more:
Nothing can requite them
For the gentle life they bore
And up-yielded in full store
While it did delight them.
Yet, poor flowers, not sad to die
In the hand that slew ye,
Did ye leave the open sky,
And the winds that wandered by,
And the bees that knew ye.
Giving up a small earth place,
And a day of blooming,
Here to lie in narrow space,
Smiling in this sickly face,
This dull air perfuming?
O my pretty violets dead,
Coffined from all gazes,
We will also smiling shed
Out of our flowers witherèd,
Perfume of sweet praises.
And as ye, for this poor sake,
Love with life are buying,
So, I doubt not, ONE will make
All our gathered flowers to take
Richer scent through dying.
poem by Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
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In This Garden
In this garden
In this beautiful garden
The flowers and the grass
The stones and the water
The sculptures and all art
Sing a song
A song of beauty
A song of harmony
A song of hope
The wind whistles gently
Is it to the east?
Or is it to the west?
I don’t know and I don’t need to know
All is so beautiful
Hush…
Hush humanity
Hush…
I can feel the scent on y nostrils
The scent of the flowers
The sound of the water nearby welcoming
Peace
In this garden
In this beautiful garden
With beautiful flowers
Where art lives
Hush
Play the music
Let the flowers live the music
Let the drums be heard
Let the music come to life
Play the music
Let it be heard here today
In this garden
In this beautiful garden
With very beautiful flowers
Where art comes to life
poem by Jack Shaka
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