Each develops what others want
Why should a flower have colour?
Why should it have odour or nectar?
Why must it, for bee, have flavour?
It needs bees that are with fervour.
12.08.2001, Pkd
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Into it all the same.
At a distance, a flower is noted by its colour.
Once into it, the purpose of the colour is over.
Only the nectar of the flower matters.
Pleasure is drawn in churning to honey the nectar.
A wise man makes variety from his clay
rather than buying varying makes.
23.05.2001, Pmdi
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Learning from the honey bee
Look at the bees
And learn something
They yearn for others
as busy bees
Together in swarms they fly along
To find gardens together they throng
From flower to flower
From nectar to nectar
Serving their queen bee with compassion
Caring for their young ones in devotion
They toil and toil
From flower to seed
To gather honey honey so sweet
Just to serve just to yearn
A tiny insect makes us learn
Its God Command to serve and earn
Give good to others
And get so in return
Be like the bees to find the truth
Of being happy and to find God's love
Be like a bee and be like the bees
Being for others and nothing above
poem by Rehanayakoob Yakoob
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Nectar turns honey
Nectar in the flower turns honey
Through the mouth of bees.
Truth is like nectar.
We get it as honey from the mouth [of people]
12.04.2008
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Born to blossom
A girl is born to blossom and conceive
And is set to lure every boy with her waves,
For which she is endowed with some features
As every flower blossoms with some fortunes.
May be she is a lotus, well cut in contour,
Or a rose, fair and lovely to encounter,
Or an oleander with flavour in her manner.
Some are born like lily, white and bright,
Or like a wild flower, full of talents,
Or one in a bunch, known for her clan,
And in the case of a diminutive one,
It’s a flower with colourful brackets.
When she is none of the above
Comes to her rescues her youth in glow
As comes to any flower the nectar in flow.
Each one has some features
to serve its race a purpose.
06.08.96
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Draw eyes, mind and hear
The shape is the petal to lure the eyes.
The grace is the odour to purr the mind.
The love is the nectar to hooks the heart.
Three in one, a flower gets soon pollinated.
04.11.2002
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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When I look at the world around me
Pink, red and purple geraniums
that flower in the garden,
cannot grow without sunlight
and water.
Still, every different flower
has an own colour, a different odour
and the texture of flower cups
and the time that buds last
are different.
When I look at the world around me,
I know how a part
of You’re great omnipotence looks
and I see flowers dazzling everywhere,
to pay homage to You
from who
every thing comes
and every plant and flower
leaves me dumbstruck with beauty.
In all things, Your love is unlimited
and the greatness of Your works
tells me that I‘m also part
of Your making
and that all things fit somewhere
in Your universe.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Flower of Delight
Enter my flower
love becomes an open door
into my hearts way
Once again I come
drinking in your sweet nectar
flower of delight
Color my dreams blue
enter my lovely flower
in the morning dew.
I melt in nectar
of this beautiful flower
she overwhelmes me.
poem by Heather Burns
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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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Visual prostitutions
Be Air Hostess, Nurses,
Receptionists, Frontline Officers,
News Readers, TV. Announcers,
Personal Assistances
Not to say about Models and Dancers,
All women, comely women,
To add colour to the premises,
To spray flavour to the masses,
And to spray odour to the bosses.
A mere visual prostitution.
No less than pimps.
Egress of lust for women.
24.07.2000, Paralskhemundi
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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On A Faded Violet
I.
The odour from the flower is gone
Which like thy kisses breathed on me;
The colour from the flower is flown
Which glowed of thee and only thee!
II.
A shrivelled, lifeless, vacant form,
It lies on my abandoned breast,
And mocks the heart which yet is warm,
With cold and silent rest.
III.
I weep,--my tears revive it not!
I sigh,--it breathes no more on me;
Its mute and uncomplaining lot
Is such as mine should be.
poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
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My Lovely Flower
I thank God for my lovely flower
For there are millions who are ignorant of her existance,
The enchanting aroma that is with her,
Or her charm that makes me to always keep thinking,
I am fascinated that she was wonderfully made,
Then just kept for me to find one day.
Seeing her is like waking up at dawn to bath in the Sun's rays
She has harmless attraction like a colorful butterfly,
Or a bright flower always sort by the bees for it's beauty,
Not forgetting it's sweet nectar also!
That is my sweet Sweetie.
The flower is far from me and I cannot smell the aroma now,
Last night I went to dreamland where I hoped to find my flower Then I woke up this morning to melodious sounds,
Sounds of chirping birds in the nearby tree as if to praise her,
Thinking about my flower.
I want to tend and care for this flower,
So that she may produce more flowers like herself,
O flower! Remain that lovely forever.
poem by Nyota Yasulwe
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Worries Of A Flower!
Beautiful bees and butterflies,
Roaming around me for my nectar,
In such a drunken stupor,
Stealing away my treasure,
To decide the fate of another flower,
Whether it is going to wilt as a virgin,
Or get pollinated by these urchins.
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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Let's Walk Through This Garden
Come, my beloved, let us walk through this garden
Where lots of bees enchanting with the nature
Life of bees has got the life in the heaven
And placed it on the peach and citrus tree
Let us follow the footprint of those bees
Who has walked miles over the mountain?
The mountain to draw nectar high above the cool plain
Let us go into the fields, my beloved,
For the time of those who left to harvest
Seed of love has sowed into this garden
As the spirit nourishes the grain of joy with love in burden
Let us hear the melodies of the wind touch the wings
Let's sit beside this flower and pursue their exchange of the sweetness of kisses.
Let us go into the next field, my beloved,
Let's us not fill our heart with joy of sadness
Bees are yet to shed tears for those who have already lost their heavies
Under the forced of the whispering wind
Let us tend the bloom of the earth
Let us make the flowers our happiest heaven
Let us relax after the day's toil,
And listen to the murmur of the provoke bees
Rather parting with old acquaintance.
Oh! Let us return to our dwelling, my beloved!
For the wind has caused the yellow leaves to fall;
And shroud the withering flower that whisper elegy to the bees
Come my beloved, come close to me since nature has just wearied
And bidding her enthusiasm farewell.
With quiet and content sorrow
Come close to me beloved; come too closed to me.
Let us speak glory of our heart,
For that is greater than the sorrow of the bees
Lost her heaves in the flower garden
Under the force of the merciless whispering wind.
poem by Kezang Dawa
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Marriage is to bind.
A moth has no desire for the flower he had visited.
A man has less desire for the woman he had tasted.
A moth wants its nectar. A man wants discovery.
That is why he is tied to her by marriage.
20.03.2001, pmdi
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Tart
Hear silver trumpets will trill in Arabic streets of Seville
Oranges roll in the gutter
And you pick them up
And peel back the skin
To the red fruit within
But the flavour is
Tart
And the flavour is
Tart
Is it something you crave?
And you say that you only feel bitterness
When you know it's a lie, lie, lie
Wild with a blackberry bush
There were blossoms of cherries to crush
There, at the edge of the asphalt tempting fingertips
They stain your hand, press too hard
They'll colour your lips
But the flavour is
Tart
And the flavour is
Tart
Is it something you crave?
'Cos you say that you only feel bitterness
Would it kill you to show us a little sweetness?
Repeat chorus
Odd, where nothing else grows
It was something like love that she chose
Always a creature of habit
When pity would do
She wore down that heel with no feeling
She kept on her shoes
Repeat chorus
Nylon was hung from a peg
And a kohl black seam ran down her leg
Fishermen look for their nets
And send their regrets
The bug lay there broken
She spoke, "Is this some kind of joke?"
But the flavour is
Tart
song performed by by Elvis Costello
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Luring Is For A Distance
Colour and shape of petals
Matter to bees at a distance.
Once the bees on the flower,
The body only matters.
Visage and shape of woman
Matter to man for selection.
Once the man is on the woman,
Her massiveness matters.
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Truth takes colour
Truth is like rain,
Which turns water
When collected on the earth.
Truth is like nectar,
Which turns honey
When gathered by hone-bees.
The truth takes
The colour of the speaker.
19.08.2009
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Green and blue
Green and blue
First-named of colours believe these two.
They first of colours by men were seen
This grass colour, tree colour,
Sky colour, sea colour,
Magic-named, mystic-souled, blue and green.
Later came
Small subtle colours like tongues of flame,
Small jewel colours for treasure trove,
Not fruit colour, flower colour,
Cloud colour, shower colour,
But purple, amethyst, violet and mauve.
These remain,
Two broad fair colours for our larger gain
Stretched underfoot or spreading wide on high,
Green beech colour, vine colour,
Gum colour, pine colour,
Blue of the noonday and the moonlit sky.
poem by Lesbia Harford
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The Dracula Flower
The flower was stretching
It's hand to find a honey-bee
To be embraced and kissed!
The flower remained
In meditation to invoke God
To sent her groom
As she bore the nectar
To be sucked and emptied
By the trunk of a honey-bee
The long hairy hands
Of the flower frightened
The butterflies move wantonly
The caterpillars jumping
In quest to quench the thirst!
As the flower in penance
Heard the humming
Of a honey-bee unseen
She opened her eyes
In search to up and sides
And she was enthused
To see the blue-black
Groom of her from heaven
With wings shivering
As if in a whirl wind
Moving to her lips
To kiss and empty her!
The flower leaped her hand
To embrace the honey-bee
Whose nail ladden legs
Did wand her hands
Yet she never let loose
Her embrace to get-him close
To her breast stored with honey.
The honey-bee sucking nectar
From the lips of the flower
Never see him trapped
In the tangle of figments.
He struggled and jerked
But the flower sucked
The honey-bee's life
In return to her nectar he sucked
poem by Vadakkumpurath Ramesan
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The Nature's mystery
Colour of petals is to invite bees;
Colour of berries is to invite birds.
What for is colour of carrot? Who knows?
The Nature's mystery is beyond the grasp.
27.04.2012
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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