En.Citatepedia^®.ro

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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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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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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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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Luck favours the ordianary

Strong bees target on terminal flowers.
Some miss, some fail, some trail and some succeed.
Weak bees stumble on those shy and beneath.
They hardly miss the targets and get through.
Maids and servants are fortunate weak bees
30.05.2002, 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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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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Just Human Tho’ I Am

Just human tho’ I am,
Achieve, I can great things;
A lot is possible by me,
If only I try and see!

Just human tho’ I am,
My intellect good, if I can
Put to use rightly,
Wonderful results will see!

Just human tho’ I am,
Reset records, I can,
If curiosity be my drive,
And I work like bees in a hive!

Just human tho’ I am,
My limit is but the sky;
With God as Helper-guide,
By His tenets, I abide.

Just human tho’ I am,
Hurdles many I’ll see;
By working night and day,
Success will follow, Aye!

Just human tho’ I am,
Nothing impossible can be;
Tho’ failures show their head,
Before I can be dead!

Just human tho’ I am,
I must ne’er give up yet;
For laurels, acclaim comes
Like ripe and healthy plums!

Just human tho’ I am,
And life a struggle is;
If I face it bravely,
Will be a cause worthy!

poem by John Celes
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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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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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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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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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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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Marriage does havoc.

Petals attract bees
Their works are over
Once bees have landed on them.
Honey is sucked and
The stigma, crushed.
No clinging thereafter
Between petals and bees.
Every woman has
What is enough to attract.
No woman is to have
What is enough to retain
A man for long thereafter.
Marriage does a havoc.
16.03.2009

poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Apiary

All the flowers get together
as a trade union
and made a complaint
to the Apiarist.
The bees were kept
without their consent
and they grumbled
bees are freelance
and why did you
obstruct their freedom?
Oh! what a lovely pageant
when flowers are unified?

poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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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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The heart is thirsty

Like any maiden waiting,
I too had nurtured a dream
Like roots seeking water,
Like leaves waiting for the sun
And like buds expecting bees.
The rain came but in floods.
The sun came but to scorch.
The bees came but to skip.
My heart too is thirsty.
10.11.2006

poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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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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Luck Favours The Commoners

Strong bees target at terminal flowers.
Some miss, some fail, some trail and a few hit.
Weak bees stumble on flowers that lie low.
They hardly miss the targets and get through.

poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Beauty is for women

Flowers dress themselves in different colours
To attract bees, who are not colourful.
Flowers mind visits of bees, not their colour.
Hence women dress to get spotted.
20.09.2000, Vijayavada

poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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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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