Honey Bee


Queen bee 3
Queen bee 3 (Photo credit: quisnovus)

 

Honey Bee

 

He slowly approached the bee hives,

 

Observing the endless streams of flight.

 

The honey bees deserved his attention,

 

But he wondered, What is she doing tonight?

 

 

 

He put on his hat and accompanying veil,

 

To provide protection from stings to his face.

 

He lit up his smoker and then eased it down.

 

Would I be welcome if I stopped by her place?

 

 

 

Prying open a lid he sent in a few puffs of smoke.

 

The bees calmed down and moved away,

 

While he checked each frame for the queen.

 

What could I bring to brighten her day?

 

 

 

The queen was perfect, undamaged and full.

 

In the summer this hive would be strong.

 

There would be supers of golden honey.

 

 He’d get sweet rewards if nothing went wrong.

 

 

 

As he carefully reassembled the frames,

 

One worker flew out and stung his wrist,

 

Was that a portent of things to come?

 

Would he be crossed from her list?

 

 

 

As he worked through the remaining  hives,

 

He was distracted by a disturbing thought.

 

If he was determined, would love find a way?

 

Because she was well worth any battles fought.

 

 

 

In his beat-up car he sped wearily to her house,

 

Hoping he could see her without being seen.

 

On her porch he would leave a bottle of honey,

 

With a note saying, TO MY QUEEN.

 

 

 

Plans concerning love can sometimes go awry.

 

Honeyed words often remain frozen on lovers’ lips,

 

And love not claimed can be lost for all time,

 

Sailing swiftly away like a phantom ship.

 

 

 

In front of her house he parked his car,

 

And placed the honey up on her porch.

 

Before he could leave she raced outside.

 

He wasn’t the only one carrying a torch.

 

 

 

She was perfect, just right for his queen.

 

Ripe and willing, she was waiting for her king.

 

Their future was golden and offered sweet rewards.

 

Though they had little, they had everything.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Advertisements

Thanks!


Thanksgiving at the Trolls
Thanksgiving at the Trolls (Photo credit: martha_chapa95)

 

Thanks!

 

This holiday season I salute all writers, artists, musicians, actors, etc. Your blogs, poems, and stories inspire me when I struggle and need encouragement.  I hope that sometimes my posts provide a springboard for your endeavors also.

 

As I jump from first person, second person, and third person pronouns, remember I’m really talking to and about you.

 

To me, Thanksgiving is not about the food I eat. My memories are about the friends I meet.  Since I started blogging three years ago I’ve met some incredible people. I haven’t seen them in person but I’ve felt their words and I’ve been allowed into their minds and hearts.  Thanks, friends, for being incredible.

 

Look around the internet. There are bloggers everywhere, established and great.   You are part of that growing list and I admire your efforts and the efforts of new writers who are appearing daily, their raw emotions burning the hearts of those who dare listen. Behind them are newer generations, magnificent and courageous, who will soon be emerging on the scene.  I expect to enjoy the works of all, for they bring fresh perspectives to my soul and let me breathe.

 

To my friends I say, Happy Thanksgiving.  To my friends I haven’t met yet, I say enjoy the day with friends and family.  Life is short.  Live it with gusto.  Then sit down and write about your actions and reactions.

 

1.  Writers use words of power and grace, To remove a falsehood, And put truth in its place.

 

2.   Give someone hope anew, When she gets writer’s block, Pull her through.

 

3.  This holiday season remember with kind deeds, Those who have needs.

 

Your actions form a story of compassion.  I’m looking forward to reading how you blessed others.

 

Thanks again for your kind words on my blogs.  Be patient with me.  I’m still growing.

 

 

 

Life’s Mirror


An illustration from page 30 of Mjallhvít (Sno...
An illustration from page 30 of Mjallhvít (Snow White) an 1852 icelandic translation of the Grimm-version fairytale (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

 

Life’s Mirror Is a Friend or Two

 

“You’re incompetent!” he screamed as he sat in his chair,

 

But, oh, how he wished that mirror wasn’t there.

 

He wanted to look regal perched on a throne,

 

But that was impossible when his friends were gone.

 

Tears splashed down his cheeks

 

As he stared up into the sky,

 

“How can my friends show respect

 

To such a fool as I?

 

Throughout my life there was much,

 

I wanted to say and do,

 

I wanted to be a good Samaritan,

 

I’d help someone, it didn’t matter who.

 

I thought I’d take trips to exotic  places

 

But I chose to work instead,

 

By then I had a growing family,

 

and the children needed bread.

 

How can I prove I’m a cultured man?

 

I haven’t traveled very far,

 

All my knowledge is about small town folks,

 

I never claimed to be a star.

 

I thought I’d try to be an example

 

Of how a man should be,

 

But I’ve failed every time with even my best,

 

Because all you get is me.”

 

 

 

He had been confessing to a mirror,

 

That he’d failed every worldly task,

 

“What’s wrong?” I ventured through the open door,

 

Yet I had no need to ask,

 

The old man was surprised to see someone he knew,

 

I considered myself a friend,

 

“I’ve been listening for quite some time,

 

Your self pity needs to end.

 

You’ve raised five kids all alone,

 

You took that burden in stride,

 

I don’t know about the rest of your friends,

 

But I think of you with pride.

 

You coached several teams in summer leagues,

 

You taught some kids to drive,

 

You were there to greet strangers,

 

When they were anxious and newly arrived.

 

You helped families who lost their homes,

 

Or anyone out of luck,

 

Even when you were stretched real thin,

 

Somehow you found a few bucks.

 

You might think you did things wrong,

 

I think you did things right,

 

There’s a crowd gathering in the dark,

 

Could I welcome them in with the light?”

 

One single line came through the door

 

and seemed to stretch for miles.

 

Each person had something good to say,

 

and ended their comments with a smile.

 

“We wanted you to know we learned from you,

 

We always knew your love was wide.

 

All the love we have for you

 

We can no longer keep inside.”

 

The old man’s eyes grew large and dark,

 

He glanced around the hall,

 

“Thank you, my friends, for loving me,

 

For you know I love you all.”

 

He shook the hands of all and each,

 

It filled his heart with pride,

 

Then because he had been deeply touched,

 

He lowered his head and cried.

 

 

 

Nowhere on Earth


The Earth seen from Apollo 17.
The Earth seen from Apollo 17. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

 

Nowhere on Earth

 

From the first time I saw her,

 

I thought she was beautiful.

 

Her eyes held flecks of green,

 

They mesmerized me.

 

And her innocence hid behind,

 

A smile that lit up the sky.

 

Who was I to know,

 

What was waiting around the bend.

 

Sweet kisses sealed an agreement,

 

Unspoken at first,

 

And hugs became more demanding,

 

Unsatisfied with mere warmth,

 

Until the night passion met passion,

 

And needs and desires were met.

 

I felt no shame in what we did,

 

Strong feelings had turned into love,

 

And we claimed each other.

 

She became even more beautiful,

 

Because she carried my child.

 

We had a secret,

 

We were waiting to tell the world.

 

Then one day she was gone.

 

Her family refused to talk about her.

 

Her absence left a hole in my heart,

 

Only she could fill.

 

She had disappeared completely,

 

Ready to give birth,

 

Nowhere on Earth.

 

One year later I saw her again,

 

More beautiful than ever,

 

In her arms she carried my child.

 

Our features were evident,

 

Our child displaying the best of both,

 

Eyes with flecks of green,

 

My human skin,

 

Her big green smile,

 

All was there,

 

Perhaps our child would be taunted,

 

Or maybe even beaten,

 

Because she was different.

 

Our child was beautiful,

 

Carried by her mother,

 

Adored by her father,

 

Two worlds unified in peace and war,

 

The first to cross over,

 

The first of her kind.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Senses


Senses Working Overtime
Senses Working Overtime (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Senses

When I was a baby I wanted to taste,

Dirt, grass, leaves; everything was good,

Through the sense of taste my world I understood.

 

As a young lad I wanted to feel,

The bark of trees, warm human skin,

Everything needed to be touched again and again.

 

During my youth, color surrounded me,

And I trusted my eyesight more each day,

The world’s vibrant displays becoming richer in every way.

 

Nature’s music played softly in my ear,

I listened and heard it all, crystal clear as a bell,

My mother’s heartbeat, birds singing, frogs croaking as well.

 

Roses and violets, the air after a rain,

I detected subtle aromas as my experiences grew,

The earth offered me choices to smell, exciting and new.

 

Never did I want to take my senses for granted,

The world was a puzzle and each sense played a part,

They helped unravel mysteries from both brain and heart.

 

All five senses keep me standing in reality,

Yet without them my dark empty world would still spin,

For I keep hope, love, and compassion locked deep within.

 

Senses are my guides for exploring the world,

They lead me down paths and open closed doors,

Fill my coffers with treasures and give memories forevermore.

 

 

 

 

If Your Heart


If Your Heart Was a Door

 

If your mind was a book, I’d read it,

 

Turning page after page, absorbing every word,

 

Hoping the most exciting chapters included me,

 

If your eyes were deep pools, I’d dive in them,

 

Splashing around like an otter, enjoying every moment,

 

Swimming in circles of love to be noticed by you,

 

If your lips were berries, I’d taste them,

 

Remembering the warmth of our summer passion,

 

Savoring the richness of your tender kisses,

 

If your breasts were two trees, I’d fly to them,

 

Settling in the branches, finding comfort and peace,

 

Forgetting for awhile all the troubles of the world,

 

If your heart was a door, I’d open it with sincere words,

 

Sharing my world, my life, my heart, and my love,

 

Wanting my time with you to last forever.

 

Love heart uidaodjsdsew
Love heart uidaodjsdsew (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

 

An Increasingly Fast Pace


This image was selected as a picture of the we...
This image was selected as a picture of the week on the Malay Wikipedia for the 47th week, 2010. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

 

I Could Use an Update

 

Using old equipment at an increasingly fast pace,

 

I’m lagging way behind in the human race.

 

I think about my situation and find,

 

I’ve downloaded too much data into my mind.

 

My head is spinning; I could use more RAM.

 

I can’t keep up just the way I am,

 

My hard drive is limited; I need to defrag.

 

Everything takes longer; I’m starting to drag.

 

The now generation is in virtual reality,

 

While all I’ve got is just the real me.

 

If I replaced my processer with something new,

 

Perhaps I could speed up a few seconds too.

 

When I get going and think writing’s a breeze,

 

At that precise moment I start to freeze.

 

I guess I’m not made to be more than I am,

 

So give me a new motherboard and pile on the RAM.

 

 

 

The Bounce House


Hot tub at Big White Ski Resort, Canada.
Hot tub at Big White Ski Resort, Canada. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

 

The Bounce House

 

You say I never have any fun,

 

But that is not exactly true.

 

I play chess with the computer,

 

And, of course, I think of you.

 

I mow my lawn, clean my house,

 

Who knows if a visitor might show?

 

I till my garden, feed the dogs,

 

And pretend it’s going to snow.

 

But when the sun goes down,

 

And the moon sits high in the sky,

 

I turn off the lights and lock the doors,

 

Because I don’t want neighbors to pry.

 

Behind my home a bounce house waits,

 

The compressor fills it quickly with air,

 

I leap and jump, bounce off the walls,

 

Trying things I normally wouldn’t dare.

 

When I grow tired of being young,

 

I slip my weary bones into a hot tub,

 

Soaking awhile and searching the stars,

 

And wishing for a gentle back rub.

 

While I relax I think of you,

 

And how much fun you’d have with me,

 

We’d leap and jump and bounce off walls,

 

And then we’d have to see,

 

If the stars would dance and twinkle,

 

While we sip our glasses of wine,

 

I’d give you a back rub in the hot tub,

 

And we’d let our lives entwine.

 

People say bounce houses are for kids,

 

And that is partially true,

 

We’re only as old as we think we are,

 

So I’m ready to bounce with you.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

With a Breeze in the Back


One lump or two? Or fifteen?
One lump or two? Or fifteen? (Photo credit: Joff Hopkins)

 

With a Breeze in the Back

 

“One lump or two?” I heard the nurse say,

 

My heart began pounding twice as fast,

 

I wasn’t mentally prepared on that fateful day,

 

I thought, This day could be my last.

 

 

 

From his office into the clean crisp air,

 

Escaping because I was upset and afraid,

 

Suddenly I realized that I was almost bare,

 

And in front of the Thanksgiving parade.

 

 

 

I couldn’t decide exactly what to do,

 

I still wore my gown with a breeze in the back,

 

I was embarrassed and a little cold too,

 

But I was in the parade, the leader of the pack.

 

 

 

My mind was numb and I lost my fear,

 

And I began to relax and wave,

 

The crowd roared and began to cheer,

 

For they thought I was extremely brave.

 

 

 

High stepping and saluting to the crowd’s delight,

 

I marched past the judges’ stand,

 

I was in my glory and in full sight,

 

I won a trophy for most spectacular in all the land.

 

 

 

I led that parade down a frontage street,

 

Until I marched into the doctor’s office again,

 

I entered and had just taken a seat,

 

When the doctor rushed in with a grin.

 

 

 

He asked, “Have you been waiting long?”

 

As he spent two minutes looking over my chart,

 

“Well I marched in a parade and wrote a song.”

 

He squinted and said, “Patience is an art.”

 

 

 

Doc, I need to know.  Was it one lump or two?”

 

“Why would you want to know that?

 

I want my coffee sweet so two lumps will do,

 

My wife would kill me.  She thinks I’m getting fat.”

 

 

 

Two lumps of sugar had been my downfall,

 

I had led a parade where everyone could see,

 

It hadn’t been my lymphatic glands at all,

 

It was sugar that almost killed me.

 

 

 

In the doctor’s office listen to what he says,

 

Don’t jump to conclusions if you’ve found a little bump,

 

Unless he shows you the x-rays,

 

Let his coffee contain the lump.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Up ↑