Love and Words


telling the bees


I went and told the bees my sadness

but I don't think

they listened to me.

Nothing about the way they

moved changed

when they heard my tale of woe.

I went and told the bees my sadness

but I don't think

they heard me.

So I leaned my head

closer to the hive

and whispered of my dreams.

and still, they ignored me.

I sat down beside them, 

and tried to think of what I could do, 

but all that came to mind

was the thing that happened last June.

When the man down the way

started to redo his roof

and found the bees

had 'combed the rafters

from north to south.

It took five tries, 

with smoke and fire, 

water and some things 

you shouldn't really try

before the town decided

they needed to call 

someone who had a real idea

of what to do.


And without a fuss, 

the bees went with the man

in his funny little white hat 

and odd shaped metal can.

To me it looked 

like he climbed up the ladder and asked

if he could carry them down,

so quiet were they 

when he removed the hive.

I thought of this

as I sat there

with the bees ignoring me.

And after a moment, 

I began talking to myself.

In a quiet voice, almost a whisper

so if any one came up from behind

they wouldn't think 

I had lost my mind, 

I started talking to myself

about my grief and losses, 

my shattered dreams, 

and also all the things

that had come to be born

within me.

Good things, 

strong things, 

things that would see me through.

I would have gone on 

but a loud droning

interrupted my song.

Looking up I saw the bees

had moved from the hive

to the branch of the tree.


and it felt right, it did, 

I hadn't a single thought 

to counter 

what I next did.

I stood up 

and reached out one hand,

broke off a piece of comb,

then turned away, 

sucking on sweet honey,

I walked home - 

thinking of the things

that have yet to come.


decagon          poetry



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