Each month, write a new collection.
The disappearing beeThe honey beeBuzzinglanded on meBecause hewanted to hitch a rideas I walked along the trailThe honey bee asked meSincerelyWhere has the other beesall gone?as he trailedI answered him I thinkit strangeThe friends of his haveall changed and left him by his lonesome estrangedas he has failed to follow hisbrother beeso I asked him how couldthis be? He being the only bee?along the lonely trail?He said because he is resilientand nothing can keep himfrom being brilliant on the flowerin the field as he went and pollinatedwithout failThe bee as a hitch hikertold me he was with the likelierfellows who could tellwhether it is unhealthierto be a bee as he escapedthe adversity even if it claimedwithout mercyhis other brothersas he cursed mefor killing off the speciesI tried to explain this was not my plan but partof my pain to see the beeand not understandBut at last I feel it was the ways of man who killedthe bees through his own pollutionand without a solution willdie in the sad conclusionwe killed the bee just the same as we
Nice, I like your hypothesis.
That's great man. A beautiful bit of surrealism!
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Who?Who plucks on the stringthat makes the bird singwho's fine brush strokespaint the butterfly wingWhat force is out therethat propels the wild harewho's lullaby will hypnotizethe hibernating bearWho fills the lakes with fowlwho gives voice to the hoot owlwhat pair of hands madethe raccoon's mask & cowl Where did people learn to dreamto love, to hate, to give and to schemeto convert the sour grapes to wineor get butter from the sweetest creamWhat makes the white rapids roarhow do eagles catch the wind and soarwho puffs the thick black smokeand sends up lava from our very coreWho's in charge of this feral landis it motjer nature's guiding handwhat path do we take when we are lostjust follow the footprints in the sand
I like the rhyme. It would fit nicely in the book of Job, especially since it is one of the poetry books.
I like that comment Tom! Yeah, and Molly, great expression of your faith!
I am the young womanwalking by my housewondering if can findsome place safeto sleepnot get rapedtonight am the oldman losing my mindmy house offifty years am movinginto a strangeplace with justa bed and window am holdingthis stark whitesheet of paperthe only words see areterminal and cancertoday cancount the daysuntil it doesn’tmatter am youare mewe are oneand your painshivers me
The truth is scary. This piece really makes you sit up and face the fears of our lives. I love the way you organized it. Well done
Thanks Molly. The formatting was important to me for the poem, and I wasn't sure if it would work. I was hoping my trick would work.
Yeah, once again, you're really stretching your style man! Great and well done!