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Posts Tagged ‘bees’

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Come meet me

in the secret garden

living green

and dancing yellow,

join the bees

and beg their pardon

where the hive

grows sweet and mellow.

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Free of fear

and saved from doom

let us dance

in yonder meadow

where the wild ones

stand and bloom –

spare the truth

and spoil the credo.

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Oh my love,

let’s long abide –

dance the tango

free from care.

Meet me

on the other side –

unloose your heartstrings,

take the dare.

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© 2020  Betty Hayes Albright

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She tells him with glee

that the robins have arrived

right on time

and the first honeybees

are busy in the heather.

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He pretends to listen

but she knows he doesn’t hear –

he’s busy paying bills

also right on time

.

so as usual

she just notes the new arrivals

on her calendar

and mentions them

in the rough draft

of a poem.

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© 2020  Betty Hayes Albright 

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IMG_7879b

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It’s almost too much –

the bee in the center of the rose,

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the hummer mating

with the hot pink flute of August,

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puffs of clover in the honey

tied up in a bow

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with golden mari

and the lion’s yellow dandi.

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Oh glorious!

I must sometimes turn away –

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no wonder that the fly

needs a thousand eyes.

.

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© 2018  Betty Hayes Albright

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Photo taken in 2014, Edmonds, Washington

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IMG_3491

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She talks to trees

and birds,

to flowers, bees

and dragonflies.

They like to hear

.

how beautiful they are

and then they whisper

their own story

and she listens

care fully.

.

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(c) 2013, 2017 Betty Hayes Albright

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.(revision of an older poem)

.Photo taken in 2010 with my old camera

 

 

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She pretends the sun will stay

and those foreboding shadows

will not grow.

The geese in V-formation

that she saw this afternoon

weren’t really flying south.

Wildflowers still dance

between the rocks

and butterflies still light

upon the phlox

as honeybees

still swarm the mint

and bumbles take the clover.

She hums a rosy little tune

and fills her watering can.

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 © 2016  Betty Hayes Albright

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Young rabbit dozes

in sun-melted buttercups

bees hum lullaby.

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(c) 2014 Betty Hayes Albright

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The irony

is that we kill

our honeybees

by using reckless

pesticides

to grow our produce

better, bigger,

free of bugs

and then at pollination time

we wonder where

the bees have gone.

Whatever in the name

of veggie stew

can we be thinking?

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(c) 2013 Betty Hayes Albright

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See interesting article below by Valerie Easton, for latest evidence, and flowers we can plant in our gardens to attract those honeybees that haven’t yet succumbed to “colony collapse”:

http://seattletimes.com/html/pacificnw/2021315159_pacificpgardener14.html

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Feel free to share this anywhere and everywhere.

Am getting off my soapbox now….

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(a Mayberrie poem)

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At noon she heard

the swarm of bees

and knew they’d lead her

to the woman in the woods

who kept their hive.

Maybe she could trade

her pouch of agates  

for a little jar of honey.

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Starting down the common trail

she heard the heavy clops

of many horses.

King’s men!  She stepped aside,

prepared to curtsey,

then she saw his face

and so much tender in his eyes

she swooned, her heart a-thunder.

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Waking in a sunlit patch

of summer grass

she sat up, drowsily.

Where were the bees?

What daylight faint was this?

Her agates too were gone.

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And then she remembered –

the horses, and his countenance!

She felt a shine

on her left hand

and there around her finger

was a smoldering ring

with royal seal,

and nestled at her side

was a little jar of honey.

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©  2012  Betty Hayes Albright

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(For a list of all poems in this series, please click on the Mayberrie tab above.)

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(from 1975 – just beecause 🙂 )

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Landing on a daisy

I grow drunk

from its nectar.

I toss and turn

in logic

till the petals

wilt and brown.

Then picking up

my fuzzy thoughts

I laugh

and fly away

to some other

un-pollinated   

perspective.

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©  1975, 2012  Betty Hayes Albright 

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Under the apple tree

harvesting gold

she leans

on the last flush of summer

and dreams.

Bees gather her calm,

spiders spin up the sun

and high above, breezes

start painting the sky –

for tomorrow

the woolly clouds come.

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(c) 1993 Betty Hayes Albright

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