Smelling A Fresh Jar of Honey in My Kitchen
The pollen hued glow
sucked from flowers
by a cult wearing stripes
with knapsacks full
of nectar, ordained
to feed the hive, has
arrived in my kitchen
in a glass jar with a
lid that pops (not
buzzes) when first
opened.
BzZZzZZzzz,
Laurie
My Bee related poem written on/for April 1st....
Hi Lizz~
My hope was to connect the reader with the very pleasant task of smelling a freshly opened jar of honey
I did use language that implied those fuzzy buzzers do all the work while we enjoy the results.
So i am to blame for your sense of unfair labor practices.
For myself, i have to have faith that the 'bee keepers' do treat the beezz with care and leave them enough honey to get by. Then again the Africanized bees may just be on a freedom march for their breathern.
I am being silly.
Thanks for your comments. Eat honey!
L
My hope was to connect the reader with the very pleasant task of smelling a freshly opened jar of honey
I did use language that implied those fuzzy buzzers do all the work while we enjoy the results.
So i am to blame for your sense of unfair labor practices.
For myself, i have to have faith that the 'bee keepers' do treat the beezz with care and leave them enough honey to get by. Then again the Africanized bees may just be on a freedom march for their breathern.
I am being silly.
Thanks for your comments. Eat honey!
L
I do, and will continue, Laurie ~ with great pleasure. However, it does give one pause:
"unfair labor practices . . . Then again the Africanized bees may just be on a freedom march for their breathern."
~ Oh my. Here we go again....not thinking before we act, and sufferin' th' results. Punctuation a carryover from another thread 
.
Enjoyed the poem. So, are you headed toward being the judgy-thingy? Before I've even caught up to reading the last comp?
"unfair labor practices . . . Then again the Africanized bees may just be on a freedom march for their breathern."
~ Oh my. Here we go again....not thinking before we act, and sufferin' th' results. Punctuation a carryover from another thread . Enjoyed the poem. So, are you headed toward being the judgy-thingy? Before I've even caught up to reading the last comp?
I have a sneaky respect for bees. They are hard working little drones and workers and their community is second to none in everyone doing their bit. They should not be able to fly but they do, they have tremendous homing instincts and they produce nectar and pollenate the flowers. Yes bees are very undervalued
I agree on your bee assessment, Paula. Just bring that respect right out here in the open. The bees would appreciate it.
Yeah, as I wrote that, Laurie, I thought, "Was it 'judge thingy' or inter-thingy'? However, since you did such a SPLENDID job as the judge [mine aside, all judges are entitled to momentary lapses ], I decided to go with the most positive thinking.
As you've already seen [I've read enough of the second one's responses, to know this much], no one is going to meet will all-round agreement on their choices or reasoning.
Yeah, as I wrote that, Laurie, I thought, "Was it 'judge thingy' or inter-thingy'? However, since you did such a SPLENDID job as the judge [mine aside, all judges are entitled to momentary lapses
], I decided to go with the most positive thinking.As you've already seen [I've read enough of the second one's responses, to know this much], no one is going to meet will all-round agreement on their choices or reasoning.
Paula / Lizzy~
Yeah. Gotta love bees!
Did you know that they have 'dances' they use when returning to the hive that tells (gives directions!) their fellow cult members Where the ripe flowers are? Amazzzzzing.
My fave poet is closely associated with bees. Her father Otto Plath was an expert on them, writing a comprehensive book about them when as a college teaching professor. And when she and Hughes moved to the English countryside, she joined a group to learn about bee keeping. But i digress....
Lizz~ as for the judge thingy. I hope you didn't think i was implying my 'disasterous' reign was related to chosing your poem!! I just think overall there were more unhappy campers than happy ones when I got through. I stand by my grand prize decisions!!
cheers,
L
Yeah. Gotta love bees!
Did you know that they have 'dances' they use when returning to the hive that tells (gives directions!) their fellow cult members Where the ripe flowers are? Amazzzzzing.
My fave poet is closely associated with bees. Her father Otto Plath was an expert on them, writing a comprehensive book about them when as a college teaching professor. And when she and Hughes moved to the English countryside, she joined a group to learn about bee keeping. But i digress....
Lizz~ as for the judge thingy. I hope you didn't think i was implying my 'disasterous' reign was related to chosing your poem!! I just think overall there were more unhappy campers than happy ones when I got through. I stand by my grand prize decisions!!
cheers,
L
Awwwww, thanks, Laurie. No, actually, I didn't think you were referring to those; however, since I, indeed, was lauding you as a judge-thingy, I felt I'd better clarify that that's not the reason I was doing it. Your reasoning on the others was just fine. I especially loved it that Paula won ~ and with the one she almost scrapped, save my telling her to just submit both! Just like the little red engine, the busy bees must remember to just keep saying, "I think I can! I think I can! I know I can! I know I can!"
Dances!?! No kidding! How very cool is that!?! Them and ants ~ amazing creatures. Cockroaches, too.....but, then I digress .
Dances!?! No kidding! How very cool is that!?! Them and ants ~ amazing creatures. Cockroaches, too.....but, then I digress
.You-all of you-you are talking about the bees here without bee? Now-is that fair?
The poem is grand Laurie- besides the fact that I adore bees, the poem gives the exact aroma, the longing to follow the bee where ever she's been, what has she enjoyed, and then- the mystical result- in the jar! aroma is there though, you close your eyes and you can trace in your dreamy mind- where has she been- there is so much in that poem left to your imagination.
When I were a young child, I fell in love with granddad of my little girlfriend. He was a beekeeper - 75 at that time. There were boxes and boxes with frames full of bee wax, honey, jars and containers, there were beautiful smells around, flowers and garden with all kinds of fruit trees. And bees. Krish, that was his name, he was walking around, opening the bee houses and making a smoke around with something what looked like a harmonica. He let me walk with him on his rounds, he was feeding the bees, because they needed additional sugar or something. I thought then that he looked like a God, with that huge hat with a wail, he gave one to me too, and gloves.
When we walked back to the house, he cut open one of the frames full of honey, it was dripping out of the wax, it was so incredibly beautiful, the amber color of the honey, the aroma. and the bees buzzing around, they were not angry. Then we ate -- the honey on the plate, glass of milk and fresh white brad. Krish then started to talk with me about literature (goodness, I was perhaps only 10 years old), Dostojevsky, Gogol, Hugo etc.-how crazy was that? Nevertheless-in two years he opened for me the door to his library, it was full of shelves, behind the glass there were books stoked beyond my imagination (as if I would have one). Anyway, he let me take the books and read (which made my mother sick with anxiety) in exchange I would go after school or in summer time to help him. I never was afraid of the bees, never. He said it was very healthy if the bee stings you. Many other things, many things he was talking about. Of course I don't think there was much help for him, but sure it was happiest time in my life. I thought then that I sure wanted to marry Krish when I'll grow up. When I grew up and was 18- Krish died. I still miss him.
The poem is grand Laurie- besides the fact that I adore bees, the poem gives the exact aroma, the longing to follow the bee where ever she's been, what has she enjoyed, and then- the mystical result- in the jar! aroma is there though, you close your eyes and you can trace in your dreamy mind- where has she been- there is so much in that poem left to your imagination.
When I were a young child, I fell in love with granddad of my little girlfriend. He was a beekeeper - 75 at that time. There were boxes and boxes with frames full of bee wax, honey, jars and containers, there were beautiful smells around, flowers and garden with all kinds of fruit trees. And bees. Krish, that was his name, he was walking around, opening the bee houses and making a smoke around with something what looked like a harmonica. He let me walk with him on his rounds, he was feeding the bees, because they needed additional sugar or something. I thought then that he looked like a God, with that huge hat with a wail, he gave one to me too, and gloves.
When we walked back to the house, he cut open one of the frames full of honey, it was dripping out of the wax, it was so incredibly beautiful, the amber color of the honey, the aroma. and the bees buzzing around, they were not angry. Then we ate -- the honey on the plate, glass of milk and fresh white brad. Krish then started to talk with me about literature (goodness, I was perhaps only 10 years old), Dostojevsky, Gogol, Hugo etc.-how crazy was that? Nevertheless-in two years he opened for me the door to his library, it was full of shelves, behind the glass there were books stoked beyond my imagination (as if I would have one). Anyway, he let me take the books and read (which made my mother sick with anxiety) in exchange I would go after school or in summer time to help him. I never was afraid of the bees, never. He said it was very healthy if the bee stings you. Many other things, many things he was talking about. Of course I don't think there was much help for him, but sure it was happiest time in my life. I thought then that I sure wanted to marry Krish when I'll grow up. When I grew up and was 18- Krish died. I still miss him.
bee
A friend who lives near me keeps a beehive. Apparently when the Queen dies you can buy another one and they send it to you thru the post with some workers and drones. But she got a hive of rogue bees (I didn't know there was such a thing until she told me) and they were very very agressive. She had to remove them and get some new bees. Apparently some bees are more docile than others and the rogue ones just went around stinging people. There were a liability 
What a BEAUTIFUL story, Bee 
!!! I'd love to see those scenes in a foreign film [that would be those not made in the U.S. ~ or at least not in Hollywood-style]. There was so much of value that you were given by Krish . Makes you feel like you ended up with the right nickname, doesn't it?
Thanks for coming here and sharing all of that ~ in fact, when I first saw the title of Laurie's poem, I thought it was going to be about you.
Love,
Elizabeth
!!! I'd love to see those scenes in a foreign film [that would be those not made in the U.S. ~ or at least not in Hollywood-style]. There was so much of value that you were given by Krish . Makes you feel like you ended up with the right nickname, doesn't it?Thanks for coming here and sharing all of that ~ in fact, when I first saw the title of Laurie's poem, I thought it was going to be about you.
Love,
Elizabeth
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