His whispers first caress
her body’s field
like apple blossoms
covered in bees.
she sees flames come,
come licking scarlet vines
across his back,
commemorating sleep’s inevitability,
vicious and unforgiving.
A severed pair expects
no spare moments,
no moments to share
behind a smoke
Until . . .
Save me in bits, she prays.
His screams strike might
like irons against time’s silent crescendo,
while her heated flesh whispers
and wakes her
to the dizzying scent
of apple blossoms buzzing.
Brenda Warren 2014
This one came rather quickly. It is not autobiographical, but grief imagined. There is a lot left unsaid. My imagination fills it with story, and I hope yours hooks into the piece, too.
I used “strike” instead of “struck.”
Visit The Sunday Whirl
I keep the wall between us as we go.
She places jars of honey in a row,
conversing about buds and melting snow.
Her eyes contain no kindness that I see;
they never even rise to look at me.
Yet here she is, discussing pleasantries;
like spring, and the arrival of her bees.
My wall builds up with buzzing irony.
Brenda Warren 2013
Miz Quickly’s prompt today offered six lines of iambic pentameter as possible starting points. Rephrase it, add to it, respond to it. Write six more iambic lines to complete your beginning. Er….something like that. Click on the pic to go to Quickly’s place.
I chose the line “We keep the wall between us as we go…” for my starting point. Miz Quickly tells us that line comes from Robert Frost’s “The Mending Wall.” Thanks to Quickly & Frost for the inspiration.
When human beings are wiped from the face of the earth,
perhaps the eloquence of bees will buzz a balance
back into time’s swiveled fabric.
Slowly pesticides will dissipate and
buildings will crumble into cinder gray coral
that rises in pillars like fingers
ringed by soft hairy pillows of emerald moss.
The bees will dance from color to color
hovering as motionless yellow black points
to replenish the strength of their bumbling numbers,
basking in the glory of a rapidly blooming fresh new world.
Oh honey! Oh golden viscosity!
Let mama bear find you and feed her furry family
as they rumble through the safety of human remains.
Brenda Warren 2011
Visit The Sunday Whirl.
before instinct gallops away
chase that whim through honeyed fields.
Listen to buzzing undercurrents and
fluttering hearts .
Pollinate twisted papyrus hives
into colorful enzymatic etchings
where hibernating thoughts
cosset dreams and percolate
a viscous amber river
thrust into the world
through honeybees’ bellies
into this bumbling sticky poem.
Admittedly an odd piece, it is where the words took me. Being on the start of a family vacation, I played with it a bit in the car yesterday, and do not know where else to go with it. I read something about hornets recently. They make their papery hives by ingesting bark from area trees and puking it up. In areas with multicolored trees, they surpass magnificence. Honey also runs through a bee’s digestive system. They add enzymes to it to make it more viscous….apparently it starts out watery. Interesting stuff…I wanted to work it into this piece, and this piece resulted.
Please visit The Sunday Whirl for more pieces that incorporate the twelve words in the following wordle.