the religion of bees

sun, it cuts holes in ominous

clouds with

school scissors, traces

parochial fingers

along dirty sills,

shines through smudged

crosses on stain

glass and

window cleaner,

 

tiny, biting black flies stick

to swamp creek stink

like nuns with

discipline

and one inch thick

yardsticks,

birds fall into crowded

trees and

beehives,

 

muddy water mouth takes

a gulp, brushes aside

children with

uncleaned playground

faces from

a fountain, pools with

sandy

bottoms wet double

knotted buster

browns and

scuffed

shoe polish,

 

white combs and sweet honey

drip onto pebbled

anthills

and teacups

with cracked saucers and

silver spoons,

fairy tales are read

in clover fields

and unfolded blankets,

innocent looks

blow dandelion seeds

into shallow

streams

and memories,

 

bees dream at night of nectar

and pollen,

of flying in cluttered

garages looking

for heaven,

stone written tablets in

educational systems are made

of plastic and

finger crossed

promises,

 

bees collect hexagonal shapes

and move them under

tin roof overhangs

and pinging sounds of

wetness from

clouds with scissored edges,

they fly to seek

sanctity,

 

me, in faded jeans

and no breeze happened

upon and ‘clicked’,

its humbleness

spoke through my

soul, it

was a pure poetic

moment…

 

Copyright © 06/21/2013 Ðark Ṝoasted Ƣoetry®

Image

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