Have you thanked a solitary bee today? Have you
put some pollen in the pockets of its pants?
Whether you’re a squill or a crocus, a snowdrop
or a winter aconite, your local solitary bee is ready
to assist you with all your reproductive needs.
Discreet. Friendly. Professional. That’s the kind of
service you can expect when a solitary bee comes
to drink your nectar with its strawlike proboscis
as its head wings legs pockets collect your pollen
and as you realize–for the first time–why it is
that you’re alive. So don’t be shy. Don’t be lonely.
When a solitary bee comes knocking, open up
your sepals, your petals. Stretch out your stamens.
Bloom.
For NaPoWriMo, Day 10. The prompt was to write a poem advertising something.
Marilyn Rauch Cavicchia 
Gracie (leafcutter bee), Mary-Jane (mason bee), Dexter Greenbody (sweat bee) really enjoyed assisting you bloom: Odes to Solitary Bees video-poems (http://resonatingbodies.wordpress.com/art/odes/). — Sarah Peebles & Stephen Humphrey in Toronto.
That is so cool! I really enjoyed checking out your project. Many of Gracie’s cousins come to my garden, and it was her kind that introduced me to the world of solitary bees. One time, a cousin of Dexter’s calmly worked over a zinnia after my daughter had cut it to bring home. Thanks so much for stopping by!
(I haven’t been commenting, but I am enjoying the daily poems.) This one made me laugh out loud at how on-point a parody it is–and somehow, joyous.
Thanks, complynn! I’m glad you got the humor and the happiness.
Now, THIS is a love poem!
Thanks! There’s a little randiness to it, right?