When a Solitary Bee Comes Knocking

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.

 

 

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Zinnia

Death is a preventable fiction. I am blooming now
like never before, standing tall and so healthy that
surely I will be passed over. Only someone truly
cruel would look at my orange petals, the mosaic
I have made out of sun, to represent the sun,
and say I should not live to see December, then
another spring, another summer. I will be the first
of my kind, in our portion of earth, to make it
through to the other side—because I have
made myself beautiful. I have been useful.
The bee came again yesterday, but she was
slower, less hungry. Still, she whispered her plan
to me, how she will fly so fast, up into the cold sky,
that no one can catch her. I told her I will be here
when it’s safe to come back. I will feed her then.

 

 

Check out Open Link Night at dVerse Poets every Tuesday p.m.

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Crocus (For NaPoWriMo, Day 5)

The bees
find a lit fuse
inside each purple bloom,
then gather up the sparks to make
bright fire.

 

 

Look! I made a Crapsey! NaPoWriMo Day 5 prompt was to write a cinquain. I am not at all sure I got the stressed and unstressed syllables right. I find it very hard to hear these things, which makes meter a real challenge. Also, “fire” kind of has a hidden second syllable in it. Ah, well … 

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If you Google “Solitary Breeze,” for Open Link Night

If you Google “solitary breeze”

Bees, that is. I meant bees;
the breeze is never lonely,
how it cuddles your ear,
whispers into it, something

about flowers, pollen,
the baskets on your legs,
you. You, who live in a
nest by yourself,

no need to make honey,
just nectar in your veins.
Sun shines through your
wings; you are the sun,

the only one,
the only song
you know.

 

For Open Link Night at dVerse Poets. Also, I got my contributor’s copy of Cider Press Review today! It’s their last print issue, and I really like how my poem pairs with the one on the page next to it.

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