Finding flowers with Honey bees

[Bronte]

2 nd draft with aid


Be incandescent under the sun, I feel you
pray the way we speak of them too far distant
all the way to the end of time we own customs
of obeisant. I feel you pray of finding lexis,
there is a texture in the air of collective; of sweet
cast in runes. Ever even
between the stars we are joined, my hip, the wing, the hub
the eye is always last to find consciousness. There is a bug
a million miles away tuning in to our divinity, expressing doubt
that we might be worthy, of you, of them. If we pray to everything
probe all sensibilities, ours, theirs, yours, will that be enough
to keep joined essences in our rented lives.

There is merit in forgiveness, mostly understood
But fear keeps others outer strands bound too tightly
strung where even a honeybees sting can’t penetrate!
Their nerve endings too shrunk, cataracts fully formed
destroying pupils, last focal points and last witness
to events. Their teacher too immature to grasp
the smallest bug might forever, own all wisdom.




Wild meadows made for obsessive; night after night the ladybug
flew in the window and walked over the pillow in ever smaller concentric circles.

I felt drawn to walk behind her; within, we coupled in line with nature,
of true life expanding, living a dream of a reverie within a reality where we too were stirring.
And we meandered a meadow of her domain among flowers the height of trees.
I Read poppy thoughts, grasses, felt existence in every inhalation,
saw blossoms proliferate honed nature at her finest.
she was snowing pollens luminous and alive.
I felt impregnated again, the same instant a flower knows
she has been saturated body and soul with life while her mate extends,

Oh, flowers, the lady owns all that can’t be taken, can never be understood
unless you too have joined completely in life.

yes a bit better!





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Nine 9.45 am 9th april 12




Best keep a low profile; Be incandescent under the sun
I feel you pray the way we speak of them too far distant
all the way to the end of time we own customs of obeisant.
I feel you pray of finding lexis , there is a texture in the air
of collective; of sweet cast in runes . Ever even
between the stars we are joined at the hip, the wing, the hub
the eye is always last to find consciousness. There is a bug
a million miles away tuning in to our divinity, expressing doubt
that we might be worthy, of you, of them. If we pray
to everything, probe all sensibilities , ours, theirs , yours,
will that be enough to keep joined essences in our rented lives .

There is merit in forgiveness , this is understood
But most keep their outer strands bound too tight
Where not even a honey Bees sting can penetrate!
Their nerve endings too shrunk , cataracts fully formed
destroying pupils, the last focal points and last witness
to events. Their teacher too immature to grasp
the smallest bug might for ever, own all wisdom.




The wild meadow made for obsessive, night after night the lady bug
flew in the window and walked over the pillow in ever smaller concentric circles .
I felt drawn to walk behind her, mentally we linked in the way of nature, of true life.
Of living a dream of a dream within a dream while we too were wide awake.
and we meandered a meadow, her domain among flowers the height of trees.
I Read poppy thoughts, grasses, existence in every living flower, every sound
of nature at her finest.
It was snowing pollens incandescent and alive .
I felt impregnated again, the same instant a flower knows that she has been
saturated body and soul with life while her mate extends,
Oh, flowers, she owns all that can’t be taken, can never be understood
unless you too have joined completely with a new life.

Natures musts, wins