The bees’ knees

The bees are back to harvest the fruit of the flower, to pick through Jupiter’s beard and return to their angular rooms.

And when they do, for that brief space between days, what’s it like in the hive with each in their own hexagon?

Is each room the same, like a Holiday Inn?

I picture them sparse, for they don’t have time to dwell. Perhaps just a night stand beside a matchbox bed, a honey-fueled lamp with a shade, and in the pattern of the shade an array of flowers to remind them of their cause.

It’s like this you see, because we combine, or we confuse, what we love with what we do for work.

And it’s that way, for we must.



Categories: poetry, writing

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17 replies

  1. Well visualized and wow! what a comparison. Enjoyed it.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Thank you, Bill.
    The word conflation comes to my mind (I love that word) – it seems to define the way this little B flies anyway.
    All the best,
    DD

    Liked by 1 person

  3. I have just been thinking, and I have come to a very important decision. These are the wrong sort of bees.”

    {If you could manage to get that second sentence into italics, Pooh would be very pleased as the emphasis is important]

    Liked by 1 person

  4. Bees in matchbox beds, that’s a keeper. I’m seeing that image in Pixar-vision. Hope you’re not falling out of love, homer.

    Liked by 1 person

  5. Actually the bees don’t live in the cells, those are their little birth chambers. They live simply wandering around the hive or sitting still next to their brethren or working themselves to death. The workers that fly out every day in search of pollen die after weeks, their wings tattered and ripped. The ones inside, tending the queen, making the honey, they live longer. Then there are a small handful that live through the winter…they are the longest lived because they have to tend the cells where the next years population are growing, then release them in the Spring, and then they die.

    Liked by 1 person

  6. Nicely done! Reminds me of (another) Jackson Browne lyric: You gotta do what you can just to keep your love alive. Try not to confuse it with what you do to survive.
    From Running on Empty.

    Liked by 1 person

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