POEM: GOLDEN BEES… like drops of honey with wings

 golden-bee.jpg

GOLDEN BEES

Golden bees like drops of honey with wings
appear at the open windows of our heart

It’s always a bright summer day there and the
light seems to come from a non-dimensional source

Water flows in indeterminate directions and fountains
confound us with their spray seeming to go from both
the deep centers and extreme tips of their arcs

These bees bring messages from supernatural flowers
whose multicolored flames are just visible in the
nearby meadows and rolling glades
where Madame X walks with gliding footsteps
after turning back into a black swan and
then back again in her taffeta gown and downy feather train

Everything is turning back again into what it actually is
and what it isn’t sings slightly off key just before
evaporating into thin air

The message from these bees with their tiny human faces
enters without sound into our heartbeats as the
flowers of their profoundest articulations blaze under a
sonorous sun

God has passed this way so often leaves still
quiver above us and stones still glisten underfoot

and everything left open to its utmost
listens as the storyteller of silence tells its
inexplicable tale to the

incessantly soothing
buzzing of these

gloriously golden bees

                    4/18/2004 (from Underwater Galaxies)

About danielabdalhayymoore

Poet, artist, collagist, publisher, hoping to save a little bit of the world through ecstatic utterance... ordered in balanced lines and unpremeditated images...
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2 Responses to POEM: GOLDEN BEES… like drops of honey with wings

  1. Irving says:

    Wow, just wonderful 🙂 Silence tells the best stories 🙂

    Ya Haqq!

    Like

  2. RestNtide says:

    I love this invocation of grace. Or could grace ever need calling up? It’s always there, in all its tiny human faces, soundless, waiting at the open windows of our hearts, to turn us back into what we really are!

    I’m reminded of Keats. Recall in Hyperion lines 155-157:

    He follow’d, and she turn’d to lead the way/
    Through aged boughs, that yielded like the mist/
    Which eagles cleave upmounting from their nest./

    Thank you for such a wonderful reminder of the glories of Spring and God’s blessings that know no season.

    Like

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