Tag Archives: nature

The Smell of bees

“Bees do have a smell, you know, and if they don’t they should, for their feet are dusted with spices from a million flowers.”
― Ray Bradbury

 

The Smell of bees

I saw my first bee today, hearing buzzing while weeding
I searched for the little fellow and found him
Bumbling around the Lungwort
Buzzing with glee in the surprise warmth
Black, gold with a red bum
Furry and indomitable
He also harvests my garden
And mine depends on his

Its relief to see a bee today, with all the talk of their demise
Poisoned by chemicals that may yet kill us
Directly, as doses build, or indirectly
As my garden companions cease to pollinate
And harvests drop
The smell of small dusty bees
Will no longer tantalise my nostrils
Nor will the fragrance of food

Copyright © 2017  Kim Whysall-Hammond

 

I actually saw my first Bumble Bee last week– it is warm very early here this year.

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Friday poem: Apples

Behold the apples’ rounded worlds:
juice-green of July rain,
the black polestar of flowers, the rind
mapped with its crimson stain.

The russet, crab and cottage red
burn to the sun’s hot brass,
then drop like sweat from every branch
and bubble in the grass.

They lie as wanton as they fall,
and where they fall and break,
the stallion clamps his crunching jaws,
the starling stabs his beak.

In each plump gourd the cidery bite
of boys’ teeth tears the skin;
the waltzing wasp consumes his share,
the bent worm enters in.

I, with as easy hunger, take
entire my season’s dole;
welcome the ripe, the sweet, the sour,
the hollow and the whole.

by Laurie Lee (1914 to 1997)

If you have never read Laurie Lee, I very much encourage you to do so, especially ‘Cider with Rosie’  –a prose-poem of an autobigraphy.

Dandelions

A great poem from Sarah Russell. Here, in an English winter, the Dandelions are still strutting their stuff across my back lawn.

Sarah Russell Poetry

“A weed is a flower growing in the wrong place.”
                            George Washington Carver

Spike-haired, brass-blonde,
they invade the bluegrass suburbs
where blades form a passive sameness
if tended as intended.  They strut
across the green of everyday —
strumpets in tattered leafy skirts,
stiletto roots — bestowing downy favors
on the summer breeze.

– Sarah Russell
First published in Your Daily Poem
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Iceberg

Icebergs, refracting blues and greens
as if gigantic gemstones,
and the deep massy ever moving ocean
exist symbiotically
made of the same substance
but separate entities
each enigmatic, inscrutable.

Icebergs lie in wait for unsuspecting ships,
their increased calving into the ocean
augur the doom of Antarctic ice sheets
and so of coastal cities and those within.
Yet their ice is open to light
sparking endless variations in it’s aspect,
while ocean depths are veiled by waves and opacity.

Differences simply born of lack of heat,
each is part of our blue planets girdling seas
as are we, in all our different complexities.

Copyright © 2018 Kim Whysall-Hammond

Lost

Mist lurks, gathers around a wan sun
in a fickle sky

Trees, afraid to stand in the open
stunted, bent, roots littered with bones

We pant raggedly, unyielding moor
draining us down to mires and darkness

Copyright © 2018 Kim Whysall-Hammond

We are off to hike in mid-Wales, where the farmers refer to the land as MAMBA  (Miles And Miles of B**ger All). Hopefully, we won’t get lost!

Study in Yellow

 

Pale primrose lies by the chicken pen
Bold Daffodils stand up in the border
Screaming Marsh Marigold calls from  the pond
Subtle oranges somehow manage to cool down the tubbed Narcissi
Spring yells yellow in my garden

 

Copyright © 2016 Kim Whysall-Hammond

Re-blogged from 2016, when spring was actually warm, unlike the chill this year….