click. click. click.
the egotistical queen bees of the school marched with an air of confidence through the hall as their 9 inch heels continued to taunt the by passers with their annoying clicking, continuing down their path they flicked their styled hair arrogantly twirling a few strands between their carefully polished fingers and cast scorning glances to any girls within a ten foot radius, their eyes continued to seize up their enemies, openly scowling and threatening to sting.
Wearily I sucked in a long breath and made my way to the hive.
the state of utah is also called the beehive state. This word makes me think of honey and fear. probably because bees sting a lot and I hate that feeling. Who doesn’t. Honey comb comes from beehives, not the cereal but like actual honey comb
I always thought things would turn out different than this. When did living get so complicated? I thought that you wouldn’t have to give up so much to be who you wanted to be.
she laughed a joyous laugh
her wrinkled skin
decorated in brilliant colors
the yellow-ish gold beehive
spun carefully about her tiny head
looked like a crown
she was the queen of her universe
how wonderfully
life must have treated her
i felt pride and envy
simultaneously
what a beautiful soul
The forest is alive. I hear the humming. They are far, but the sound pulls me along the path. Their little wings buzz along, carrying their sweet burdens back and forth. I sit and watch, witnessing one of the little joys of nature.
The beehive was spitting out bees by the hundreds, all chasing after its lone target.
He ran as fast as he could as the swarm of bees flew as quickly as they could toward him, their stingers alert and ready. They were not pleased. No one was to disturb their cornucopia of work and honey.
Ah but still, no matter how unintelligent these bees were thought to be, they recognized their target of interest. He frequented as much as he could, their home.
I used to talk to bees when i was younger
-I know
it sounds crazy-
when there was no one else around
and i was in my backyard
they would hang around
and we would peacefully coexist
I saw the bees
but never their beehive
yet they saw me
and my home
A crackle, then a buzz. First the leaves under our feet, then the harbinger of an afternoon ruined. A walk across the 12 acres, newly mine, unexpectedly tests pain thresholds and the time it takes to jump the barbwire fence, pry open the kitchen door, and unpack the tools to nurse my inflictions.
the world spins slow motion.
but yet, so fast.
so on point.
they fastly work to obey
their queen.
hard at work
for fear of no forgiving.
i have found the droids of society.
just counting on counting.
one by one.
they swarmed to his beehive
urged onward by a biological time bomb
simply to expire quickly at the hands of this backward order
(did you read elie wiesel in school? oh, what about anne frank? i just saw the blockbuster of the boy in the striped pajamas. like bruno, curiosity was arisen and i had the imagination to have faith in the positive potential of my species)
and that was my undoing.
there are no words, no expression for the potential that we possess. and, if there is a god, bless us for what we may do with it.
if only we would inspire some encouraging and enlightening world event equivalent to such a catastrophic portion of our existence.
I remember those red popsicle tasting summer days, spent running through the neighbours sprinklers when they weren’t looking and climbing the tallest tree in old man Delaney’s field just so that we could see the tiny expanse of our town. I remember feeling like a rebel dipping my feet in danger as we threw rocks at the beehive on your shed, or explored the rotten farm on the edge of town. I remember the grass stains on my knees and the mosquito bites all over my legs from spending too much time wading around the pond looking for treasures. I remember the drawn out games of cops and robbers, hide and go seek, and tag. Little did I know, you were it, and I was just waiting to be caught.
A beehive jumped out the the bushes. Well, it wasn’t really a beehive. And well, it didn’t really jump. To be honest, I’m not sure it was a beehive. I think I imagined a beehive because my mother always used to collect honey from the neighbor’s bee farm.
I considered the beehive warily. I didn’t know why I’d ever agreed to gather honey with him, because it was so strange and dangerous, especially for a bug magnet like me. But here I was, helping my boyfriend collect honey. I must have gone insane. Because it sure as hell couldn’t be “love” driving this action. No way.
The trees were tall and cool, pine needle fragrant, and the way they shaded from the sun was as protective as a legion of Roman guards. She muddled her way through the grove, a teddy bear hand in her hand,and just the faint chatter of birds and the comforting thrum of a beehive as company.
where bee nest, and nuzzle up. They buzz in, and tune out to a place they call home. Full of honey, and other sweet nothings, not them but for us as we have decided
Hivernating, a swarm of saffron stings all swinging about the cylinder like small octaves f sound reverberating in hums of a lyrical dance. Counting the stamens on flowers stems streaming with dew, praying with tiny black feet and seeking nothing with glassy black obsidian eyes, shining like dead wet rocks
its been so long that i cant remember if i remember you
maybe we met long ago, and i wrote a witty poem about
a woman’s hairstyle or a buzzing chase and laughed
There rested a small beehive in he upper right corner of the Bailey shack. all the stones we threw could not relinquish the grip it had on the place. The small tongues of flame slid upward towards the ceiling as if they were trying to taste the honey it held.
there it was. golden and glistening in the sunlight. i walked over with my slingshot and stood underneath it. I turned around to see them: my friends egging me on, saying “shoot it, shoot it!’
Shaken up like a beehive my body can’t settle. I’m falling and fighting and screaming all at once and yet. And yet, it never gets any better. I can tell them what I want but it isn’t what I have and they’ll wag a finger at me and tell me it’s silly to reach higher than the stars that can’t even manage to keep themselves in the sky.
I am not a fan of bees, much less beehives. I could never be a beekeeper for a living.
Yeah,I’m a bee-leaver, I couldn’t keep them if I tried…
Seriously though, I know they’re important and all, but I’ve just had bad luck with them over the years, so I avoid them whenever possible now. The end.
a beehive is made of hexagonal shaed compartments for bees to sleep in, store honey in, and to raise the larvae in. it is a very large thing, it had to fit the queen and her entire colony of bees, plus all of their collected honey and the groving larvae.
A beehive. Some refer to it as an infestation of wasteless insects. Others refer to it as home and a direct food source. Think about the bees, people! They are living and breathing beings just like us. We live in houses, they live in beehives. Let them live.
Beehives are where all the bees live. What are they doing, up in that hive, up in that tree? Are they making honey? Are they making babies? Why, oh why, are beehives filled with honeycombs? Why are they combs? Why are they not hexagons? Wait, aren’t hexagons combs? No, they aren’t combs! I have never seen anyone run a hexagon through their hair! Wait, why is a reference to “anyone” = “their”? Isn’t “their” a possessive reference to a plural noun?
Wow, bees were attacking and it was like, insane. Seriously, bees, what’s with them?
Okay, writing like a stoner isn’t working.
I don’t know, bees are effing weird.
And the hives are like…buzzing.
click. click. click.
the egotistical queen bees of the school marched with an air of confidence through the hall as their 9 inch heels continued to taunt the by passers with their annoying clicking, continuing down their path they flicked their styled hair arrogantly twirling a few strands between their carefully polished fingers and cast scorning glances to any girls within a ten foot radius, their eyes continued to seize up their enemies, openly scowling and threatening to sting.
Wearily I sucked in a long breath and made my way to the hive.
the state of utah is also called the beehive state. This word makes me think of honey and fear. probably because bees sting a lot and I hate that feeling. Who doesn’t. Honey comb comes from beehives, not the cereal but like actual honey comb
I always thought things would turn out different than this. When did living get so complicated? I thought that you wouldn’t have to give up so much to be who you wanted to be.
I see the beehive on the tree.
she laughed a joyous laugh
her wrinkled skin
decorated in brilliant colors
the yellow-ish gold beehive
spun carefully about her tiny head
looked like a crown
she was the queen of her universe
how wonderfully
life must have treated her
i felt pride and envy
simultaneously
what a beautiful soul
The forest is alive. I hear the humming. They are far, but the sound pulls me along the path. Their little wings buzz along, carrying their sweet burdens back and forth. I sit and watch, witnessing one of the little joys of nature.
The beehive was spitting out bees by the hundreds, all chasing after its lone target.
He ran as fast as he could as the swarm of bees flew as quickly as they could toward him, their stingers alert and ready. They were not pleased. No one was to disturb their cornucopia of work and honey.
Ah but still, no matter how unintelligent these bees were thought to be, they recognized their target of interest. He frequented as much as he could, their home.
Silly Pooh.
I used to talk to bees when i was younger
-I know
it sounds crazy-
when there was no one else around
and i was in my backyard
they would hang around
and we would peacefully coexist
I saw the bees
but never their beehive
yet they saw me
and my home
A crackle, then a buzz. First the leaves under our feet, then the harbinger of an afternoon ruined. A walk across the 12 acres, newly mine, unexpectedly tests pain thresholds and the time it takes to jump the barbwire fence, pry open the kitchen door, and unpack the tools to nurse my inflictions.
the world spins slow motion.
but yet, so fast.
so on point.
they fastly work to obey
their queen.
hard at work
for fear of no forgiving.
i have found the droids of society.
just counting on counting.
one by one.
they swarmed to his beehive
urged onward by a biological time bomb
simply to expire quickly at the hands of this backward order
(did you read elie wiesel in school? oh, what about anne frank? i just saw the blockbuster of the boy in the striped pajamas. like bruno, curiosity was arisen and i had the imagination to have faith in the positive potential of my species)
and that was my undoing.
there are no words, no expression for the potential that we possess. and, if there is a god, bless us for what we may do with it.
if only we would inspire some encouraging and enlightening world event equivalent to such a catastrophic portion of our existence.
I remember those red popsicle tasting summer days, spent running through the neighbours sprinklers when they weren’t looking and climbing the tallest tree in old man Delaney’s field just so that we could see the tiny expanse of our town. I remember feeling like a rebel dipping my feet in danger as we threw rocks at the beehive on your shed, or explored the rotten farm on the edge of town. I remember the grass stains on my knees and the mosquito bites all over my legs from spending too much time wading around the pond looking for treasures. I remember the drawn out games of cops and robbers, hide and go seek, and tag. Little did I know, you were it, and I was just waiting to be caught.
A beehive jumped out the the bushes. Well, it wasn’t really a beehive. And well, it didn’t really jump. To be honest, I’m not sure it was a beehive. I think I imagined a beehive because my mother always used to collect honey from the neighbor’s bee farm.
I considered the beehive warily. I didn’t know why I’d ever agreed to gather honey with him, because it was so strange and dangerous, especially for a bug magnet like me. But here I was, helping my boyfriend collect honey. I must have gone insane. Because it sure as hell couldn’t be “love” driving this action. No way.
Bees plants animals honey sting pain run Winnie the pooh queen bee yellow round tree grass flowers insects buzz buzzing crawling flying larva babies hornets stingers wasps
The trees were tall and cool, pine needle fragrant, and the way they shaded from the sun was as protective as a legion of Roman guards. She muddled her way through the grove, a teddy bear hand in her hand,and just the faint chatter of birds and the comforting thrum of a beehive as company.
where bee nest, and nuzzle up. They buzz in, and tune out to a place they call home. Full of honey, and other sweet nothings, not them but for us as we have decided
Hivernating, a swarm of saffron stings all swinging about the cylinder like small octaves f sound reverberating in hums of a lyrical dance. Counting the stamens on flowers stems streaming with dew, praying with tiny black feet and seeking nothing with glassy black obsidian eyes, shining like dead wet rocks
a place where memories are made
by little flying people also known as bees. they improve everyones life
nd everythings life
Single-minded proletariat slaves to their stations
Congregate and perspirate
For the good of their brood.
No hopes, no rewards,
Just tireless toil.
the begunning of life for many that my live the black and yellow ones also known as bees.
its been so long that i cant remember if i remember you
maybe we met long ago, and i wrote a witty poem about
a woman’s hairstyle or a buzzing chase and laughed
The beehive was full of honey. The little girl likes honey, so she went to the beehive for said honey. She got stung. It was worth it.
There rested a small beehive in he upper right corner of the Bailey shack. all the stones we threw could not relinquish the grip it had on the place. The small tongues of flame slid upward towards the ceiling as if they were trying to taste the honey it held.
One more thing about you
that I can never forget:
we were out on a picnic,
you brought green apples
because you knew
they are my favorite.
hivemind
high five a lime light
life gave you lemons
take each sour puck
of fucked up opportunity
ensemble a mutiny
and overthrow
a barrier’s queen and conquerer
monger each meager moment
Single-minded proletariat slaves to their stations
Congregate and perspirate
For the good of their brood.
No hopes, no rewards,
Just tireless toil.
there it was. golden and glistening in the sunlight. i walked over with my slingshot and stood underneath it. I turned around to see them: my friends egging me on, saying “shoot it, shoot it!’
Beat boxers behoove beehive behavior.
buzz buzz
Shaken up like a beehive my body can’t settle. I’m falling and fighting and screaming all at once and yet. And yet, it never gets any better. I can tell them what I want but it isn’t what I have and they’ll wag a finger at me and tell me it’s silly to reach higher than the stars that can’t even manage to keep themselves in the sky.
I am not a fan of bees, much less beehives. I could never be a beekeeper for a living.
Yeah,I’m a bee-leaver, I couldn’t keep them if I tried…
Seriously though, I know they’re important and all, but I’ve just had bad luck with them over the years, so I avoid them whenever possible now. The end.
Beehive behavior behooves beat boxers.
I’m following you
where do you go?
You run from me
around this tree
please come back
it’s all okay
just say yes
and live with me
in our own beehive
a beehive is made of hexagonal shaed compartments for bees to sleep in, store honey in, and to raise the larvae in. it is a very large thing, it had to fit the queen and her entire colony of bees, plus all of their collected honey and the groving larvae.
A beehive. Some refer to it as an infestation of wasteless insects. Others refer to it as home and a direct food source. Think about the bees, people! They are living and breathing beings just like us. We live in houses, they live in beehives. Let them live.
Hair stood as tall as a BP drill.
Hairspray making her stand so still, haha!
Tingling sensation on her scalp,
quite close when a man taps out.
Although the price of beauty is high,
never again did I see a bitch who looked so fly.
Beehives are where all the bees live. What are they doing, up in that hive, up in that tree? Are they making honey? Are they making babies? Why, oh why, are beehives filled with honeycombs? Why are they combs? Why are they not hexagons? Wait, aren’t hexagons combs? No, they aren’t combs! I have never seen anyone run a hexagon through their hair! Wait, why is a reference to “anyone” = “their”? Isn’t “their” a possessive reference to a plural noun?
I couldn’t help staring at it. “You’re like Marge Simpson,” I blurted.
She tilted her head. “That’s always nice to hear. People usually say I look like Katy Perry and Amy Winehouse’s love-child.”
I shrugged. “That works too, I guess. But your face looks like a poodle’s.”
She stared at me. I shrugged again.