Poem for the Day: Walking with the Bee Poem (from Miniscule) ©

Walking with the Bee Poem
 
After my aimless strolling that led me
to meditate on the ancient running of birds,
and the way pink/grey galahs, magpies 

and peewees were bound together like
the scrolls of clouds, I began to power walk 
concentrating on an increase of speed.

As it happened a poem was walking with me.
It started a week before with the line
the comings and goings of bees,

and so I continued circling the park
thinking of the next line while listening
to Pomegranates by Anthony Lawrence.

I had seen bees clinging to a copper's log
and discovered later that this buzzing temple
of wings, shaped like a beating heart,

was commonly known as 'swarming'. During
several mornings, the cluster moved from one log
to another, then to an olive branch, where it

precariously hung like a brown thought-balloon.
The bees moved again, and this is where the poem
struck me as a magic engine of nature; the olives

beginning to nugget, magpies chortling into mown
grass, peewees translating behind, and the bees 
shouldering their way into a body of wings.

In the end, I wanted the poem to buzz and sing,
hoping words might rise up like the noble bee
and sting the morning with all its earthly noise.