bees knees
hungry for the nectar of community
i return
returning
to empty clover run fields
my old neighborhood...
houseparts already hauled away
or piled at the edge of the street like the weekends garbage
a party gotten seriously out of hand
dumptrucks streaming gravel dinging my windshield
as they haul-ass...a bounty on every load delivered
soon the dump with its amputated homes and mashed car body parts
will equal the size of our still breathing town
i can at least provide hospice for the bees
waxing hopeful, i introduce 3 hives to my hiroshima flavored neighborhood
sophia loren is queen of the north facing italians,
natasha (of boris and cartoon fame) and catherine the great are russian queens facing east and west
they set to work righting the known and unknown worlds of bay st. louis, mississippi
post katrina
tiny knees (beesknees) bent to their task
shimmering
back and forth
forth and back
in my frontyard/boneyard of the was
tangerine,orange and lime trees give ecstatic testimony to their pollinating presence
bee balm flowers are buzzing waystations
for velvet bee bodies darting through/dancing with sunbeams
hopeful glimpses of a future now
the color of today is a new and desperate green
a forced bloom hoping to cheat death
ancient oaks sprout green fuzz out of gray bark
giving rise to "chia pet" teasing
we are not yet feeling safe
or really home
by spring, the bees may lend a bit of their wax to my paintings
an 1800 year old recipe of applying molten wax to wood
those ancient greeks named it encaustic, from the word for "burning in"
i like knowing the bees will be working (not silent) partners in our paintings
hundreds of trips to flowers and back will shape the process and substance of the art we make
together
with honeyed exuberance, pollen dancing in waltz time
the keepers of bee wisdom
invisibly walk among us
holding the riddle of the hexagram
black madonna, protector of bees and children
guide my hand
open my throat
honey my essence
melt me...mold me...fill me...use me
spirit of the living god...fall fresh on us
all
hungry for the nectar of community
i return
returning
to empty clover run fields
my old neighborhood...
houseparts already hauled away
or piled at the edge of the street like the weekends garbage
a party gotten seriously out of hand
dumptrucks streaming gravel dinging my windshield
as they haul-ass...a bounty on every load delivered
soon the dump with its amputated homes and mashed car body parts
will equal the size of our still breathing town
i can at least provide hospice for the bees
waxing hopeful, i introduce 3 hives to my hiroshima flavored neighborhood
sophia loren is queen of the north facing italians,
natasha (of boris and cartoon fame) and catherine the great are russian queens facing east and west
they set to work righting the known and unknown worlds of bay st. louis, mississippi
post katrina
tiny knees (beesknees) bent to their task
shimmering
back and forth
forth and back
in my frontyard/boneyard of the was
tangerine,orange and lime trees give ecstatic testimony to their pollinating presence
bee balm flowers are buzzing waystations
for velvet bee bodies darting through/dancing with sunbeams
hopeful glimpses of a future now
the color of today is a new and desperate green
a forced bloom hoping to cheat death
ancient oaks sprout green fuzz out of gray bark
giving rise to "chia pet" teasing
we are not yet feeling safe
or really home
by spring, the bees may lend a bit of their wax to my paintings
an 1800 year old recipe of applying molten wax to wood
those ancient greeks named it encaustic, from the word for "burning in"
i like knowing the bees will be working (not silent) partners in our paintings
hundreds of trips to flowers and back will shape the process and substance of the art we make
together
with honeyed exuberance, pollen dancing in waltz time
the keepers of bee wisdom
invisibly walk among us
holding the riddle of the hexagram
black madonna, protector of bees and children
guide my hand
open my throat
honey my essence
melt me...mold me...fill me...use me
spirit of the living god...fall fresh on us
all