Sunday, February 28, 2010


Ibkek sits idly by
the meadow's green and varied blooms,

paid only inattention.
He, not minutes passing nigh,

envies but this bumble
who black-and-gold buzzes onward

with purposeful zags. "She fits
so nicely here," he mumbles.

"Why, even duller drones,
though weak and puny, have a place."

The worker, she might envy
Ibkek this, his freedom's moan

to fritter life drinking,
but busy harvests push instead

her bee-bound thoughts, set upon
a queen's idyllic kinking.


Garth said...

Wonderful - rings in my ears like one of Brian Eno's pieces of music: enigmatic and from a unique perspective.

The Scrybe said...

As expressed on your blog, I can relate to this poem :)

Jenny said...

This feels both quirky and melancholic. A menancing kind of numbness droning in the background. Many great undertones working at the same time, as usual with your work. Another things I have noticed is that you never tell the reader what to think. Instead, you present a pictures that seem to say "draw your own conclusions" and there are many options in your poetry. I really appreciate that. As you might remember, I am not a fan of didactic poems. :)

Ande said...

I love your wit expressed in this one.

Anonymous said...

Oh, this made my day, Francis. I love it.

Megan Duffy said...

Like the syntax of this a lot.