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.
6 comments:
Wonderful - rings in my ears like one of Brian Eno's pieces of music: enigmatic and from a unique perspective.
As expressed on your blog, I can relate to this poem :)
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. :)
I love your wit expressed in this one.
Oh, this made my day, Francis. I love it.
Like the syntax of this a lot.
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