THE BEE: a love poem

the bitter days
of the cell and the chrysalis
the unprisonment of unlove
in the wintertime are spread behind
like dead leaves
and you kindle them into sweet woodsmoke
so that from their death
rises a strange shining life
from what had to be
and had to die
into what is now;
and this smoke enfolds me
like dreams.

A sweet thought like a drop
of honey fallen into
the middle of the world
and my thoughts go visiting
flowers like a bee
heavy with pollen and summer.
His business is nectar
and his labour, like a spinner,
to draw out the fine threads of gold
into this design of dreams.

But I must leave dreaming.

And still find you.

28/10/70 copyright GMK

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12 thoughts on “THE BEE: a love poem

    1. thanks very much … it’s supposed to be about realising that what happens to us in the past is necessary and can give rise to something new and better in the present … or something πŸ˜‰

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      1. πŸ™‚ I made an enormous Chrysalis sculpture and several smaller ones years ago and the outsides were just rough cementy finish and the insides all spraypainted metallic blues and greens and purples and so on and full of water. Something about outsides and insides…. appearances and transformation and escape etc :yes:

        But yes your poem certainly speaks of transformation..

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      2. I do but only the old fashioned sort! I should scan it and put on the pc really. Was in an outdoor huge great Festival of Britain show at Alexandra Palace that went bankrupt the day it opened! πŸ™„ but I do have some pics somewhere…..

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