A Bee's Night Before Christmas

A Bee’s Night Before Christmas

It was the night before Christmas

And all through the hive

Bees were clustered together

Keeping warm and alive.

Three pairs of stockings

Were glued up for each bee

In the hopes that Santa

Would put gifts under a tree.

Each young bee was snuggled

Way deep in her cell

Dreaming of a honey flow

That the older bees knew well.

The queen was in her chamber

Guard bees sleeping close by

All of them as excited about Christmas

As a swarm on the fly.

The night was clear

The new moon was bright

Everyone knew for certain

Santa would be there that night.

When up on the roof

There rose such a clatter

The queen went with the guards

To see what was the matter.

On the roof they could see

A sleigh full of toys

Most of them for workers

Only one or two for the boys.

Eight bumblebees had been pulling

They made it look hard

Would Santa have the time

To reach each bee yard?

The driver’s face was red

From the cold (I suppose)

And icicles hung down

From the tip of her nose.

Her eyes were coal black

Her mouth made for smiles

She looked a little weary

She had traveled for miles.

Her coat was real thick

Made to keep her warm

Her wings were slightly tattered

From a late summer swarm.

She was quick as she placed gifts

Near where each bee lay

Then she pulled a beautiful tree

From off of her sleigh.

With a wink she said,

“These bumblebees are tired.

I’m looking for workers

Who want to be hired.”

Six volunteers jumped up

(they refused any money)

So she promised they’d receive

Extra stores of honey.

They darted out of the hive

And while they were in sight

Santa Bee buzzed, “A golden Christmas to all,

And to all a good night!”

Over almond orchards and clover

They flew on their way

They finished their task

Before Christmas Day.

Baby Bee's Night Before Christmas

Baby Bee’s Christmas

The hive was snug from the lid to the base.

The entrance was wide open for Santa, (just in case).

All the cracks had been sealed to shut out the cold.

Baby Bee was sleeping and good as gold.

The queen had inspected each and every frame,

Then she lined up her children and addressed them by name.

The youngest ones she checked closely and their noses she wiped.

“Is everything ready for Christmas?” she piped.

“If the decorations are finished, leave on a small light.

Santa Bee will be arriving sometime tonight.”

She ordered a plate of honey and pollen so Santa could be fed.

Then she hugged all her babies and tucked them in bed.

All were sleeping soundly when they heard such a clatter.

Santa Bee had arrived in the midst of a swarm.

His cheeks were all red and he looked very warm.

Dispensing gifts from his sleigh as he raced through the hive,

He was interrupted by a question, “Mr. Santa, can I drive?”

The other bees were shocked that Baby Bee would ask.

Santa Bee chuckled and let her help with his task.

All around the world this magical swarm flew.

Bringing sweet gifts to everyone they knew.

As they left each hive and while they were still in sight,

Baby Bee would shout, “Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!”

But She Forgot

But She Forgot

When her boyfriend broke up with her,

She:

Cried on my shoulder,

Walked with me by the lake,

Talked for hours about all the things they did,

Wanted me to be there just to hear her breathe,

But she forgot I was there.

When she met the man of her dreams,

She:

Told me how special he was,

Wanted me to meet him,

Insisted I go shopping with her to buy him gifts,

Asked me to help her write love poems (for him),

But she forgot I had feelings too.

When he became too busy to be with her,

She:

Wouldn’t talk to anyone for days,

Partied every weekend with her girl friends,

Claimed I would be her best friend forever,

Moved in with a roommate,

But she forgot I cared.

When she became pregnant,

She:

Needed me to take care of her,

Said I would be her son’s godfather,

Told me all the things we would do together,

Said she wanted to be independent,

But she forgot I had always been there for her.

When her boyfriend beat her up,

She:

Lost her baby,

Insisted she still loved him,

Asked me to mind my own business,

Said I should stay away,

But she forgot my heart was broken.

When she was dying,

She:

Looked very pretty,

Said she was sorry,

Wished that she loved me,

Left a note asking me to take care of her son,

But she forgot she didn’t even have to ask.

The Poem Not Written

My poetry is a time of curiosity, of smiles,

And childlike satisfaction of using guile,

It is a gift, a talent, imagined or real,

That lets my heart express how I feel,

It shapes itself from thought to pen,

And stirs my soul to write again,

My muse is often witty when she has her say,

Mediocre poems are due to her really bad day,

They may be laden with imagery and flow,

Or fall flat on their faces with little to show,

But the worst poem of all is the poem not written,

It waits swollen with promise, as if snake bitten,

Stares forlornly as other poems strut their stuff,

And never ventures out, it’s not good enough,

Nor does it climb into one of my dreams,

Pestering to be written as a beautiful theme,

The poem not written gets left behind,

Forever out of sight, and finally out of mind.

I Think Failure is a Way to Grow

A ruthless self-assessment for me,

When I look in life’s mirror I see,

Someone who needs to be more bold,

Because I have not yet reached my goal,

So it’s a time to evaluate and make a choice,

But if self growth has a voice,

Between taking a risk and comfort,

It’s risk I really want to court,

I’ll just have to adjust, 

Get used to chance, I must,

Think of failure as a way to grow,

Making a judgment on what I know,

Using the outcome to try once more,

When opportunity knocks at my door,

The talents that were given as gifts,

Do I just let them slowly drift?

In life’s stream what talents did I use?

And which talents did I lose,

While I waited for life to begin,

Or was I waiting for life to end?

And love, sweet love, opportunity lost,

Because I was afraid to risk, at what cost?

By being distant, polite, and verbose,

Rather than being personal and up close,

The gifts I’ve been given I don’t dare,

To eye the talents of others or to compare,

What would others have done in my shoes?

Would they always win and never lose?

History names a few who found a way,

To overcome failure, to find success another day,

To repeat a grade in school, Winston Churchill had to fight,

He wanted a second opportunity to get it right,

Churchill was not the only one,

Who had to battle until he won,

Two hundred attempts in scientific routine,

Until Jonas Salk created a successful vaccine,

Were these two the only ones to fail,

Before their ships began to sail,

The Wrights were told they couldn’t fly,

They knew it was true if they didn’t try,

From the sidelines there is no way,

To have the kind of life I want to portray,

I’ll make a judgment on what I know,

And think of failure as a way to grow.

Christmas on Display

Christmas on Display

It is a magical time when adults are children again,

Excitement is in the air; it’s time for the season to begin,

The world is made new with snow, carols, and lights,

It is a time for smiles, curiosity, new found delights,

As shoppers browse and look down every aisle,

They think of loved ones and what could bring smiles,

Each gift, real and imagined, is eagerly sought,

Checked off and compared, before it is bought,

Perfumes, delicately misted on the inside of wrists,

Waft fragrances of desire, evoke love to exist,

Shirt and tie combinations with matching hues,

Suggest dinner engagements and ocean cruise,

Adults use magic to impress with fancy things,

Diamonds and gold, expensive watches and rings,

Lingerie is checked for eye-catching appeal,

For lovers unsure how much skin to reveal,

It is a time of seeing the world through others’ eyes,

But the goal is keeping love alive, not the surprise,

New beginnings for some or memories of times past,

The season for showing love is here; the die is cast,

Love’s awesome power, which holds so much sway,

Will be represented by gifts, all on display.