Bee Sharp Poem by Andy Brookes

I pluck the string it vibrates, it is a b
a bee that fly's humming a melody of one note
she flies, for they are all female, with
her stockings filled with pollen,
wearing her furry brown and yellow leotard,
her celluloid wings buzzing,
singing her one note, yet in perfect harmony
with all her fellows, a bee key, a hive key, a queen's key.

bees know the good from bed, the clover from the nettle,
rotten from the pure, the sound vibrates through good and bad
differently they say.

once a bumble bee landed in a casual fashion on my leg,
the summer was high and the air stirred
with that dry earth smell, so this bee, I remember I was four
so this bee, stopped buzzing and rested on my bare summer brown leg,
its abdomen moving up and down like it was breathing,
breathing in my humanness sensing my soul.

sitting infascination watching this bee, this, this, chord of life,
unafraid of being stung both the bee and I, we knew
we shared a sacred moment and then she launched herself off into the wind to set the string vibrating in the key of bee
So when I pluck the string it vibrates it is a b
and it's in honour of that long ago summer bee.