Poem: "The Happiness of the Bee"
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ysabetwordsmithThis poem came out of the April 4, 2023 Poetry Fishbowl. It was inspired by prompts from goatgodschild and rix_scaedu. It also fills several squares (The Moors, Ruins, Beekeeping/Bees, Adults are Useless/Dangerous) in my 4-1-23 card for the Gothic Bingo fest. This poem has been sponsored by a pool with fuzzyred. It belongs to the Picts thread of the Polychrome Heroics series.
"The Happiness of the Bee"
[Saturday, July 25, 2015]
What Drest map Erilich loved best
was escaping from the family farm
to run wild in the moors and woods.
He loved his parents, but the older
he got, the taller he got, the more leery
everyone around him seemed to become.
He wasn't out of bounds for a Pict, not quite,
not yet, but he was entirely too aware that
it could happen at any time, and that tended
to color the way other people treated him.
The adults were often useless at best,
and downright dangerous at worst.
At least Drest had the company of
his cousin Nechtan map Galany,
who didn't give a flip that Drest
was a whole head taller than him
despite them being the same age,
and who was as fond of wild water
as Drest was of bees and flowers.
No one's identity was the same,
though, not really. Even short Picts
liked different things, had unique skills,
or changed over time as they grew up.
It was silly to make such a fuss
over a few hands of height,
when nobody chose theirs.
Drest preferred his bees, who
didn't care about his height,
only about what flowers or
sweets he had brought
to distract them while he
peeked into the hives.
He had them scattered
all over the moors and
into the woods, skeps on
sunny stones and bee-trees
made of hollow logs set up
with little doors cut in the side.
Drest spotted Nechtan coming
down the slope. "Haw!" he called,
waving an arm for attention.
Nechtan trotted over.
"Whit like?" he asked.
"Well good," said Drest.
"What's the script, then?"
"Let's awa' doon the burn,"
said Nechtan. "See if
the fish are hungry."
Eagerly they scrambled
down the rolling slopes.
The burn sparkled in
the sun, its water dark
as tea from the peat
and the oak leaves.
As they approached
the shore, puddocks
croaked at them, then
plopped into the water.
Nechtan walked along
the edge, looking for fish,
and even tossed a few bits
of bark into the water, but
nothing rose to bite them.
He pointed out the trout
and salmon sulking in
the shade of a hazel grove,
unwilling to bestir themselves
to eat in the heat of the day.
A waterbeast surfaced slowly,
exhaled through its long nose,
then took a fresh breath and
sank back into the cool water.
The boys grinned at each other;
it was a good omen to see one.
Best leave it alone, though.
"Up the brae, then, and
we'll see to the bees,"
Drest said, beckoning.
So they climbed back up,
heading for the path that
wound among the hives.
"Watch the jaggies,"
Nechtan called to him.
"Plabs over here,"
Drest replied. "Coos
must've just come through."
There they were, shaggy heads
buried in a big expanse of grass
with only their long horns showing.
They mooed as the boys went by.
Not far away, a herd of wild ponies
snorted at them, then went back
to eating the good green grass.
At the edge of the patch,
Drest spotted some bracken
where he didn't really want it.
He whistled to Nechtan, and
together they dug up the clump,
stuffing it into their gathering sacks.
100 It was good for livestock bedding,
as well as making leather and soap.
The tough ferns tended to sprout
in poor soil, and would take over
if not managed carefully enough.
One of the coos lifted her tail
and fertilized the ground.
No need to worry about that.
The boys waded through
the purple heather, its bells
busy with bees in the heat,
the scent of them rising up
like fresh rain and honey.
"The happiness of the bee
and the waterbeast is to exist,"
said Nechtan. "For man, it is
to know that and to wonder at it."
Amidst the heather grew drifts
of other wildflowers, dotting
the purple with yellow and white.
Drest bent down to check
the stems, making sure that
the heather grew tall and wide
to form a good dense canopy.
That made it hard for anything
unwanted to get a toehold,
like bracken or thistles.
Bees and butterflies
rose in humming clouds
around him as he worked,
flecking the air with color.
"Where there are bees
there are flowers, and
wherever there are flowers
there is new life and hope,"
Drest said with a smile.
They passed the ruins,
little more than a square of
low stone wall with heather
growing over its shoulders.
Inside, a mixed herd of
sheep and ponies cropped
at the green grass growing
inside the sheltered area.
It took so little for people
to disappear from a place,
and then the land took back
what they had borrowed.
Whatever humans did,
the moors would endure.
Drest found one of his bee-trails,
then, and whistled to Nechtan.
There were skeps made of straw,
stacked like big baskets that could
be taken out once full of honey and
replaced with an empty one.
There were hollow logs with
snug roofs and a door cut
in the side for easy access.
All of them were surrounded
with wild little gardens of
bergamot and lemon balm,
chives and wild mountain thyme,
all the herbs that bees loved best.
Each time the boys came to a hive,
Drest gave his "zubb-zubb" call
so the bees knew not to bother
the beekeeper, and he put down
a plate of honey to distract them
while he carefully checked the hive.
"Jings! They're clarting honey here,"
he said. "I'll have to come back
with some fresh skep levels."
The bees, having finished
their treat, began buzzing
querulously around him.
"I'm gaun, I'm gaun,"
Drest assured them.
"I'll help you carry skeps
for some honeycomb,"
Nechtan offered.
"Aye, I'm happy for
the help," said Drest.
"The bee’s life is like
a magic well: the more
that you draw forth from it,
the more it fills with water."
He would have more than
enough honey for sharing,
especially if his other hives
were in the same shape as
the ones he just checked.
That was what Drest loved
most about the moors -- they
were so full of life, so much
that it overran the ruins and
filled the hollows with honey.
It gave him a little taste of
the happiness of the bee.
That's why he didn't care that
most of his neighbors shied away
from him, except for a few relatives.
The bees were better company
than most people, anyway.
* * *
Notes:
This poem is long, so its character, setting, and content notes will appear separately.
goatgodschild and rix_scaedu. It also fills several squares (The Moors, Ruins, Beekeeping/Bees, Adults are Useless/Dangerous) in my 4-1-23 card for the Gothic Bingo fest. This poem has been sponsored by a pool with fuzzyred. It belongs to the Picts thread of the Polychrome Heroics series."The Happiness of the Bee"
[Saturday, July 25, 2015]
What Drest map Erilich loved best
was escaping from the family farm
to run wild in the moors and woods.
He loved his parents, but the older
he got, the taller he got, the more leery
everyone around him seemed to become.
He wasn't out of bounds for a Pict, not quite,
not yet, but he was entirely too aware that
it could happen at any time, and that tended
to color the way other people treated him.
The adults were often useless at best,
and downright dangerous at worst.
At least Drest had the company of
his cousin Nechtan map Galany,
who didn't give a flip that Drest
was a whole head taller than him
despite them being the same age,
and who was as fond of wild water
as Drest was of bees and flowers.
No one's identity was the same,
though, not really. Even short Picts
liked different things, had unique skills,
or changed over time as they grew up.
It was silly to make such a fuss
over a few hands of height,
when nobody chose theirs.
Drest preferred his bees, who
didn't care about his height,
only about what flowers or
sweets he had brought
to distract them while he
peeked into the hives.
He had them scattered
all over the moors and
into the woods, skeps on
sunny stones and bee-trees
made of hollow logs set up
with little doors cut in the side.
Drest spotted Nechtan coming
down the slope. "Haw!" he called,
waving an arm for attention.
Nechtan trotted over.
"Whit like?" he asked.
"Well good," said Drest.
"What's the script, then?"
"Let's awa' doon the burn,"
said Nechtan. "See if
the fish are hungry."
Eagerly they scrambled
down the rolling slopes.
The burn sparkled in
the sun, its water dark
as tea from the peat
and the oak leaves.
As they approached
the shore, puddocks
croaked at them, then
plopped into the water.
Nechtan walked along
the edge, looking for fish,
and even tossed a few bits
of bark into the water, but
nothing rose to bite them.
He pointed out the trout
and salmon sulking in
the shade of a hazel grove,
unwilling to bestir themselves
to eat in the heat of the day.
A waterbeast surfaced slowly,
exhaled through its long nose,
then took a fresh breath and
sank back into the cool water.
The boys grinned at each other;
it was a good omen to see one.
Best leave it alone, though.
"Up the brae, then, and
we'll see to the bees,"
Drest said, beckoning.
So they climbed back up,
heading for the path that
wound among the hives.
"Watch the jaggies,"
Nechtan called to him.
"Plabs over here,"
Drest replied. "Coos
must've just come through."
There they were, shaggy heads
buried in a big expanse of grass
with only their long horns showing.
They mooed as the boys went by.
Not far away, a herd of wild ponies
snorted at them, then went back
to eating the good green grass.
At the edge of the patch,
Drest spotted some bracken
where he didn't really want it.
He whistled to Nechtan, and
together they dug up the clump,
stuffing it into their gathering sacks.
100 It was good for livestock bedding,
as well as making leather and soap.
The tough ferns tended to sprout
in poor soil, and would take over
if not managed carefully enough.
One of the coos lifted her tail
and fertilized the ground.
No need to worry about that.
The boys waded through
the purple heather, its bells
busy with bees in the heat,
the scent of them rising up
like fresh rain and honey.
"The happiness of the bee
and the waterbeast is to exist,"
said Nechtan. "For man, it is
to know that and to wonder at it."
Amidst the heather grew drifts
of other wildflowers, dotting
the purple with yellow and white.
Drest bent down to check
the stems, making sure that
the heather grew tall and wide
to form a good dense canopy.
That made it hard for anything
unwanted to get a toehold,
like bracken or thistles.
Bees and butterflies
rose in humming clouds
around him as he worked,
flecking the air with color.
"Where there are bees
there are flowers, and
wherever there are flowers
there is new life and hope,"
Drest said with a smile.
They passed the ruins,
little more than a square of
low stone wall with heather
growing over its shoulders.
Inside, a mixed herd of
sheep and ponies cropped
at the green grass growing
inside the sheltered area.
It took so little for people
to disappear from a place,
and then the land took back
what they had borrowed.
Whatever humans did,
the moors would endure.
Drest found one of his bee-trails,
then, and whistled to Nechtan.
There were skeps made of straw,
stacked like big baskets that could
be taken out once full of honey and
replaced with an empty one.
There were hollow logs with
snug roofs and a door cut
in the side for easy access.
All of them were surrounded
with wild little gardens of
bergamot and lemon balm,
chives and wild mountain thyme,
all the herbs that bees loved best.
Each time the boys came to a hive,
Drest gave his "zubb-zubb" call
so the bees knew not to bother
the beekeeper, and he put down
a plate of honey to distract them
while he carefully checked the hive.
"Jings! They're clarting honey here,"
he said. "I'll have to come back
with some fresh skep levels."
The bees, having finished
their treat, began buzzing
querulously around him.
"I'm gaun, I'm gaun,"
Drest assured them.
"I'll help you carry skeps
for some honeycomb,"
Nechtan offered.
"Aye, I'm happy for
the help," said Drest.
"The bee’s life is like
a magic well: the more
that you draw forth from it,
the more it fills with water."
He would have more than
enough honey for sharing,
especially if his other hives
were in the same shape as
the ones he just checked.
That was what Drest loved
most about the moors -- they
were so full of life, so much
that it overran the ruins and
filled the hollows with honey.
It gave him a little taste of
the happiness of the bee.
That's why he didn't care that
most of his neighbors shied away
from him, except for a few relatives.
The bees were better company
than most people, anyway.
* * *
Notes:
This poem is long, so its character, setting, and content notes will appear separately.
(no subject)
Date: 2024-01-20 12:25 am (UTC)Thank you!
Date: 2024-01-20 01:14 am (UTC)