Flutter my little bumblebee
flutter with wings that zing
and sing me songs of summer indeed,
flutter my little bumblebee
your gold and black flitting
like cotton candy treat,
won’t you swim through air
laden with sweet callings of nectar rich
from this flower to that,
as if in the blink of an eye
they shall vanish.
Flutter, my little bumblebee
for you are the joy that brings
the honey to my being.
Flutter, and let me wonder
how it is that you take
such beauty from blooms
and no harm come by.
Flutter, my little beauty
my darling girl
like the colorful and singing bumblebee
leave me the marveling at your beauty
the childhood that brings peace
that your laughter shall always grow
brighter and brighter
When a child cries alone, withdrawn
pay a moment of care and ask why
you never know the disease that hurts.
(I know this topic is sensitive, but it’s one close to my heart, and I’d like to build awareness small step at a time, that if you know a child who suffers any sort of neglect/abuse be it verbal or otherwise more sinister, lend them your ears and hear them out, and be patient with them. That is all.)
Honey stared outside at the yard
littered with broken furniture
and heard the thousand sounds rain made
falling on the junk yard, drumming like a symphony
a thousand voice singing.
She turned around and listened to the quiet house
her parents were no longer fighting
no longer shouting profanities
yes, she knew what they were
she snuck out to old Betsy’s place next door when she could
Betsy had an old TV you see
and the two would keep it company over tea and broken biscuits
when Honey was home alone
which was mostly
her mum didn’t count really, hungover and barely able to speak.
Honey quietly pushed the door open
and stepped out in the rain
feeling beads of water falling on her face
and that’s when she cried
under the mask of rain
she let it out.
She wanted change
someone to care for her
someone to say, ‘Oh Honey, let me get you a plate’.
She stood under the rain for as long as she could
till the darkness took over
and the yard looked friendly no more.
She hated to go inside
for it was no home
a room she had to herself
the couch as her bed
and no one at night bothered to read a story
or tuck her in and kiss her goodnight.
There was good old Betsy
who would welcome darling Honey home
and tuck her in with a story
and a glass of milk
but only on the nights she was alone.
But it wasn’t just the sky crying tonight
it was Honey’s heart breaking
for this morning when she’d gone over
Betsy was no more.
Today, no one had cared for Honey
just another broken thing to add to the pile outside.
Watch Me Fly!
‘I believe I can fly,’
he said to himself and took a step
towards the wall and looked up.
If birds could fly
lift off from the branches
pushing higher and wings aflutter
then so could he, in the neat costume he’d stitched.
‘I believe I can fly,
rise up and touch the sky,’
he chanted, psyching himself
with ever inch of the house scaled.
Just a little more up,
gain a little more height,
he looked up, the blazing blue sky beckoned
a bird watched him curiously from upon her perch on the chimney.
‘I will fly, you just watch me,’ he said
eyeing the bird with every step,
he finally reached the top rung,
hoisting himself up on the terra cotta blistering.
He took a moment
inhaled a deep breath of pride,
he grinned at the bird and flapped
his wings of floral sheet
stolen from the clothes line.
The bird took fright and flew on by
landing on the tree in the yard ahead.
He stepped to the edge,
his feet slightly slipping
and from there he stared
at the ground beneath.
He stretched his arms as wide as could be
looking at the figure of his mother beneath
chattering with the neighbor, probably about tangerine.
‘Mum,’ he cried, puffing out his lungs, and flapping his wings,
‘Mum, look! Look! Watch me fly!’
and when his mother turned in absolute horror,
he widened his wings and leapt.
And upon the trampoline, fell.