The Bee’s Ballade

no anxious bee“The Bee’s Ballade”

Mysterious, communion of the bee.

His joy; his voice a welcoming alarm

for flowers. His madness filled with fealty

whose body, mind and soul relentless, swarm

mid petals where his wings will do no harm.

Behold this busy thief; his game of bliss.

So drunk with nectar, bumblebee informs

sweet love needs not a reason to exist!

Men may not tell you why they go to sea.

Might hope for bold adventure be the charm?

He ventures forth. By his own loyalty

protects, defends against that crushing storm.

The sea confronts and causes him to mourn

and fracture all his soul with bare, cold fist.

Yet, spite of all old Ahab’s whale deforms,

sweet love needs not a reason to exist!

Oh, Love is like the stars, far-flung and free.

So bountiful in beauty, they disarm.

They blaze before our sight, bright symphony

with fiery heart.  They yearn and spin and form.

They’re sucked into black holes may not be warm;

their soul in coldness cast; yet they persist

as logical as love torn arm-from-arm.

Sweet Love needs not a reason to exist.


The bee, the man, the star; sonata form

the music of crazed things.  An ageless tryst,

it makes no sense; this heart in worship’s dorm.

Sweet Love needs not a reason to exist.

(Different from the English Ballad, the French Ballade form is difficult because of the rhyming.  There must be 14 “B” rhymes!)