Are you looking for some bee poems or bee stories? Fantastic. Here are the best bee poems and bee stories ever!
“To make a prairie it takes a clover and one bee,—
One clover, and a bee,
— Emily Dickinson
“The bees are flying. They taste of spring.”
— Sylvia Plath
The Kingdom of Bees, a poem
by Paul Bearer
Oh my God these bees,
what alien race is among us?
So perfectly formed for the hive,
no individuality at all,
they live and die, worker or drone,
merely to have served
a cause well beyond their own.
These bees, their dedication frightens me;
their efficiency compromises me;
I want to be my own Robinson Crusoe;
I don’t want to need anyone;
but these bees, oh my God, these bees,
they live for each other and only each other,
and not one of them cares
for his own individuality.
These massive hives of swarming bugs;
they live in luxury and ease,
because endless work for them is glee;
and all they follow is the law,
the perfect, endless law
of that mindless queen bee;
and as for her, all the day,
what’s she got to do
but lay egg after egg after egg
planning her kingdom come of bees
and yet more bees.
Oh, God, save me from these bees!
They’re everything I’m not;
their never fickle, never discontent;
they’ve science and industry
but could careless about democracy;
their circumscribed by law,
nature’s boundless law,
and so I fear, some day,
they’ll come for me
and create some stern tyranny.
The Bee Swarm
by Polly Morfuss
The bees came out of nowhere. We were on the beach, laying in a little makeshift tent that shielded us from the sun. We heard the buzz, and then suddenly, first there was one bee, and then another, and then ten more, and then a hundred. Finally, the entire roof of the tent was covered in bees.
We both slowly crawled out on our backs ever so gently so as not to disturb the bees, which now swarmed over the top of our tent. Once safely out, we stood up slowly, and backed away. It was a crowded beach—two children running in play would have smacked into our little tent if I hadn’t caught them first.
The lifeguard was called over, and already he was on the phone calling for help. Help, I thought, who would help us with a swarm of bees? A crowd had formed around our tent. I wondered if that was a good idea. Everyone had backed about 5 meters away from the tent. Yet none of the bees seemed to approach anyone.
It took about 30 minutes, but a beekeeper was sent out, and all that time the bees had stayed together swarming around the tent. The beekeeper had protective clothing, including gloves and a veil, and he searched about the bees, until he found what I took to be the queen bee. He swept her into a large box—that could have been a portable hive.
It took about two hours perhaps, but finally all the bees had gone into the box. The beekeeper explained it while we were waiting. He said that probably their hive had gotten too big, so the queen bee had deserted it. He said he’d seen bees swarming like this over cars, planes, houses—he said he’d even once seen bees swarm into a bedroom!
Anyway, the beekeeper finally picked up the big portable hive and carried it away. We gently shook out the tent and our towels, and everything else that had been there. There wasn’t a bee to be found, and amazingly, no one on the entire beach had been stung. Gads, what a day at the beach!
The Long Slender Bee, a poem
by Emma Blue
Beauty and danger float entwined
but when did you ever give it a proper mind.
Slender long delicate wings, easily broken;
a long fragile body,
each segment held together as if by magic;
so feeble that in an instant,
an exact swat would kill it;
yet when you see that bee, those stripes—
of charcoal and jonquil
across its long hairy body—
the reaction comes in a hot, wet, wham,
a crawling sensation across the nape of you neck,
fear and panic, imagined consequence,
the keen sting of bee seeping in—
need you ask who is more scared?
Look to see what you are,
a long slender bee,
and what brought you here?
Fuzzy, pale shine of shimmering white
dotted with an effervescent aureolin
that pulls you both in
for a purpose only felt
Fear of Bees, a story
by Amanda Lynn
I’ve always had this horrible fear of bees. I know it’s not fair, after all bees are cute. I love bee poems. And bees are important. You hear all these stories in the news these days about possible bee extinction, and about how without the bees we’ll all be a goner, because the bees won’t be around to pollinate our fruits. Yes, I know all that. But still …
I have these repeated dreams, and in each and every one of them, there is always a bee, and he’s always buzzing about my ear. I have this terrible fear, that the bee is going to land there and crawl inside. Now, all I have to do is see a bee, and I start to shiver. My whole stomach tenses up. I just freeze in fear.
I know all about bees. I know about nectar and pollen—I know which flowers bees like best. I know about bee larvae, and bee drones, and queen bees. I even know which birds they call bee-eaters. And did you know that there are stingless bees? Or did you know the biggest bee in the world is called Magachile pluto?
But none of this helps. No matter how much I learn how safe honey bees really are, I can’t shake my own irrational fears. The irony is that I love bee honey. I put it on everything. My favorite lunch is a peanut butter and honey sandwich, and my favorite drink is ginger honey soda!
See, that’s how life is. I can’t get by without honey, and yet nor can I get by with the bees that make it!
The Busy Bee, a poem
by Charlie Tann
The honeybees fly and work all day,
buzz, buzz, buzz, they always say.
Oh! how hard they work and strive;
All the bees that fly about the hive.
Smell the sweet perfume: ah, it’s warm and sunny.
Grab me some pollen, let’s make some bee honey,
Oh what joy to soar through the air, how funny;
Take up some pollen, let’s whip up some honey.
Oh, can’t you see how the bees thrive
As they dive in and out of that hive.
From flower to flower they go and they play,
buzz, buzz, buzz, the bees always say.
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