Welcome to Poetry.com
Poetry.com is a huge collection of poems from famous and amateur poets from around the world — collaboratively published by a community of authors and contributing editors.
HONEY HOME(5.00 / 1 vote)
by poet: Brian Nkereuwem Kelvin
It was a honey home in which Harmony's dome situates,
Many centuries accentuates her joy
Though they have come and gone in a rush.
The tall hollow tree beckons them
On the branches, the kings and queens serenade on top ,while the boom- boozes on, inside the hollow
From the chorus of sting prone swarm of bees at the middle.
A shared home of two, the peaceful and the dangerous. Do the birds choose this particular tree to be secured by the middle sojourners?
On a Silhouette Daily fligths returning back birds, their backs delicate glimery in feathered coated flowers as of festival. They are safe to land on top where they belong.
Honey home,no man dares that hole off guard ,the story when told would be not of void,nor of tortoise fables,
Instead,a sting or several in the face.
How will a hand get to the top to fetch the delicate,without passing through the delicacies?
A lonely day it was ,we were four who had tried that prank on the bees ,the hunt for honey taugth me a lesson,
I will never forget how large my ear lobs grew or how my elder brother's eye lid expanded to the size of a lime orange.
The other two fled ,and we both the same,with screams of danger ,hands raised in surrender,honey collection jar broken on the floor,our feets on spontaneous
But I looked back to wonder how the birds on top were safe from the two dangers, dangers of the hunter and middle men,I am sure they minded their business.the other part is in the middle.
Who sent you? Our parents quarried,
The lessons we never learnt teaches us never to forget.
My ear resonates "voouh - voouh -voouh'' and "froo quip curoo'',at the drench - aftermath ,my heart ticks on ascendency paradigm,Alas,I know,you can't trick a bee to her honey unguarded,they won't be scared as the birds,not be frightened like the squirrel,they will sting like the bees they are,my recollection of events at the honey home.
Discuss this Brian Kelvin poem with the community:
Find a translation for this poem in other languages:
Select another language:
- - Select -
- 简体中文 (Chinese - Simplified)
- 繁體中文 (Chinese - Traditional)
- Español (Spanish)
- Esperanto (Esperanto)
- 日本語 (Japanese)
- Português (Portuguese)
- Deutsch (German)
- العربية (Arabic)
- Français (French)
- Русский (Russian)
- ಕನ್ನಡ (Kannada)
- 한국어 (Korean)
- עברית (Hebrew)
- Gaeilge (Irish)
- Українська (Ukrainian)
- اردو (Urdu)
- Magyar (Hungarian)
- मानक हिन्दी (Hindi)
- Indonesia (Indonesian)
- Italiano (Italian)
- தமிழ் (Tamil)
- Türkçe (Turkish)
- తెలుగు (Telugu)
- ภาษาไทย (Thai)
- Tiếng Việt (Vietnamese)
- Čeština (Czech)
- Polski (Polish)
- Bahasa Indonesia (Indonesian)
- Românește (Romanian)
- Nederlands (Dutch)
- Ελληνικά (Greek)
- Latinum (Latin)
- Svenska (Swedish)
- Dansk (Danish)
- Suomi (Finnish)
- فارسی (Persian)
- ייִדיש (Yiddish)
- հայերեն (Armenian)
- Norsk (Norwegian)
- English (English)