The Bees of Notre Dame
Between the parapets and flying home,
low, to their boxes on the roof:
they carry bags of pollen on their jointed legs
to feed the newborn brood.
Behind the ruined, sooted, towers;
the scorched and broken arch;
the melted scaffolding in rusting folds;
the smouldering books ...
and from their overflowing combs
the honey drips
from cells of wax in running gold.
Perhaps it was the smoke that saved the bees:
all gathered round their rooftop queen,
they slept through everything
A Greg 03/02/2020
The Stares Nest
https://www.scottishpoetrylibrary.org.uk/poem/stares-nest-my-window/
Different lives
If I had a different life to live
I’d try an underwater one:
a pollock in the river, swimming,
or be lichen baking in the sun
or fungi fruiting once a year,
a pigeon pecking at the field,
or be a tree with branches bending
almost to the ground with
apples, ripe and feeding little pigs
A Greg 03/02/2020
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>.
City
I began to move more easily in the half-light
Now that I have half a lung and half a liver
I feel more comfortable right here and cats
Prowl in the shadows with electric fur
Rubbing sparks together - it’s another world
Slight movements are poetic - shadows move
On solid walls of stone and yellow lights
Reflecting just as bright in puddles, tipped
Out carry-outs of burgers, chips and onion rings
Reach outwards through the heavy curtains
of the rain. It’s never dark. Here we
Are spiders of the city. Our long thin limbs
Our ruby eyes, our hungry mouths and poison
In our claws, we feed on dreams
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