The Truth of Bees

The CV2 2-Day Poem Contest, is an annual event put on by the Winnipeg-based journal, Contemporary Verse 2. A list of 10 words, often made up of archaic ones, is released on the specified Friday in April, precisely at 12am-midnight, from which point you have 48 hours to create a poem containing each word, in the form given by the contest organizers.

It's Monkeys in a Barrel on speed; the most fun a poet and lover of words can have... while simultaneously having an aneurysm!

Here is my entry from 2018. I've set the 10 given words in bold in order to help the reader find them... although, I've no doubt you would have picked out "roric" on your own.

The Truth of Bees

Do images of Kierkegaard

flash across the collective mind of bees?

Ethereal dreams, roric visions, fade in

fade out of each worker bee’s existence, creating

their collective reality in steadfast rhythm

to the hum of summer’s breath.

Bees know a crucial truth:

action is their purpose.

When blooms transpire their essence

into the morning mist, bees recognize

the truest prize—sweet nectar—when

innate faith transmutes into form.

If feckless means of navigating through life

are grasped by heavy hands intent on domination

not delight,

pleasures small and precious are lost.

I watch the bees fly across fallow land, ripe

with wonder, to find chamomile hidden in a field.

Our mantle has become Apathy, our coifs

forever fastened with nails turned rust lest recall

what true pleasure is. We’d lose ourselves

at Babel’s tower before reaching jubilation,

destroy the Hanging Gardens of Babylon

rather than see its glory.

In choosing what to celebrate,

a commodious sense of self-importance

now holds our attention,

and unexpected frisson holds no meaning at all

beyond the inconvenience

of its unprepared occurrence.

I’ll seek the truth of bees. Judge my life’s measure

not through a man made lens,

but through my actions. Distortion is too high a price

if value is determined through extrinsic glances.

I’ll tub myself in lessons learned each day and listen

for the honeyed thrum of bees. It burrows deep

below the surface to where the pith

of understanding lies waiting, dormant at my core.

And the lesson of bees shall serve me well

for it is all the truth I need.