�Living With The Bees�

As we look behind we see the bricks looking so old and tired
We see the door gasping and ready to be closed for good
I feel sad that it has come to this, but my mind left months ago…

The cold that stung and hung around my shoulders
It wasn’t actually that typical British weather
But it was the holes in the walls and the gaps under all the doors

And those floorboards hiding their secrets, but now and again letting you smell a hint of what lays beneath
The slits in the joins would flash something-
Was it a lost coin, lost jewellery or a lost someone’s eyeball looking up?

I’d wake up in the middle of the night
Damp sweating nightmares starting me into an upright position
I wish I was there to stop that baby hedgehog from falling into our open drain
Poor little soul drowning silently in the night
Quietly struggling and disappearing slowly from our dying garden
I wish I was there to stop it.

The early every morning bees in the bathroom confused and looking for a way to get back to their home under the bath
We’d shuffle them outside with the help of a piece of paper or an envelope
They would angry buzz us swear words and vibrate all along the removal.

I cursed every thin wall that allowed us to hear next doors break up
The words were muffled but you could sense the suffering in each sound heard
We could only smile when ever we saw them out in public together-
How do you try to offer help and advice to something that’s supposed to stay private?
So damn those walls ears for not keeping what it heard to itself.    

Today on the pavement with rent books bundled and new address crumpled
I turn to the old house, wish it good luck and say goodbye
Do I love you- yes I do
But it’s just time for us to move on…
 

 

 

Reviews

[Ebby]

Hi Steven.
Again, I like this. Personification of a house, enlivened decay from reading past events, Time shifts.
This is well constructed.
You have not allowed yourself to get bogged down in emotion, which can be a real struggle when approaching work where feelings run high. As a writer, I feel more, so I write. I do not write more, in fact, I strip away. That is the essence, and you have achieved it here.
I espacially admire this part:

The early every morning bees in the bathroom confused and looking for a way to get back to their home under the bath
We�d shuffle them outside with the help of a piece of paper or an envelope
They would angry buzz us swear words and vibrate all along the whole removal.

Thank you for inviting me to read this.
Kindest regards. :)

[Amy Lou]

Written by someone whos mind is observant and profoundly strange.
In an artful and imaginative way, of'course.

I loved this piece, ahh the spookiness of the house was fabulous!

**Amy Lou**

[Quiescent]

Funny, reading this was like watching an image slowly coalesce into picture with color and sound. First come outlines, then depth and shade and color. I enjoyed the little things that made this work... the angry buzz of the bees, the penny spied between the cracks... all of it came together to give the piece a feel of good memories, although maybe a bit bittersweet. I must read on...

-Q-

[R J Askew]

Liked this one, best of the three I have read. It generates a real feel for place and the ties that go with it and the sentimentality of leaving it behind. It is a gentle poem with some nice little dabs of detail that take the reader into the house. I could hear the muffled neighours. I liked the title and this time it was backed up by the poem. Bees evoke positive thoughts.

[Emily B]

Wow! Sometimes when there is something we are loathe to face, we concentrate on every other small detail. I like the title. Everyone should learn to live with the bees. Is it the house you'll miss?

[Gary H]

Brilliant. I don't think there is a line here that doesn't sit well or anything that I think should be longer or shorter or not there at all. That's hard work to get everything so spot on. Gives a picture all the time of the old house and the memories surrounding - wasn't influenced by Morrissey was it?