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Love Poems About Hornets or Hornets Love Poems
by Stephen Kilmer |
Categories: crazy, desire, loneliness,

Snow Hornets

The night is cold
Snow is pure
Flakes are individuals
No two alike
Why do you haunt me?
I live alone
Inside 
There’s nothing
But bitter cold
Hornets fester
In my heart
Ready to protect
My deadly guest
One sting will kill
The love you feel
So leave my nest 
Hidden in a barn
Where no one treads
Not even mice


by diane henning |
Categories: faith, life, love, peace, heaven, heaven, life,

virgin bloody vajohn

There the hornets and black widows and vajohn in the village and
all ask favors to goto heaven well, if you are going to heaven you
can't break the law no even for virgin yes there is a right and wrong
in everything if you feel its a ghost and its wrong don't do it because
you won't go to heaven anyway, the bite or sting from the hornets Queen
is to must and the bible says its not by works or favors may be God
is trying to said don't do that have a nice life and a angel just blink
and wink and said good bye enjoy your life and obey the law.

by Joe DiMino |
Categories: allegory, analogy, devotion, inspirational, inspirational love, introspection, wisdom,

Measures of Love

I cannot tell you
with certainty
where wrong begins
and right ends--
it is like the weather:
sometimes clouds form quickly
as hornets jump from the bush
all around you…
or a slow unfolding,
light tucked away at the edges
till the pleasant blue
is an expected, evident fury;

and on other occasions
it is a legless dance,
with abundance of music
but not one, willing partner,
to twirl into drench…

I guess
what I’m trying
to say is,
beginnings and endings
mean little
if truth is not 
a constant drizzle
over
and above 
the rain

like
measures of love
are the immeasurable
ingredient 
in every mother’s recipe

by Christopher Flaherty |
Categories: lost love, slam,

JL Giant Poet U Hoo

The Giant's

Of the wonder class
With outstretched looking ears
And pierced whistleblowers lips

Never had a mother
To sew their name into
Their favorite clothes
Or a home with a wardrobe to hang them in

They were instead chosen to become
The dead poet's and tortured artist's
We recite today

By speaker's corner

At wakes and funerals
On cold and grey rainy days
Outside derelict building's
Who's roofs were lost to german bombs

We as children dared each other not to go into 

For fear of stirring up a hornets nest

Of represed abandonment feelings

Lest best we be remembered forgotten