I'm Not My Bee's Keeper
A little
honey bee whispered in my ear
“Your
sister’s a keeper” and I said
“I know but
eye wax poetic:
You can
speak and you can hear
So get the
f..k out of my ear!”
© David Girard 25/02/19
my Lot
My Jesus, My Lord. Am I destined for hell? Your taste extremely bitter, Intoxicating fragrance can’t smell. You’re without sin but I wallow in it. I’m the black sheep of the flock in more ways than one. A man that loves men, that’s what I am. This you already know as part of your plan. I must be myself, the best that I can. When among others, idly we talk. Not gospel of song but gossip of rot. I ponder O Lord, what’s to be my Lot? Enter a fiery furnace that eradicates me? Like Judas Iscariot, disgraced and hung in a tree? Or be the woman at the well that you set free? Will I become a violent Hitler or a peaceful Ghandi? I must be myself, the best that I can. © David Girard 25/03/15
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