A Corner Stake

Corner stones are all the rage,
A surface into which to scratch
Reminders to a later age:
Was here...this stone...this mortar batch.
But I prefer a corner stake.

No presence of politicos,
No smooth hands holding spotless hoes,
And any speeches I might make
About this building yet to be
Will falter on the gentle shake
of leaves. So listen not to me.

By when one lays a corner stone
The final plans have all been drawn.
With corner stake I make my own
What heading will this wall be on,
What sun-rays will this window catch.

Colony Collapse

Seems the lately case of bees
Has been to throw off colonies.
Imperial Apiaries
Abandoned – called a word, collapse.
But bees have two or one synapse
On worded colonizers. These
They’ve used to return to the trees
Where they’ve decided, if you please,
They’ll just hang on to their honeys;
Those or at least their destinies.
So colonizers’ memories
Here demonstrate an awful lapse:
The wash of time, it always frees.
And bees with one or two good flaps
Stir storms to cause our own collapse.