stdClass Object
(
    [ID] => 20012
    [post_author] => 23
    [post_date] => 2019-05-10 12:09:12
    [post_date_gmt] => 2019-05-10 12:09:12
    [post_content] => A Golden Shovel after Shakespeare

the garden yawns: it has just struck two
o’clock. small creatures crawl, summer-drunk and muffled by heat. in the dirt, a bee
tumbles over and over itself, belly showing, legs whirling dust. i excavate, scooping up an ore
made of hot earth and gravel and grass and animal, a hysterical knot
of black back leg and sun-drowned wing. i, too,
take on that silent frenzy of his. i cannot leave him here, cannot let him be.

the sun sinks, somehow, and the garden yawns again. he is drowning. that
steady, mortal drown. slowing down, slowing, down – weightless, now.  he is –

still. curled in a ball, my cheap handful his grave. it isn’t enough. the
sun sets, and i ask him where he wishes to be. but he has no breath to tell me, no mouth to question.
    [post_title] => to bee, or not to bee
    [post_excerpt] => 
    [post_status] => publish
    [comment_status] => closed
    [ping_status] => closed
    [post_password] => 
    [post_name] => to-bee-or-not-to-bee
    [to_ping] => 
    [pinged] => 
    [post_modified] => 2019-05-10 12:09:12
    [post_modified_gmt] => 2019-05-10 12:09:12
    [post_content_filtered] => 
    [post_parent] => 0
    [guid] => http://poems.poetrysociety.org.uk/?post_type=poems&p=20012
    [menu_order] => 0
    [post_type] => poems
    [post_mime_type] => 
    [comment_count] => 0
    [filter] => raw
    [meta_data] => stdClass Object
        (
            [wpcf-published-in] => 
            [wpcf-date-published] => 2019
            [wpcf-summary-description] => This poem is commended in the Golden Shovel challenge on Young Poets Network (YPN), judged by Peter Kahn.

A Golden Shovel poem uses a phrase from a pre-existing text to make up the end-words for each of its lines. Find out more about the Golden Shovel form here.
            [wpcf-rights-information] => 
            [wpcf-poem-award] => Commended, Golden Shovel challenge
            [wpcf_pr_belongs] => 
        )

    [poet_data] => stdClass Object
        (
            [ID] => 19974
            [forename] => 
            [surname] => 
            [title] => Georgie West
            [slug] => georgie-west
            [content] => Georgie is commended in the Carol Ann Duffy challenge on Young Poets Network, judged by Mari Hughes-Edwards, and celebrating Duffy's legacy as Poet Laureate; she is also commended in the Golden Shovel challenge on Young Poets Network, judged by Peter Kahn.
        )

)
stdClass Object
(
    [ID] => 19974
    [forename] => 
    [surname] => 
    [title] => Georgie West
    [slug] => georgie-west
    [content] => Georgie is commended in the Carol Ann Duffy challenge on Young Poets Network, judged by Mari Hughes-Edwards, and celebrating Duffy's legacy as Poet Laureate; she is also commended in the Golden Shovel challenge on Young Poets Network, judged by Peter Kahn.
)

to bee, or not to bee

Georgie West

A Golden Shovel after Shakespeare

the garden yawns: it has just struck two
o’clock. small creatures crawl, summer-drunk and muffled by heat. in the dirt, a bee
tumbles over and over itself, belly showing, legs whirling dust. i excavate, scooping up an ore
made of hot earth and gravel and grass and animal, a hysterical knot
of black back leg and sun-drowned wing. i, too,
take on that silent frenzy of his. i cannot leave him here, cannot let him be.

the sun sinks, somehow, and the garden yawns again. he is drowning. that
steady, mortal drown. slowing down, slowing, down – weightless, now.  he is –

still. curled in a ball, my cheap handful his grave. it isn’t enough. the
sun sets, and i ask him where he wishes to be. but he has no breath to tell me, no mouth to question.