Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Henk May 1
As the stench of the final bones burning drifts downward and into the soil
The halo of ash intertwines with the light
A shroud 'cross the heavens
Man's kindom denied
At last freed of the symbiote
Their teeth torn from the veins
Peace and monolithic emptyness
Whilst carcasses sink to their graves
Nourishment for the new growth to devour
Debts paid in death and in full
Cracks in the bronze of the bull run deep

Smoke suffocates the ground
Roots choked by wisps and tendrils of what has been
Echoes of life drift into nothing
Dying breaths upon the wind
Work in progress
Oh to be maying this cool sun-snapped day,
Temperately faultless and fair.
Oh to be roaming, this rare day in May ~
Oh how I wish you were there.

Oh to be with you as spring bids its bye
And as summer is saluted, yet still...
Oh you were with me as often I try
To think of you out on the hill.

I remember you with me, faithful and true,
Oh you, how loyal and sound;
Alert when I whistled and ever I knew
Oh you, a prince of a hound.

Oh to be maying as memories awaken ~
But do I feel rain in the sky?
Not so, this May day, I must be mistaken;
Oh 'tis the tear in my eye.

ASJ
ConnectHook May 2019
­        by Robert Herrick

GET up, get up for shame, the blooming morn
Upon her wings presents the god unshorn.
       See how Aurora throws her fair
       Fresh-quilted colours through the air :
       Get up, sweet slug-a-bed, and see
       The dew bespangling herb and tree.
Each flower has wept and bow'd toward the east
Above an hour since : yet you not dress'd ;
       Nay ! not so much as out of bed?
       When all the birds have matins said
       And sung their thankful hymns, 'tis sin,
       Nay, profanation to keep in,
Whereas a thousand virgins on this day
Spring, sooner than the lark, to fetch in May.

Rise and put on your foliage, and be seen
To come forth, like the spring-time, fresh and green,
       And sweet as Flora.  Take no care
       For jewels for your gown or hair :
       Fear not ; the leaves will strew
       Gems in abundance upon you :
Besides, the childhood of the day has kept,
Against you come, some orient pearls unwept ;
       Come and receive them while the light
       Hangs on the dew-locks of the night :
       And Titan on the eastern hill
       Retires himself, or else stands still
Till you come forth.   Wash, dress, be brief in praying :
Few beads are best when once we go a-Maying.

Come, my Corinna, come ; and, coming, mark
How each field turns a street, each street a park
       Made green and trimm'd with trees : see how
       Devotion gives each house a bough
       Or branch : each porch, each door ere this
       An ark, a tabernacle is,
Made up of white-thorn neatly interwove ;
As if here were those cooler shades of love.
       Can such delights be in the street
       And open fields and we not see't ?
       Come, we'll abroad ; and let's obey
       The proclamation made for May :
And sin no more, as we have done, by staying ;
But, my Corinna, come, let's go a-Maying.

There's not a budding boy or girl this day
But is got up, and gone to bring in May.
       A deal of youth, ere this, is come
       Back, and with white-thorn laden home.
       Some have despatch'd their cakes and cream
       Before that we have left to dream :
And some have wept, and woo'd, and plighted troth,
And chose their priest, ere we can cast off sloth :
       Many a green-gown has been given ;
       Many a kiss, both odd and even :
       Many a glance too has been sent
       From out the eye, love's firmament ;
Many a jest told of the keys betraying
This night, and locks pick'd, yet we're not a-Maying.

Come, let us go while we are in our prime ;
And take the harmless folly of the time.
       We shall grow old apace, and die
       Before we know our liberty.
       Our life is short, and our days run
       As fast away as does the sun ;
And, as a vapour or a drop of rain
Once lost, can ne'er be found again,
       So when or you or I are made
       A fable, song, or fleeting shade,
       All love, all liking, all delight
       Lies drowned with us in endless night.
Then while time serves, and we are but decaying,
Come, my Corinna, come, let's go a-Maying.
my boy Robert H. lived from 1591 to 1674.
Anthony Mayfield Feb 2019
Mayday
Mayday
The storm is coming
Arriving today
Evasive action
Run with traction
Pack your essentials
And escape
Before it stops
A pitiful refrain
For those who remain
But here comes the rain
Drowning the gain
The slow can't hide
But I have my shelter
Slam on my brakes
And tonight I will pray
For brighter weather
Where will you be when your personal storm hits?
Danial John Mar 2018
In a land of 10000 poems I roam
Wondering if I'll ever find my way home.
I'm all alone.
Does anybody hear me?

Empathy pierces the fog... Nearly.
My visions are unclear... Clearly.
I pull monsters from within, searing.
I attempt to cauterize old wounds.

Also new.
They oft set my world askew.
Don't know what to do.
Will you help?

Writing ciphers in digitized pen, not felt.
Every word a wound, I stopped for my health.
Twisted and turned around, is this hell?
I must find a way...


A way away from myself.
No excaping who you are. At least not for long.
Silverflame Oct 2016
Mayday, my ship is slowly sinking.
Crushed and then consumed by these merciless waters called your lies.
Your apologies came in like the Kraken, destroying every evidence of life.
But I was safe inside my cabin because you know;
the captain is supposed to go down with the ship.
And so I did.
Now I am just a skeleton with pointless memories,
resting at the obscure ocean bottom with my shipwreck.
SassyJ Jul 2016
My Frankenstein monster*
erects in the dense night
a soliloquies of remedies
traced on pasted wall paper

It bids faster as the kites fly
high above the Himalayan
feeding respect to the sun
to radiate its vector rays

It whispers of this world
a spice of colours and patterns
a windy dainty silky road
wrapped with satanic ribbons

As the masses gather on the poles
to dance the mayday festival
the pagan gods shake the monster
their gold merry as the cloud chills

The bonfire embers and trembles
the palates vanish in the ashy wind
the crowds grow in bonded unity
*the monster smiles in rhymed terms
Beltane: Name for Gaelic May day Festival
Written in memory of May 2016 at Shropshire radical gathering
Pearson Bolt May 2016
they sentenced anarchy to death in 1887.
in the wake of the Haymarket Affair,
they tried in vain to hang a fifth figure
on a chilly November day,
attempted to fit a noose
on an idea that's bullet-proof.

solidarity.
liberty.
equality.

a refrain that remains in remembrance
of Engel, Fischer, Parsons, Spies,
and every man, woman, and child
whose life was robbed by the State
before his or her time.

a mantra celebrating the universal
qualities capable of unifying humanity
even in the face of an apparatus arraigned
to divide
and segregate.

we march in Chicago and Seattle,
in Toronto and NYC,
continuing the fight they began
for dignity and a living wage—
our burning rage growing to a conflagration
as we wave black flags and reclaim
the city streets from killer cops
and corporate oligarchs.

authority an illusion we will shed  
in the tides of black and red, united
against injustice.
"The time will come when our silence will be more powerful than the voices you strangle today."
- August Spies, anarchist & labor organizer

In solidarity with those protesting across the globe for a living wage, this poem is dedicated to the memory of the Haymarket 8 and every other anarchist prisoner in the world today.
Panos Ambelas Feb 2016
It has four walls
and two windows,
but it's pretty,
even if it's dark.

It has one table
and two chairs.
It looks full,
even it's empty.

It has no floor,
or pretty plates,
but only dust,
painted with blood.

How many people died
and how many pained?
But they builded a beautiful house,
even if it's forgotten.

Something inside me tells me to stay,
to open the windows,
the sun to see it,
May Day to smell.
May Day
Next page