"mayfly" poems
I L U like my ***** clothes
Love being forgotten
On my bedroom floor
I L U like chores love the
music that helps them
forget they're chores
I L U like ***** dishes
Love hot showers and
the other side of the sink
I L U like I love spilling
Salt, and warding off the evil,
By tossing some behind my back
I L U like I love
Breaking rules about
my own supposed
non-Superstition
I L U like black cats love
Bad luck, cause to them,
It's just Friday, you know?
I L U like the hot dog bun
Loves staring at the beef patty,
Wishing "if only, if only"
I L U like bread loves
Being forgotten till we're really hungry
And then we're all ungrateful, like
"Hey bread, you remember us?"
And bread is high above us, like
"Always."
Not even a hint of scorn
I L U like the first time I saw
Jurassic Park, The dinosaurs
Were real enough
sans chicken feathers, and
Who needs modern science anyways
when love has no fossil records?
I L U like the weather loves
Surprise parties.
I L U like painful
surprise party memories love
being forgotten on my bedroom floor
I love you like Mayflies love living,
oh so briefly, once a day, every single day,
Chapter one to chapter none
I love you like mayflies love themselves,
brevity and all, stirred by nothing but
the glow of Dawn's light,
Dead by dusk, the Mayfly never
knows its final form.
It dies
in complete
incompletion,
but that's okay.
It drank the salt ocean,
it breathed the living air,
And that's how I want to L U
Feb 25, 2017
Feb 25, 2017 at 4:26 PM UTC
*March 2002
(inspired by William Shakespeare; and an eerie
floating drowned woman in the movie Titanic)*
Adrift amid the bindweed, through the reeds,
Watching the sky with deep unblinking eyes,
She passes where the turquoise mayfly feeds,
Oblivious of all that swims or flies.
Red flowered chiffon billows to her hands
Open like water lilies in the sun,
Her skin's the colour of tropical sands,
Her russet hair shines bright as copper spun.
Fabulous jewels languish on her breast,
Rich spoils of love rendered useless in death,
Her parted lips make unspoken behest;
The rosy portal of her final breath.
Now all is cold where roiling passion flamed,
As jealous earth mourns what the river claimed.
Feb 28, 2013
Feb 28, 2013 at 4:42 PM UTC
Do not say that I'll depart tomorrow
because even today I still arrive.
Look deeply: I arrive in every second
to be a bud on a spring branch,
to be a tiny bird, with wings still fragile,
learning to sing in my new nest,
to be a caterpillar in the heart of a flower,
to be a jewel hiding itself in a stone.
I still arrive, in order to laugh and to cry,
in order to fear and to hope.
The rhythm of my heart is the birth and
death of all that are alive.
I am the mayfly metamorphosing on the surface of the river,
and I am the bird which, when spring comes, arrives in time
to eat the mayfly.
I am the frog swimming happily in the clear pond,
and I am also the grass-snake who, approaching in silence,
feeds itself on the frog.
I am the child in Uganda, all skin and bones,
my legs as thin as bamboo sticks,
and I am the arms merchant, selling deadly weapons to
Uganda.
I am the twelve-year-old girl, refugee on a small boat,
who throws herself into the ocean after being ***** by a sea
pirate,
and I am the pirate, my heart not yet capable of seeing and
loving.
I am a member of the politburo, with plenty of power in my
hands,
and I am the man who has to pay his "debt of blood" to, my
people,
dying slowly in a forced labor camp.
My joy is like spring, so warm it makes flowers bloom in all
walks of life.
My pain is like a river of tears, so full it fills the four oceans.
Please call me by my true names,
so I can hear all my cries and laughs at once,
so I can see that my joy and pain are one.
Please call me by my true names,
so I can wake up,
and so the door of my heart can be left open,
the door of compassion.
Thich Nhat Hanh
Dec 23, 2012
Dec 23, 2012 at 8:14 PM UTC
ashen wasteland
healed by dew
pulses, trembles
birthed anew
Mother beating
midnight drum
lily, crocus
cherry, plum
yearling stumble
hatchling drop
grizzly bumble
salmon flop
coyote howl
jackal bay
gleamy-eyed
they stalk their prey
brutal jaws
on tawny throat
****** tears
in tawny coat
feign o possum
flee o hare
saffron, saltbush
tulip, tare
Mother sows,
human reaps,
forward still
the forest creeps
hack and slash
slash and burn
maple, mayfly
buckthorn, fern
chipmunk gather
raccoon store
silence on
the barren moor
groundhog slumber
grizzly snore
knocking on
the Old Man's door
Aug 13, 2015
Aug 13, 2015 at 8:16 PM UTC
I placed my bread to heat for just five seconds--
behold: when I came for it, it wasn't alone.
A mayfly had set up camp (so to speak)
with my wheat bread, my most favored
Amish-baked, sliced-before-my-own eyes bread;
and when I say it "set up camp," I do not
mean anything pleasant. I do mean six thin legs
sprawled long and broken when discovered
and perhaps some melted insides; who's to say?
Something turned inside of me and I'm certain
I grimaced at least a little, and took my plate back,
thinking, disturbed just slightly. How had I not
seen the fly? It couldn't have touched the bread--poor thing--
just rested there, unknowing, to be slaughtered.
*"Mom...Mom...Ahh, uhh, Mom! Mom?"
(mother assesses circumstances, unceremoniously takes a napkin
to my victim, and introduces his corpse to the garbage)
"He probably wasn't in there when I...right?"
--"It probably was."
"But five seconds couldn't have killed him."
I know I am wrong
as I feel the warm grains of my prize.
(mother gives a long look and says...)
--"If it heated the bread, I'm sure it heated the bug."*
I took my bounty anyway--the bread, that is, mind you--
and went to eat it absentmindedly, but found that
now impossible. Sigh. I also found myself
staring, long and hard, then, at half of a piece
of glorious, Heaven-breathed wheat bread,
and suddenly realized that I could not discern
whether or not I was enjoying it. ******
And then I tried to reassure myself by chiding
inwardly, "You're just afraid of insects
irrationally," but maybe I actually
felt that the blood of an
innocent life was on
my hands.
*Why are they so stupid? I ask
no one really, fighting revulsion,
grasping for blame.*
Alas, I finished eating but felt rightly robbed
of some essential part of the experience.
Yet, such is life.
Mar 16, 2012
Mar 16, 2012 at 8:36 PM UTC
Five years is an awfully short time to spend with someone you thought was a part of your stomach -
the skin in your throat, the folds of your kneecaps
You couldn't imagine shaking them from your fingertips,
not in a million lifetimes
But instead, it only took one;
not as brief as a mayfly but as not as long as a bird soars
If you ask me, we were cut down too soon but hung on too long -
I'd have kept hanging, too,
if only the branch weren't gone.
Oct 19, 2015
Oct 19, 2015 at 2:52 PM UTC
I have been yearning for true love
For years and years
For decades and decades
I have seen it in movies
I have read it in books
But to experience it in real life
Is a different feeling altogether
Of course, when you have lived
For as long as thirty two years
It is utterly impossible
Not to fall in love
At least once, or maybe even twice
And I am not even counting crushes
They are as ephemeral
As the life of a mayfly is
The love bug has bitten me twice
However, on both occasions
The love has been more lop-sided
Than the recent Men's Ashes
On the first occasion
I was slower than a snail
By the time I finally confessed my feelings
The girl was already engaged
On the second occasion
It was an arranged marriage
After two initial meetings
Followed by two months
Full of frequent phone calls
We had a rather simple engagement
Since then, it was apparent
That the going was smooth
Even if it was a long-distance relationship
However, just before the wedding
The pandemic chose to strike
The marriage had to be postponed
By five frigging months
Consequently, things were never the same again
Mind you, I was very much in love
But, as I mentioned earlier
It was a long-distance relationship
And I could sense
That slowly, but surely
The girl was beginning to fade away
And the marriage, when it eventually happened
Was an absolute trainwreck
Now, a year and a half later
I am single again
And the quest for true love continues
This time, I hope and pray
That when I do fall in love again
It will be duly reciprocated
And will be as long-lasting
As the love
That my family has for me
Jan 26, 2022
Jan 26, 2022 at 12:50 PM UTC
Little mayfly yearned to be a butterfly.
Little mayfly yearned to be a butterfly.
Little mayfly yearned to be a butterfly.
Little mayfly yearned to be a butterfly.
Little mayfly yearned to be a butterfly.
Little mayfly yearned to be a butterfly.
Little mayfly yearned to be a butterfly.
Little mayfly yearned to be a butterfly.
Little mayfly yearned to be a butterfly.
Little mayfly yearned to be a butterfly.
Little mayfly yearned to be a butterfly.
Little mayfly yearned to be a butterfly.
Little mayfly yearned to be a butterfly.
Little mayfly yearned to be a butterfly.
Little mayfly yearned to be a butterfly.
Little mayfly yearned to be a butterfly.
Little mayfly yearned to be a butterfly.
Little mayfly yearned to be a butterfly.
Little mayfly yearned to be a butterfly
Little mayfly yearned to be a butterfly.
Little mayfly yearned to be a butterfly.
Little mayfly yearned to be a butterfly.
Little mayfly yearned to be a butterfly.
Little mayfly yearned to be a butterfly
Little...May....Fly....
Feb 19, 2020
Feb 19, 2020 at 7:10 AM UTC
He found her on a bridge
crying tears into a river
and reached out
as she fell to hold her
in their flight
above her tears
across the sky
Jan 4, 2014
Jan 4, 2014 at 1:45 PM UTC
Flickering dim lightbulb mockingly,
Withers and dies ever gracefully.
Fathers verses and mothers eyes,
Empty "I love you's", at least you tried.
I lost my heart with my head in the skies,
These days dreams die short lived, just like mayflies.
Mar 26, 2015
Mar 26, 2015 at 1:28 AM UTC
Oh Beloved, the years come and go… Except, I see you; You my love, are as the first moment I set eyes upon you; The touch of a instant: The sweet breath of a breeze… You…, are a spark to wings… giving rise to this spinning mayfly. You are my fire. and I dance for you. Reminiscent to the essence of The Dancing Cry Of The Soul I rise… And, … the veils fall. Eternal is the flame; Ageless to the essence of the soul. Still, in these eyes, You are my spark.
You possess such a power over me.
I embrace you within my mind and you…, you are as a soft whisper; A longing,,, in a distant dream. And, like a beacon deep in fog you steer my desire’s passions.
How I tremble from deep within... My sweet love, you possess a gift… to make still this pounding heart. You take my breath away. Beloved, you are my subsistence; You make me reach, … to want
And, I belong to you.
From impish to poetry.
Ah, my love, to the deliciously impish thoughts only you can provide;
Thank You
Your Phoenix
Jul 7, 2015
Jul 7, 2015 at 3:01 AM UTC
Mayflies
by Michael R. Burch
These standing stones have stood the test of time
but who are you
and what are you
and why?
As brief as mist, as transient, as pale ...
Inconsequential mayfly!
Perhaps the thought of love inspired hope?
Do midges love? Do stars bend down to see?
Do gods commend the kindnesses of ants
to aphids? Does one eel impress the sea?
Are mayflies missed by mountains? Do the stars
regret the glowworm’s stellar mimicry
the day it dies? Does not the world go on
as if it’s no great matter, not to be?
Life, to be sure, is nothing much to lose.
And yet somehow you’re everything to me.
Originally published by Clementine Unbound. Keywords/Tags: mayfly, mayflies, time, mist, transient, transience, pale, inconsequential, stars, sea, everything, A. E. Housman quote
Apr 8, 2020
Apr 8, 2020 at 2:06 AM UTC
Velveteen butterflies sail into strawberry way , strike a pose against the meditative , sunny disposition of the coming May
Harlequin horseflies and Bumblebee jesters
Pear bloom ballet , Mayfly soloist , interpretive Ferns are quite dashing in the Alabama breeze , Wood Thrush dancers and Mourning Dove romantics cooing in the Honey Locust trees
Madame April's storybook of Springtide scenes
and fairytale dreams ...
Apr 22, 2016
Apr 22, 2016 at 6:22 PM UTC
White linen and naked lightbulbs
there is sand in the sheets.
there are children on the porch
there are napkins folded like sleeping birds.
until the dinner bell.
Oct 24, 2012
Oct 24, 2012 at 8:34 PM UTC
In sweet warm winds of mono Summers night
when the villagers are sleeping snug and tight
when you hear the Lilly ponds songs of freedom
you will know the greens chaps are marching
With sinuous limbs of mortal marshlands
they lift their prizes to their honoured Queen
with sweet roosted dragonflies and mayfly pie
they justly do homage to all her glories
First to mark the parade
are the one's in the French frog wars
all those legless, now with stumps
in wheel chairs still smelling of garlic
They salute their queen
those hero's of cuisine
their emerald attire
and strong hearts of fire
Then come her sweet tadpoles
so liken to your navy seals
when bite comes to munch
these brothers are the ******** spawn of the bunch
The Queen she waits for water
she calls out orders for water
but not from her solider sons
but her handmaiden daughters
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
Sep 24, 2013
Sep 24, 2013 at 10:39 AM UTC
Behold, I emerge from my slumber,
ready for the fluttering touch of another.
Who shall dance to the death with me?
Who shall fall in their peak to the voyeuristic sea,
and tuck themselves in 'neath the slobbering tongues
of the little fishies starving for the tastes of the young
that I gave my life to create.
They'll never get a chance to appreciate
all that I've sacrificed for the cause.
The world carries on, no grief and no pause.
All in a day's work, no thanks for the mother
who lives just to die for the meeting of another.
Mar 7, 2023
Mar 7, 2023 at 10:34 PM UTC
on the windowsill of my bus
a mayfly sits, her tails forming a V
she twitches, spontaneous,
watching the trees blow by
her relentless endeavours
to pierce through the glass
the barrier segregating her
from the world outside
to stay means certain death
and yet, she watches
the rolling film through
the lens of a bus window
and as the credits roll
she twitches.
Sep 15, 2025
Sep 15, 2025 at 12:36 PM UTC
And rather die as a mayfly, in one day, on their feet,
Than live as long as an eagle flies, on their knees.
"...It's funny how one insect can damage so much grain...",
One instant can damage so much Grace,
Yet, abominable that only 400 years of supposed science has almost
Destroyed what it took The Evolution 15 billion years to create, the Earth's life!
Extinction is forever and no one will wear it well, the corporate structure's
Convolution need not con anyone, we let them steer our perceptions and ships.
Walking in nature's balance, giving back to her abundance, "...we(e)...",
Illimitable in potential, and indivisible as life, evince to be!
"...They don't stand a chance against our ...(heart),
No, they don't stand a chance against our love..."
If you're lifelong students, self-actuating and evolving, leaving no footprints
That followed none, they will echo forever on, in all ways, always,
Only if humanity gains the sanity to abolish the 'use' of fossil fuels,
Thereby abolishing global defacto-slavery, as well. Be well.
"...There's a beacon in the sky meant to catch your eye...",
Words weren't meant for cowards, be brave...".
The Cosmos can't stop us from basing global society on scarcity, instead of nature's abundance.
Tragically, our delusions won't be dispelled until that premeditated extermination of 7 billion.
Mar 27, 2018
Mar 27, 2018 at 2:11 AM UTC
briefling
by michael r. burch
manishatched,hopsintotheMix,
cavorts,hassex(quick!,spawnanewBrood!);
then,likeamayfly,he’ssuddenlygone:
plantfood
NOTE: Here “briefling” is a dimunutive of “brief” and also a pun on “brief fling.” Keywords/Tags: brief, fling, man, hatched, hops, mix, *** spawn, brood, mayfly, plant food
Mar 31, 2020
Mar 31, 2020 at 6:22 AM UTC
We as humans tend to put off living,
Forgetting to take the time to smell the proverbial roses.
You know the ones that grow just outside your front door?
Take a few minutes, close your eyes and begin to breathe again.
Celebrating life each day is a rite of passage.
It’s a virtue our creator gifted us with.
It makes ones soul fulfilled and allows us to project a positive energy.
So reach out…And feel the earth move while your inner self embraces the Universe
If you have forgotten how to listen to the birds song or the grasshoppers chirp,
Or to observe a sleepy orange caterpillar crawl to the next branch,
Or watch the cutthroat trout sip a spent mayfly from the surface of a stream,
Then the earth is calling you to return to your conception!!
Stop dreaming of the magical rose garden and enjoy the roses blooming outside your windows today - Dale Carnegie
May 31, 2016
May 31, 2016 at 2:12 PM UTC
Nature disservices poetry
Because leaves of grass
Contain more water
Than my poems could ever shed
Because trees hide more truths
Than my poems could ever conceal
Because the tiniest mayfly
Knows more disparaging cruelty
Sheds more blood
And ***** more often
Than my poems ever could
Nature is the beatest poet
And that is why
I won’t recycle
Mar 6, 2014
Mar 6, 2014 at 12:38 AM UTC
Oranges and pink cocktail explosions
Stain your eyes so bright,
Reflecting your hopes for tomorrow
And dreams for tonight.
You and I, we make our own stars
For those we could not reach,
And they blossom upon themselves
Towards heavens they cannot breech.
And though they cease, ever-fleeting
And are darkness in the end,
For a moment light our paths;
Our illuminating friends.
You see, this is our mayfly moment,
This, our human right.
These are the short lives of fireworks
Where darkness becomes light.
Sep 30, 2016
Sep 30, 2016 at 6:39 PM UTC
Why does trouble always have to come in twos and threes?
As it is, I am in Recruitment
Which is itself a rollercoaster life
Through the peaks and troughs of Hell
For all my hard work
I get a few scant rewards
Which are like a few drops of water
In the mighty Pacific Ocean
And turn out to be as ephemeral
As the life of a mayfly
Just as I am dealing with all this
My wisdom teeth decide to crash the party in style
Bringing chaos and mass destruction
From all sides
The dentist takes one look at my mouth
And confirms my worst fears
The wretched wisdom teeth have to go
There is no escaping it
Moreover, it has to be a surgical extraction
Why does trouble always have to come in twos and threes?
On the D-Day
My head is spinning madly
My brain is on overdrive
And I find concentrating on work more difficult
Than even predicting the stock market
However, to my pleasant surprise
The surgeon is so calm and reassuring
And the process is so smooth
That is, apart from the pain induced by the anesthetic injection
That I get a feeling as if all my troubles have ended
However, I could not have been more wrong
After a few hours
The effects of the painkiller begin to wear off
Slowly, but surely
Eating food feels more awkward
Than a conversation between a boy and a girl
Who have just broken up
And to cap it all
Talking isn't exactly pain-free either
I might've enjoyed a bit of rest today
But come tomorrow, I need to get back to work
Which involves a truckload of calls
And as per the dentist
I shouldn't talk too much
However, as far as Recruitment is concerned
There is no such thing as "too much"
Why does trouble always have to come in twos and threes?
Jun 28, 2022
Jun 28, 2022 at 12:51 PM UTC
Dwindling, spiraling, running out
Life is naught but a mayfly
No time but now
Yesterday, the only guarantee
But for a mayfly, there is no yesterday
And tomorrow is already out of the question
Yesterday and tomorrow
Mean nothing to the mayfly
And so we live today
Hummmmm
Goes the heart of the mayfly
Beating tirelessly, loving endlessly
Each indiscernible thump
Exuding the rich melody of life
Until it stops
And we return to dust
But oh! How passionately our hearts did beat!
Intoxicated by the pure joy of being
How could we be wrenched away
From the moments we shared
The moments we called trivial and routine that
We now romanticize
The mayfly lives for five minutes
The mayfly lives for the moment
The man lives for 79 years
The man lives for tomorrow
Until there are no more tomorrows
Until the cumulation of every unfulfilled dreams and desire
Come crashing down like a great wave and
We return to the dust
The mayfly has no tomorrow
The man needs not tomorrow
Dwindling, spiraling, running out
Life is naught but a mayfly
Jul 27, 2020
Jul 27, 2020 at 11:59 PM UTC
Walked out of kindergarten
Straight into retirement
No detours along the way
Life will seem this way one day
Jan 23, 2015
Jan 23, 2015 at 1:07 PM UTC