"maypole" poems
Am I a sick man?
as I lived on a hibiscus shrub
Many rooms, long and short
Many face vividly coloured
with a beauty of sadness
grafted on a nameless rootstock
Am I an unattractive man?
as I lived like a petal in the sun
perfect for bees and butterflies
and the visitors; oh day! oh night!
as for me, time danced on a maypole around my dreamy garland head
Am I a spiteful man?
as I've counted all 3863 days, 1 by 1
that I lived on that hibiscus shrub
without a flight to my fantasies
Since then, I'm thrown underground
here I live like a ridiculed mouse
Do you know me, Dostoevsky?
Sep 17, 2020
Sep 17, 2020 at 2:30 AM UTC
Day breaks over a sleepy village
Morning absolutions completed
An excited buzz is in the air
Everyone is a buzz with cleaning
Hundreds gather wild flowers in the fertile fields
Many were in charge of raising the fires
Soon the whole town had bright blooms weaved from one end to the next
The horizon alight with smoke and power
Goddess and God rights invoked within circles round
Pulsating, rhythmic energy racing through each dancing body
Gyrating to the cosmic beat of life
Couples jump merrily together over cauldrons ablaze
High hopes rise and give way for dreams of children
Lovers round and round they twine
Maypole ribbons rainbow hued passing through hand to hand
As dusk falls the Queen is crowned
Mead flows freely through the jubilant worshippers
The moon hangs round with fullness above their heads
Lighting the way for love into the night
May 1, 2012
May 1, 2012 at 5:00 PM UTC
My Maypole mind unravels
reverses centrifugal force
its streamer shreds of ribbons
spinning backwards
in one grand and splendid rush.
Mind loosened and snapped
tatters
fluttering free
electric after-images
of me.
© M.L.Emmett
Mar 1, 2016
Mar 1, 2016 at 9:57 AM UTC
Spinning like a dream,
Lady on the Del Mar
Avenue
Not Beltane, not even May, any season, any time, things are
Jumpin' on Del Mar Avenue, we do it up right on the Ave
So there she is, we run all the way, eight blocks,
T. falls behind, but she tough, she catches up
Just in time
There she is, lone lady who climbs street poles
Hair dangling down like sheets of blessings
I'm too young, I get it, T. punches me in my
Back, yells "go home"
Spinning like a dream,
Lady on the Del Mar
Avenue
Just in time
Just in time
She stay in my mind
Like she can find me
Back to myself
Cause I dream deep
Sometimes I dream so hard
I never wanna wake up
I'm a boy, I might be anything yet
Right now I'm an idea in my own mind. I 'm also a
'Good Person' so I don't bite or punch my sister
All the kids hold their breath as
Spinnin' like a dream,
Lady on the Del Mar
Avenue
Just in time
Stop sign makes us all one, we one organic thing
Watching her do unearthly dance for us,
Just for us. So we forget to breathe when she dips
down low, she swirl it around
so slow under the street lamp
dipping and swoopin' like a bird
I loved her then I knew love
all of the blocks got still
We feel like a church moment,
Try not to move, just hope she will
Spin like that, dip and defy it all
Spinning like a dream,
Lady on the Del Mar
Avenue
Just in time
Hope might be a moment
Of some kinda Grace & Beauty
We feel hope, because we seen
Magic on the corner
Tonight
Spinning like a dream,
Lady on the Del Mar
Avenue
Just in time
Waits for you
Oct 4, 2018
Oct 4, 2018 at 7:47 PM UTC
Our Mother, who art of Terra
Cherished be thy heart
Thy wisdom is needed,
Thy guidance be heeded,
Wherever we arrive or depart.
As is above, so be below;
We ask of thee for our nourishment,
Feed us in body, in mind and in soul
Unite us under the blessed maypole
Even as we strive, to reach and to thrive
In search of individual goals.
Guide us with thy wisdom, towards brighter days ahead
And protect us from all forms of harm that may fall upon our heads
For thou art the Earth, the Mother,
Our Goddess forever and ever.
So mote it be.
Sep 5, 2023
Sep 5, 2023 at 3:53 PM UTC
Accepting quantum fuzziness and discreteness,
u-h-d allows the idea of seeing one thing is not the other,
über aber ich weis nicht
focus, this is spiritual, not religious, this is inner-bubble space,
pick a hat, here's a Dumbo feather
… "and called it macaroni."
A line forms an ancient meme, in the Spirit of America,
dancing children singing and waving tri-colors,
performing grammar school maypole pageants
in conjunction with the ashtorothean rites called passion,
feeling earth warm to the dance of our
sowing of the seed, celebrate, the coming of the sun
to the appointed time as time is measured
on the stone that bhers witness to our we formed spirit.
We are walkers along the spiral, twisting this way then
to that once,
you felt me make a point you felt was your tic to on point,
alert,
predictions pile in unverifiable belivable, but easy to believe,
life is good, in terms of essential being, elemental preceptions
glimpse of something super-semantic tic super symmetrick
not having seen hell, from the perspective of the conqueror,
leaves any weapon fit to fight the reality hell forms
unique,
unlike any weapon as yet imagined better, truth as a concept
any mind may form to hold,
from holding nothing, as a thought, then in a word caught
as thought
think this is the trick to quantum being, be
a bit.
See how it does feel to be real, ah, as in Wings of Desire,
I knew I did not suffer through that film in vain.
Anthro-poor-morphed angels imagined as unread messages,
felt where good is the only thing ever
felt real,
as real as any angel's kiss, but just a kind word heard, as thought.
Jun 8, 2021
Jun 8, 2021 at 4:04 PM UTC
Blister packs and Auld Lang Syne,
the rain-dance in the rain-forests
where no one keeps time;
the maypole, the bar stool,
the sunstroke pilgrimage;
the Superbowl commercial,
the secret raiding of the fridge-
all conforming to some routine
of half-comfortable bliss;
we stumble blindly through
our blueprint futures-
we borrow our happiness.
The truth is out there
if you look within:
the circadian rhythm,
the central nervous system;
the clamour of your mind
in the face of chronic stress.
The Lenders are out
in the crowds now,
with their placards of high-interest
amongst the indifference
of the street-meat vendors,
the numbered tables at the bar;
we spoil ourselves in the reach
of the so near's;
that we forsake all of the so far's.
Jul 18, 2015
Jul 18, 2015 at 10:19 AM UTC
The day shook itself, sniffed the air and sprinkled sunlight on my face
I woke,washed,said grace and breakfasted on hand caught trout, which had rested in my summer house down by the lake.
I took a moment to spread my eyes and fell upon this freshly fried and salted feast I had made from scratch,as indeed I had made the thatch which kept the house cool in the middle of the noon.
Very soon, my roving mind opened up to find a trial to test and undertake,would I bake some bread for the later evening meal?
In my zeal I did not see the winter creeping up on me,before I passed two more full noons the moon had shed its happy mood and food was in a short supply.
I used to cry at this awesomeness that left me in an awful mess,
but I learnt to do and mend and tend what needed tending to and now the summer's through,my larders full of food enough to see me through the roughest stuff,that the season which is about,will throw at me.
I see an end,a beginning too,the stories we are told run through the central core,
we want ,then we must do much more
we need, and what is needing for? but to fill our fears with sand and stand alone with bellies full of stone,solid,stolid
in the thick of things that seasons change to bring we fend off everything that hurts the soul,
and in the maypole time when spring is feeling kind of fine and the larders bare,
Mother nature's there to fill it up again.
A bit more planning a bit less pain
less to lose and more to gain
the same each year as it has been
for ever.
Jul 24, 2013
Jul 24, 2013 at 2:46 PM UTC
Want to do music and drama and dance.
To whirl round a maypole while seeking romance.
Collecting spring flowers.
With wonderful scents.
To live for the moment.
To roll on damp grass.
Watching the birds fly.
Seeing a magpie from the side of my eye.
While lovely children go running awry.
Evening is coming.
A life full of fun.
Recalling the moment they once called me mum.
Mum became nan.
Such is life.
(c)LIVVI
Mar 2, 2016
Mar 2, 2016 at 3:19 AM UTC
Having borne witness to the attachment of wires around lunar geographical parameters, I am curious about the voltage limits of electric chicken.
In its southern-fried condition, I now draw your attention to celebratory flutterings around the Maypole whilst masticating upon ancient crop circles.
Apollo may be affiliated with Grecian mythological ancestry, but I have found harmony within the branches of dendrology.
As the seas of our sovereign forefathers cry aloud from palaeolithic runways, a multitude of timeless deities cluck amidst the hay of eclectic Kentucky.
It is only one minute to midnight.
We must depart now.
Jan 20, 2014
Jan 20, 2014 at 2:53 PM UTC
a crisp jet of lavender lingers in the afternoon sun; drenched in milk-bone quiet and long stunning
ominous lungs, heaving an old cheese in a damp cave of lost reason.
undone.
you seem lovely.
untroubled in churning
dysfunction.
a cog in a wheel of misfortune.
with bells on.
Nov 2, 2012
Nov 2, 2012 at 11:55 AM UTC
coldshoulders abound,
the gowns gather moss
on the carpeted plains,
with a snaggletooth
and a plainface,
I kiss your blue lips--
I kiss your blue lips--
I kiss your blue lips--
if you love him,
why do you spend your time with me--
if you love to dream,
why have you been overindulging on grief,
we can build a family,
a torrent,
a tree,
a yellow bird,
and three graves--
call it real estate,
call it legacy,
just call it more than it seems--
coldshoulders abound
circling like vultures,
circling around the maypole,
taste turns mundane,
so we bite with sharpened teeth,
so we pull hair with renewed vigor,
I kiss your blue lips--
I kiss your blue lips--
I kiss your blue lips--
until the hot red liquid of time solidifies.
Apr 4, 2011
Apr 4, 2011 at 10:50 AM UTC
I gingerly place my hands on your silk back
as you climb aboard the
maypole
but is this right?
is this
True?
What is True?
why does my gentle heart flutter at the thought
of your
naked
Body
on top of mine?
Will you stop me?
will you help me save my honor?
I can only be so chivalrous
my steed can only gallop so many miles
Why does my wicked mind turn to the image
of you
with round—bare
eyes staring into mine
as our lips
Interlock
in a Loving embrace?
I wish—
I wish to walk side by side
with you
along the ocean shore
a beautiful bay steed for us both
I want that to be reality
Deep in my lifeforce
I only desire to defend you
with my mystical sword
for I have no desire to wield my organic sword
it has the power to betray and harm
as it did for Lancelot
Should the spirits take me
will you stop and assist me
in maintaining my honor?
if they take us both
shall we fall off the Edge of the World?
shall we approach the Gates of Oblivion
along the shores of Acheron and Styx?
Why must my mind and heart be
in constant warfare?
the Barbarians against the Gallant Knights.
whom shall win?
My knights are indeed heroic
but the base passions of the barbarians
give keenness to their axes and spears
And what about you milady?
will you stop yourself
knowing
my honor?
I pray that you will kiss me
and Love shall take
Us
along a pleasant path.
but - forgive me
I cannot
trust
you yet.
I long for the day when I can
Feel
Your hands
intertwined-in-mine-like-vines
as you smile into my eyes
not as a lover
but as a
Companion
Aug 22, 2010
Aug 22, 2010 at 5:25 PM UTC
How could it be
that it's just me
wondering when we
will laugh again with glee.
What scared ghost do we flee
into Summer's buzzing bee
passed a late Falling tree?
I grant that he
has a good degree
and a family pedigree,
but aren't we all free?
I feel tainted with frosty
touches of Northern fee,
invoices billed from a Cree
living in tent or tipi
while burning my effigy.
Down on one knee
at a Maypole jubilee,
drunk and happy,
tragically at the end greedily
eating too much Sandra Lee,
that's me!
Half squinting a dopie
smile and slanting queer
boats with rhyming keel,
I barter with a misty sea,
wanting badly to ***
but instead shade my eyes to see.
Discarded to dry.
Feb 20, 2013
Feb 20, 2013 at 12:46 AM UTC
I sat beneath the tree of me
its sheltering boughs spread wide.
Catching the afternoon sunlight on
hoary green leaves.
I sat beneath the tree of me
it's twisted, gnarled trunk stood strong,
Scarred by initials crossed out.
It's gooey sap ebbing and flowing to
the erratic beat of my own heart
I sat beneath the tree of me
thirty two rings, some thick, more lean.
A centre core, a maypole of happiness and
not
I sat beneath the tree of me
cradled by roots dug deep.
wispy wind wiggling my hair
comfort in all of me
I sit beneath my ageing tree
on a blanket far too large.
"You're welcome" I'd say to passersby
to sit with me a while.
Jul 27, 2018
Jul 27, 2018 at 4:25 PM UTC
Asian liposuction feeling the fingers of my mind piling the ripped up chipped up crap from the side of the face to the plate put out in front of my lips to kiss the endless stream of a violent dream and all of the seams are ripped and I’m dark inside.
No where to be hyde or swallow my pride I have nothing left but my bare naked self in the cold of my unfettered failure.
Killing me softly with all the softcore underscore. Oh what a bore.
Such a slap in the face is the endless disgrace that peels though the soul like a razor maypole.
Grand is the shame that once was a game and ends with the fact that I’m deaf and dumb.
I’ve up and confessed.
So it’s over... but still missing
The body, the eyes, the flesh and the thighs, the hair and the lips unyielding.
The mind and the soul. The joy of the whole, and the love I could give so selflessly.
Twas numbing like a needle, or bottle.
Distracting from a cold, cruel, crack in the wall.
Yet up on the wings of an eagles
I’ll resist the pull of the fall.
Oct 25, 2014
Oct 25, 2014 at 1:24 PM UTC
I'd act as your maypole
An utterance to stir your soul
Meh day at your whims
Say we have gone riding into the echos even throughout the lowlands
The minstrels bello and promenade
Causing youths to parody
Meh day at your whims
Say we have gone riding into the echos even throughout the lowlands
Within and surrounding the loch
Monoliths reach from the heavens and take root
A parcel yet afore we arrive to bare witness
Honest decades passed now we shall bare witness with joy
In A day meh paramour our party will show and you will know we have arrived at your call
I will burn it into meh mind
The energy of your shape across the horizon
And the heavens beyond
Say we have gone riding into the echos even throughout the lowlands
Within and surrounding the loch
Monoliths reach from the heavens and take root
A parcel yet afore we arrive to bare witness
Honest decades passed now we shall bare witness with joy
In A day mah paramore our party will show and you will know we have arrived at your call
Flowing with nimbus a bird of pray scours midgaurd
Caught in torrents a mariner catches fleeting glimpses of midgaurd
Bird of prey stiring air the torrents becomes untenable
Inch toward shore and grasp it to understand it's only soil
With the potential of our end millenarian revelations come within our grasp
However faced with dread nightmares and the vastness of time
I'd act as your maypole
An utterance to stir your soul
I'd act as your maypole
An utterance to stir your soul
Within and surrounding the loch
Monoliths reach from the heavens and take root
A parcel yet afore we arrive to bare witness
I'd act as your maypole
An utterance to stir your soul
Meh day at your whims
Say we have gone riding into the echos even throughout the lowlands
Within and surrounding the loch
Monoliths reach from the heavens and take root
A parcel yet afore we arrive to bare witness
Honest decades passed now we shall bare witness with joy
In A day meh paramour our party will show and you will know we have arrived at your call
Jul 12, 2019
Jul 12, 2019 at 11:18 PM UTC
Because my kiss is like frequency and measure as the waves
My lips stays Plumper as a ripe cherry on a hot day
Just waiting to be kiss, in the moonlight:
The littlest things we dream about, that is so dear
Can be detrimental, because of modern technology
The lack of touch, the loss of sound, gone forever:
Shall we continued to forget the walks in the park
Making love in the dark, under the starry sky
Just to be trade in by the late nights video chatting?
Being an advocate of love, a unmasked spiritual intruder:
I enter the winging maypole of merry gestor: In my mind
because, my kiss is like frequency and measure as the waves
my opinion on the subject matter, never matters
P.S
*Be who you are and say what you feel because those who mind don't matter and those who matter don't mind.” Dr Suess
Feb 17, 2019
Feb 17, 2019 at 9:24 AM UTC
*the jewels on your ruby lips are pale
and the sundering of all earthly pleasures
wane as I wax into impotence and null frames...
I join the ghosts of our habit
and clown around the Maypole
like a Fool.... Nothing deters me from being
broken and unrequited and self abused.
your skin is lovely.
And yes... I remember the solemn vows
of Our intimate embrace.... But am I the only one
who would return to our hurricane
without preaching the Fifth.
I am ready and able to unload a Jupiter
of raw Lust and Kismet.
Are you ready to consume me ?
as I walk fire ?
As I approach you
to appease so many stupidities ?
God knows nothing but sharp sticks
and Halos.... As -
Human love knows nothing
But The One We Love....
and the yellow
in Midnight*
May 1, 2016
May 1, 2016 at 5:57 PM UTC
to find a place to call home
where the bed nests flush in the corner
and the arms don’t loosen till you say so
to show all of your teeth and blow away
the bombs and dark purple air that cloud your sleep
and invite you to stay a minute longer
to live in boxes if that would make you closer
to knowing what it’s like to be a maypole
or a wild turkey or a king
to square your shoulders when you walk
and when you shudder
and when you listen
to find a place to call home
where you can leave without asking
if it’ll be there still at dusk
May 3, 2016
May 3, 2016 at 5:14 PM UTC
_... intricate weavings unlaced,
winding steps retraced,
unleash the magic of the maypole,
god and goddess made whole..._
Jun 1, 2019
Jun 1, 2019 at 7:33 PM UTC
Who killed the May queen?
Maybe the Jack of diamonds, got confused and shot her through the heart.
Or did she just get tangled in the ribbons of the Maypole?
Did a Mayfly land upon her and kiss her with a toxic sting.
It's only April now, but hell where is the spring.
The rain is pouring passionately down the water spout, putting it all in poetry, the only way I shout,
I moan and groan like the old dear I am, an advert for me, a spot of spam.
Hoping in my heart of hearts that CPR is successful and the May queen will arise, bringing beautiful weather on the wings of butterflies x
(C) LIVVI
Apr 2, 2015
Apr 2, 2015 at 7:07 PM UTC
Silent she slips in
Resolute the new day
Steps of eiderdown
Path rendered muted echoes
As sparkled snow sugars tongues of lovers
A petaled hand extended
Fragrant cherry blossoms
The blush
The rush
Will cupids lacquered eros wax
When the breeze of romance
Roars ferocious
Lions prowl on taloned claws frigid
Before the frail Paschal lambs
New birth awaits the cadence of spring rain
And jonquiled mornings pregnant with dew
Little girls skip minuets
Plait the maypole
Festive in buttered eyelet, whispered taffeta and crisp dotted swiss
Dreaming of castles and gilt armor
Bind this heart of mine in gold and champagne roses
Love and gunfire burst on the palette of the night sky
Sonic color settles shrieking freedom
The haze of summer days
The wind warm, your breath warmer
She languishes heavy lidded
Pine pitch fragrant in her hair and sweet strawberries in her mouth
Fireflies flit teasing
Tepid water waits for stain glass wings to grace the surface
Taut the day holds her breath
As rumbling thunder promises the cool monsoon
Chase away the dog days when the atmosphere clings heavy
Sleepless nights of croaking toads and the drone of mosquitoes
Breathless for the heady patter of rain
Herald the skies of burning blue
Above a cacophony of color
Cottonwoods in petticoats sunflower yellow
Crimson maple and dusted ash
Dance beneath the harvest moon
Thankful
Life is a gift to be unwrapped
Surprise exquisite
Like the first star sparkling on your horizon
At the end of the day.
TL Boehm
02/01/10
Sep 30, 2014
Sep 30, 2014 at 4:03 PM UTC
Pretending, feigning. I said that was the rule of the day. cough,cough
(sonnet #MMMMMMMCMXXVII)
If we forgot the merry dance erst thence
Wont to ring in this month which Shakespeare's scale
Of notice put down as not lo, t'avail
As perfect as whom he thus cherished, whence?
The winds are ghostly with a teasing sense
In tour of fragile warmth as sparrows hail.
Then ah, the Goldfinch seems to laugh, th'exhale
Likeas a whisper who maunt love from hence?
Did I swear I was "done pretending" fer
Which moment? Yet who shall not smile now through
Th'effect of these sweet songsters? I am blue
And would far rather weep, but tears as twere
Won't come. A robin scolds and scents astir
Upon the wind's suggestion say twon't do.
01May19a
May 3, 2019
May 3, 2019 at 12:01 AM UTC
It is written in the runes
unveiled by the maypole ******
When the darkest kiss
meets the storm of light
on a midsummer’s night.
The sisterhood has gathered.
Fog and dew, euphoric moves.
Chanting, flaunting ivory skin.
Feel the pull of our dance
the taunting of our calls.
Baccanal cries of ******
Bringing down the silver tears
of falling stars to heal, to still
the wounded souls, the lost
with a swill of magic dew.
Moon daisy,
Buttercup
Count the number,
hold your tongue.
Catchfly and Baby’s breath
say naught to no one
keep the faith.
Delphinium
my steadfast knight.
Bluebell and yes,
Forget-me-not.
Gathered by the crossroad
of yesterdays and tomorrows.
Gentle flowers sacralized
s e v e n for the magic number
to seal the vow eternally
of my love everlasting.
Too soon the dawn will break.
Hurry do the last of spells.
Hop over n i n e fences
kirtle tied around my waist.
Don’t look, don’t speak
just hold my breath.
No time for sleep, not yet
I mustn’t forget the rite itself,
that will grant my dreams to unveil.
What’s written in the future
s e v e n blooms under my pillow.
and finally I’ll see...
...the one
Jun 21, 2019
Jun 21, 2019 at 8:47 AM UTC