Best Maid Poems
Maid of the Myst
I lie in repose
Under the falls
In a tranquil pool
Of turquoise blue
He left me for another
This I could not suffer
My pain already drowning me
I fell from the falls
Spectacular was the news
Young girl with the blues
Dives to her cherished death
My lover left me for I was on meth
I was confused and skin so bruised
Misused and tears seeped from my veins
No one at all could know this enduring pain
So now under the falls I enjoy the rain
My soul lies deep
Under waters so very steep
I wait, and I wait
To be alive again
From the skies
Not another… but I see a phone that dives
Floating downwards upon my weary breast
A chance you see, finally I was blessed
I call from the depths below
Like a spirit I begin to glow
Daddy daddy is that you?
From below I call to say a proper adieu
Found inside her pocket
I miss you daddy
I love you so much
Forgive my wild youth
Remember me as I was in your arms
Long ago with my pony tails
Your little cuddly pumpkin
Love you daddy
Gazing, at its own reflection is the Magpie.
A magic bird, a mystical creature, with a soul
and the power to see things, the power of scrying.
It sees a tomb in ancient Egypt. It sees death.
A soul locked within a glorious bronze mirror,
Cleopatra and her Maid in a bond unbroken.
Time passes in silence as deep as the unbroken
promise of endless wisdom, gifted by the Magpie.
whose caws the Maid hears, within the depths of the mirror,
calls to the Queen, her Cleopatra, to her soul.
Magpie speaks to She on the Eastern Barge in the afterlife of death,
and to her Maid entombed. The sacred bird so near scrys.
The Magpie sits within oasis staring into the pool. It scrys
for all this time, its vigil, its protection, never broken.
Even when the sarcophagus is carried to the necropolis of the dead,
without, unknown, the bird speaks wisely through reflection, her Magpie.
Entombed, his Queen and her Maid, their bodies but not their souls,
Queen, Maid and Magpie, each cast a last gaze, alive within the mirror.
The Vows of Innocence, the Maid bespeaks the mirror.
Pleas to the Swallower of Shades, both Queen and Maid have scried
to The Burning One, and claim no lie, upon their soul.
As the light dims within the Maids eyes, in tomb unbroken,
she sees the life of her Queen and their Magpie
pass fast upon the brass, last breath of life and dying.
Oh, too soon the end, moans the Maid, I am dying.
Her life's reflection moves bronzed upon the mirror.
She screams, "My Queen," but hears only the caw of Magpie.
All around her other servants succumb and cry, whilst she sits scrying,
and the Magpie flies above in life entombed, eternity, unbroken.
As she beseeches all the Gods to save her soul.
The Magpie's spirit self moves within the mirror's soul.
He swoops gathering Cleopatra's essence, past the dying,
and brings her to the Maids side unbroken.
In afterlife upon the Eastern Barge they join the mirrored
whole, for he, the bird of magic, Magpie, has called and scried
it so. Part light of life, part dark of death, the Magpie.
The essence of each entwine united within this eternal mirror
for the Magpie cannot bear their deaths. He will protect and forever scry
in life the mirror sits unbroken a stolen bauble, and in it they dwell with the Magpie.
Bright blonde-haired girl
competitive
From the start, made a nine
Mile ride
With a spirited heart, straight
to the
Summit of Telegraph Hill, I’ll
guess
She freewheeled back ‘just for
the thrill’
A gifted person, with a giving
heart
A literate future ‘to be’ in life
her part
A maritime yen, her soul
would hold
Sailing, snorkeling, diving in
waters
Weather hot or cold
A present in fiction she gave
to this world
Plots and intrigues in
Atlantis unfurled
Loved her John, lived to the
full, help for
Others in her will so loyal
gave fans her all
Lived in Florida, she loved it
there, would
Relate to others of its when’s
and where’s
To St. Augustine she made
foray, taking my
Advice; I’m oh so glad she
enjoyed the stay.
Poetry in whispers a favourite
place on
Soup she’d pen with style and
grace
Haiku, idyll, rhyme, sonnet,
prose.
Carolyn, we miss you, but none
can stay
This earth is finite all here
fades away.
Your talent is blending, way
Above where
Death is not, amidst eternal
Love
Keep us in your thoughts we
wish today
That we may meet where time
has no sway
A greater bond we’ll share there
new
The deeper depth the truer
true.
©Joe Maverick 16-8-2021
I had an affair with a maid
Accustomed to doing as bade
Now she is with child
The wife has gone wild,
"Thats not how a maid should be paid!"
By Rachel Heffington
The dusk is like a bridal maid:
The rose is mantled on her cheek,
A single shimmering diamond-star
Clings to her hair so dark and sleek.
Her skirt of azure gently rests
Within her modest golden hand;
Her veil of quiet darkness flows
After her hem has swept the land.
I’m at the age where
I’ve grown really long hair
And I don’t denim care
That the trend is to cut it
No longer wearing high heels
Just for a flex or a thrill
More about how my feet feel
And they don’t love it
I don’t have many pink plans
Flying by seat of peach pants
Keeping my praying hands
I am blessed with contentment
Becoming a red recluse
Enjoying sandy solitude
Embracing my various moods
Without any raspberry resentment
I wonder of me what they say
Am I now an old onyx maid
Because there’s no wedding day
It tickles me pink to think
That my out of wedlock birth
Gave my life priceless worth
Despite sermon of online church
I entertain purple pondering
Shogi
me?
I can barely play Go Fish
Old Maid is well over my head
Shogi?
I think not
Shogi: Japanese chess
where you get to use your
opponent’s captured army
She's thirty-three, single,
her Mom babysits her
five year old son.
She reassures herself it's
just two more hours,
then it's the blessed weekend.
Which means delicious sleep.
She has no nest egg,
she's just getting by.
There is one kind aging matron
who makes her lunch when she
cleans her large stately home.
Yet, other well-to-do homeowners
cast their false superiority heavy
in the air as she imagines wiping
off their smug faces with Pledge.
She hums to a catchy pop tune
while scrubbing toilets and
spraying down whirlpool bathtubs
as her muscles ache,
wishing she could soak in one.
Maid for the ungrateful,
she smiles remembering her
First Holy Communion,
her snow-white lacy veil,
with her rosary of pearlescent
ivory beads.
Then, a memory of
teenage politics of high school
with random daydreams like
impromptu snapshots.
Her lips and throat dry from
those wretched aerosol sprays,
always forgetting her face mask.
A few sips of tepid Gatorade,
as she softly prays her son will
excel in school.
Her learning disabilities held
her back despite her gift of
intelligence.
This day's cleaning was at the
home of a lawyer's snooty wife,
who was lunching with friends
after klutzy attempts at tennis
at the country club.
Maid for the ungrateful,
can hardly wait to get home
to soak her worn feet with
warm water and Epsom salt
in a porcelain basin. ~
coarse sand forms brown rills
hard scree, rock cleft trills
fine clouds frame red kite
string slack; old maid wills
Maid of the Mist
Living on the mighty Niagara,
the Ongiaras dwelled in peace
but the village members were perishing
at the will of an unknown beast
They gathered fruits and fresh killed game,
and sacrificed to the God of Thunder
but all was refused so a maiden was chosen
to calm this raging wonder.
Lovely Lelawala the chiefs only child,
her hair wrapped in baby’s breath,
in a doeskin robe she stood at the falls
plunged in and fell to her death
The Thunder Gods’ son caught the maiden
and awestruck by her charm,
she promised she’d give herself to him
if he’d save her people from harm.
He told her a tale of a giant snake,
that lived in the river bed,
it poisoned the Indian village at night
and then devoured the dead.
So the Indian brave killed the serpent
and Lelawala promised to care
and always protect the raging falls
and all who ventured there..
Chandeliers of water cascading down
in it‘s splendor, harbors this,
the spirit of lovely Lelawala
Niagara Falls “Maid of the Mist”.
Try to imagine the Alice Cooper song "School's Out for Summer" as you see these words. I tried to match the rhythm of that song to this jingle:
Well, I need to eat,
but I’m in the mood
for some seasoned meat
and the world’s best food.
Well, I can’t eat any old hamburger
A Maid-Rite sandwich I prefer!
Maid-Rite’s the winner,
lunchtime or dinner.
Love that place to pieces!
Crumbled cheesy beef on bun
Onion rings and shakes! What fun.
Well, I don’t want shrimp
and I don’t want caviar.
And I don’t want rib eye steak.
Not even a pie or a chocolate cake.
Crumbled cheesy beef on bun
Onion rings and shakes! What fun.
Tenderloins or crispy fries.
Maid-Rite's is the food I prize.
Lunch time or dinner,
Maid-Rite’s the winner.
Made RIGHT and tasty,
Maid-Rite forever!
5/28/15 Now used for PD's 100 in a ROW contest -- 11 PREMIERE number 2 Poetry Contest
(Last year they closed the one and only Maid Rite place in my state. So we drove a long distance to eat there. It makes me wonder if the owner did enough to market his restaurant. Either that, or this state simply can't catch the vision!!! Maid-Rites, rock on forever!!!)
She cares for the job
Though the masters scream and shout
For the sake of love
I know a maid—her name is Rose.
She has long hair that’s thick and dark,
and great, green eyes like no one knows;
and she can sing just like a lark.
She loves to read, and is well-read:
she’s a genius, and knows a lot—
in truth, there’s so much in her head
to figure out than just let rot.
Glad to say she’s now a student
enrolled in classes at a college:—
how wonderful, how elegant,
that she attends a place of knowledge!
'Ere long, she’ll graduate with honors
and "summa cum laude" distinction,
with a master’s conferred upon her
to pursue disease intervention.
In all this time, I’ll support her;
and be the best friend that she needs:
I’ll be there to urge and exhort her,
to guide her from life's baleful "weeds."
To softly whisper, "...lovely Lisa..."
brings dreams of lips so full and red.
Which rhymes, of course, with "Garlic Bread".
And Lisa assonates with "Piece a
Pizza."
If you do not speak as good
as proper speaking people should.
“ “””” “ “
She walks down the church aisle quite sadly
Hoping to be someone's queen bride, so dearly
“”””” “” “””
David Williams’ Twenty/Twenty Contest
By nette onclaud