Best Mayfly Poems
MAYFLY
I’m shadow’s child,
grown on the lake,
by women on their own.
The reedy cattails,
and brown mud pots,
occupy my time.
I’m taller now,
and skinny too,
like some noxious weed.
And in a minute,
with one frail breath,
I’m a woman too.
I’m golden new,
in nodes of light,
my love is truly found!
Our baby girl,
is born to us,
then left for her own love.
I’ve slipped between
the sun and moon,
I’ve suddenly grown old.
Getting small, moving slow,
like some darling sloth.
“But I just got here,” I yell,
to an empty brightened room.
“I want... a Do Over!”
Who hears but the lamps,
as they blink back in shock,
and the light on the wall,
is their last for the day.
The laugh from a Mayfly,
is cruel for the count,
by shadow, by weed,
by wrinkled old sloth.
Last flicker, last moonlight,
last tick of the clock.
Deep breath, deep dream,
the stardust blew out.
By Edlynn Nau
Written: May 5, 2017
©April, 2019
so how was your life
yeah i was expecting more
the day went so fast
By
David Kavanagh
If I were a mayfly, living but for a day,
I’d still live each moment with no thought of goodbye,
Ever hopeful like summer in the month of May,
If I were a mayfly.
For though life would fleet, my love for you would abide,
And though time might flit, long would the memories stay
Of a sunrise and a sunset spent by your side.
I would be glad that with you I’ve grown old and gray,
That passion has waxed yet never waned with the tide,
And I’ve spent a life with you ere I fly away,
If I were a mayfly.
The Mayfly is up on the Kennet,
Well it’s Whitsun why wouldn’t it be?
There’s a fine downstream breeze,
And the fishing’s with ease,
Do come as you used to for me.
The Mayfly is up on the Kennet,
You ought to come down for a spot,
If you come on Tuesday,
I’ll meet you at Newbury,
The weather they say will be hot.
Last Friday they started at lunchtime,
Just a few duns to begin,
But at twenty past eight,
Yes, really that late,
‘twas as prolific as I’d ever seen.
The large fish you lost just last season,
With the ‘Rats Cat’ you left in it’s Jaw,
Came at me this morning,
Without any warning,
And god help me, forgive me I swore.
On Wednesday Julia’s brother,
Fishing on Shermans they say,
Got his limit by teatime
And whilst in the meantime,
Julia got me as well by the way.
In the long grass out along Gunters,
With the middle cut Hatch at it’s side,
We made love for hours
Amidst summer flowers
And the fishing is useless, I tried.
The emergence will not last much longer,
One more week is the keepers best guess,
But I’ve enough of the fishing,
for now I’m just wishing,
That Julia will wear her new dress.
She has ruined my season for ever,
Her tempting is all plain to see,
Just because of her eyes,
And of course her fine thighs,
There’ll be no more fishing for me.
So The Mayfly is up on the Kennet,
Please excuse my disdain and aversion.
For Julia’s Smile,
has detained me awhile,
I’ve a much more enthralling diversion.
Now the Mayfly is up on the Kennet,
The emergence is all fast and hopping,
On the Park stream today,
I got my own way,
Julia’s gone off to do her own shopping.
But as ‘the ladies’ go dancing at Whitsun,
Julia flashes her eyes up at me,
It is not my physique,
That she chooses to seek,
But my Fly box, for a pattern you see.
I taught her to cast just this season,
Her delivery is coming on fine,
She got a leash just last Tuesday,
And another on Thursday,
Now for romping she hasn’t the time.
But now the Mayfly is up on the Kennet,
There is one thing I continually wish,
That Julia’s beguile
Would detain me awhile,
And I ‘d taught her to land her own fish.
The End
Such an ethereal beauty.
Petite in size but large on life.
One would not expect its duty
is solely for procreation.
Yes, just this one, and nothing more,
certainty is its life’s station.
Swarming thick as oozing slurries,
males hover above clear water.
Intrigued, the young female hurries.
Emerging the gray mass, nightmarish,
lays her eggs, then crumples lifeless.
The males sail to land and perish.
The beauty – a perfect cycle –
Perfect in the frantic frenzy,
the primal sinless spiral.
The process an unforgiving
two-year metamorphosis for
one day of long, lusty living.
Amazing to be glorious mayfly
Skimming over wetlands and ponds
People look at my wings and sigh
Iridescent colours I wield like a wand.
'tis sad my life is really fleeting
I do so love these sunny hours
Short, my life, but very pleasing
End is nigh in summer shower.
Pixabay image by: Prawny
Damselflies are dainty, they are wisest of the wise.
Dragonflies a bit dumpy, much bigger than you and I.
I am a three-tailed Mayfly, so I am an expert in flies.
You can call me a Stonefly, but only if your name is Sigh.
We fly in swarms, but you may not see us for a while
For we are less than a finger-tip length long, and we do not smile.
We have not mouths or tummies, for we do not survive too long.
The longest we could survive is a week, and that is way too long.
Our job is to mate and die, the happy motto of the Mayfly.
Mate in flight. Mate in sight. Mate and die. Mate and sigh.
That is the fate of the true Mayfly. Some of us last merely minutes.
Then fall back into the water to feed the fish that are in it.
Mate and die. Mate and sigh. This is the song of the happy Mayfly.
We cannot sing for we have no mouth, but we can hum if we try.
Mate and die, Mate and sigh. We mate so light, and we mate in flight.
Spy a delicate winged fly with three tails? She is a Mayfly all right.
forsythia fades
redwood stands a thousand years
Mayfly lives her day.
Short lived
As a moment
Merely a day
The flutter of wings
Under a blue sky,
Time only to copulate
Fertilize the eggs
And then die,
The lifespan
Of a Green Drake Mayfly.
W.A CHOLT. Copyright Fergal O Reilly.2019.
25th April 2019.
MAYFLY
Just a day is all he is given
No surprise wings so driven!
Dragonfly, trout lie in wait
In turn the Angler casts his bait.
Never even time to eat
His existence is so very fleet,
Pass his genes, all else forsaking,
Millions of years in the making.
Duty done and time to die,
The river slowly drifts on by,
He floats among a countless horde,
Sleep well my friend, your line assured.
Sun begins to wake
Mayfly on a summer day
final kiss goodbye
a mayfly moment
an ephemeral
goal to preserve their breed to
five minutes of life
2019 September 04
A deep wooded valley, heavily condensed with enriching moisture, and more importantly, teeming with an assortment of life, of every size, shape, and species. One such life just awoke and has spread its delicate see-through sheen-like white wings. It is looking up at the star-laden night sky. It oo's and ah's at the splendor of it. Out of nowhere, a dragonfly says his name is Draco.
The little one said that she was Dolanica, and he told her that all of her kind was named that. Like all of his kind were named Draco too, and that they were a distant cousin. He said that his name was actually, Draco the pesky and that she is a Mayfly like her second cousin, but then she was the rarer ones. She said that someone is here for her and that she'll be right back, and in a flash, she returned. Draco asked if she was done and she told him that there was one more thing.
Then in a flash, she was all done. Draco asked where she put them, and she pointed to a large turned up tree trunk. She told him that they are all safe and sound. Draco told her, he will be with her second cousins, a bit later. She asked Draco if he can hop on his back cause she was too weak to fly up over the top of the trees.
So up they went, then in a weakened voice, she asks if that was the moon, he told her that it was the moon. She told him that she was glad to spend her entire life with him and didn't find him to be pesky at all. Lastly, she told him that she will see him on the other side, and he told her, "you too kiddo!" A dragonfly is seen hovering over a large fallen tree trunk, whispering that they are all okay.
A body draped under two folded wings is seen fading in the distance as a dragonfly part.
*Dolania americana: Have no digestive system because of their five minutes of life on Earth, too short of a life span to eat or drink, for their sole purpose is to breed for the survival of their kind.
There is no rightful measure to live,
not in its length,
not in its brevity,
but in its right to be.
Date: 08/21/2019
Pomegranates in full bloom
on this splendid afternoon.
Mayfly sways on blade of grass.
Lazy clouds floating past.
Sunlit pond, still as glass.
If this day could only last.
An
echo
of delight-
harmonic
minds
in
flight,
meet in
unison to
write
and
create
ekphrasis
from another's
sight.