Best Maynard Poems
Common nature born in we share
our teeth become the spear
we all put her in that chair
He never left, for she was considered like Job
All our sins we sing
like carnal lies, only sorrow
can ignorance bring
Inspired by Maynard James Keenan
Categories:
maynard, anger, betrayal, bible, faith,
Form:
Narrative
The poets muse
Is a whispered lie
Grains of sand
Fragments of time
Lingering love
Fateful kiss
Love once true
Soon will be missed
This tattered heart bleeds
Broken it's torn
From woman's anger
To hatreds scorn
One mindful moment
An empty soul
The part that's played
A walk-on role
Love once showered
Now lies in wait
Held in silence
For no one to take
David Maynard 2019
Categories:
maynard, abuse, betrayal, loss, lost
Form:
Couplet
Remember Petticoat Junction?
Perhaps Green Acres too?
I Love Lucy and Carol Burnett,
Just for a laugh or two?
Dick Van Dyke and The Munsters,
Back when the "tube" was fun;
Doris Day and Love That Bob,
Don't forget The Flying Nun
Maxwell Smart was an agent,
We all knew Uncle Jed;
Hazel was that clever maid,
It's sad how comedy's fled
The Honeymooner's over,
F Troop's down to zero;
The Beaver's long forgotten,
While Hogan's lost his heroes
Gilligan's left the island,
A Jeannie no longer dreams;
Car 54, where are you?
At times, I wanna scream!
Andy was a country boy,
Gomer, a seargent's pest;
Who made room for daddy?
Don't fathers know what's best?!
Maynard shaved the goatee,
Mister Ed's lost his voice;
My Three Sons are missing,
Ozzie and Harriet had no choice
McHale can't find his navy,
The Addams flown away;
A Martian ain't so favorite,
Our Laugh In's gone astray
Primetime's lost its essence,
Laughter is a con man's game;
A Family Affair's in mourning,
Is the "new age" ours to blame?
Categories:
maynard, childhood, memory, nostalgia,
Form:
Quatrain
My people have always known dust.
They brought it in boxes.
Across trails covered in tears.
To red dirt and black oily clay.
They wore it in their clothes,
and watched it rise from their feet.
Watched it sparkle like stars in the sunlight around them.
They weaned their children on dust.
They let dust make homes in their faces.
Surrounded with moats of worry.
They lay down with dust.
They lay close to one another and whispered,
damn this dust,
dust,
dust.
Before turning to dust.
E.G. Maynard.
46 & 2.
3.
Categories:
maynard, native american,
Form:
Blank verse
John Maynard Keynes
told us the means
to flourish our economy.
So, hurry up; somebody, please, hire me.
Categories:
maynard, work,
Form:
Clerihew
A new day perhaps, of immeasurable tin, sound of din
A hurricane noise, a thrall of riotous cuts, although thin
The blood-curdle choke of rage from before
Now purchased like plasma from the needle store
Go hump yourself, If you want my schtick, you vampire whore
You’ve had enough since the Garden, Lillith, you’ll not get more
Now the ratio between human, vampire, dragon and other dead
Has been cast with fair radiant echo against the nuclear thread
A shroud sewn with Alcubierre’s hand and Teller’s eye
Will re-write the laws of your time to die
Not forced by the forced prison of your local priest
Or enticed by Babylon to take part in it’s wicked feast
The work that was promised to Adam and re-framed unto Cain
To un-curse the valley, glen and land: to filter Acid from Rain
With thorns o- the rose coming loose from the Bush
And snakes running hither or thither in scintillate Rush
The Oracle of Satan found new charms to spread in perfect Cube
Could be the shape of Sound Maynard or Max’s Cubic Rube
The Time of Orwell Now and Jobs spelling Apple at his Side
And Sting writing programs for the Cops, whom along for the Ride
the Bladerunner checkin for humans among the technical horde
Huxley detected the separate spirit, lobotimized souls, Model T Fords
And Harrison checked again with electric sleep on the Brain
A tear for Summer, or a vision for Canticles, a wave almost Inane
With countless ages past since the Dust of Sumer lent
It’s hell-bound rasp of gutteral destruction spent
The awful wave of gas, a riotous nuclear blast
In the once Green land where sage grew fast
The dim spectre of time has given up the ghost
With markets bazar and material plenty, yet consider the cost
From Alabaster bone the Ocean’s a-shallow
The Mermaids remember the times that were fallow
Year upon year the bi-peds walked without aim or deed
That could count for fullness, even yet upon steed
Even in those ages of lore when upon horse they’d trot
Or with Gasoline chariot to the park like Mel Ot
None could account for the empty space of land
Or like Kieth Stone, bend down and till without turning into sand
The eidolons of time, immemorable: drooping, eternal clocks
An echo of murmurs, drogue and sorrow, indifferent as the rocks
Whom would not cry out, with refusal of price
None could garner their strength or bleed them twice
Categories:
maynard, 11th grade, absence, allusion,
Form:
Abecedarian
When there’s just too much news
That has more wrongs than right—
I watch those old westerns
In good old black and white.
I’ll watch that Rocky Lane
Or that Johnny Mack Brown—
Tim McCoy or Buck Jones—
Ones that once were around.
Ken Maynard and Kermit—
The ones that we forgot—
They come alive on film;
Show us all what we’re not.
They’ll never come again
In daylight or the night—
They ride on in our minds
In good old black and white.
There’s still Fuzzy St. John
And big Smiley Burnette—
On scratchy cellulose
That we’ll never forget.
Lash, Dean, Steele and Wakely,
Still grace that silvered screen—
Roy, Gene and old Hoppy
Were the best that we’d seen.
And where have they all gone?
Gabby Hayes, Andy Clyde?
Yes, we can still see them,
Even though they have died.
Yes, when the world’s too much
And we can see no light—
I watch those old westerns
In good old black and white.
Categories:
maynard, nostalgiaold, old, , western,
Form:
Cowboy Poetry
I am Ashishishe.
I am the Crow.
The Universe whispers my name.
I live in a run down house,
and drive a broken truck.
I have a black and white t.v.,
a bottle of Crazy Horse,
and a bag of weed.
Medicine Man or Made Man?
There is no difference to me.
I am.
I have shared the ecstasy of growing grass in Spring.
I have felt the surrender of Autumn leaves,
falling in slanted evening light.
I have stood barefoot in the snow,
singing ancient songs to the Moon.
Now I sit in an office.
Decorated with pictures of my people.
While trying to explain the Mystery.
But she does not believe me,
or what the Fiddleback on my shoulder says.
E.G. Maynard.
46 & 2.
3.
Categories:
maynard, native american, universe,
Form:
Free verse
We go with the rising Sun!
Straight and true.
Don't forget boys.
The light of Christ rides with you.
Load up and draw the sword of God!
He will carry you through.
Take your bracer now and whatever you do,
Kill 'em all!
Buffalo Robe Woman said,
"He got his though."
"Out there in the Greasy Grass."
She sat the plate in front of me.
Wiped her hands on the apron she wore.
The one that belonged to her Grandmother,
and her Grandmother who wore it before.
Then returned to snap green beans picked from her garden.
She said,
"It will be a long and hard winter."
E.G. Maynard.
46 & 2.
3.
Categories:
maynard, native american,
Form:
Free verse
John Spotted-Horse said to the Witch,
make me like a hawk so that I might spy,
upon my enemies,
and sweep silently down,
to blind their eyes.
John Spotted-Horse said to the Witch,
make me like a snake,
so that I might hide in the grass,
and poison my enemies as they pass.
John Spotted-Horse said to the Witch,
make me like a grizzly,
so that I might crush my enemies,
while ripping them with gnashing teeth,
and black tipped claws.
John Spotted-Horse said to the Witch,
make me like the north star,
so that I might lead my enemies astray,
into foreign lands,
where there to lose the way.
John Spotted-Horse said to the Witch,
make me like a blanket,
warm and colored with bright reds and greens,
but hiding death within the seams.
And so the Witch,
having heard all of his desires,
danced a slow circle in the sand,
and made John Spotted-Horse,
White.
E.G. Maynard.
46&2.
3.
Categories:
maynard, native american,
Form:
Free verse
It's cold again today.
Skies are gray.
The North wind blowing.
A blanket of snow on the way.
To cover what we had yesterday.
The fence line is furrowed white,
and the tall grass bends beneath the weight,
of each single flake racing to a destiny.
Tomorrow there will be more.
More sleet and then rain.
More cold and more gray.
Another winter day in Oklahoma.
I have a photograph from 1978.
Resplendent in its Polaroid clarity.
A picture of Vincent, John and me.
Building forts of snow in the front yard.
I wore the coat mom and dad bought at Gibson's.
A gift from Christmas, it still smelled new.
The fake fur lined hood framing an 11 year old face.
Wind blasted smiles as we posed.
Now I watch the snow from my window.
Building forts in my mind, and they are still icy.
I drink my coffee and wonder about that kid.
The one in the green coat.
With a freezing smile.
While outside the snow keeps falling,
and the gray gets grayer.
This cold,
it chills my Soul,
and I feel that I will die,
if I do not see a flower soon.
E.G. Maynard.
46 & 2.
3.
Categories:
maynard, december,
Form:
Free verse
I have walked on fiery morning clouds.
My hair like shooting stars behind me.
I have chased lightning and whirlwinds in Hell,
then drunk the nectar of Spring rain.
I have stood at the edge of death,
and felt peace.
My children do not believe me.
Having ridden in silver airplanes and thinking themselves wise.
They say I am a crazy old man.
I ask them, "if I have done it, how can it not be done?"
I ask them, "if it cannot be done, how have I done it?"
My children put feathers in their hair,
and wear turquois jewelry.
They drink all the liquor in the house,
put on their faces as if going to war,
then go and paint the town red.
Still they call me crazy.
But I have ridden in silver airplanes too.
E.G. Maynard.
46 & 2.
3.
Categories:
maynard, native american,
Form:
Free verse
I will rise when my People return.
With hard eyes,
clinched fists,
and a cold heart.
I will paint myself for war.
With feathers tied in my hair.
Scarified and singing of the old days.
A whistle and blood for the old ways.
I will dance to dream myself awake.
To see the Sun setting on me.
As I am.
Old and fat.
My belly hangs like the heavy snow on a Winter day.
My trailer is cold,
and I have a long way to pay.
I wait for my People.
Where is our Messiah to lead the way?
Phyllis White-Thunder pats my cheek.
She tells me that it will be ok.
She tells me go back to sleep.
It was just a dream Leonard.
Just a dream.
E.G. Maynard.
46 & 2.
3.
Categories:
maynard, native american,
Form:
Free verse
Tom Two-Guns stands on his porch.
His hard eyes like the last rays of Sun on a winter day.
Surrounded by tall grass and broken cars.
He would stand this way bout every day.
Tom Two-Guns laughs and dances in his mind.
Feathers and bells move in time.
Sounds silenced long ago.
Replaced by a trail and rough winds in Oklahoma.
Tom Two-Guns wears the colors of war.
Faded with time like the stories in his mind.
Cold ghosts dancing sparks in the night.
Snuffed out his dreams at the break of first light.
Tom Two-Guns stands on promises and lies.
Leaning on a cheap cane he found at the Goodwill store.
He smokes cigarettes from a crumpled white box.
While he waits in line for commodity cheese.
E.G. Maynard.
46 & 2.
3.
Categories:
maynard, native american,
Form:
Free verse
I saw it fly across my path.
From north to south.
On a hot summer day in Oklahoma.
Monarch colors glistened in the low western sun.
Its fragile wings beating to the rhythm of a tiny heart.
I wondered.
Was it thinking of a meal?
A pretty flower at the end of day?
Never thought it would be swept away.
In a rush of glass and steel.
Trapped and helpless in a wiper blade.
Headed East on 51 toward the still water.
So I stopped and examined the powder.
Left when it hit.
As if an airliner went down.
Wreckage strewn along a trail.
Leading to it.
Alone with a broken wing.
Not understanding the hand setting it free,
and placing it carefully,
on a bed of clover,
beside the road.
Then moving on.
E.G. Maynard.
46 & 2.
3.
Categories:
maynard, blessing, , western,
Form:
Free verse