Long Mayday Poems
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Some folks believe it. Others do not. The legend told in the Bayou Cannot. The only witness who can swear that it's true, are the creatures who live in the bayou. The owl told the gator, the gator told the frog, about the horror filled night that changed their home in the bog. Far off on the mainland, miles from the marsh, in a large city, where living is harsh. A man's world invention sprang into life. A breath of fresh air to man's world of strife. A new deisel engine, queen of the line, would make it run for the very first time. The sunset limited it was aptly named. Gleamed in the station waiting its moment of fame. Boarded by folks going south, some headed out west, none mindful of anything, but each's own quest. New York to L.A. via the southern run. So it was, the trip had begun. Back in the bog, things were happening too. A barge made its way north with its captain and crew. The day had been hot. The night had turned cool. The fog roiled in, with its blanket of dew. The captain steered his tug, painfully slow, caution was key to safely deliver the tow. All of a sudden there was a scrape and a jolt the barge floated free, not held by a bolt. Panic seized the crew! "We've lost the tow!" "MAYDAY!" screamed the captain over the radio. Amid the chaos and moans of disdain, another great jar, "We've got it again!". Back on land not far down the track the Limited sped with a clickety-clack. Approaching the tressel no one noticed the shake. Who could blame the poor folks; the hour was late. Midway over the bayou came the tressels demise. A great shiver another great quake, tons of speeding steel, folks met their sad fate. Days went by weary and sad. Rescuers agreed none worked a wreck this bad. Twisted and bent the engine was pulled from the muck and the slime. "102" came the final count, the coroner spoke and noted the time. A weary voice shouted "Wait!" "Sir, I disagree!" Tired eyes turned, what did they see? A weary man held in his arms a child about three. Today believers say "an angel wanders." "A tiny spirit" Others agree. On foggy nights when no moon can be. A tiny light flickers so you will see. "It's a firefly!" Say the skeptics of haunt. The creatures disagree and murmur their taunt. They know the spirit of the child now lives in their swamp.
Written by my grandmother Sandra Burch
The “Mayday” radio call message was the final voice from Air India 171 flight bound for London seconds before it crashed creating an eternal memorial for 241 gracious beings, with one survivor. My heartfelt sympathy and condolences to every family member, friend, and associate of those who made their ascent into the heavenly realms. May they rest peacefully in God’s kingdom, and may He dry the salty tears, and erased the heartaches of their remaining and loving family members, friends, and loved ones.
I have written a Trilogy Poem to commemorate and remember them reflecting God’s grace to their family members, loved ones, friends, and associates. These situations are never easy to fathom, accept, grief about, or remember. May God’s richest grace and blessings rest and abide with each of you, your loved ones, and family members until eternity!
In Three Winds They Rise
A Trilogy Poem in Tribute to the Souls of Flight 17 - June 2025!
I. The Silence Before:
The sky, it held its breath that day,
no warning sang, no wings betrayed—
just echoes of a thousand dreams
still packed inside a cabin's seams.
Some reached to call, some kissed the light,
and then —
the fall.
The hush of dawn could not undo
what humanity had flown into.
II. The Names We Whisper:
We gather now, with hands and flame,
each soul remembered, each with name.
The uncle, daughter, child, or friend—
whose lives began where theirs would end.
We hold their laughter in the breeze,
in dusk,
in prayer.
With seatbelt fastened memory tight—
yet still they rise in candlelight.
III. The Spirit’s Return:
But grief is not the end of love—
for wings are gifted from above.
We see them dance in monsoon rain,
we feel them walk through loss and pain.
And when the night is deep and wide,
they speak—
within.
Not gone, but flown to higher skies,
in three winds now —
they rise.
Dedication: This poem is lovingly dedicated
to all the souls aboard Flight 171 —
those who soared with dreams,
departed with grace,
and now rest among the stars.
May their memories be eternal,
their spirits be lifted,
and their legacy live on
in the hearts of those who remember.
© Dr. Joseph S. Spence Sr. All Rights Reserved (Epulaeryu Master), June 15, 2025.
Buzzfeeding sustenance (eating/drinking) beyond point of satiation
Bloated swollen cheeks
analogous to first Chinese Brother,
who swallowed the sea,
now non sequitur
off beaten track i.e.
less apropos re: guarding
par for race course as if
ace driver won Grand Prix
latter referencing international
horse race for three-year-olds,
founded in eighteen sixty three
931 + 932 = above number
satisfying ghost of Fibonacci.
Original idea predicated whereby
all Americans heartily feast
(stuff themselves to the gills)
salivating cornucopia dime
a dozen lonely people
bemoaning holiday re:
traditional Thanksgiving time,
celebrating joie de vivre chime
wine glasses clink full house,
where ushers pantomime
proffer gobbledygook and
motion rapidly hungry guests
toward smorgasboard prime
tables for gluttonous
to commit punishing crime.
Tentative arrangement made,
whereby oldest sister, and husband,
(who live a jaunt away from Maple Shade
more precisely Woodbury New Jersey)
would swing by Schwenksville
comprising one car motorcade,
thence to shuttle 31.5 miles southeast
our mutual (of Omaha) friend,
I met when counted orbitz
during late 30/early thirtieth decade.
Offer to drive out of their way
presented, since our 2009
Hyundai Sonata did betray
accountability, dependability...
reliability oy vey
woolworth no more than
couple/few Benjamins
yet real challenge constitutes
yours truly, née
theme underlying mein
kampf pennilessness pray
I did (despite being orthodox
atheist) to no avail
relying upon social security
regarding disability (mine) Mayday
forthrightly, feebly, faintly...
calling before men
donned with white coats
came to take me away
to the happy home with trees
and flowers and chirping birds
and basket weavers who sit,
smile, twiddle their thumbs and toes.
Communication break down
compromised eating humble pie
regarding this ole man
upended above mentioned plan
whereby attending
hosted by: Gail la Dorfman
afforded rubber express
thus with Forrest Gump I ran
all the way across
Ocean thru to Japan.
Between God and the human race
is space. Oh,what brought us to this place?
I mean, He fashioned us to be near to Him,
to be His dearest friend, but a foreigner
entered in...... prominant and dominant,
that beguiling seductress........ sin.
Oh, that is something God simply can't stand....
like kryptonite to Superman.
Now, God of this universe, with you I must converse.
I abhor the thought of being eternally banned
from your glorious paradise. There must be a master
plan to make things forever right again. Lord God,
may I ask of you, is there anything I can do? For I so
much long to stay close to you.
I mean, I know this is not part of the original design.
But must I resign myself to the fact that nothing can
be done..... that sin has actually won? Oh.... no
that is like a dagger to my heart... a paralyzing thought.
Please tell me it doesn't end like this.... no ultimate
utopia.... no heavenly bliss.What would this life then
be about? What purpose would I serve on this earth...
you who gave me birth?
All would be superficial... chasing after the sun..... no fun
just monotonous work to be done, day after tedious day.
No real worthwhile goal in mind, it wouldn't even matter
how I spent my time.But certainly you created me for so
much more. Please open a door. Even though I may be
drowning in my sin, will you find it within, to somehow,
like a lifeguard,rescue me from the undertow......
even drag me safely to your shore.
Wake me from this horrific nightmare. Prove to me that
you care enough to help me bridge this huge chasm between us.
You say there is really nothing I can do other than just
to trust that it is already handled... already taken care of.
You say it is all about grace or undeserved love. The gift
of Jesus..... Emmanuel..... a special gift from above.
Oh, so I can only get to you through following Him,
and He's the one who eradicates all of my sin.
You say another name for this man named Jesus
is the Christ and yet another is the Way.Sounds to me
like we should celebrate Him and call it..... Christmas Day.
Defecation clogged toilet bowl courtesy metamucil..
and found (me) zee papa pooped out
**** eyes zing thee
nightly dump for yesterday
July 8th, 2020 - whereby
plunger helped obstruction give way
I nearly lost me life and limb oy vey
oh my dog, the same asinine outcome
which spurred poet to get underway
matter of fact, a replay
of excretion almost occurred today
and thus an attempt to describe
a tragicomic scenario
regarding bowel movement size of subway
overflowing potty nearly
found yours truly quay
king, yet impossible mission
arises to portray
unsightly situation, the
juvenile elements of style
I hate to overplay
odoriferous subject matter
nsync with constipation
since laxative delineates,
expedites, facilitates,... née
posits heavy load emanating out rectum
quite amazing what smelly waste
exits out me
necessitating captain my captain
to signal mayday
posterior end, a dime size orifice,
which malfunctioning sphincter muscles
one moost never be lackaday
'though kids and adults
laughed back in the day,
if and/or when Danny Kaye
tactfully poked fun
at such critical bodily phenomenon
equally important as a jackstay
to keep afloat body electric
'curse with auxiliary
linkedin kickstarting jazzmatazz interplay
analogously precise as
Swiss made timepiece
said system responsible
to expel bodily toxins
upon which sitting on porcelain throne
one can softly utter hooray
thankful to experience relative pleasure
until one becomes feeble minded,
whereat fifty plus shades of gray
matter allows, enables, and
provides enjoyably foray
into the bathroom, which entranceway
hoop fully not barred nor off limits
cuz that primitive urge one best not delay
lest one requires lower
gastrointestinal intervention
especially if blocked up
fecal matter turns to clay
unless of course one doth
cause damage and betray
respect toward well
oiled human machine
exercising and eating healthy
avoiding backside skeleton musculature issues
yes... I reckon during twilight years
control over bowels doth slip away.
There, mustardseed scatter’d on firm cement
Frank’s sense all but gone as architect-
ural borders take shape: the cloister sports
Blue-green algae tanks | engineer-BREW
guard’d by python & html
Biomedical men GIVE IT | in overt
Exxon | two two-by-fours square in threes
Three-D printed modules fit to serve | reptilian feet |
Purpose, _\\r eign on airblade | land | mobility
Frontier for fuel sources | long estuaries
Deleted | terrestrial features close (enough) | heavy forests
Porous | aspiration making redundant | lungs on a bank
Tread steady no advice unless it's not your hand lever
Shifting gears | what : anonymous man receives sold
Compensation & homemade spirit | suicide kit | kids & all.
A few flew fewer | arms media call | out (we fall)
Clora, Clora,come view what's been made | fish bowl
Have we contriv’d it well? What’d yer think it’d spill
Over cliché onto en|trusted avenues | photovoltaic
Cells | cowr'ing autonomic cars | partial parsed splay
Conversations converge pariah at Digital Laboratory, the e-
State sanctions words You were so tender, then |
backwards European pulp | parcel in parts | merchant captains
Tall they list | & no phone to clone army exit | fashion
Ozone-graded hum mannerism Hell to
Helm until fricative F-stop opened up vowel zone | scarecrow
CDC panic CFCs a homecoming void music | cake
O Laura, Larry me this aura, lend aurora | cigarette
Facility ; easter greens, northern sky,
No lights, no Clora but address, echo chamber –
Should it be given | meaning | text pro|verb as from
A monk’s time sweeping just falls
Praying midst-a-an-&-w/ text, hard barks,
Vests to hold in endure – endings,
Morphiniplotic, making too-easy terms nation hooked
On hides, trademark dress-up bird nest,
Sycophant cardinals | gains on rubberized telephone line
You live in this. May matter | main vein mayday clarity
In dialogue a-group specifies prediction Species decline.
I turn to my girl highlighting Mayday is near
A day of spectacle that the whole village views
There's Jesters of folly and Knights without fear
Witnessing lances and jokes, always going askew
To view such we can venture along different ways
We can stroll by the river listening to many sounds
In awe as we walk amidst most wondrous displays
That on any given day beautiful vistas abound
Decisions, decisions, as we contemplate which way
It's such a special day wondering what to wear
Beauty personified will my Olive be on this day
Knights or Royal Princes, all they can do is stare
So tomorrow we've decided to be our chosen route
Two hearts in decision, declaring what's their suit
Mayday morn now greets as I turn next to me
She my guiding light as beautiful as the dawn
Excitement illuminates for into her eyes I see
Onto my back I lie, that feel she's now upon
Into this day we go heading along the river
Crystal clear translucent such serenity in it's flow
Under greened canopies cooled shaded deliver
Wafting leaved dress in delightful fanned throw
We sense the clearings near for scents we sense
Sporadic clusters in capture of welcoming eyes
Mayday games have started, distant heard suspense
Knights on horseback mounted, now in espy
Now we're in amidst encapsulated we now are
She's here to cheer, her Sir James, soon to spar
Balcony she now awaits, white steed he's now astride
Blinkered pairings gallop towards intended foe
To win this Mayday he, to fight for her his bride
Eliminate his enemy, witness his crimson flow
His lance in now connect, thrown metal disperses
Petals of beauty hurled of rainbows selected
Images of we, now thinking marital rehearses
To know on this day, her intended she's elected
Moments of their previous now in recent past
Knowing they're now free in kaleidoscopic stream
Spectrum of feelings now in view full cast
In colourful extremes, fight for your dreams
.
Sopheceles studs chorale the Martyrdom call 'ems
ant-chant Thyme dash and Cheyenne bled-cles
and Mud Squadrorns dove colorblind
Link on-a-role spiked with trail and errs past
Prosed Persident Mar. Argo near Key Bask Lame
22kay ears like Bugs Sunny and Share sin-Gold
may-jar-of-tea of her punched shingles made
class sick of nerds of those Stolen Wars
They kicked-dirt-eyed others
The Survivors Tell-A-Cast close familiars were
Cons in tents and I-glues and tippies of homelessness
that Pros address, re-Moat of the Capitol Hill
Masqued based on perverts of those floral nature
hyper-ethical breathes a gnu presence
that will halve all life kind existent
clueless to the verve climb
The prophetic reel cavity of the Whooping Cranium
hell-bent, Como tally vu: Straght dope,
Comme-ci comme-ca: Same-o same-o,
Je parle un peu francais: Do you speak French?
Heaven-sent, Das ist richtig meinen freunde:
That is right my friends, "Danke schon dahling
danke schon": Thank you darling thank you,
Sprechen si deutsch: Do you speak German?
Affect boredom-lain, racial sophistry
as skin tones raze issues tossing shade
a constant advent for hair-raising accidents
electrocution and the radio activate channel
Kamehameha lost his underwear
and feared the recent conversion of his mythological
ancient high priest HewaHewa of the old gods
heeded Missionaries to overthrow the Heiaus/temples.
My ohana/family Heiau Waha Ula/Red Mouth is Pele's
temple where human sacrifices were done by warriors,
placing those sacrifices' heads on a large rock in the middle
of the Heiau and bashing their head with a heavy club.
Waha Ula Heiau was the last torn down fearing Pele's curse.
After his warriors destroyed Pele's Heiau, on their return
to Kamehameha's Kohala home, several hundred
of warriors died in the lava pit, immortalized in Volcano.
OMG? Can I use MayDay in the month of June?
The cornerstone turned the corner
reading a map without
ever looking back
A nomad with knapsack in tow
sowed seeds without
worrying if they'd
ever grow
For them it's just a show but
for me the latter
none of the optics matter
while climbing the ladder
of purpose
On the surface the dirty game is
plain to see but many
can't see the forest
for the trees erected
on this plane
These games are ground level 1
& in stark contrast
to a farmer marching
to the beat of his own drum
and self-made treble
Troublesome for frequency counters
for he is one of one
plus 2
I guess countering devilish moves
& the color of night is
similar to playing checkers right?
Chess isn't so black & white so
I double down while looking up
counting all hands
in the equation with respect
Brazen expressions add up to
answers followed by
questionable remarks by
those living in the dark
Supposedly I'm just a number but
within that I am the new
U
An ember in a world going down
in flames shinning
like a diamond yet to be
given a name
In truth I am a Phoenix flying
higher than planes
looking down
at the ashes & pigeons
Even if my wings aren't seen they're
felt like emotions & lava
spewing emissions that bring
out a shine like smelted
gold
We're all the same viewed through
different lenses
but who is directing our
cold comprehension?
I spy a theme colored with & by
an artistic stroke
looking to poke holes
in any sense of hope
Division can go unnoticed
if it is drawn with
the precision of
a surgeon
Make decisions wisely or else
be burdened until
the end of days
Be precise while navigating this
maze for there are some
that pray against
& prey on any
foundation you intend
to lay
We're way past mayday in these
Kamikaze times
& mushroom clouds
will come if they continue
flying blind
The last page in the final book of a series
is said to be a cliffhanger
the best part of an exciting adventure...
I feel I may be finished
I feel this may be the final pages
or just another sick twisted joke I've decided to conduct on myself
for I am awaiting a fool
to prove to me there's still sunsets in silhouette dreams
Mayday Parade
I have spoken their name in endless sequences
like they were imaginary sand castles just being swept away in high tide
or maybe I just picture that being me
My days have grown dull and bleak
my nights in return, long and headache prone
Somehow the carbon copy has been me
and the seed of originality has been thrown into a lava pit I can't see
Flames of Panic, Flames of Embrace
just an array of flames with a solid label
I crave a time machine to go back five years...
five years before I was caught off guard...
I crave a time machine to go back five years...
five years to when I was last happy
...13, unlucky 13
I've hardly been lucky...
Twist, scream, contort
all actions committed under a comforting cover
to combat the frightful images playing in the subconscious
but I'm barely conscious
The sun is my movie screen
and I have fallen asleep by act two
Asleep and running away from the people who would possibly persuade to constantly lie to me
chase me into oblivion
Scarlett Jade, my mermonic butterfly
Scarlett Jade, my Flames of Embrace
why must you try so hard to get rid of me...
Why must you build me up like a tower
to a bulldozer tear me down...
Why...
Why...
All these irrelevant things walk hand in hand
holding hands with relevant dreams
while building sand castles at the beach
and I, the lonely fisherman
sit here anxiously, harmonizing with an imaginary friend
to ask the ocean air the question
'Is everyone here make believe? '