Long Mayfly Poems
Long Mayfly Poems. Below are the most popular long Mayfly by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Mayfly poems by poem length and keyword.
*** COURAGE ***
To wake up.
To stand?
To step out.
Avoid thinking
“can’t” and “but.”
Surrender worries
into the hands of God…
To keep hope’s flame up.
To listen.
To discern.
To fall into the music
of the spirit’s lilt
letting slip some
possibility…
Those mere fingertips might reach
and hold the gold ring…
To grasp inspirations gliding by…
Do not pity the mayfly
its short life.
—————————————————————————————————-
(c)sally young eslinger 2/2/2023
Thanks be to God…
Word for this month — Courage
Inspired by my brother & sister poets;
my husband Jim; and
the Memphis, TN, horrid murder
RECITATION is a Two way process
Words to say,
caught by the day
in this one-off
’ as is’ moment
images in sound
aloud
voiced
spoken
a unique
interplay
‘twixt
you and I
A mayfly moment
of the here &now
to hear
ethereal
&passing
to create
an impression
In your listener ear
poetry lies long
undisturbed
& dormant
on this page
A dead object
‘til
the cadence
of my English voice
intones
& the process
comes alive
TO PARTICIPATE copy& paste the youtube link at the top of poem into the URL address bar space
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.
I already understand that children
grow inside two blinks,
as quickly as the novel Mayfly
comes to the surface to die.
I'm pining for those first days again,
of edentate smiles, milestones
to fund future independence.
Pineapple-sized hearts I cradled;
lulled, exchanged dank nappies for dry;
ferried on uncrossed seas,
your armada.
Smoothed rough waters as if by divine speech
because mothers can. I was thinking that I could always be your oxygen.
I let you walk through me, under, right over.
The rocking horse
brought for my bromelain angels
winged you away -
this blasted Pegasus ...
I miss you now.
How you rode away,
ephemera of innocence!
So, what then?
Me, fumbling wild in the backspace you left.
Your flabbergasting key smash to freedom
broke our finespun home, you left
me to talk to your father, Child,
to renegotiate
the bonds;
reconstruct ancient code,
deleted excess text -
obfuscating precision and knowing -
the tribal tongue of lovers
unlearned, forgotten;
escaped alongside discarded baby bath suds,
strewn puddles of rubber duckies,
tired breasts suckled
by fresh management.
Look out over a pond's banks
what do you see down there
a smooth unruffled surface
things lazily flying round
A frog pops up its head and
perches basking in the sun
newts swim languidly about
a flash of colour deep below
Yet all is not as it seems
poor tiny herbivores fight
for their very existence
they are on the lunch plate
Savage diving beetles
water boatmen, striders
ravenous mayfly larva
all wait to dine on them
Tadpoles swiftly dart about
they are on everyone's menu
newts lay in wait then feast
life in a pond's no picnic
Everything is on someone's list
life in a pond is about who lives
eat or be eaten is the savage truth
no mercy given or none expected
Written: September 11, 2025
**************
Silence of the elder boughs fills the room,
Stillness is steeped with moss and lore.
The room is tinged with dawn breath—
peacefulness before the mayfly melody.
Time, as a chalice, swells and streams,
It's an amber hymn on the bay and shore.
Woodland pond gleams in a verdant jade hue,
Twilight's drifting waltz of many mayflies.
Akin to humming hymns of speckled stone,
Glide in bright weaves, invoking a final sigh.
As they fade in the abyss of ashen shadows,
Untimely, day-born, and evening requiem—
As they recede, the darkness inhales—
a breathless ache, a swirling scream.
The stars blink clear slowly and sadly.
As if to celebrate each soul's downfall.
What briefness dares a scene to bloom?
What memorial does silence breed?
Note: Expanded version of Mayfly Martyrs
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.
Each stage is mostly aquatic,
feeding on plants and detritus.
Its life cycle quite dramatic.
Swarming thick as oozing slurries,
males hover above clear water.
Intrigued, the young female hurries
through the misty mass, emerging
to oviposit fertile eggs.
She ends her watery purging,
laying eggs beneath the surface.
She flails, crumpled and moribund,
or served as a fish’s room service.
Males sail to land where they perish,
having served their one prime purpose.
The process nearly nightmarish.
But beauty – the perfect cycle –
perfect in the frantic frenzy,
sinless, sacrificial spiral.
Beauty is the unforgiving
two-year metamorphosis for
one day of long, lusty living.
Through our patio window
Pinned
With hundreds of Mayfly fins
Ruffling to the sunrise
I watch an ant
On our Torch Lake deck
Carry a detached translucent wing
Hoisted atop its back
Cleaning the lake’s frenzied hatch
One by one
From a moonlit dandelion
Blown to seed
Across the docks to shore
The night before
It would be
Like me
This morning
Lifting to one shoulder
A whole surrendered sailboat
Unfurled
While marching down McLaughlin Road
Waving to stunned cars as they slow to pass by
The sparkling lake shrinking behind me
Freed and restored
From a morning hoard of frenzied sailors
Who dared tailor the wind and waves
To the sinking suns of dotted buoys
Randomly scattered for the regatta races.
Mayflies
by Michael R. Burch
These standing stones have stood the test of time
but who are you
and what are you
and why?
As brief as mist, as transient, as pale ...
Inconsequential mayfly!
Perhaps the thought of love inspired hope?
Do midges love? Do stars bend down to see?
Do gods commend the kindnesses of ants
to aphids? Does one eel impress the sea?
Are mayflies missed by mountains? Do the stars
regret the glowworm’s stellar mimicry
the day it dies? Does not the world go on
as if it’s no great matter, not to be?
Life, to be sure, is nothing much to lose.
And yet somehow you’re everything to me.
Originally published by Clementine Unbound. Keywords/Tags: May, mayfly, mayflies, spring, time, daffodils, absence, missing you, mist, transient, transience, pale, inconsequential, stars, sea, everything, universe, A. E. Housman quote
Fragile in no way, pliable, flexible
Delicate? Hardly. Reaching coves and corners
Getting her monarch where she needs to be
Tensile Wings
Rarely broken, tough and durable, dependable
Lifting up the faeries into the hollow of the oak tree
Flattening themselves to slip into crevices
Tensile Wings
Vibrating with the hum of the wasp or the bee
Showing damselfly, dragonfly and mayfly the way
Lasting the duration of their life time
Tensile Wings
Giving an abused wife the push she needs to fly away
Escaping the wrath and injustice of a sad man
Who will have to find a new Luna moth
So he can continue to pull off someone’s wings