Maynard Poems | Examples

A Base Man

A Former Minister Of Goverment in Dominica 
Charles Maynard
Once Said
A Base Man Can never Blow The Trumpets Of Serenity.

Do We Ask the Beatnik To Leave

Lee is a beatnik all right, the seventy year olds agreed
he was lying in the grass, playing bongos next to his weed
as chill as we had ever seen Maynard on Dobie Gillis too
We was singing a weird slow song, name I had no clue

what do we do with him? someone wanted to know
Do we ask him to leave? Will he be complaint and go?
it would not hurt any of you to take a hint from Chet one said.
You are mostly Type A’s, could you try to be C’s instead?

I wanted to try, so I sat down and began humming a song.
The others tried to stop me, for my singing voice is wrong.
Then I began to drum, but a rhythm does not come from me.
I finally read a book, sitting next to the beatnik, Lee.

Judith

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

There Was a Time

There was a time when Movie
and Star went together: “Grand Old Flag”,
“Yankee Doodle Dandy” and so on. 
Hollywood, at the time, far less Commie – 
not entirely overrun by Political Bias, 
Social Snobbery. About the same time, 
a child lost or in trouble could safely approach
most any adult – every cop and fireman 
was Tom Mix and Ken Maynard combined…
and Abortion 
wasn't 
fashionable....

Wasted

Wasted rays from a sun cast in August
Wasted blessing if i am honest
Wasted thoughts delusions of grandeur 
Wasted words on good moral manner
Wasted shelter found in my arms
Wasted love i meant you no harm
Wasted stitches this heart will not mend
It's always been broken why pretend
I wasted a lot
Almost wasted away
Your heart so jaded 
I thought love would sway

David Maynard 2019

Poets Muse

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

Bill Maynard

A British actor entertained people as Selwyn Froggitt and The Gaffer.
During his 89 years of life, Bill Maynard gave millions the gift of laughter.
He starred in a few episodes of both 'Worzel Gummidge' and 'Heartbeat'.
He starred once in both 'The Ugliest Girl In Town' and 'Coronation Street'.

When he died, it was hard for all of his fans to get a grip.
He died in a hospital not long after falling and breaking his hip.
It was twelve months ago when he passed away.
Sadly, we lost a talented actor one year ago today.

[Dedicated to Bill Maynard (1928-2018) who died on March 30, 2018.]

A Snowy Day

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.

E G

I find myself looking in the mirror. 
More often at odd angles. 
Approaching from the side. 
A view askew through my pale eyes.  

Different angles offer new perspective. 
Like drawing pictures with lead. 
A turn of the page reveals an errant line. 
A shadow out of place.  

I count those pages more often. 
Stories each one. 
Lines told with hopeful outcomes. 
Growing deeper each time.  

Better left to soften out of focus. 
Alone on my bad side. 
Out of view from the mirror.  

But I still look for reasons,
       and why the seasons, 
              turn a little grayer each time. 

And why in your eyes, 
       looking back from the silver, 
              do I still see me. 

Running the hills of Little Dixie. 
Chasing U.F.O.'s at dawn.
 
Believing Santa wouldn't come,
       but Charlie and the Family would.  

To butcher me with knives.  

Childhood fears grown into years of reality. 
A borderline personality. 
Yes, I can tell you stories. 
Of haunted houses and nightmares come true. 

But you. 
You still look good E.G. 

Between Charlie, 
       the mirror and me.  

E.G. Maynard. 
46 & 2. 


3.

Feathers and Airplanes

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.

The Honing of Blades

He always loved knives. 
Blades flicking sharp like a snake's tongue.  
"Knives never lie," he said. 

The moment depends on honing. 
A ritual all its own.  

       Scrip.
              Scrape. 

       Scrip. 
              Scrape. 

A soothing sound. 

Oil glistened and carried steel to the end of an Arkansas stone. 
He would flip it over and slide it back, 
       and forth, 
              and back again.  

"Mind the angle," he would say. 
"No more than a nickel thick." 

All his life he believed a knife truer than his name. 
From birth he knew by instinct. 
The cold hard reality of an edge. 

But his dark eyes held silence like the oil on his stone. 
Miserable and alone.  

His left hand gripped the table top. 
Wrist up and ready. 

The knife in his right. 
Waiting unsteady and above. 
About to fall.  

He said, "this requires the sharpest blade of all."  

E.G. Maynard. 
46 & 2. 


3.

The Mercury

Did I come to you in the night? 
To tempt you? 
Tempt you into something right? 

Did I bring you nightmares? 

Nightmares of brown eyes. 
Lurking in the shadows of your mind. 
Locked in boxes you left behind. 
So you could scapegoat my reality.  

I fell from Heaven. 

Fell to lay at your feet, 
       burn in your eyes, 
              and freeze in your shadow.  

I fell to hold sunrises for you. 
Shining like the Mercury. 
Playing my guitar as you drift away. 
As you climb through the cold air above. 

Leaving me behind and searching. 
Searching for a frozen love. 

E.G. Maynard. 
46 & 2.

The Monarch

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.

John Spotted Horse and the Witch

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.

Three Lilies

We celebrate you. 

You,
who came silently,
on a lonely and humble night,
beneath the light,
of a Shepard's star.  

Who swung with sinners,
and danced with saints.  

Who grooved on the shores of Galilee,
and knew the mystery,
of how we are God.  

You,
who descended into fire,
and by your stripes,
set the captives free.  

We celebrate you.  

Who took the cup for me,
and hung upon a tree. 

We celebrate you with these Lilies three.  

E.G. Maynard. 
46 & 2. 


3.

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