I remember it well.
The feeling was swell.
It happened once a year;
An event most precious and dear.
The fragrance was in the air.
It was still mid-Spring, but from the sky,
There protruded the aroma of summer.
I hasten to say, it was a beautiful first of May.
And presently, I pause with warm affections, to reflect,
To muse upon the emotions that were like no other day.
To us, May Day was like a holiday encased in amusements.
It was time to plait the Maypole.
With coordination and precision, we flowed
With the rhythm of the music as we danced and skipped
Around the pole, plaiting eye-catching bright and bold colors.
They were rainbow colors, filled with life, like those in our hearts.
Oh, what lovely and memorable visions of childhood, so real and vivid.
No selfies or videos, but the pictures are forever painted in our souls.
It's true that life took us away, far from the shores of childhood festivities.
In our career years, we are encumbered with futuristic aspirations, but as
the locomotive of life slows, our minds swing back to the Maypoles of yesterday.
050422PS
Categories:
maypoles, childhood, may,
Form: Verse
Back in the day we had a maypole on May Day
We created May baskets out of doilies and construction paper
I loved adding bits of ribbon, aluminum foil and glitter.
We decorated them like Valentines boxes.
Filled them with tiny candies popcorn and violets.
It was fantastically fabulous, and I loved it!
Why did I have maypoles and May baskets?
Was it because I lived in a small town? Was it because of my mother?
Was it because we knew all of our neighbors back in the day?
Categories:
maypoles, may,
Form: Narrative
how does the night
seduce me
in his ebony suspension
over and over
how could a child of ivory,
crave serenity
in total darkness
I watch my skin
marshal geese,
a shiver whispers
up my spine
I burnt the cello
rasping strings
till their dark dance,
encouraged a stars birth
and the sky glimmered life
I dismembered a violin
on platinum dunes of dust,
eclipsing the face of Venus
that never failed to turn,
now braided in glass
I am,
the beating drum
that serenades twilight,
the flute that trembles
birds to flight,
lifting the saffron veil,
between this day
the next
I live with this knowing,
I will never be free
cutis anserina move me,
over and under
she rises up
to whisper her secrets
dawn is coming,
as maypoles of ribbon-ed light
play the sunrise melody,
archangels gather
glancing over his
shoulder, teasing to
cavort with lovers
the world over
Don Giovanni
(night)
in his ebony robes
consumes me,
I am torn,
into darkness
as fibrils of light
a breath out of reach
Categories:
maypoles, imagination, passion
Form: Blank verse