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Yves Mael Poem
Return to me once more, dear memory
Evermore fairly than a sightless dream,
E’en dreams relax upon the emery
Of sable nights unto death’s garment seams,
It seems to me fair memory, you dote
Upon the day and behold the frameless
Image of mere moments; mere soundless notes,
And what you behold is held so shameless,
Lest you forget the day once lived by me;
The day once past. Not to pass by your eye,
Far be it settled in comfort but seen,
So let the past be not passed along to die,
Yet, recollected in a way not lived
By present’s eye; by what I will forgive.
Copyright © Yves Mael | Year Posted 2026
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Yves Mael Poem
A tousling love is tender and fair,
So terribly gentle in its strikes and shoves,
It shows the joy that she still cares.
Love taps,
Lest I flinch and get upon her nerves,
Alas, she learned my play, so now it’s real,
She taps a little harder when I swerve.
Still delicate,
Into these gentle taps of her attack,
No horror finds me in this bliss of force,
Her laughter lights the mood, and I go slack,
She knows,
A tousling love is what my taste demands,
So strike me down and I will let it land.
Copyright © Yves Mael | Year Posted 2026
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Yves Mael Poem
Oh no, I’ve fallen in love again
Why does this always happen to me?
Love is no bigger than a small apple
It reflects in the eye but beats in the chest.
What am I falling out of love with?
I can’t carry every apple I see.
Copyright © Yves Mael | Year Posted 2025
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Yves Mael Poem
I have a serpent painted on my ear,
It always tells the truth I want to hear;
“O, how much you have suffered,” it will say,
“To become so beautiful on this day.”
Upon a time I learned to listen well,
To all the stories it has learned to tell,
“You were born beautiful within your laughter,”
Although I wonder what it is after?
I have a serpent painted on my ear,
It has spoken truths I have come to fear,
Upon a time I learned to listen well,
To all the stories it has learned to sell.
Copyright © Yves Mael | Year Posted 2026
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Yves Mael Poem
As zephyrs tousle thro’ his hair,
He walks along the dappling shade of trees
With a flaming lily behind his ear,
With scent of pine wood and lingering rain
On the horizon, warm oak on his breath,
He wanders freely upon a midsummer.
To be a cloud as it wanders the lull
Expanse of day, as the warmth of Sol’s breath
Scatters against the skin of dark vapour —
He is a cloud.
And on and on and on and then
He stops —
Captured by a hand that wasn't there;
The grass remembered arches after gone
And dew clung in the shape of being watched,
He could hear it clearing its throat to speak.
It passed him by as a cloud.
Copyright © Yves Mael | Year Posted 2026
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Yves Mael Poem
With a bronze wind you shattered
All my dusk until my breath
Spilling toward the morning scattered
What it feared and what it left.
Ever clearer now it rises,
Held by light yet wandering free:
Thus it sings your slow surprises,
June, unfolding even me.
Copyright © Yves Mael | Year Posted 2026
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Yves Mael Poem
Her tears of wildflowers ‘n whiskey,
Wistfully drifting thro’ the soothless air,
E’ermoor the pineful sobbing, ruefully;
Oft daring darling birds to wane the fair,
Chid not the girl for tears for boys for joy
Much lost upon the mirror, ‘eep tonight
Without the woes nor cares of youthful boys,
‘Eep sweetly from the tast’ of whiskey’s bite,
Ere long the dreams of wheat smoked barrels stir
Your deep slumbers keep, dream of many things,
The rye, the warming oak, caramel and myrrh,
And soon, much too soon, the nightingale sings.
Rest now, dear heart, let sorrow’s tempest cease;
For even broken wings may sleep in peace.
Copyright © Yves Mael | Year Posted 2026
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Yves Mael Poem
We cannot lean too heavily on words.
They buckle under what we mean to bear.
Too many mouths stand open in the air,
And still the air is torn by what we say.
You told me I misrepresented us.
I asked you how. You said you never wished
To leave. I asked you why you did. You said
You feared that I would stay.
How quickly language makes a blade of breath.
We speak to spare ourselves, and cut instead.
What mercy is there in explaining fear?
Bring wine, my dear. Let silence have its turn.
I will not press the wound to make it clear.
Sit here. I will listen to your staying.
Copyright © Yves Mael | Year Posted 2026
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Yves Mael Poem
For day is near, and I intend to wake
My love with little kisses on her cheek,
To make her flush, all for my loving sake,
She stirs,
With heaviness in mornings brittle span,
She mourns the night, and dreams a little more,
But there are times men must understand,
Not this time.
My strong inclination toward her mayhem
Drives my wild thoughts to tickle her sides,
No peaceful sway o’er my heart – reign, mayhem!
She’s awake!
I quickly retreat to my standing,
But she is quicker, and knocks o’er my landing.
Copyright © Yves Mael | Year Posted 2026
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Yves Mael Poem
My mind wanders these days, in the familiar space between us, between yesterday and tomorrow. Here, in this now, when the day is unfolding beautifully, I feel more alive than I did yesterday, than I will tomorrow.
And throughout this dawn, when aliveness is the sun, while you lie peacefully dreaming, I reach toward you. From your breath that draws my hand upon your chest, where it rests and lingers on the quiet lifting.
For I will never know the moment it passes; it will go into the wheeling hands of memory. My fear: that you will forever be etherized in the tenderness of my heartbeat.
Here, in this now, when our breathing aligns under a new morning sky, I drum that heartbeat against your chest.
You arise, opening your eyes, and my fear passes. Where it goes remains unnamed. Further, in the distant reaches of your eyes, I see not the sun but the flowering of your soul. From the feet of crows to the crease around your nose, and the freckles in between.
Dawn-kissed and heavy-eyed, you slip like liquid through my ribs and still my heart, squeezing me close and retreating back into little death.
Copyright © Yves Mael | Year Posted 2026
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