Archives for category: May Poetry

by D.A. Pratt

If you listen to a certain song
by Simon and Garfunkel
you will hear several
of the months mentioned,
one after another, as the song
tells a story I know only too well:
it begins by saying in April come she will
and indeed she did, ever so refreshingly,
in a month when so much is promised
in so many ways . . . in May
everything blossomed beautifully
and she seemed ready to stay
in my arms far longer than I
could have ever dared to dream —
ah, that was the good part of our story
but, by listening to the song, you’ll know
what follows, that the good part
cannot possibly last and it didn’t for us,
like the song says, if I can put it this way . . .
I hope every remembered romance
has what we managed to have
in that memorable month of May —
but not the June, nor the July
and definitely not the August . . . I hope
for something better for everyone else . . .
As for me, I know I will linger over
those moments in May . . . when our love
was going so well and it seemed that it
wouldn’t ever end, even though, somehow,
we knew it had to die, as the song says it must . . .
Someday, in my never-ending September,
I’ll remember having a love once new,
having known her, having loved her,
even if only so fleetingly, in a magical month
we like to call May . . .

PAINTING: “The Kiss” (1909) by Gustav Klimt (1862-1918).


ABOUT THE AUTHOR: D.A. (David) Pratt lives in Regina, Saskatchewan, Canada. This “May” poem is inspired by a song by Simon and Garfunkel, his all-time favourite musicians. In 2013, his short prose piece “Encountering Bukowski—Some Canadian Notes” appeared in Bukowski: An Anthology of Poetry & Prose About Charles Bukowski published by Silver Birch Press and his essay entitled “The Five Henry Millers” appeared in the tenth annual issue of Nexus: The International Henry Miller Journal.

NOTES FROM THE AUTHOR: In responding to the call for poems mentioning the month of May, I immediately thought of the song “April Come She Will” by Simon and Garfunkel, knowing that it mentions May . . . I hope the resulting poem honours the song while being, at the same time, an original creation about an imagined romance with one of my imagined muses . . .

that into the sky we may sink, and ocean soar
by Philip Gordon

all quiet here alone.

the flowers
in May. under the
sun I am burning
among the
waters pain.

will leave me
as I am or not at all.

in long
golden lagoons of sand,
I shall pass on, chafing against the
low rocks. listen: a
fourworded wavespeech: vehement breath of
flows, flower unfurling.

under the upswelling tide the
whispering water
swaying and upturning silver day: night.
lord, they are weary; whisper
the sigh of leaves and waves
awaiting the fullness of
the moon.

SOURCE: “that into the sky we may sink, and ocean roar” by Philip Gordon is based on a page from Ulysses by James Joyce.


ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Philip Gordon is a creative writing student from Vancouver Island, British Columbia, Canada, recipient of the 2014 Kevin Roberts poetry award, and an editor of the literary magazines Ash Tree Journal and Text (launching in September, 2014). His work has been published in Wax Poetry and Art Magazine, Potluckmag, Chrysanthemum, Portal, Passion Poetry, The YOLO Pages, and a few other places. Philip is a romantic dork, lover of shades, and proponent of the Oxford Comma. He can be stalked at and

NOTES FROM THE AUTHOR: I wasn’t sure initially whether black highlight or white-out effect on omitted text would be better — you’ll see that I’ve opted for the latter, but would be open to toggling to the other. I tried to pluck out the oceanic imagery and metaphysical addresses in Stephen’s stream-of-consciousness, tying the notion of oneness with nature and another person into the concept of the sea, sky, and flowers.

Hemaris diffinis
by Karen Massey 

Her name is little creature is
“Hummingbird Moth”
O hover in a flower
and show off handsome colours
Friend crept up
for a better look
and felt a deep sense of
O moth of see-through wings
and daytime habits. Caterpillars
feed on variety. Adults
are on the wing in May.
O winged sphinx.
O Snowberry Clearwing.

SOURCE: “Hemaris diffinis” by Karen Massey is based on page 50 of Bugs of Ontario by John Acorn, Illustrations by Ian Sheldon (Lone Pine Publishing, 2003).

ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Karen Massey writes in Ottawa, Canada. She has an MA, has published one chapbook, and her work has won local and regional prizes and appeared in a range of literary journals and anthologies. Recent online publication includes, and one of her poems was featured on the Chaudiere Press blog during National Poetry Month 2014.

the muse may
by J.I. Kleinberg

the muse
may be hard
the first
The next


ABOUT THE AUTHOR: J.I. Kleinberg works and plays with words and blogs most days at She is co-author of the book Fat Stupid Ugly: One Woman’s Courage to Survive and her writing has been included in Anatomy & Etymology, Cirque, Feathertale, Journal of Compressed Creative Arts, Northwind, Raven Chronicles, Switched-on Gutenberg, Truck, Uttered Chaos, and elsewhere. She lives in Bellingham, Washington, and doesn’t own a television.

NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR: “the muse may” is one of a series of found poems, now numbering more than 575, that use chunks of text from magazines, excised and recombined into a new syntax. In capturing the words for these poems, my mandate is to reveal the meaning that was not intended, to discover the phrases and poetry created by the accident of typography. They occupy a slender landscape between Dada and Twitter, between ransom note and haiku.

Grey (doesn’t always) Matter
by Jacque Stukowski

G is for this dull grey April day.

The blanket of solid clouds as far as the eye can see, dampens my mood severely. Even just a thought of small ray of May sunshine gives me the tiniest glimmer of hope that my grey-matter is so desperately in need of now.

As I sit staring out at the frigid, icy waters of the Fox River, the ducks seem immune to the dark slate skies. The Mergansers are back in town, and as the dive and duck under the cool semi-flowing waters, they seem glad to be back to this river they call home. Their quacks tell me that spring is coming soon-but not today.

The horizon speaks of what looms, yet those dark gloomy storm clouds can’t suppress the many signs that spring is near.

The ducks arrival on the river, small buds forming on the trees, birds chirping happy sounds, the cool crisp Northern air smell sweet like spring dew.

Even while my mood is somber from the blanket of grey overhead, I wrap myself up in these other signs of spring, knowing that even the forecasted winter storm can’t get me down!

The signs are clear SPRING IS NEAR!

Signs of hope, but only if we look and listen quietly to see the signs…

Today, my hope came in the form of a quack, quacking!

Thanks to the playful splashing of Merganser ducks, I’m smiling
those clouds of
 grey away because May is almost here!

PHOTO: “Common Mergansers, Fox River, Illinois” by JPatR, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.


ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Jacque Stukowski‘s blog God[isms] is her personal space to vent and share stories of growth through life’s ups and downs living with BP and ADHD. It’s a place where her writing and photos collide with spirituality, a dash of 12 steps, and a sprinkle of the daily trials of being a Christian wife, mother of two boys, and a full-time graphic designer. She frequently uses metaphors and symbolism to connect the reader to real life things in nature to convey the message she’s writing about.

by Joan L. Cannon 

Two starlings, two geese, and a phoebe . . .
In the yard, on the pond, no pear tree . . .

Centimeter of crocus, inch of daffodil,
Shed door jammed with snow still,

Patience, old girl, though the calendar says spring,
Experience tells you what any day may bring.

IMAGE: “Daffodils with Bad Timing,” watercolor by Suni Roveto. Prints available at

joanlcannon ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Joan L. Cannon was born and reared in Manhattan, graduated from Carleton College (Minnesota), has lived most of her adult life in rural Connecticut, where she and her late husband enjoyed country living with their three children. She’s been, among other things, a teacher of high school English, a retail manager, an editor, and a writer. She’s published two novels, a collection of short stories, and a poetry collection called My Mind Is Made of Crumbs, available at To learn more about Joan and her work, visit her website. 

NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR: Perhaps the thing that keeps me trying to produce poems is that almost always the ones I keep surprise me once I’ve left them alone for a few weeks. I love wondering if I wrote that, and thanks to my computer or my journal, I know I did.

by Adelle Foley

Winter may be gone
Maybe time to move on toward
May memorials.


ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Adelle Foley is a retirement administrator, an arts activist, and a writer of haiku. Her column, “High Street Neighborhood News,” appears monthly in The MacArthur Metro. Her poems have appeared in various magazines, in textbooks, and in Columbia University Press’s internet database, the Columbia Granger’s World of Poetry. Along the Bloodline is her first book-length collection. Beat poet Michael McClure writes, “Adelle Foley’s haikus show us humanity. Their vitality and imagination shine from her compassion; from seeing things as they truly are.” Visit her online at

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Most of my haiku start life in the margins of The Oakland Tribune as I walk to work.

by Clara Hsu

May 美 is beautiful.

May, your tail 尾 is showing beneath a corpse!

May, you are the last.

May-May, little 妹 sister.

May-May is delicious 美味.

May-May May-May

little sister 妹妹 not yet 未 beautiful 美.

May-May May-May

妹妹 little sister mmmm 美味 delicious.

Oh May-May

Oh May May May May

May May May May


you, beautiful 美

what a tail 尾

my last 尾

sister. 妹


ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Clara Hsu practices the art of multi-dimensional being: mother, musician, purveyor of Clarion Music Center (1982-2005), traveler, translator, and poet. She has co-hosted the monthly San Francisco Open Mic Poetry Podcast TV Show since 2009 with John Rhodes. In 2013 she co-founded Poetry Hotel Press with Jack Foley. Clara has been published internationally. Her book of poetry, The First to Escape, is due to be released in the summer of 2014.

Spring coffee
by Marcia Meara

I may go out to the garden today,
Where the sun is bright in the watered silk sky,
And a ruby gem flits from tree to tree,
As a cardinal, woos his love with burbling songs,
And goes about the business of building a nest,
Promising new life in the weeks ahead.

I may go out to the garden today.
The dog days of summer are drawing near,
Threatening to bake the roses,
Scorch the herbs, and wither the grass,
In a sweltering, impossible heat,
Which will trap me inside by the end of June.

I may go out to the garden today,
To sip icy tea from a sweating glass,
Catching my breath between the chores.
Pruning and weeding, and raking the paths.
Racing the pages of the calendar,
As they flip through the last days of spring.

I may go out to the garden today…
Or maybe I’ll laze indoors, instead,
Beside the window, in a comfy chair,
The stack of books nearby, a siren call,
Luring me to open their covers,
And visit those gardens blooming inside.


ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Marcia Meara is a native Floridian, living in the Orlando area with her husband of 28 years, two silly little dachshunds, and four big, lazy cats. She’s fond of reading, gardening, hiking, canoeing, painting, and writing, not necessarily in that order. But her favorite thing in the world is spending time with her two grandchildren — nine-year-old Tabitha Faye and one-year-old Kaelen Lake. At age 69, Marcia wrote Wake-Robin Ridge, her first novel, and Summer Magic: Poems of Life and Love. She has just published her second novel, Swamp Ghosts, set alongside the wild and scenic rivers of central Florida. Marcia is now working on the next Darcy’s Corner novel, a sequel to Wake-Robin Ridge, and will soon start on the next Riverbend novel, the sequel to Swamp Ghosts. In the past year, Marcia has also had her poetry appear in four Silver Birch Press anthologies: Silver, Green,Summer, and Noir Erasure Poetry.  Her philosophy? It’s never too late to follow your dream. Just take that first step, and never look back. You can reach Marcia through her blogs and other social media: Bookin’ ItWho’s Your GrannyFacebookTwitterPinterest.

by Victoria McGrath

Though I may not always say it
please know
that you annoy me,
not every minute of every day
but certainly enough that I am glad
to not have to spend another minute
of any day with you, and
though I may not always say it
please know
that the difference between “shedule”
and “skedule” is not that one is a timetable
for a bus and the other for a train,
and I could have told you this had you
“espifically arksed” me, and
though I may not always say it
please know
that eliminating the creases
from your good dress-shirt
always gave me more satisfaction
than being ravished by you
while ironing it, and
though I may not always say it
please know
that I am pleased your current girlfriend
dumped you for a younger model
because even though it’s a cliché
karma really is a bitch
and so, apparently, am I, and
though I may not always say it
please know
I really do believe that sometimes
these things need to be said.

PHOTO: “The Mae West Lips Sofa” designed by Salvador Dali (1937).

ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Victoria McGrath is an emerging poet who lives in country NSW, Australia, and is a graduate of the Australian National University. She has won a number of poetry awards and was shortlisted in 2013 for the prestigious Newcastle Poetry Prize. She has been published widely in journals and anthologies and has performed in a range of events including as featured poet at the Bundanoon Winterfest in 2011 and 2012. A publisher has expressed interest in her first, not quite finished, manuscript.