Archives for posts with tag: 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 . . .

by Hilaire Belloc

This is the laughing-eyed amongst them all:
My lady’s month. A season of young things.
She rules the light with harmony, and brings
The year’s first green upon the beeches tall.
How often, where long creepers wind and fall
Through the deep woods in noonday wanderings,
I’ve heard the month, when she to echo sings,
I’ve heard the month make merry madrigal.

How often, bosomed in the breathing strong
Of mosses and young flowerets, have I lain
And watched the clouds, and caught the sheltered song —
Which it were more than life to hear again —
Of those small birds that pipe it all day long
Not far from Marly by the memoried Seine.

PAINTING: “The Seine at Port Marly” by Camille Pissarro (1872).


ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Joseph Hilaire Pierre René Belloc (1870–1953), born in France and raised in England, was a writer, orator, poet, satirist, and political activist. He has been called one of the Big Four of Edwardian Letters, along with H.G.Wells, George Bernard Shaw, and G. K. Chesterton. Belloc observed that “the first job of letters is to get a canon,” that is, to identify those works which a writer looks upon as exemplary of the best of prose and verse. For his own prose style, he claimed to aspire to be as clear and concise as “Mary had a little lamb.” (Source:

by Allison Chaney

The great city

Left their bickerings

To taste the luscious feasts

Of golden prosperity

To drink the wine of May

To trod the highway exulted

Pure, brave and pink of cheek

SOURCE: “The Wine of May” by Allison Chaney is based on a page from F. Scott Fitzgerald‘s short story “May Day.”


ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Allison Chaney is a Los Angeles native, working on her second master’s degree at Mount St. Mary’s College. After eight years of teaching high school, she decided to devote her life to a literary career. Currently, she spends her days revising her first novel, writing voraciously, and mentoring teen writers. Her recent publications include a poetry chapbook, Queen Me (Poehemian Press), and a short story, “Somerset” (Tiny Tales of Terror). Outside of writing and reading literature, Allison loves classic Hollywood films, hiking, and spending time with her family and friends. To learn more, visit her website.

NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR: I set out to find a May piece that spoke to me. I started with my bookshelves. Shocked I could not find at least my copy of Little Women, I continued exploring. I combed them with my eyes and fingers, once, then twice, then three times, nothing. At the end of this unsuccessful excavation, my eyes stopped on my collection of Fitzgerald works, and I remembered that I’d once read a story of his called “May Day.” I quickly typed in the title online and found a copy of it. I printed out three copies. The Great City instantly became the subject. I let my eyes fly to the words that wanted to join the city. Several versions came about — a funeral, a trodding of the poor, but in the end a story of peace came about. It is a brave thing for just one person to stand up for harmony, but the idea of all of us doing so in our great city spoke to me. I committed to my word choices, read them again and again. I erased by graying out the words around my selection, re-printing the page and then shading around the poem in harmony with its theme. I attempted a wine glass but it somehow came out looking like a chalice. I’d say think golden chalice of Arthurian legend perhaps. Drinking the springtime and its newness sounds like a good plan to me. A big thanks to Silver Birch Press for setting me on this task a few days ago and to Fitzgerald for having such a way with words. I had a lot of fun doing this.

by Jack Foley

In May May told me she was born in June
Which may or may not be true
May’s name belies her month of birth!
May I believe May? Maybe.
Come what may, I’ll have a May Day Celebration with a Mayan
Who doesn’t care in the least that my ancestors came over on the Mayflower
(What do April showers bring: Pilgrims! May flowers!)
Do they dance round the maypole in Mayotte?
They may, and drink May Wine
(But hold the mayo!)
Ah, Mayzie my daisy you drive me so crazy
I’ll bring you some may (I may, though perhaps I mayn’t)
Have a May apple, May,
Though you were born in June.
I’ll love you come what may. (Maybe.)


ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Jack Foley is a widely-published, innovative California poet. He has published 13 books of poetry, 5 books of criticism, and Visions and Affiliations, a chronoencyclopedia of California poetry from 1940 to 2005. His radio show, Cover to Cover, is heard on Berkeley, California radio station KPFA every Wednesday at 3; his column, “Foley’s Books,” appears in the online magazine Alsop Review. In 2010, Foley was awarded the Lifetime Achievement Award by the Berkeley Poetry Festival, and June 5, 2010 was proclaimed “Jack Foley Day” in Berkeley. With poet Clara Hsu, Foley is co-publisher of Poetry Hotel Press. EYES, Foley’s Selected Poems, has appeared from Poetry Hotel Press and a chapbook, LIFE, has appeared from Word Palace Press. With his wife Adelle, Foley performs his work (often “multivoiced” pieces) frequently in the San Francisco Bay Area. Their performances can be found on YouTube. Read more at and on his website.


by John Milton (1608-1674)

Now the bright morning star, day’s harbinger,

Comes dancing from the east, and leads with her

The flowery May, who from her green lap throws

The yellow cowslip, and the pale primrose.

Hail, bounteous May, that doth inspire

Mirth, and youth, and warm desire;

Woods and groves are of thy dressing,

Hill and dale doth boast thy blessing,

Thus we salute thee with our early song,

And welcome thee, and wish thee long.


Painting: “Flowers” by Andy Warhol (1970)

by Jonathan Galassi

The backyard apple tree gets sad so soon,   
takes on a used-up, feather-duster look   
within a week.
The ivy’s spring reconnaissance campaign   
sends red feelers out and up and down   
to find the sun.
Ivy from last summer clogs the pool,   
brewing a loamy, wormy, tea-leaf mulch   
soft to the touch
and rank with interface of rut and rot.
The month after the month they say is cruel   
is and is not.

…From NORTH STREET, a collection of poems by Jonathan Galassi, available at

Painting: “Apple tree blooming in late spring” by Steve Kuzma, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

by Maurice Sendak

In May I think it truly best
to be a robin lightly dressed
concocting soup inside my nest
Mix it once, mix it twice,
mix that chicken soup with rice.

…From CHICKEN SOUP WITH RICE: A Book of Months by Maurice Sendak, available at