May, poem by Donna Hilbert (May Poetry Series)

MAY
by Donna Hilbert

I
The stir of the curtain
past my face as I sleep:
my mother imagines dancing.

II
A turquoise goose
and a white goose
visit me in a dream.
The goose of marvelous blue
coaxes my ear with his bill.
Because I can’t follow
this magnificent bird,
I allow him to follow me.

III
The child is taking a bath.
Her mother is on the bathroom floor, crying.
Her father leans on the doorjamb.
He smells of old sweat and mown grass.

IV
Babysitters:
Mrs. West, who looks
under the bed and inside the closet
for witches; Agnes, who pulls her hair
and scratches her; and a fat girl
who her grandmother says is
as lazy as the day is long.

V
The stir of the curtain
past my face as I sleep:
the cellar, the math room,
little Kathy Fiscus in the well.

VI
Hibiscus, bougainvillea, tulips, iris.
She favors the blue hibiscus
for its ranginess and sensual control.

VII
Some days he drinks iced tea
from thick jelly glasses.
Other days, beer from tin cans
he can crush with one hand.

VIII
On warm afternoons
the child makes mud babies
then lines them in neat rows to dry.

IX
The stir of the curtain
past my face as I sleep:
I’m going to find me a hole,
crawl in
and let the dirt fall
in after me.

X
All the spring bulbs had come up.
The child and her grandmother May
make a May basket for the mother
whose husband has gone.

XI
Beautiful girl,
don’t cry.
You’ll soon grow
just what you need.

XII
The child sits on the blue divan
eating her father’s cigarettes.
Her mother says her eyes are blue.
Her grandmother says they’re hazel.
Her father sings
beautiful, beautiful brown eyes.

XIII
My mother imagines dancing
dreams of flying
longs to grow fat
under tropical flowers.

XIV
She walks the three blocks
to her grandmother’s house,
avoiding the cracks,
avoiding the horny toads.
She helps her grandmother feed
the chickens and geese
and water the flowers.
How does your garden grow?

XV
May basket, May day,
a prayer that her father
will stay away.

XVI
The stir of the curtain
past my face as I sleep:
poor Kathy Fiscus
a bedroom of witches
pretty little maids in a row
From this deep well I am pulling
a woman.

IMAGE: “Wild Geese,” stencil by Henny Donovan available at hennydonovanmotif.co.uk.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Donna Hilbert’s latest book, The Congress of Luminous Bodies, is availble from Aortic Books or at Amazon.com. The Green Season (World Parade Books), a collection of poems, stories, and essays, is now available in an expanded second edition. Donna appears in and her poetry is the text of the documentary Grief Becomes Me: A Love Story, a Christine Fugate film. Earlier books include Mansions and Deep Red from Event Horizon, Transforming Matter and Traveler in Paradise from Pearl Editions, and the short story collection Women Who Make Money and the Men Who Love Them from Staple First Editions (published in England). Poems in Italian can be found in Bloc notes 59 and in French in La page blanche, in both cases translated by Mariacristina Natalia Bertoli. New work is in recent or forthcoming issues of 5AM, Nerve Cowboy, RC Muse, Serving House Journal, Pearl, California Quarterly, and Poets & Artists.Her work is widely anthologized, most recently in The Widows’ Handbook, Kent State University Press. Learn more at donnahilbert.com.

Flavours of May, poem by Brinda Buljore (May Poetry Series)

Flavours of May
by Brinda Buljore

blending textures of
seasoning sunshine
together with winter hues
 
tall filaments become
seeds of luck and
petals of fate
 
kneading the dough
of fright and faith
into malleable stars
 
substance thin
like muslin yet
resistant as silk
 
May morning brings
stamina and vigour
rolling down the stairs
 
bridging the taste
within the flavours of life
to the pestle of destiny

ABOUT THE POET/PHOTOGRAPHER: Brinda Buljore is a writer and artist who lives in Paris.

PHOTO: “Muguet, French Moments” by Brinda Buljore, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

NOTE: King Charles IX of France received lily of the valley (muguet) flowers as a lucky charm on May 1, 1561. He liked the gift and decided to present the flowers — known for their delightful scent — to the ladies of his court each year on May 1. Around 1900, men started to bring their sweethearts bouquets of lily of the valley flowers as a symbol of springtime. On April 23, 1919, the eight-hour working day was officially introduced in France, and May 1 became a public holiday. May Day was not observed during World War II, but again became a public holiday in 1947. May 1 officially became known as La Fête du Travail (Labor Day) on April 29, 1948. In France, May 1st remains an occasion to present lily of the valley flowers to loved ones.

While It Was May, poem by Disha Dinesh Sahni (May Poetry Series)

WHILE IT WAS MAY . . . 
by Disha Dinesh Sahni

For my eyes were bright
And the Sun blinked away
While, it was May.
My blue cloak was busy painting the sky,
The green mantle shading the grass.

For my eyes were still
And the trees went away.
While, it was May
My cheeks were blushing the apple red
My heart filling the semblance with love

For my eyes were raining
And the world rejuvenated away.
While, it was May
My tears dewed the grass
Tenebrous tresses embroiling with the empyrean

For my eyes were opened
And the night henced away!
While, it was May!

ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Disha Dinesh Sahni is pursuing a Bachelor’s Degree in Industrial and Production Engineering from Jabalpur Engineering College in India. Currently a poetess at Keynotes Poets and writers, Sacramento, California, she is an author at Creative Talents Unleashed.

PAINTING: “The Maypole” by Peter Miller. Prints available at fineartamerica.com. Read more about the maypole at wikipedia.org.

Planning May, poem by Paul Nebenzahl (May Poetry Series)

PLANNING MAY
by Paul Nebenzahl

(Forth from pen the plan unfolds
I am mapping the light fantastic, the
End of April teasing me with cool
Nights and teary-eyed dream-pen days
Calming out air-traveling thoughts + a dew-stalking lens)

May’s start

Running to Vienna down
Streets transferred buck to sole
And into the yellow fields, a black cloth over hidden murder camps
Listening to the Gypsy wind, standing with
Fired clay in pockets, with hands outstretched

by May mid month

I’m moving east packing enchanted boxes my fingers tapping
Head laying astride up old Hudson River, water flowing south
Jimmied out Nyack across the water steady rocking
Our light travels water west to Edward Hopper’s house
Gifting ‘round our world Rex-ly miracle color-y eyes

I Hope May

To plant two gardens, to elongate splashed flair hues @ waterside Sleepy Hollow
+ Plant in Asheville, North Carolina what needs my hands, there
Where the road to nowhere
Has never been more determined
To end up somewhere

As May ends

All my dreams will come true and still where is the vanished, vanquished plane?
June will unfold we’ll be looking ‘neath ocean for that plane on the floor, then
I will be the water thundering the rocking boats under your willows
Whistling up the ever windy ‘long craggy Palisades aft fore
That comes my pretty penny way

ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Paul Nebenzahl is a writer, musician, and painter who lives in Evanston, Illinois, and Sleepy Hollow, New York. As a performing multi-instrumentalist, and composer, Paul has created works for film and television, and has performed extensively in theater, stage, and club settings. In 2012, Paul’s poem “Gusen Station” was published in English, Italian and German by the International Committee for Mauthausen and Gusen. His poem “Charles Bukowski” appears in the Silver Birch Press Bukowski Anthology (2013) and “Here’s to the Singer of Songs” is featured in the Silver Birch Press Summer Anthology (2013). He is the author of Black Shroud with Rainbow Fringes: Poems 2010-2013 (Silver Birch Press, 2014), available at Amazon.com.

May, poem by A.E. Housman

MAY
by A.E. Housman

Yonder see the morning blink:
The sun is up, and up must I,
To wash and dress and eat and drink
And look at things and talk and think
And work, and God knows why.

Oh often have I washed and dressed
And what’s to show for all my pain?
Let me lie abed and rest:
Ten thousand times I’ve done my best
And all’s to do again.

How clear, how lovely bright,
How beautiful to sight
Those beams of morning play;
How heaven laughs out with glee
Where, like a bird set free,
Up from the eastern sea
Soars the delightful day.

Today I shall be strong,
No more shall yield to wrong,
Shall squander life no more;
Days lost, I know not how,
I shall retrieve them now;
Now I shall keep the vow
I never kept before.

Ensanguining the skies
How heavily it dies
Into the west away;
Past touch and sight and sound
Not further to be found,
How hopeless under ground
Falls the remorseful day.

IMAGE: “May Morning” by Jan Bickerton. Prints available at fineartamerica.com.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Alfred Edward Housman (1859–1936), an English classical scholar and poet, has been ranked as one of the greatest scholars who ever lived, and was appointed Professor of Latin at University College London and then at Cambridge. Housman published two volumes of poetry during his life: A Shropshire Lad (1896) and Last Poems (1922). After A Shropshire Lad was turned down by several publishers, Housman published it at his own expense. Several composers created musical settings for Housman’s work, deepening his popularity. When Last Poems was published in 1922, it was an immediate success. A third volume, More Poems, was released posthumously in 1936, as was an edition of Housman’s Complete Poems (1939). Despite acclaim as a scholar and a poet in his lifetime, Housman lived as a recluse, rejecting honors and avoiding the public eye.

Oh! That We Two Were Maying, poem by Charles Kingsley

OH! THAT WE TWO WERE MAYING (Excerpt)
by Charles Kingsley

Oh! that we two were Maying
Down the stream of the soft spring breeze;
Like children with violets playing
In the shade of the whispering trees.

MORE: Read “Oh! That We Two Were Maying” by Charles Kingsley in its entirety at poemhunter.com.

IMAGE: “Spring Violets on White” by Elena Elisseeva. Prints available at fineartamerica.com.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Charles Kingsley (1919-1875) was a priest of the Church of England, university professor, historian, poet, and novelist. His novel Westward Ho! led to the founding of a town by the same name (the only place name in England that contains an exclamation mark).

Our Month Called May, poem by D.A. Pratt (May Poetry Series)

OUR MONTH CALLED MAY
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 . . .

The May Queen, poem by Alfred, Lord Tennyson

THE MAY QUEEN (Excerpt)
by Alfred, Lord Tennyson

You must wake and call me early, call me early, mother dear;
To-morrow ’ll be the happiest time of all the glad new-year,—
Of all the glad new-year, mother, the maddest, merriest day;
For I ’m to be Queen o’ the May, mother, I ’m to be Queen o’ the May.

There ’s many a black, black eye, they say, but none so bright as mine;
There ’s Margaret and Mary, there ’s Kate and Caroline;
But none so fair as little Alice in all the land, they say:
So I ’m to be Queen o’ the May, mother, I ’m to be Queen o’ the May.

I sleep so sound all night, mother, that I shall never wake,
If you do not call me loud when the day begins to break;
But I must gather knots of flowers and buds, and garlands gay;
For I ’m to be Queen o’ the May, mother, I ’m to be Queen o’ the May.

MORE: Read “The May Queen” by Alfred, Lord Tennyson in its entirety at bartleby.com.

PHOTO: “For I’m to be queen of the May, Mother, I’m to be Queen of the May” by Julia Margaret Cameron (1875, J. Paul Getty Museum).  To learn more about the May Queen traditions, visit wikipedia.org.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Alfred, Lord Tennyson (1809-1892) was Poet Laureate of Great Britain and Ireland during much of Queen Victoria’s reign and remains one of the most popular British poets. His most famous composition is “The Charge of the Light Brigade” (1854), written about a battle during the Crimean War. The poem includes the often-quoted line: “Theirs not to reason why / Theirs but to do and die.”

Frank Patterson sings “Queen of the May”

Renowned Irish tenor Frank Patterson (1938-2000) sings “Bring Flowers of the Rarest (Queen of the May).”

The May Magnificat, poem by Gerard Manley Hopkins

THE MAY MAGNIFICAT (Excerpt)
by Gerard Manley Hopkins

May is Mary’s month, and I
Muse at that and wonder why:
Her feasts follow reason,
Dated due to season—

Candlemas, Lady Day;
But the Lady Month, May,
Why fasten that upon her,
With a feasting in her honour?

Is it only its being brighter
Than the most are must delight her?
Is it opportunest
And flowers finds soonest?

Ask of her, the mighty mother:
Her reply puts this other
Question: What is Spring?—
Growth in every thing—

Flesh and fleece, fur and feather,
Grass and greenworld all together;
Star-eyed strawberry-breasted
Throstle above her nested

Cluster of bugle blue eggs thin
Forms and warms the life within;
And bird and blossom swell
In sod or sheath or shell.

All things rising, all things sizing
Mary sees, sympathising
With that world of good,
Nature’s motherhood. . .

MORE: Read “The May Magnificat” by Gerald Manley Hopkins in its entirety at bartleby.com.

PHOTO: “May Crowning.” Read more about this tradition at wikipedia.org.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Gerard Manley Hopkins (1844–1889) was an English poet, Roman Catholic convert, and Jesuit priest, whose posthumous fame established him among the leading Victorian poets. His experimental explorations in prosody (especially sprung rhythm) and his use of imagery established him as a daring innovator in a period of largely traditional verse. His work was not published in collected form until 1918, but it influenced many leading 20th-century poets, including Ted Hughes.