Biography of John May
My longstanding interest in philosophy and theology- both sparked by my interest and belief in God- are what brought me to poetry, hence here.
John May Poems
Because the morning sun is gold Because the smell of loam is bold Because there's warmth within the cold I know that I am Spring
I walked (eleven-ish or so) A kid amid blue snow and slush, When lo! that golden orb aglow Ascending made the blue-air blush!
A Monk's Refrain
Hide me away, O my soul Shut me in her sacred cell Let vesper pray'r these speeches quell ‘Till dawn bid that the silence null
Beneath the skies of goddess Nuit There lies my passion's sole pursuit … It's her- whose flesh is beauty's claim- A Nubian of Pharaoh's name:
What quarrel can I have with her Who blackens all those lovely skies? - Let all her heated belly quake, And let her plumes the world surprise!
The Killing of a Spider
The killing of a spider's right If not from fear, then yes, from spite For be it even ever small A dot upon a wall of white
When Children Die
When children die what grief is more What sorrow measurable compares So deep the pain that cuts us through It changes everything we view
Those Evil Few
With wealth, the likes of Helen's Troy, There are these few that think they're coy They seem so modest- but I warn, Their modesty is but a ploy
Keep Me in Thee
He viewed afoot a silv'ry lake And took himself to take a drink- Then beauty moved his thirsting soul, As there he bent above the brink.
We kissed- her lips departed tight, Her hand around my waist was weak … I leaned back in (‘cause love would, right?) And kissed her hazel cheek.
They held with horrid hell their lines Til shells dispelled their noxious fumes Then through the labyrinth there fell A myriad to Earth's gray womb
When Sadness Has My Soul Distraught
When sadness has my soul distraught And twists my weary, weary bones And owns my bright blue days with gray And manifests with moans
Another Arab Spring
They revel in their auburn Spring And sing the songs of Summer's light With wide-eyed will they oust the king That brought them pain and Winter's plight
Those Evil Few
With wealth, the likes of Helen's Troy,
There are these few that think they're coy
They seem so modest- but I warn,
Their modesty is but a ploy
They hung two ‘thieves' the other morn-
In fact, the day my son was born.
Their crime: some stolen fruit, some grain …
Two homeless, hungry men forlorn.