Carpe Diem by Peter Wellby

‘We have short time to stay, as you.’ Herrick

Mayflies maintain no stomach for a fight ,

they are love flies.

After a year lurking -

dragons of the mire on the lake floor -

the urge to propagate is irresistible.

Each May they make their mazy flight,

their nuptial aerobatic magic,

delicate tulle wings gauzy as light,

sinuous trains meandering behind.

Twelve hours of undulating trepidation,

framed by the evening gold of flags, marsh marigolds,

teasing out time to music too chaste for the ear,

translucent thieves of shadows in

an evanescent, exquisite May Ball.

Ah!

A moment for a rapturous conjunction,

no time for mourning,

time will not wait for morning.

Eggs dropped as microscopic tears,

separate, sink down in the sediment.

In fading light

they perish.

Filigree of seraph wings

falling in thousands - autumn leaves on the lake’s mirror -

glitter under the impassive moon.

Carp, flanks gleaming like chafing dishes,

cull the spent;

isinglass wings crackle in whispers

as on a new-lit pyre.

Peter Wellby has been writing poetry since his schooldays. In retirement he has begun to write seriously. He has had poems read on the BBC and published on 'The Poetry Shed' and 'The Dawntreader'. His poems tend to be inspired by nature or embody a zany sideways look at life. He has read at the Poetry Cafe and the Poets' Church in London and regularly in Eastbourne and Brighton.