POEMS by Will Mayo

That Fire, That Desire

by

Will Mayo

Speak to me with your heart, he says.

Gladly, she says, and lays it at his feet.

They have all night. And it burns, burns...


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TWILIGHT ‘03

By

Will S. Mayo

When the land of the make believe becomes confused

With that of the living,

And the river of imagination overflows its banks

As the moon draws forth the strongest tides,

Then shall the one that I have lost

Rise up before me like an echo of that long ago wind.

We shall hold hands among the reeds,

Wade in deep among our mutual dreams

And embrace each other with the love

That no man could break

Save that of waking from the deepest sleep.

My beloved shall then be mine

For a forever that lasts only a fitful bed of ashes

After the angel’s horn.

Let us come then, beware the dawn,

And cast all our love between the banks

Of that awful river of dreams.

To dream and to dream of you,

There is nothing greater, nor more welcome

But for the turning back of the clock.


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Case No. 180757

by

Will Mayo

He holds his lantern in one hand,

his poor ragged clothes glistening in the night.

His other hand held tightly in his pocket,

he calls out to every car

that passes through the gate:

“Mr. President, is that you?”

Finally, as a long, black limousine

drives through the open door

he rushes out of his hiding place,

bangs on the windows,

speaks in incorrigible tones.

When at last they take him away

his words are full of envy and admiration.

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When Words Have Turned To Sand

by

Will Mayo

When words have dried up

and turned to sand.

And we are all left wondering

from where they came

and where they have gone.

When angels have cast their net

over my shoulder,

and I have danced

on the heads of countless needles.

The enchantment of the ages

gone once more from my dream.

When reason no longer clouds my mind

and time has turned its axis round

to count the memories once more.

Then I shall live in one day

and one day only,

and count your embrace among the stars

as time pours its silver chalice

upon a soul content.

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Staring At Wild Eyes

by

Will Mayo

On the street people are talking.
On the walks people are staring.

They can't help but look and talk and stare

about the crippled man with wild eyes.

His eyes are brown and blue and black

(and within the haze of a hot day

eyes turn yellow and orange

and a red that weeps).

One leg tilts to the hip in a curious fashion

so that he limps and dances and pirouettes

like a piper caught on a string.

And his hair is matted with the dust of a thousand years

(all contained in the eon of a day and one long year).

He cannot be a bank president or the head of Tires R Us.

Nor can he will the government to movie in a new direction.

The dust treads his wrinkled shoes

as he passes through one more town

and the crowd stops and stares in another moment

for a lifetime of eternal gratitude.

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Eyes of Passage

By

Will Mayo

Passersby walk to the other side

of the boulevard.

Drivers speed

as they quickly roll their windows,

lock their doors.

All are wary

of the wild eyed man

who mutters as he walks.

Skipping stones,

counting the cracks in the sidewalks,

He curses underneath his breath.

His clothes are well worn

yet immaculately selected.

Hardly a crease to worry by.

He gazes now at the sky,

now and then breaking the epithets

with a sonata so fine.

Women and young children

are afraid of him.

Old men simply forget he is there.

While the jeers from the time between

leave little to the thought.

When the roadway peters out

to dusty alley,

he makes way

to pretend he is at home.