With Memories Of The Valley
by
Will Mayo
Battered about the cornfield,
the old crow wandered.
Here, an ugly face full of straw
brought lost reminiscences
best not remembered.
There, pine needles too sharp for the brood
sent him in another direction.
Another compass sent him in sight of hunter's guns,
manned by those too old and blind to tell the bird.
Still he flew upon wings worn tired by time
and air gone heavy with condensation.
Remembering mates lost by the age
and young born for some reptile's fancy.
Till at last the clouds came down.
With heaven's hands he flew on
in search of the green valley.
Memories grew better with the dawn.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
THE FIFTEEN GATES OF HEAVEN
BY
Will Mayo
Once I was a meek man,
Given to shallow thoughts.
Wifeless and childless,
I wandered the rooms of an immense house
Pondering what was left of my ruin.
Men did not respect me. Women scorned me.
And laughter and jeers were my lot
As I befouled myself with the emblems of another age.
But now it is that I wander the fifteen gates of heaven.
Angels wing their harps above me.
Djinns and all their gods take pride
In the premise that makes up their ways.
While lambs gently lead their shepherds out the door.
As the alarm sounds its final bell,
I make my way down one last mile,
Marveling at the columns and chapels which fill
The well of my belief.
And then I waken to the world
Where I am the lord of all my ruin.
No one shall stand in my way
But my shuttered eyes
As I walk the rooms a changed man
In every way save the gods that call me.
As the door closes shut behind me
Doves laugh in the rain
And I hear the jeers of the millions
As my footsteps dream of the columns above us.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Eulogy For A Dead Eye
by
Will Mayo
Some say that you weren't worth mourning over.
That I have, after all, another eye left to see the world.
But I disagree.
You were my one good eye,
my compass to tomorrow.
You led me through the haze to another day.
And oftentimes upon a late night bedtime reading repast
I would close my left eye
so that I might see through your lens,
a better eye to forgotten tales.
Now, though, you are gone,
taken by stroke during one late morning's nap.
I cast ashes into the waters and begin again,
half blind and ready for trouble.
A Cyclops in search of greater sights.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
RUNES
by
Will Mayo
Once upon a turning earth
and a whirling, twirling sky,
upon a flagging search for success,
I had a vision of an aged body,
bone riveted upon bone,
torn apart
by the anchor's tide of time.
I saw chess players
aiming for my soul
and my creaking body's yearns and desires.
My time passed in endless runes
until I saw the sign of my sight above,
whose calligraphy, curled, read:
"If all dreams came true
and all dreamed of death,
then there would be no dreams,
and no need
to dream of death.
Do what matters and
what does not matter."
With slumbering parties waking,
I saw morning frost
melting into spring dew
and passed through checkered blankets
to meet dusty day.
Comments
Post a Comment