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Best Poems Written by Sam Mayhue

Below are the all-time best Sam Mayhue poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Saint Rita

Tonight the sky sagged
as your arms reached for empty space.
My bedroom whispered like wheat
to my sleepless eyes.
My icons pulled me into embraces --
St. Rita, her eyes rolling, her arms slit up,
braided my hair as I wept.
"Oh the things I have seen," she said.
She was dressed all in black. 
My forehead leaked on the nightstand
as the lamp offered muted condolences.
Your thoughts broke off from you
and swam in the strained veins of my eyes.
The sky moved for you, my dear, but I
had only the weary movements of my bedroom
and a widow saint with hands of frost.

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Sailor's Song

You and I are but the wind's sigh.
The break of the ocean against this beach
is your lips' murmur in the night.
You have opened my throat
to feel the soft pattering of infants
and see the shine of a distant moon,
but you have not seen
the evergreen trees trembling beneath my collarbone
or the waterfall spilling from my knees.
You have not seen the silent nuns
that pass along the ridges of my spine
or the hungry crows lined round my heart.
You listen to my breathing 
in this lightless dawn and hear
the break of waves off a lighthouse shore.
I wake to find your hands
have the calluses of a sailor
too long away --

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Gypsies

I ate gelato in Firenze
in the shadow of a cathedral
whose name I could not recall.
And gypsies, their wide skirts spread before them,
begged in Italian, words I did not know. 
But what was I to do --
I did not understand their voices
and they did not recognize my hair 
as their own.

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Outside the Church

The sun is setting
on the brick roads
around St. Bernadette's.
Her statue is next to my car.
She kneels before Mary
hands clasped, faith apparent.
Tonight they prayed --
           the young couples toward the front
           the old people one hand on their hearts
           the children mumbling to themselves
"Lord, make us saints, give us
strength to bear the cross." But I
could not say the words. I saw
          the roots of St. Appollonia's teeth
          clenched in the pinchers
          St. Lucy's eyes held out before her
          on a golden plate.
So I mouthed them like a coward
and fled into the summer air
where I thought I would find Your forgiveness.

Instead all I can see is:
St. Christopher on my dashboard,
the burden on his shoulders.

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Poem From a Coal Town

And the land looked bleak
after the leaves had fallen
after the birds had gone.
But I was left with Winter hoarseness
and the memory of you
walking toward me,
your jacket the only point
across a cracked expanse of snow.

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Two Years Gone

I'm two years from here
alone with the echo of the hills.
You were made of stone --
piece by careful piece they built you.
I watched as you churned to life.
You see, I come with my ancestor's traitor heart
and his black hair.
Two years gone, I wake to the sound of your voice,
heavy as railroad ties,
and walk, abandoned,
until the morning sun remembers me.

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As We Walk

The sky will cover us tonight.
The town crackles beneath our feet
for your eyes' unsettling tilt
and your luminosity in yellows and reds.
Next to you, my bones shine pure white
through the veil of my skin.
Buildings flail in your presence
blanch, and turn the stale gray of concrete.
Your voice reaches out to stoplights and mailboxes,
they writhe in your radiance.
In one second, they are destroyed,
left in humps of twisted metal,
only to spring up to life once more,
plain from what they have seen.
Tonight, even the moon stoppers up her mouth,
flowing with history and folklore
at the heavy trod of your feet
against the bronzed stone.
Tonight the sky and earth will be silent,
the dusky hues of night our only company.

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Seasons

The trees in Pennsylvania
never seem to diminish.
They stand just as tall in summer green
as they do beneath a weight 
of winter snow. I wish that I could say
the same goes for me,
but the winter breaks me -- 
chapping my lips and turning my skin
shades of purple and blue. It reminds me
I am small and weak. 
A strong wind could bring me
to my knees. The only other thing 
that has such an effect on me
is you.

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If You Knew

Heaven was an idle thought
And I am --
I have been the dry bones in the desert.

If you knew black boughs
and residue of dreams
you would know

Heaven was an idle thought 
And that I am -- 
I have been the dry bones in the desert.

If you knew light hovers
behind these blinds (navy blue)
and that light bulbs are as crypts
to a morning's mistaken light,
then you would know.

Heaven was an idle thought
dreamt by a little boy
carried to bed in late evening,
lying in a dark room before the light had fled.
You would know that I am --
ribs gleaming, luminous fragments
pieced together with care.
You would know
that I have been the dry bones in the desert.

If you knew that today the world is sapped
and the colors have fled
that we are moored together by brown patches
you would know
that the green of your eyes 
is a lighthouse's beam
and though you have built towers of my hair
                                     mountains of my skin,
and though against my bones,
your bones have lain,
you would know
we are a reflection in a sun
stretching dying arms of orange.

And if you knew --
You would know --
Heaven was an idle thought
And I am -- 
I have been the dry bones in the desert.
You would know

that Heaven was --
that Heaven was --
that I am --
and that Heaven was --

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Heart

Today I was rude to my best friend's boyfriend.
Honestly, I have no guilt,
but I think that I probably should.
He told me that I was heartless
and I agreed. Then I thought
of how slow men are to figure that out.
Which made me think of you.