Biography of Wakefield Mahon
Wakefield Mahon was born in El Paso, TX then proceeded to travel around the world. His poems, music and stories reflect that experience.
Works by Wakefield Mahon appear in many anthologies and ezines primarily in the fantasy and horror genres. Detailed links are available at http: //www.wakefieldmahon.com
The Sacred Stones series (originally the Way of the Sword) , starting with Jade Dreams, explores the nature of story telling, myth and legends across cultures and time through the adventures of a teenage heroine who must unite the weapons of legend in order to save the world from the ultimate evil.
Wakefield Mahon Poems
I Hate Rondeaus
I hate rondeaus, they're just too hard My thinker hurts, my brain is scarred To say my piece in fifteen lines In octosyllabic confines
Walking In Daddy’s Shoes
I remember times when I was just a child A little boy's imagination still untamed and wild The times I'd sit in daddy's lap and kiss his stubble cheek He'd catch me doing wrong, I wouldn't sit down for a week
Roar Of The Lion
Picture In the jungle, the lion-king roars All that he surveys is his own
Most Beautiful Prophecy
Most beautiful prophecy In the story of Abraham Who held his God so dear That he would sacrifice his only son
One love, one God, one heart, one soul That is the story I tell My fingers burn to tell the tale Of my own personal Hell
A Christmas Wedding
Would Shakespeare and Keats strive to write Mozart and Bach to compose They all could not express my love for you The artists all at once would fail
So Shines The Light Of God
Picture So shines the light of God, That I am rendered blind Blind to this world of material things
Illumination, a golden hue Slowly night's blackness turns to blue A rooster crows at the rising sun Nighttime is over. Day has begun
How shall I show the love I keep for thee, That thou wouldst take heart in my words? Should I paint a portrait that thou might see, That my love shall forever endure?
Why, you ask, have I stopped writing verse? But, know you whether that be blessing or curse? The words of my pen are the words of my soul, Where once flame was is now dark and cold.
Concrete jungle, mirrored eyes What is and what you see Hell or iron paradise Becomes obscurity
Lord, Help Me!
What do I do when he isn't around? Where do I turn when I'm feeling down? How do I make it through each dreary day When I'm falling down on my knees and pray,
The plains were still as the sun set down A silent man rode into town And as he rode, the people stared At the shadow with long and dusty hair
Picture Living here, in a mountain desert, Upon an August afternoon, Value lies in a water glass
The Artist's Valley
I sit upon a windy cliff
My loved one standing nigh.
Before me, I see a rainbow expanse,
A river of color flows by.
Verdant is the valley and vivid
A masterpiece of Almighty hands
Foliage of every size and form
Scattered across the land