New Selected Poems of T.Byron Kelly
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T. Byron Kelly
Poet, Painter and Musician T. Byron Kelly has been working as an active performance artist in the South Western Virginia area (Appalachia) for over two decades and has generations of family from West Virginia, Kentucky and Virginia. He holds both a Bachelors degree from Virginia Tech and a Masters degree from Radford University in English. Byron has also taught English on the college level (Virginia Tech, Radford University, New River College) and lives in the beautiful Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia. Please visit his current websites @ Poetry@ http://tbyronk.livejournal.com Painting @ http://t-byron-k.pixels.com Music @http://soundcloud.com/ghost-house-studio
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New Selected Poems of T.Byron Kelly - T. Byron Kelly
New Selected Poems
of T. Byron Kelly
iUniverse, Inc.
New York Bloomington
New Selected Poems of T. Byron Kelly
Copyright © by T. Byron Kelly
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any Web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
ISBN: 978-1-4401-9268-5 (pbk)
ISBN: 978-1-4401-9269-2 (ebk)
iUniverse rev. date: 11/23/09
Contents
Selections from Notebook Poems—
10/1/1987-1992
Selections from Faith Of Heart—
Spring 1993-Winter 1993
Selections From Poems of The Infinite Dream—
Winter 1993-Summer 1994
Selections from Midnight Poems—
Spring 1994-Winter 1995
Selections From Wish List—
Winter 1995-Autumn 1995
Selections from The River of Swans—
Winter 1995-Autumn 1996
Selections from Advent (Alpha)—
Winter 1995-Autumn 1997
Selections from Advent (Omega)—
Spring 1998-Winter 2000
Selections from The Beginning of the End—Autumn 2001-Summer 2005
Selections From Light & Shadow—
Winter 2004-Present
Selections From
Virginia/West Virginia Poems—Remembrance & Reconciliation—Summer 2006—Present
Selections from Notebook Poems—
10/1/1987-1992
That Wind, can you hear
It’s beginning to blow
January winds of change
Winter’s icy laughter
Winds of my life
It’s starting to snow.
* *
Ancient River
Ancient Power
New Autumn trees
Gold as sunlight
Waving soft goodbyes
with wooden arms
I fought the current
Water lashing past
My struggle-
As pointed toes
Tried to touch
Something solid
Beneath a liquid death/
Black Angels
waited;
Their open
mouths filled
with
River Flowers.
1987-2/25/1990
October
Swift do you arrive,
O beautiful lady with hair of gold
and icy winds blowing cold.
Relief from miserable heat that your
Sisters July and August bestowed upon us.
You breathe life back into my soul
I stand in awe of your artful way.
Shimmering crimsons
Fiery Orange
Truly a feast for the eye to behold.
So let the exhibit begin my dear one
Embrace me with your passion of colour.
10/3/1987
Your House
Assumes an
Unearthly shade
Of Yellow
Or Lemon
As the Black
Clouds of August
Lethargically move
In from the
Northern Oceans
Can I wander
Through your gardens
Of hot summer rain?
I know the joy of August
Lies in those pools
Of God’s sadness
Small white
Fences Provide
An Adequate
And Frustrating
Barrier for
Our Eight
Eyed friends
I’ll soon
Know your
Tender morning.
A country cemetery
Filled with tombstones
The color of an angry sky.
Lives
Turned to green weeds
In this strange garden
Summer 1988
Revised 6/12/2008
Longer than dying
farther than midnight
a fortune for magi told again
as you hold her
candle wick burn illusions
get us through to truth
we are proving our lives
through each mute instant
of (game) surmised
gold or purple flowers
swarm the sacred
mind try mystery,
pausing in blood we
entwine you
They were all there
waiting
for something
to
happen
dark corner children w/ sleepy eyes stir
and fire light flies through
windows
which lead only to black,
mad housewives fingering yellow
dishes and ruby coloured
curtains which smell of sin
or death
rising in the eyes
of all of them
fear sweat upon the beauty brow
of time’s sweet couples
clocks upon the wall calling
calling backward into
nothing’s ministry, such is our
fear, we are leering cowards
sleepy from sin…
Sleep children listen,
she is weeping
inside her
castle
Convulsing as if he
had found it
the
poet pulled
the drain plug
in Paris
the day before Independence
back in the States
Witches light the incense
light of fire burn
Speaks to the invisible soul.
1991
Revised 8/9/2008
My friend had a dream
of his own death
A wind shield gave way
To his fragile head
He watched his own soul
Dancing by flare light
Dancing in the red glow
Of his own blood at twi-light
Do you want to know
My secret spaces?
I’ll show you all
of my secret places
Angel of golden ways
Angel of my every day
I’ve waited for you
For such a long time.
1988
Revised
8/10/2008
Tiger Lilies
time dispossessed
bright into orange behind a
Summer shade
of my
bleakest window-
inside window
fires of the old mind
fire brand burning
again here
in my May yard (garden)
of truth’s past
the sins or thoughts
or jeweled tasks unforbidden and
bright upon her
silken green boughs remembering
eternal calm/
See beyond personality tomb,
the lines traversing nothing into
smug calamity, diving deep into ready for
the grand fall again,
gold falling from the mouths of decadent children,
our hours were spent finding time’s delusion,
and who has fought? The frightened lovers of easy
rebellion leave inside green galleons
steeped with distrust or eyeloads of rueful cargo
and ready to sail the ravaged sea into no tomorrows.
Blood sail
the wetness of distress
pale mothers hands caress the infant valentine
I’m goin’ to meet the dark man behind my door
We are,
all of us leaving
We are
where they told us to be.
Summer
1992
Revised
10/23/2008
Did you see him,
Driving alone at dusk
in a four seat car?
The other drivers
glide by
Their cars filled w/ so many eyes.
He was going to the water
To see the old River’s
swell of Springtime
To listen to its soft word
To understand silence
Spring
1988
Revised
2/10/2009
What was it she said?
The girl,
A painting or vision
which whispers
anything-
Outside the shade,
the shadows dance
through sun blood
pools of
scattered light
—
Come with me tonight
Each connection is half assured
Dark Photo negatives
claiming knowledge of only
a partially sworn
reality
—
Here is your answer
—
Thoughts are naked
dancers,
electric yet
defiled
in mute
procession
1990
Black trees stand against
a scorched orange horizon
crescent moon
pointed like delicate fingers
reaching for light
deep in the newborn liquid night
search ‘til dawn
Indian Summer’s Dawn
Flowery, Gentle
Smooth as dew
capturing nocturnal monsters
effortlessly, endlessly
White Winter fatality
White Winter’s discontent
A snowy accident
Names in stone
and epitaphs
Simple wants
Narrowly missed
All words are borrowed moments
each second jolts closer
to the endless ledge
Wouldn’t life change if
it were forever?
1988
Revised
6/13/2009
Selections from Faith Of Heart—
Spring 1993-Winter 1993
Time, joy, brief moments of discontentment
this is
all as of knowledge kissing
turquoise heaven and all is
given
by you or me-I reach dark mornings
as you reach the untold said again-
A quiet figure strains in
a narrow corner of light
Night storm, around swirling, the
mind knows revelation and revulsion
Mind storm winning time-is this all we
really have now?
‘I’m just blue".
Truth the tangled fly
my eyes ranging eternities.
Our weakness is that we see far too much
Spring-Winter
1993
Revised
6/17/2008
Poets haunt my window, amid nightshades,
w/in the sweetness of sleep they greet me
and each waking sound only moves me,
remembering the *epitaph by Rilke,
the sound of leaves caressing sunlight in the
Garden near Bowles beach house, an aged
mirror and beer soaked bathroom
in Bukowski’s flat, life arriving like an
Angel, the beautiful mind etching of W.Blake,
Soft breath, the second coming of Yeats’
Christ, the fearful wasteland prophets
smelling fresh ink, the solipsism of Eliot
and Pound.
Names breach the life game
nothingness
stains
these pure
pages.
And in the silence an
anointing-thunder closing in on this
rare garden where courage is the
face of Summer hyacinth and something
in the distance seems to be drawing
closer-chambers of the heart,
levels of muse music, a candle which
burns brightly at dawn, my Soul’s
pure progress, as we are all what is known,
this ancient wisdom which
has sustained the life try
toward a millenia’s moving,
this stardom of proving makes
beauty a question and
birth the reason to
carry on.
Spring-Winter
1993
Revised 4/7/2007
Have you a revelation?
The excess of wanting does not prove you
power does not prove you
in fact it is no one thing alone
but a myriad tapestry of life.
This experience of Love’s action
above all things points to
a Heaven /The miracle of nature’s secret is justified.
and through calm walls of betrayal I am
moving us together
Shallow tides of shadow arch