Orb by Byron Wayne Scott - HTML preview

Introduction

 

The poems in Orb and Orb II are my very earliest writings. They were written between

 

1967 and 1970 when I was 15 to 18 years old.

 

Originally, I was going to pick out the best 10-15 poems and put them into a book. I

 

think it would have made a fairly descent book of poetry. But as I began reading through

 

the work, after these many, many years, I saw that the poems presented a natural

 

progression in my writing abilities, and so I decided to keep them all together in the order

 

in which they were written.

 

Many of these poems reflect the influences of the times. The Viet Nam war and the

 

assassination of Robert Kennedy are two events that stand out. I also see the influence of

 

the Beatles, especially the Sgt. Pepper’s album, along with Simon and Garfunkle. It’s

 

obvious that some of these poems were meant to be songs, although I cannot remember

 

having ever written any music to go with the lyrics, like I did with the Long Road series.

 

Most of the poems simply reflect the thoughts of a young boy entering adulthood. Some

 

are good and some are bad. A couple of them represent the biggest bunch of drivel I

 

think I have ever read. They make me wonder, “what was I thinking at the time?” Of course, poems should be timeless. And many of these are. The ones that are stuck in

 

time are interesting in their own way, but the poems that transcend time constitute the

 

best poetry.

 

I hope you take the time to read through both these books, Orb and Orb II. The poems get

 

better as you go along. And if only one of them touches your soul, it would not be

 

considered a waste of time. ORB

 

A Book of Poetry

 

1 Ascent unto Providence…..September 1967

 

2 The Heritage…..October 1967

 

3 The Illusion…..October 1967

 

4 The Way of Society…..November 1967

 

5 To Outshine the Sun…..February 1968

 

6 Resplendence…..February 1968

 

7 The Snowfall…..March 1968

 

8 Like Death…..January 1968

 

9 The Love Dream…..February 1968

 

10 Crecian Dames…..March 1968

 

11 The Prophet (a fantasy)…..April 1968 12 To Be All Alone…..April 1968

 

13 Photograph…..May 1968

 

14 To Nancy…..May 1968

 

15 Castle…..June 1968

 

16 Robert…..June 1968

 

17 Earth as a Background…..July 1968

 

18 Fawn…..September 1968

 

19 Skunk…..September 1968

 

20 Conquests (over Simple Sanderson and the Wretched Establishment)…..Sept. 1968

 

21 Speak of Love…..October 1968

 

22 But for Dreadful Time…..December 1968

 

23 Dream of the Scot…..January 1969

 

24 Juggernaut…..January 1969

 

25 Laurie…..February 1969

 

26 Orb…..March 1969 Ascent unto Providence

 

I go into the valley

 

Through the tall grass so indifferent

 

That leads unto the cypresses

 

Where grow the lilies and the mint

 

And the brook so gently bubbling

 

In the sweet scent so like wine

 

Solitude I find

 

Peace that now is mine

 

So I stretch out with my laziness

 

On the moss so soft and fine

 

And I think of things that matter

 

And love that once was mine

 

And I doze off in a while

 

My heart conceives a smile

 

And soon will come revival

 

The daytime will surcease

 

Yet the minted breeze will linger on

 

And I’ll follow into the doorway And outside death can only portray

 

The inevitable decay

 

God’s dismay; the devil’s display

 

And I’ll dwell in the house of the Lord forever The Heritage

 

I stood beneath the lamplight

 

My shadow washed into the dark night

 

I washed into the dark night

 

And there stood the Rev. Mr. Brown

 

There stood the Rev. Mr. Brown

 

The snow fell down through the trees

 

Covered up the cold, dead leaves

 

I was the cold, dead leaves

 

And there stood the Rev. Mr. Brown

 

There stood the Rev. Mr. Brown

 

The church was somber, and aware

 

There was no one there without a prayer

 

I was there without a prayer

 

And there stood the Rev. Mr. Brown

 

There stood the Rev. Mr. Brown

 

Everyone lies down to sleep

 

There is no one here left to weep I am here but not to weep

 

For the Rev. Mr. Brown

 

And the congregation within the ground

 

And the congregation within the ground The Illusion

 

It was a time of plenty

 

The grass grew, the flowers bloomed

 

For in 301,574 A.D.

 

There was love

 

A bride and a groom

 

About the hill

 

Sage scented the still air

 

And the man

 

Looked over the lush countryside

 

To the Thames. He cared

 

He had blown his mind

 

He ran down one peasant and more

 

Which he left in the street

 

And the rats came out to eat

 

He was from the House of Lords The Way of Society

 

People in the street

 

Like statues stood

 

For their life

 

No one dared move

 

Lest they die

 

This is society

 

Not to be disturbed

 

No one can revolt

 

Lest they be turned away

 

Lest they die

 

The air becomes stagnant

 

Will no one dare breath?

 

For his life?

 

But ‘tis not for them to innovate

 

Lest they be turned away

 

And they die To Outshine the Sun

 

A tree

 

From a seedling

 

Grew quickly,

 

Beautifully;

 

Majestically spread its branches,

 

Reached the sun.

 

And to strip the bark

 

Or cut the trunk,

 

Is to wash into the sea

 

The sands of eternity.

 

A woman

 

From a babe

 

Grew splendidly,

 

Magnificently;

 

Adoringly,

 

Gloriously.

 

Her radiant smile

 

Outshone the sun

 

Her beauty Shaded the tree.

 

And to strip her of her love

 

Is to wash into the sea

 

Eternity. Resplendence

 

A tanned body

 

Of a girl that I know

 

Dances in the setting sun

 

Opens her mind

 

As the night comes

 

Sheds her smile

 

As the night comes

 

Lying under

 

The gumdrop tree

 

Is a girl that I know

 

She makes the gumdrops

 

Melt to snow

 

Sweet gumdrops

 

Melt to snow

 

Sitting in

 

An apple tree blossom

 

Is the girl that I know

 

The bee mistakes her For the sweet nectar

 

I love her

 

She’s sweet as nectar

 

Her tanned body

 

Soft as the pussywillow

 

Her voice

 

Sweet as a nightingale

 

See my heart swell

 

She knows I love her

 

See her heart swell The Snowfall

 

A jungle wonderland

 

And against the background

 

Of a setting sun

 

With horizontal bars

 

Of royal purple

 

And streaming scarlet

 

Falls a white fleece of snow

 

Farther apart

 

Drop the flakes

 

Until they cease

 

Now

 

The reflection of the sun

 

Grows

 

Long and distant

 

Illuminating red upon the droplets

 

Of melting frost

 

That lie throbbing

 

Upon the vanishing wonderland

 

And die alone Upon the barren wasteland

 

Much like the soldiers Like Death

 

I stumble down the alleyway

 

Past the garbage and decay

 

And death

 

But I find death stands out from all the rest

 

As I kneel beside one who is dead

 

To catch my breath

 

She is so still and satisfied

 

It brings a question to my mind

 

I am mystified

 

For she remembers to me

 

Two, who in life, are as she now lies

 

Peaceful, without strife

 

Happy, without care

 

Me and my lover

 

Like death

 

Calm, not obsessed

 

And as I gaze into the dead woman’s face

 

An enigma has been answered

 

And I no longer fear death The Love Dream

 

Over the rainbow

 

In a far off galaxy

 

Where the soft rains fall in a kaleidoscope of color

 

But never touch the ground

 

And the gentle breeze clutches up the worries

 

And carries them far out over the endless sea

 

And buries them deep in the ocean blue

 

When you want—there is

 

An island.

 

An eternal realm of quietude and beauty

 

Of golden sands that glisten in the never-ending starlight

 

And giant palm trees that flourish and tower over all else.

 

The moss covered trails, surrounded by fields of flowers,

 

Lead from the wall of palms to the Fountain of Burgundy

 

And then away into the darkness which is The Nothingness.

 

The beauteous Fountain of Burgundy is a fall of red wine

 

From a small precipice that juts out of the darkness

 

And also disappears into the Nothingness.

 

Wild grapes grow up the side of the precipice

 

On the sides of the falling wine And orange trees, tangled in lianas, coupled with

 

The mosses and ferns, surround the superficial Crimson Pool,

 

While the magical blue-red light

 

That illuminates the area in a shower of shadow and haze

 

Comes from the mystic rock that forms the bottom of the pool.

 

And the love and tenderness that is found

 

On the golden sands, and by the Crimson Pool,

 

In the fields of flowers, and in the Nothingness,

 

Is what makes The Love Dream. Crecian Dames

 

A stroll through the orchard

 

Of banana groves and orange

 

Green, lush

 

Dark sky spotted yellow

 

Full moon speckled orange

 

A babe at his side

 

This the sporty Crecian Dames

 

His Spanish-American plantation

 

Olympic pool at the side

 

Area speckled tan

 

With fifteen bikinied babes

 

Lying on the cemented sand

 

And all are in the favor

 

Of the sporty Crecian Dames

 

Upon the shores of Peru

 

Beat the tattered waves

 

Some of thirty foot size Atop them he would strive

 

And fallen upon the coral

 

Bravely he would die

 

With no babes by his side

 

This the sporty Crecian Dames The Prophet (a fantasy)

 

Within a dark café

 

The jangled rhythm

 

Of a folk guitar

 

And the oriental whine

 

Of a bearded man’s sitar

 

A prayer for those who pray

 

A smile for those who play

 

And the Lord beckons

 

To those on the road to Mecca

 

A step into the night

 

And down a crowded sidewalk

 

There is no one there

 

With whom to talk

 

And so

 

A turn down

 

A Bleeker Street

 

Where suddenly he is beaten

 

And pounded upon By a bearded man

 

With a white virgin robe on

 

A prophet in his own mind

 

The beaten man was one

 

Who took the road to Palestine

 

He drank of the Lord’s wine

 

And death he never feared

 

And Jesus Christ wore a beard

 

And as he says so

 

The crowd looks on horrified

 

And he dies

 

Alone To Be All Alone

 

Newcastle-upon-Tyne

 

And a remorseful awakening

 

Of memories

 

Of a life now past

 

Ashton-under-Lyne

 

The seeds have been shaking

 

From stories

 

Whose morals had been cast

 

Have you come to know her?

 

A strikingly beautiful lady

 

As she lies all alone

 

At Weymouth & Malcombe Regis

 

Reading the poems

 

Of Percy Bysshe Shelley

 

Collecting seashells

 

And enjoying the sun And the saltwater smell

 

Once an easy pick-up

 

She was never stuck-up

 

Never alone at night

 

Never in the right

 

Many have come to know her

 

She sits

 

In the end

 

With her loneliness

 

With the cool north wind

 

As her only friend

 

Eddystone Rocks

 

And sea gulls

 

A rose bush

 

And pretense: fire

 

For the stem

 

Is the world

 

Is the bush’s briar Photograph

 

A spectrum painting

 

Of entangled silhouette

 

Enshrouded by lilac flowers and

 

Orange trees in blossom white

 

And the rays of an auburn sun were

 

Photographed stabbing the

 

Grandeur of the marigolds

 

Through fields of incense ran we

 

Hand in hand, knowing only

 

One another, and not seeing

 

The stately eagle forever flying

 

We came to stop by a fountain and

 

The wines flowed on and on

 

And the clouds overhead never stopped