Orb II: The Last of the Poems by Byron Wayne Scott - HTML preview

Foreword

 

These are the last of the poems that I wrote during a three and a half year time span

 

beginning in September of 1967.

 

Orb II contains all of the poetry that was written during the 2^nd half of that time frame,

 

the good poems and the bad ones. This volume contains some of my best work. A

 

Champion Born and Flamenco Dancer are two of my personal favorites, along with the

 

whimsical Sunshine; while Prism is arguably the biggest bunch of malarkey I have ever

 

read. But then, what do I know? Over the past years, I’ve learned that what I like and

 

what my critics like are two different animals.

 

What the reader may notice while paging through this book is that towards the end of the

 

volume the quality of the poems begins to slip. My excuse for this diminishing focus is

 

that I had to get out on my own, explore life, and try to earn a living and put food and

 

beer on the table. Suddenly, poetry did not seem so important to me. Still, all in all, I am very proud of what I accomplished during those years. I truly hope

 

that some of these poems reach out and touch your heart, and bring a little sunshine to

 

your day.

 

Yours,

 

B. Wayne Scott Orb II:

 

The Last of the Poems

 

1 Rumplestiltskin…..March 1969

 

2 A Champion Born…..April 1969

 

3 One-eyed Man…..April 1969

 

4 No One Weeps…..June 1969

 

5 Sunshine…..June 1969

 

6 Evening…..July 1969

 

7 Vernal Fields…..October 1969

 

8 Flamenco Dancer…..January 1970

 

9 Prism…..February 1970

 

10 Winter/Madcap…..March 1970

 

11 Mourning Song…..April 1970

 

12 Dulcimer Suite…..May 1970

 

13 Rhapsody…..June 1970

 

14 One Year Hence…..September 1970

 

15 A Poem for Hillary…..October 1970

 

16 A Daydream…..November 1970 Rumplestiltskin

 

Cold-hearted bubble of green hued tint

 

Rise to the surface, shatter to mint

 

Cover the surface with a cellophane ruse

 

Make truth and wives easy to choose

 

Indivisible nation all underground

 

Let flowers and sunshine rise to the mound

 

Illume the netherworld with a brilliant shine

 

Let passions flow with a sweet tasting wine

 

A time and a space for all evil and good

 

But there is no evil, Hell has come as it would

 

An insipid sky of colorless fright

 

Put ghosts and goblins into the good night

 

A startled world of hypocrisy

 

Rumplestiltskin, what about vanity?

 

Men and trolls and minds full of hate

 

Cold-hearted bubble you will burst too late A Champion Born

 

Across the prairie of desert grass

 

The dust and loose-rooted soil arose

 

And in one final cataclysmic moment

 

It came together taking human form

 

And a champion was born

 

It was a miracle the old lepers

 

Could not comprehend as they

 

Watched from their ranch house.

 

They turned away saying it was

 

Merely a twister and besides, the

 

Sun was near the horizon

 

Making their eyes play tricks.

 

Sensing the pessimistic presence

 

The champion arose into the air

 

And shot across the brown, leprose acres

 

Toward the ranch house.

 

He hovered outside the window As he watched the scowls on the

 

Old peoples faces as they failed

 

At trying to light the fire.

 

The fantastic temperature change would

 

Soon bring early death to the cursing lazars

 

If no flame came to crackle in the fire place.

 

But the champion felt compassion for the

 

Stricken lazars and with a mere

 

Thought the fire burst into flame.

 

Each lepers eyes widened the

 

Length of his face at the oddity

 

And they lit out the door into the

 

Frozen night never to be seen again

 

Except by the lemurs.

 

The champion thought deeply for

 

A moment and then in an instant

 

He shot high above the Earth into

 

The lavender reaches of far space

 

Where he exploded himself into a thousand

 

Fragments that drifted forever through the cosmos. One-eyed Man

 

Beware the one-eyed man

 

His sadistic approaches

 

To find contentment between

 

The parted limbs of the

 

Fair and soft skinned creature

 

Bend and shape the heart

 

As impulses and throbs,

 

The sensation of the strobe

 

Beware the one-eyed man

 

Weaving back and forth

 

In his struggle against hypocrisy

 

He goes to Hell in one flaming

 

Indiscreet streak of spark

 

And then triumphantly returns

 

From the dead

 

But in his moment of silence He sees all good in man and love

 

And then turns his back on them

 

And drops out when he

 

Realizes he may be the anti-hero

 

Please, beware the one-eyed man No One Weeps

 

We both wept, those warm spring days

 

When love is fabled to flow like rivers

 

For those already stricken,

 

And blossom and grow

 

For those less tender in emotion.

 

It was a time when moisture laden trilliums

 

Over-ran the meadows, and the sweet scent of

 

Sage and myrrh defied the winds to push them away,

 

While lavender made its pledge

 

To crepe the processions of gowns or organdy.

 

And that white obverse disk sat in the

 

Proud, black sky for a seeming eternity

 

And lit the path for the treasures of love.

 

Yet our love grew further apart. Perhaps it was only for

 

The harsh, winter months

 

That we had generated a warmth for each other,

 

A warmth that was as sincere as any love

 

That had blossomed during the spring.

 

For us the snow was truth.

 

We needed nothing else.

 

For even though the moon had

 

Deserted us, we still had our light,

 

An aura which we had created for ourselves

 

That reflected from the pure snow

 

And made us realize that we did indeed love.

 

But with the coming of a new season

 

Our love vanished without reason

 

And we wept those warm spring days.

 

Yet no one weeps these summer days

 

The past is past and lies somewhere hidden

 

In sadder memories meant only to forget.

 

Another has taken her place, and

 

Though the colorful spring flowers have

 

Turned to dust, we have more than Made up for it within our own visions of grandeur.

 

The obstruent game of love has fallen

 

Unnoticed somewhere along the road, and

 

Neither I nor she will return to usurp it.

 

For we have gained our own pleasures

 

In an existence that is not true love, yet

 

Is far more than love. We find joy in the

 

Blossoming trees that bear sweet and gentle fruit,

 

And treasure the moments together on the

 

Glistening grains of sand that line the calm sea.

 

And we are happy and find that life is indeed wonderful.

 

And no one weeps these summer days. Sunshine

 

Twiddle-dee-dee, twiddle-dee-doe

 

Sun shine so well so

 

Master Pink come faded think

 

And went on to so well so

 

Dippity-dee, dippity-dee

 

Dew shine on we to we

 

Oh, do shine master mine

 

Fine to wee on wee

 

Well said come to bread

 

Think we all came on dead

 

Sunshine down mind

 

Find we all gone on bed Evening

 

Eternal mist of the evening sun

 

Relinquish not your love-spawned glow

 

Now there is no other for us to know

 

Man finally did it; the moon is gone

 

But as Ahab chased the great white whale

 

The sun will rise, then sink low

 

Peter Pan will never grow old

 

And life will come and life will go

 

Oh evening, my evening

 

Reassure me that you won’t be hushed

 

For you are something that man cannot touch

 

The hope that man needs so much Vernal Fields

 

It was in vernal fields of flowing wheat

 

Where we happily caressed the gentle earth

 

And bounded together in spurts

 

Of joyous somersaults

 

In little time we lay motionless

 

Upon the ground, as if wounded

 

By a sterling arrow

 

And we recaptured our breath

 

Now through sylvan meadows

 

I tediously trod the ground

 

Recalling memories of yesterday and yore

 

Those happy days long since past

 

When we blessed ourselves with the

 

Creation of Baby upon this very spot

 

And I long to live again those days

 

Of sunshine and frolic now spent When all we meant to do was love Flamenco Dancer

 

Flamenco dancer

 

Siesta time is over

 

And we can only get older

 

Tired and creaky

 

As squeaks grow in our voices

 

And we wait for you to dance

 

Demigod of movement

 

The strobe is in red

 

There is spinning in our heads

 

So inflict our minds

 

With delirium and heat

 

As the music peaks

 

Draws breath inside to prison

 

And your rhythm grows

 

Quicker and sharper

 

Your movement much finer

 

Than any who have danced before And then in an instant it’s gone

 

The music is over

 

And breath is set free

 

And outside we all hate you

 

For not being immortal

 

For not taking us past

 

That one climatic height

 

That leads to eternity

 

We all hate you

 

Flamenco dancer

 

You can get better

 

But strange as it seems

 

Don’t take us past

 

That one frustrating point

 

Or our will to live will vanish Prism

 

Violet

 

A small warming of the heart

 

As if budding on a bright spring day

 

And the yearning to bloom into

 

A passion-filled blossom of unfathomable feeling

 

For one who ignites strange sensations

 

In an otherwise cold, swirl-minded stone

 

I posses the hope of all mankind

 

That I may break free from the grasp

 

That holds me indifferent and all alone

 

In the decision to ignore the heart

 

And obey the mind

 

So that I may avoid being hurt

 

Indigo But now I sense all hope slipping away

 

As it seems to be getting eaten alive

 

By a cold storm from the north

 

The girl who had broken in and

 

Stolen a small fragment of my heart

 

Moves away at an incredible speed

 

And I once again seek seclusion

 

That I may hide in unknown depths

 

That have never before been reached by man

 

Blue

 

And now I have reached

 

That barren bottom of solitude

 

No one may penetrate

 

My indestructible shield from society

 

Only a chosen one could ever

 

Destroy the outer force

 

That shuns my mind from others

 

For the only path to my heart

 

Is through my mind Where I can rationalize

 

Whether my heart could ever

 

Withstand the onslaught of love

 

Green

 

Somehow a force pricks my mind

 

And the sunshine seeps through

 

My outer shell to rekindle the spark

 

That had lied dormant for so many years

 

I see before me a face that seems

 

To glow naturally in my presence

 

And communications between us

 

Acknowledge that fact

 

And that cold north wind departs

 

From a heart now aflame

 

Yellow

 

The forests and flowers have come alive As new dimensions explode within me

 

The singing of the birds creates

 

Strange sensations in symphony

 

And the music of her voice

 

Tells me she loves me

 

And my mind cannot overlook

 

Or degrade that love as we swoon

 

Beneath the rippling waters of the Seine

 

And imagine ourselves designing

 

Beautiful new patterns from the

 

Thousand different multi-hued flakes of snow

 

That blankets each new fold of warmth

 

That develops between us

 

Orange

 

And we wander aimlessly

 

Through the spring-time fragrance

 

Of lush valleys and sparkling waters

 

And pick out one vernal spot

 

Made especially for us

 

And devour the glittering warmth Red

 

And passions have grown so great

 

Between us, the understanding

 

Between the mind and heart so all

 

Encompassing, that we can ignore

 

The physical love no longer

 

And as we frolic naked through all the

 

Unspoiled reaches of the earth

 

And unify ourselves to search our minds

 

Ecstatically with wonderment curiosity

 

To become one with ourselves

 

And complete with nature

 

In order to discover the

 

Real depths of true love

 

We find that our attachment goes so deep

 

As to be incomprehensible

 

That the joys of the mind and body

 

Will never be put into any words except

 

“I love you” Winter/Madcap

 

The first hush of winter resounded across the earth, deep into the vast millenniums of past

 

existence, and far into the abysmal reaches of universal space; the beauty of it colossal,

 

breathtaking to the perception of all human witnesses.

 

The winter itself was warm and wise, simple and sanctified; pure to the conceived minds

 

of those who understood.

 

Yet it was cold and desolate, bleak and barren; dead to the mass of people who gave no

 

thought as to why there was a winter.

 

Time it was when the seeds of ignorance spilled upon the earth in cancerous tones, and

 

the m