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Best Poems Written by James Kelley

Below are the all-time best James Kelley poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Language Barrier

I couldn’t understand the language she spoke,

at least not all of it,

but the emotion pouring past her lips, 

the tears in her eyes, her clenched and shaking fists

enunciated more clearly,

than any piece of English Poetry I had ever read,

and grabbed me, held me still.

                   …In that moment, her soul was in my arms.

In that finite, tender breath of our lives,

she was my mother, my best friend…

but I could not console her. 

I didn’t have the words;

and my heart sank into the 

concrete between us,

wet with the pain of God’s rain

and her tears. 

                  …Were my tears

So, I simply opened my palms

toward her crouched form and 

spoke the only words I could 

fathom, that would be accepted

by a stranger on a dangerous street. 

"I am sorry, It will be okay. God will bless you."

I knew she did not understand…

"Lo siento" 

                  “que va a estar bien”    

                            “Dios te bendecira’ “ 

the words were as messy as the overturned

duffle bag at her feet…and fumbled, slowly

from my lips, as my knees hit the street.

Two strangers, cried in the rain,

knowing nothing of each other’s suffering,

and yet we shared the weight,

together, for those few moments;

the barrier of language was broken.

Love spoke for us.  

-James Kelley 2014, All rights reserved.

…Love transcends any language

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Loose Change

I dig into the open wounds of self preservation,

and hear

                   ...from way over there,

my love jingling in your pocket

as if it were the loose change 

in your wet dreams. 

You were always numb to the mirror,

taking comfort in the blind eyed 

discontent you've reigned in 

with hard strokes of denial,

making your makeup seem

a little more made up in the dim lighting

of reflection. 

Don't you think? 

It was never about making love,

it was about forgetting.

My hips were a glowing red exit sign,

on the route of 

                           ....screwing life away.

Each moan, a promise that 

even though you were dead inside,

you could still make a piece of the 

world shake. 

Maybe even make something break. 

And that made everything seem

a bit more tolerable...

until I started thanking you 

for the damage inflicted.

The pain I felt, assurance 

that I was alive.

I'm not sure why that 

took the fun out of it 

for you..

I still screamed bloody murder

when you sunk your teeth into

newly adjusted nerve endings..

The pain, more real than ever before.

I guess you never meant to 

take a ride with someone just as 

damaged as you. 

You were hoping to be the only 

ghost in this city, still bound

to a carnal playhouse. 

But baby..

                I was a corpse long before I had any change to spare.

-James Kelley 2014, All rights reserved.

Details | James Kelley Poem

Cold Beers and Voyeuristic Cannibalism

I’d like to pretend that my hands aren’t dirty 

from the soap of mental suppression,

that the callouses are from hard work,

and not from picking my bones back up

off the floor on a daily basis;

ragged, dry, and weary. 

Every fairy tale has a root,

stapled into the hard soil of truth.

They all have a moral,

some sort of clerical error 

born from life’s shadow. 

We watch, hoping to learn 

from the missteps of someone

else’s intrepid imagination,

some 4D revelation singing

lullabies to the young heart

of humanity.  

And they bend to the fickle 

will of greedy creativity, 

making the yoke less bitter

so that we can tongue the purge

of denial without pouting. 

I’d like to pretend that my hands are clean,

that I don’t whisper cold lies into your palms,

watch you drink from the frosted glass

of my sincerity; Hope that you don’t blink,

that you won’t notice the blood bubbling 

up, and over my shiver before you finally

finish this story. 

I just want you to understand.

This isn’t poison.

This is merely me bleeding out,

and hoping you’ll learn to love the 

taste of fire kissed oxymoronic metaphors,

served up with juiced will and the vegan

flesh of my inhibition.  

So that you can see through my eyes,

know where I have been,

and how it felt to be consumed.

-James Kelley 2014, All rights reserved.

Details | James Kelley Poem

Smoke Signals

If words could envelop fire,

I’d whisper softly into a quiet

note and let the pyre in my

lonely coffer spill out it’s smokey dispatch.

Letting pathos glow inside carrion’s beat,

I would endeavor this note reach a messenger

with quick feet, so that you would read it before

I became nothing more than a ruin,

damned by it’s own occasion.

I would speak with a gentle urgency,

through teeth like embers of brimstone.

" Let not your tender humor steer you

in a direction that would wilt us both. 

Fan the flames that have consumed me,

It’s a burn that fuels our passion

I love you and the pain that you bring,

you are the brightness in the sky,

and the darkness of night.

You are the sting of broken flesh,

and the sweet release of blood that flows.

You are the healing of my blackened benevolence,

and the anger in my wisdom.

You are my second eye, 

and my heaviest anchor.

You are the spark,

and the kindle.

You are my Queen.”



-James Kelley 2013, All rights reserved

Details | James Kelley Poem

The Scrapbook That I Can'T Throw Away

Still frames with dead eyed memories.
Magic marker’d promises;
open ended lies
that I can’t seem to forget.
No matter how far I bury this thing
inside my closet. You always find your 
way back, with a smile blooming
like a drunken rose. 
Fingers run to the edge
of our little world’s grave yard;
flipping the nights over..
Trying to find the picture;
 a moment that will sate 
the hunger of regret.
But I haven’t found it yet..
-James Kelley 2013 All rights reserved

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Gulf of Mexico Haiku Collection

Even silence has

its charm entangled in the

calm shores of the Gulf.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Waiting for the turn

of a creeping wind’s conquer;

boarding up my heart.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - 

I need not see you

pier, nor fickle doldrum’s haste

my bones feel what’s coming. 

-James Kelley 2014 All rights reserved.

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A Kiss Worth Its Taste

She’s too tough for hallmark’s corruption,

                too cool for an easy rhyme.

If I were to bring her flowers, 

I’d have to buy a package of

Reese’s cups, and a bag 

of licorice to construct

a bloom worth savoring. 

She craves the originality

of a still dreaming sun rise

popping its back against 

the morning, wiping 

cloudy sleep out of 

the eyes of our 

lambent sky.

The calm of hot tea’s

embrace, as the warmth

of its revision surges

down a chocolaty wasted

throat.

The purity of a love 

sweetened kiss, 

in the arms of life’s poetry.

If I were to bring her flowers,

I’d bring them with that embrace;

A kiss worth its taste. 

-James Kelley 2014, All rights reserved.

Details | James Kelley Poem

Cherokee

Cycling through time;
this wrack of flesh fleets on.
Spinning indifferently on a compressed 
ball of mud.
Pulsing and thumping against 
the deafening destiny of becoming
a part of what it was spat unto.
Sipping the blood of my father,
seeking understanding.
The wine of revelation is an 
acquired taste and so I tend 
to use it for marinating my 
battered will. 
I pray alongside songs of my peers,
and hope I can stand the flames
I am sure to meet;
This world is full of fire,
and I am it’s smoke
accumulating under blankets
held by my ancestors.
I am their story.
-James Kelley 2013, All rights reserved

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Detonation

Watching the Sun breach the horizon through bloodshot eyes. 
Heart galloping; mind swelling. I can hear the drums beating. 
Another War is coming. 
Teeth grind against the storm. 
Fingers against the carotid tremble
losing track of time; volatile blood
inside of a breathing mortar shell. 
It’s getting warm inside this jacket.
But, I pull it ‘round. Closer. 
Craving to be close to- something. 
Before I’m shot off into the sky. 
Spread into ashes. 
Remembered only for the detonation. 
-James Kelley 2019

Details | James Kelley Poem

Don'T Feed the Animals

I'm that type of guy..

The sort that you said you would never let yourself get mixed up with again.The kind of guy that knocks back 5 shots of whiskey before sucking his teeth at the moon, hidden behind neon lights and shoddy bar mirrors; Holding in the burn, promising not to let my lighter char your cheek while I light up your cherry. I smile at your timid lean and wink, just so you know that the cute disposition of satin cloaked prey in a cage of wild animals doesn't make me wince. I'm used to this, numb to this. You though, you don't seem to feel the pull of this place you're in. You're still treading the vomit of your last mistakes, hungover in recollections of battered heart symphonies. Fresh wounds in the murk, chum to the sharks, beautiful. I don't ask to buy you a drink, or for your name, but you offer it willingly as if it were a confession in a place of purity. I order more whiskey, push a little heat over to you and wait for the night to take its toll. One of us, I'm never sure which; is going to die a little bit more tonight. We drink to the sound of billiards clacking and a jukebox with over eager speakers and talk in circles until we're dizzy with lust. I have forgotten your name, but you never cared. I'm that type of guy. The pain you were looking for, to make you forget the woes you carried in with you. I wish I could say you did the same for me, but I came here for the whiskey. You shouldn't have fed the animals. 

-James Kelley 2014, All rights reserved.