B. Royce

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About B. Royce

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  • Birthday 11/04/1946

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  1. The Poetry Of Brian Faulkner

    The Secret Petals At end of day, in dark'ning hours, When winds are still and closed are flowers, I sit outside beside the tree And hear the song you sing to me. Yet it is not for me you sing, But for yourself, just practicing; You don't know I am here at all, Within the dark, behind the wall. Behind the wall, beside the tree, Upon a bench I sit for me, And take in true the best of you To carry it the whole night through. For in my sleep your voice I dream; I seem to float on your pure stream; And when I wake in bright'ning hours I'm overjoyed from hearing flowers. Sing on, sing on, perfect your tone; Make each phrase yours, and yours alone. I'll interrupt you not at all, Beside low tree, behind dark wall. Behind the wall, within the night, I'll guard your spirit's singing light, Let no one trespass while I'm here, Let no one mar the bars I hear. So right, and so complete, so free, So beautiful, I all but see The rosy bud that spreads apart The secret petals of your art. Sing on, song on, one minute more! This hour goes so fast before! Yet I am happy, having heard Such beauty in each soaring word. ____________________________________ Brian Faulkner
  2. The Poetry Of Brian Faulkner

    Joy Ascending The start of Spring is starting, Each leaf from bud departing; The rain is pelting the snow that's melting, Sweet grasses seek the sky! The heart of life is beating In lips of love repeating, "I'm out of lonely now you're my only; Let's kiss cold pain goodbye!" And up through all things growing, And in our knowledge knowing, Is joy awaking for joyous taking, And we'll not let it die! Sheer ecstasy is cleaner Than dear things near blown greener And birds out-winging with all their singing For our love making fly! In joy of joy ascending With triumph never ending, Our love is blessing our joy's caressing And we'll not let it die! ___________________________________ Brian Faulkner
  3. The Poetry Of Brian Faulkner

    The Whole World I see you in each bird, each flower, each tree; I feel your arms in wave-crests of the sea; Your fingers pull my hair in breeze's rush, Your lips upon my lips in starlight's hush. The earth beneath my feet---your steady walk; The searchlight of your gaze---in summer's sun; The mountains hold your satisfying talk And all their slopes slant toward me like you run. I sing your name; deep canyons make more dear Each loving double syllable I hear. Imagination draws your face so true I turn about---and everywhere see you. But now you're here all being's up and died, Or else it's you---the whole world at my side! __________________________________________ Brian Faulkner
  4. Happy Anniversary to ME!

    Congratulations, Betsy! You are doing a great job! Keep journeying joyously and with clarity!
  5. The Poetry Of Brian Faulkner

    Holiest Snowflakes swirling oh, so free And oh, so lightly land; Your hair, it wears a crown of thorns That dies away so grand. For God is not inside your head, Nor grim-mouthed red-tailed saint, And foolish prayer lies fully dead Beneath your red lips' paint. No angel sits upon your tongue To still your life-love speech, Which proves that you have kept you young Beyond tradition's reach. True pureness of desire does shine Upon your throat so fair And guilty cross has sunk to pine It could not clasp you there. Your parents made you go to church, You knelt, but not in soul; No ghost was in your mental search, Your perch was self-control. Now in the world and on your own You're more than atheist--- Won lover of this life alone That sun and cloud have kissed. Snowflakes swirling oh, so free And oh, so lightly land; Your hair, it wears a crown of thorns That dies away so grand! ________________________________________ Brian Faulkner
  6. The Poetry Of Brian Faulkner

    Young Children's Poems Winds a-blowing, huff and puff! Took my hat; I said, "Enough!" Winds are deaf and winds are dumb; Now I'm running more than some! Hat in pocket, glad I stand. Wind has such a soft light hand My hand was a thing so strong I will sing the whole day long! __________________________________ Orange for breakfast, orange for lunch, Orange for dinner---oh, too much! I'll be orange before you know, Lips and nose and chin a-glow! _____________________________________ Only Me The snow outside was very deep, As if the world was fast asleep. Nothing moved and nothing stirred; There was no song of happy bird. The wind was still, the drifts were high; My house had one un-covered eye, And from my attic I could see There was only, only me. ______________________________________ The Ant I saw an ant a-working hard, But never heard it pant. Did not complain of sun or rain; It never said, "I can't". It lifted trees and boulders high, It carried to and fro; It never said to Nature, "No, I'll not your strength defy." For it keeps working very hard, And never says "I can't". Does not complain of sun or rain, This glorious tiny ant. __________________________________ My Friends Blows the wind, But not the sun; Stars twinkle, But not the wind. I can see, But not the clouds; Close my eyes, I still can run. Branches bend, Rocks do not; Neither boils In the pot. Wind and trees Sway together; I swing stones, They're my friends. Dogs don't twinkle, Cats don't blow; Horses boil--- Oh no, no, no! Girls can skip, And so can stones; But girls are much Too big to throw! _____________________________ Blades of grass are sweet to kiss, But to eat I'd rather miss. Roses, too, are nice to touch, But I'd rather ice for lunch. __________________________________ Butterflies have flown away; Only snowflakes come to play. I can catch them---see! Right here! In my hand a little tear. _____________________________________ Brian Faulkner
  7. The Poetry Of Brian Faulkner

    Midas Day Boom Now Midas Day swings round again With cheering might for happy men. The bells and smells of Midas-time Now steer the year's beginning/end When presents will present their joys For laughing children, girls and boys, And all will hear glad Midas' noise All over this glad town! Each Midas tree is standing bright With dangling jewels and sparkling light; Each Midas sign--the dollar sign--- Is glowing gold with luster fine; And each live Midas song rings free With happiness that loves to be For year-long thriving industry All over this glad town! The hills are smacked, the oil fracked, The profits are paid out and stacked. Each oil man's un-foiled grin Declares a king of single win, And all together strut with pride Through stores with toys on every side For nephew, baby, new-made bride, All over this glad town! Aroma of the turkey roast, Aroma of the dark green pine, Aromas past of mastery's sweat On persevering faces set, Combine in mind the hearty boast That "What I've made is truly mine And Midas Day is my own get, All over this glad town!" ___________________________________ Brian Faulkner
  8. The Poetry Of Brian Faulkner

    A Giant Laugh The sun had broke with all his might Out of a mount'nous cloud; The spires of man he did ignite With gleaming gold so proud. Each city on the eastern coat Blazed forth a fiery fount, While working people stood to boast, "Our works are works that count!" Then stormy clouds again rolled back; Dread darkness stunned the day, Till lights of man made their attack And all did shout "Hooray!" Again the sun so strongly shone, Thickened again the storm, While through it all some stood alone, Laughing to see the norm. A giant laugh for cloud and sun, A giant laugh for man; A laugh of joy for all to come Since man's great work began! _________________________________ Brian Faulkner
  9. The Poetry Of Brian Faulkner

    On Thanksgiving Day On Thanksgiving Day let all glad men profess To be thankful for happiest happiness, To be thankful to that which comes from high pride To he who has welcomed bright day at his side. The free air of honesty, fresh and sincere, The sunshine of actions led open and clear, The blazed independence of pathways new made For dreams of the spirit that dares, unafraid--- Yes, these are the virtues that lift happiness To light up the eyes with a loving caress, A touch of the glory-of-being on they Who straddle the barriers placed in their way, That flows as a blessing on ends just begun, On those who began them and those have won, That sees each creator as brother and friend And celebrates all who strive on without end. This happiest happiness, it must be earned, And Thanksgiving Day is for they who have learned That heights of production are glad hills to climb No matter if knolls or iced mountains sublime! ____________________________________________ Brian Faulkner
  10. The Poetry Of Brian Faulkner

    Thanksgiving Day Blessings High praise to producers I'm singing today, High praise for their courses they steadily stay--- Who fashion the fine things by which I do live And set out to trade and, no, never to give. Great praise to their effort and thoughtful good sense, Sure-guided by judgment of hard evidence, With firm moral strength to do everything right And push themselves upward to profit's glad height. My high praise, my great praise, so true in me, strong, Fills all of my being, bursts out in pure song! Straight-shooting producers, now stand you up proud, Receive my life's blessings with heads all unbowed! __________________________________________________ Brian Faulkner
  11. The Poetry Of Brian Faulkner

    My Life, My Will (Inspired by Brittany Maynard, who has received a death sentence from brain cancer, and who has moved to Oregon where she can have doctor assisted suicide) I'm terminally ill, Yet while I live By my free will My life I'll take Before my voice Hears not my choice And on I live A bound mistake. To vegetate Won't be my state,--- A mindless thing Without an "I":, A bit of flesh That cannot sing, But only stare With dull, blank eye. I'll terminate The date of fate And with my will Be joyous still Till my last breath By my own hand Is my live death At my command. Don't pity me That my life's short; Don't argue I Must not abort. Above all gods Or social claim My mind is mine, My sacred flame, And I'll be I Until I die, A selfish height Of mortal might Whose large last act Will be that fact That leaves no doubt That I'm gone out. My friends, be glad; Oh Love, not sad; Be proud of me Who lived so free That I could choose To win my way Of full alive On my last day! _________________________ Brian Faulkner
  12. The Poetry Of Brian Faulkner

    One Life As the end of my being is the joy of my giving That all that is in to the whole that is me, As expressed in the something that barely passed nothing Until I had lifted and loved and set free, With the mark of my thinking and passion upon it That makes full immortal, yet timeless my time, So my all days are one day, and more is not needed, For nothing's more high than creation sublime. I live life with my fire, longevity scorn; What is better than being the reason I'm born? And to know there's an end day, a last day, a death, Gives a meaning and purpose to every live breath, A magnificent present that only life gives In the moment of moments when joyous pride lives, Where the world and its everything is only so great As it loyally leads to my glorious state. For mine is the Heaven of Selfdom, the throne of mankind, In the height I have chosen and captured, alone with my mind! __________________________________________________________ Brian Faulkner
  13. The Poetry Of Brian Faulkner

    Columbus, Seen Columbus, seen, Looked at the Queen And gave his winning speech. Said he would go Where no man know And bring the all in reach. Most men did doubt, And shouted out That he was well-nigh mad, And monsters dread Would seize him, dead, Who foolishly waxed glad. Columbus sailed, Fearfulness failed; His calmness drew men on; The "fall off ball" He deemed a flaw, His judgment was men's dawn. Columbus, soaring Past the scorn Of they who love to hate, Alumnus bright Of summer light, Superior to fate, I praise your pride That, un-denied, The earth with truth did crown. Your careful thought, In daring wrought, Has brought us all around! __________________________ Brian Faulkner
  14. The Poetry Of Brian Faulkner

    My Own Place In the luminous light of a happy man's brow Is that pride of his being that lifts me to bow, For it's not upon knees, but in spirit of praise I am up to admire the strength of his ways--- His strong greatness in gathering work to his hand For the joy of high daring his will does command. The true lights of his eyes are not stars in the skies That are ever in midnight or dawn to be found, But are earthly, intense, with above common sense, And held taut with ideas, in motion, unbound--- A new energy, giant, that jumps into fire For a weld to the willing of one man's desire! In the glory of gladness engirding his face Do I gaze on my future and find my own place. My own place is the daylight of thinkers who dream; My dear home is the sound of my many-stringed lyre, And I send out a song on a life-giving stream That is melody made of all human desire. I am off on a note to the highlands of hope, Where the true and the possible play; Where never is heard the poor word of a pope And the mind is not cloudy all day. And the range of my song for the good and the strong Goes from courage and laughter and light To integrity's wings, that fling wide when man sings Of his glory in going so right! My own place is the greatness of men when they know That the banner of judgment must never hang low! ________________________________________________ Brian Faulkner
  15. The Poetry Of Brian Faulkner

    The Poet and The Statue If I, as bird, did fly around your waterfall Of silver-shining hair to see your twinkling eyes And stopped, a-hover there, so much amazed with all The wrink'less beauty of a splendid lover, oh, Would I not sing such piercing songs into the skies That gath'ring clouds would get them fast and far away, And winds, that moved so dull before, would blow and blow, And fill with big bloom odors all the wilding air Until you breathed, and turned, and stretched like bursting May? Then, awed, I'd sit a waving branch and watch you there, Like ship upon the waters, up and down, in bliss To sight the isle of happiness for which it's bound. And now, with flutt'ring pulse for perfect, twirling 'round, I 'magine me a bee to buzz your lips and kiss! Oh, what better power than poet's power like this? _____________________________________________________ Brian Faulkner