The Poetry Of Brian Faulkner

B. Royce · 16 May 2005

A joyful and spirited poem. Your sister must have been delighted!
←

Definitely!

B. Royce · 20 May 2005

Here are four short lyrics from my late teen's.

Thou Art God

Thou art God,

O Naked Girl,

And all of Thee be fine.

I, too, God,

With air for wearing,

And all of Me be Thine.

Come! Let's roll upon the Bed

And set the springs asinging;

Two into One,

God unto God,

Our virginity far-flinging!

_______________________

Two, as one, we go,

Walking in the shadowed rain.

The grass softens,

The long green branches reach.

Thick as raindrops fall

Kisses fall, and fall again.

Hands grow heavy,

Pulses bound;

And Oh, the heavenly motion,

And Oh, the joyful sound!

______________________________

So Sweet

She kissed me so sweet

I am light as air;

Where my two lips meet

She kissed me so sweet.

And the arms of Defeat?

Oh, I'll never be there!

She kissed me so sweet

I am light as air!

____________________________

And when she was gone,

Sweet little butterfly, blithely gone by,

I blow out a kiss for you, following nigh.

Oh catch, if you can, this soul of a man,

To love and to keep it and fly fly fly!

_________________________________

Brian Faulkner

B. Royce · 7 Jun 2005

Good Deal (1992)

I come to buy! I come to buy!

To better goods I steer!

Regard me with a happy eye;

I come to buy! I'm here!

"Welcome then, new customer,

We both shall profit, see?

Such perfect things I have for you,

If you have gold for me."

I've gold, indeed, and silver, too;

My wallet rings and rings!

And I will trade all that I've made

If you will trade those things.

"You have enough, you've got great stuff;

I am so glad to sell."

And I to buy, to have the goods

That all my wants do tell.

"Shake hands, shake hands; you are my friend."

And you are mine, agreed.

I came to buy; you came to sell;

What better good, indeed!

__________________________________

Brian Faulkner

B. Royce · 8 Jun 2005

This poem was written when I was thinking about changing the name of Christmas. Perhaps it will one day help celebrate a brand new holiday.

High Midas Day (2004)

High Midas Day is on its way,

High Midas Day is near;

With aim of gold, things bought and sold,

For target Joy we steer.

Hard faces bright, shrewd eyes alight,

We shoppers scour the mall.

A mound to make for this year's take

We'll find, and rake in all.

To sate desire of Man---The Buyer,

Proud shops and markets stand.

Who trade would win may enter in

And gaze on all things grand.

With wages won for work well done

We step, we look, we find---

"O Perfect Prize, O Light of Eyes,

O mirrored Aim of Mind!"

Our piles of dough, we love them so---

The jingling, crinkling bliss;

But goods held tight in owner's right

Is like a Midas kiss.

And so we say on Midas Day

"Our gift of life is bought;

We made our dough, we traded, oh!

And bull's eye Joy is caught!"

________________________________

In 1994 I met a delightful couple who had met each other the year before at an Objectivist conference in San Francisco. The love in their eyes and voices inspired the following poem which I wrote and gave to them.

Toge'er

Lewis, John, and Casey Conn,

Have hearts, they say. It's true!

I hear them beat,

Then stop, repeat;

They paused for one "I do".

Casey Conn and Lewis, John,

Are archers swift and sure,

And with a wink,

A twang---a sink!---

The point of Love is pure.

Down by the Bay, in '93',

They went to hear and learn.

They took no book,

But took a look,

Taught Seeing how to burn.

And then---he's off---she stays----no good.

"O Archers, raise your bows!

The target's far,

But You're the Star"---

They hit! The planet knows!

And now---he's here---she stays----so good!

"True Archers, claim reward!

Yourselves full hold

As warmest gold,

Through life to shine and guard."

Lewis, John, and Casey Conn

Are stepping now, toge'er.

To make a band,

Or string a hand,

There's not a righter pair!

________________________________

Too late for Valentine's Day? Never.

The Anti Anti-Valentine's Valentine (2005)

For one who loves not Valentine's

I break my bow in half,

Nor shoot an arrow from Love's heart

If she but mock and laugh.

I'll not be Cupid, no, not I,

For one whose sweet glance chills;

I'd rather look at frozen sky

Or die upon thorny hills.

For one who loves not Valentine's

All teddy bears I toss;

And I shall only catch a kiss

If it's shiny chocolate gloss.

I shall not waste, no no, not I,

A whole day's pay on roses

For she who only counts this day

A thing of feints and poses.

And yet, when all is said and done,

And Valentine's is past,

At night I'll string a dreamy bow

And pierce her heart at last.

But no! It's not enough!

This airy nothing stuff.

It spin cannot the key

To engine her and me.

In place of charm,

A hand on arm,

A grasp, a pulling in!

Four lips that surge

To urge a merge,

More profiting to win!

We'll double be

Monopoly----

Insidership divine!

Assert the real,

Consume the deal,

And buy up Valentine!

__________________________

Brian Faulkner

B. Royce · 4 Jul 2005

A few years ago a young woman came to work as a clerk at a motel where I was working. Her name was Alice; she was from Belize; she was going to school part-time; she said she wanted to be independent; I admired her competence.

Alice

Alice, working at dawn,

Adding figures, answering calls,

Double checking, checking out,

Working, working, working.

Alice, talking on the phone;

Alice, thoughtfully alone;

Alice, gazing in space;

Alice, Alice, Alice.

Face so beautifully unique,

Honest sincerity there does speak;

Eyes dark as midnight specked with light----

Harmonies of music changed to sight.

Voice low and calm

With bits of laughter clear,

She can quickly frown

Down irrelevant cheer.

She's fast on her feet;

Zoom! quicker than quick!

Here, there, back, forth,

Sits down to write.

Alice, transcribing her soul;

Alice, totally self-responsible;

Alice, creating her life;

Alice, my friend without strife.

She'll find her a better job

And do what she loves to do----

Give worth to every place

That has her face in view.

Her competent mind will learn

Each delicate thing it must

To earn her those quiet thrills

That are good and true and just.

Alice, alive on her own;

Alice, in love all day;

Alice, working the meaning

Of "doing it my own way".

There is no woman on earth

Who for all time is so right,

Who bears in her spirit more worth

Than a thousand stars shimm'ring with light.

Alice, a name without malice;

Alice, the jewel of life's chalice;

Alice, friend's heart's grand palace,

Alice, Alice, Alice.

__________________________________

Brian Faulkner

B. Royce · 4 Jul 2005

Right Here

He looked at each person and saw the face of God.

Each God lay on the floor, starving, thirsting, emaciated.

As he broke the last bar of his self-made prison window

He felt their papery hands praying him back, impotent.

He knew, as they did, just what they wanted.

But he didn't care; he was walking free upon the sand,

Wind in his hair, sun on his body,

Without God,

Alone at last,

Triumphant.

And now there's another like himself, far-off,

Making his own way, striding the earth.

They stop; they wave; they speak.

"Glad-eyed, light-shouldered, self-determined, Man!"

"Yea! Lover of Wisdom, too!"

"Yes! And of Beauty, Strength, Pride!"

Yea! And above all, I!"

"But where, now, are you bound?"

"To the high mountains, to reshape them, to fly them o'er the sea,

To carry golden stones and books of my making, for I'll be

Working, thinking, judging, working, writing, endlessly mastering!"

"And I'm just now seeing things; there's so much!"

They stride straight swiftly on, singing the new song,

Each in his own new-found way;

Lifting up, from cliff to cliff, leaning out, from shore to shore,

Then round the rip'ning world, in man-lit pleasure hurled and whirled and swirled,

"Life is my mastery, pride of ability,

Profiting endlessly, now I am free!"

Then, from the singer of selfish kind, Ayn Rand,

"Have you found your temple?"

"Yes. Right here. My mind."

"And what is it built upon, do you see?"

"Yes. The one eternal foundation, Reality!"

_________________________________________

Brian Faulkner

B. Royce · 10 Jul 2005

Yes, there's time left in the day for a sonnet.

The Grandest

Are you the grandest being in my life?

No tidal storm could roll as grand a sheet.

As oft' I look I see no held back strife,

But even free sea-gazes, calm and sweet.

Way-out theories sweep within your eyes;

Bending light frowns bare cliffs size.

But better this (and keener than the radiant sun)---

The beams of your lips when a fierce way's won.

And now you really come like dawn upon your way,

Swift joy within your body, hands and feet---

Sighting joy, that sings to me, "It's day!

Be taking now, and make your life complete!"

We swear together in our compact strife,

"You ARE the grandest being in my life!"

_________________________________________

Brian Faulkner

B. Royce · 14 Jul 2005

Come, My Love (after Marlowe)

I have many many notes to sing,

And I have many melodies.

Come, come, come, oh come, my Love,

I'll sing you anything you please.

Sing you any rapture, sing you any try,

Sing you any power right;

Sing you anything you love to buy

In daytime or in night.

Sing you of the flowing breezes

Swirling in your perfumed hair;

Sing you of your eyes so steady

And showing evermore, "I dare!"

I can sing of any thing

That passes through the sky;

Every city on the earth

Is just a note of "I".

Roaring and soaring, engines a-driving,

Bridges and towers and all;

Bells that are ringing, hammers a-pounding,

Girders connecting, sing "I".

Then quiet time alone,

A-thinking what you'll do,

Seeing what you've done so far

And where you're going to----

This I sing inside of me,

Singing all the time;

I will sing you everything

If you will be mine.

I have many many many many notes to sing,

And I have many melodies;

Come, come, come, oh come! my Love,

I'll sing you anything you please!

_________________________________________

My Avenue

Walk walk walk walk walking down the avenue,

Going to my job along the way,

My happiness, it blesses all the avenue,

A-scanning all the products on display.

Hardy black shoes, challenging books, they call me;

Blankets of gold on beautiful beds, they draw me;

Paintings of love and life fulfilled,

Poems of rapture getting me thrilled,

Wonderful, glorious, great and victorious,

They call me to buy them again and again and again!

March, march, march, march, marching down the avenue,

Going after work to pay my bill.

There it goes, all my money, GOIng....Going........gone.

But coming on are my possessions,

Coming home are my possessions.

I'll put them on and try them out,

And then I'll have nothing to cry about.

I'll look so happy and feel so gay

That I'll be set to greet the day

By

Skip skip skip skip skipping up the avenue,

Up and down the avenue,

Everything I'm wearing new!

Shouting, shouting, shouting,

"My avenue, I love you!"

_______________________________________

Now

Waves waver in the turning tide;

Winds wind south, or north abide;

Stars fade out in the rising sun,

And time is over and just begun.

_______________________________________

Brian Faulkner

B. Royce · 17 Jul 2005

Many years ago I tried writing in in the Elizabethan style and expressing the malevolent universe premise, thus:

Oh, Winter

Before these heavy winds, outreaching Fate,

Drive underneath the sod each flowering tree;

Before this heartless hand, whose callous hate

Kills all things living that for loving plea;

Before dire Time, whose iron lungs deride

And desecrate, erode, and crush to dust

The swelling blossoms of the summer's pride,

My stricken tongue finds speech, and speak I must.

Though warm lands chill, and freeze and shrink, to know,

O Winter, know your huge and hurling ways,

In which thy fist, through veil of shifting snow,

Winds down the heartbeat of once-happy days,

This mine own rhyming heart, with song for flame,

Burns breathing Beauty through your ghostly frame!

_________________________________________________

Here, a much later poem, revised today.

Song

High above me blue and white,

Always open, easy might.

Slowly-softly the clouds roll by;

Blue right above them; down here, I.

Bare are the trees and the air is cold;

But I couldn't care, I have room to be.

I lie and I watch everything on high---

Subtle changes passing by.

Going, going, the blue I see;

Clouds are growing billowy.

Huge and wide, they flow and spread;

Blue is an eyelash overhead.

Up there thunder comes unbound;

Slender lightning lashes down.

Rain's all a-falling as I standing sing;

Winter is calling, but I am Spring.

Subtle changes passing by;

Blue right above them, down here, I.

___________________________________

Spring's Here

Birds sing through my window,

Sing cheerfully all they can;

All is true they're singing----

"Spring's here! Winter ran!"

__________________________________

Brian Faulkner

B. Royce · 22 Jul 2005

In Silence (1965)

In a shade of rest in a valley unknown of,

A lonely dell where no one calls,

A quiet depth, and little lighted,

Where no birds are, nor waterfalls;

Where Silence rules, and is king triumphant,

And winds bow down in lowly shame,

Walk I in peace in the early morning,

Walk I in gladness singing your name.

____________________________________

Winter's Gone (2005)

Your kisses fell like rain on me

(Oh gentle storm, oh ecstasy!),

And I embraced and held you fast

To make our Winter last.

Yet 'twasn't Winter, no, 'twas May

(Oh stormy May, oh wintry May!),

And oh the snowing, oh the blast!

Your kissings sweet amassed!

But now the sky's an awful blue,

And not one cloud re-hails my view.

I'd back turn time if I knew how,

And June make Winter, always, now!

And yet, if I have just one gain----

A mist of e-mail in place of rain----

I'll tell my fingers, "Type all this:

My soul's whole year is one Fall kiss."

___________________________________

Brian Faulkner

B. Royce · 28 Jul 2005

I wrote this poem yesterday, sent it as a "letter" to The New York Times today.

Allah Is Afraid

Allah blows himself up

..................bit by bit

..................day after day.

Allah is afraid of living,

Allah is afraid to stay.

Allah doesn't think or dream

..................for himself

..................night after night.

Allah is afraid of seeing

..................for himself

..................a happy sight.

Allah is afraid of the earth,

..................afraid of the sky;

Allah is afraid----and that is why

..................he chooses to die.

Allah blows himself up bit by bit.

When Allah's fear of living

Sees someone's love of living

Allah hates the love,

Allah hates the living.

Allah fears and hates

And is not brave,

Hiding behind a veil,

Hiding inside a cave.

Allah is afraid

Of infidels,

Of men who stand up straight,

Of men who know

That fear of life is not their fate.

When Allah kills

The whole world knows

Allah is afraid.

When words of joy,

Flying from lips of dreamers---

The thinkers and doers,

The lovers of life---

Strike Allah on the head,

The sound thereof is hollow,

The soul of Allah is dead.

And Fear twists there

Into Hate's hot air

Till Allah from Allah

Would turn and run,

But he can't escape

His selfless sound

And kneels in defeat

With head on ground,

Back to sky,

Eyes back hiding,

With Death siding,

Cold Fear triumphing

In shrunken ball of flesh

No more a man.

Allah blows himself up bit by bit

And that is all there is to it.

___________________________________

Brian Faulkner

PhilO · 28 Jul 2005

I wrote this poem yesterday, sent it as a "letter" to The New York Times today.
←

I enjoy your poetry a lot, thanks for sharing it here.

As far as the NYT goes, I can't imagine them publishing your "letter". It's far too truthful for them.

B. Royce · 28 Jul 2005

I enjoy your poetry a lot, thanks for sharing it here.
As far as the NYT goes, I can't imagine them publishing your "letter". It's far too truthful for them.
←

I agree, but thought I'd give it a shot. I'm glad you've been enjoying my poems.

B. Royce · 31 Jul 2005

I wrote this for my niece, who just got her first job----in a bakery.

Muffin Maker

Oh say, muffin maker,

Got a muffin for me?

"Yes sir, yes sir,

What will it be?

"I've got a sweet blueberry,

And a raisin muffin, too;

Or a soft banana nut

Could be the muffin for you."

Oh muffin maker, say,

Banana nut would be fine;

Add a choice cup of coffee

And the world is mine!

"Yes sir, yes sir,

That be the way;

Eat up my muffins

Then-----happy all day!

"I am the muffin maker

And I make 'em best I can,

And you're the muffin eater,

Banana nut man!"

______________________________

Brian Faulkner

JRoberts · 31 Jul 2005

B. Royce,

I love the benevolence of "Muffin Maker".

It's such a fun, light-hearted, happy poem .

Thanks for sharing.

B. Royce · 31 Jul 2005

B. Royce,
I love the benevolence of "Muffin Maker".
It's such a fun, light-hearted, happy poem .
Thanks for sharing.
←

You're welcome

bignosedcopperking · 31 Jul 2005

Allah Is Afraid was daring and proud. Muffin Maker was cute and happy.

Big Nose.

B. Royce · 31 Jul 2005

Allah Is Afraid was daring and proud. Muffin Maker was cute and happy.
Big Nose.
←

And IS, too. Thanks.

B. Royce · 9 Aug 2005

This poem was written for some children I knew a few years ago.

Exploring (2001)

Exploring is the thing I sing;

Exploring is my favorite thing;

And I would rather die than say,

"Exploring I'll not go today."

Skate down a street that's curving new,

Glide up a hill to get a view;

A park to find with higher swings

To kick a big tree's leafy wings.

Then find a creek whose waters shine,

Shout "Finder's keepers, it's all mine!"

Grab a dollar off the bottom---

"Wawa's drinks, hooray! I've got 'em!"

Then pass a friendly house I know----

"Very quiet, she's sleeping, oh!

Don't yell her name, just scoot on by,

Another day she'll wave us, "Hi!"

And now back home by some strange route,

A lo-ong shortcut, who gives a hoot?

New things to see, new things to hear,

Glowing with confidence, nothing to fear.

The world was made for eyes to see,

And mine are open----made for me!

Exploring is the thing I sing;

Exploring is my favorite thing.;

And I would rather die than say,

"Exploring I'll not go today."

_________________________________

The Red Fire-Engine (1976)

The red fire-engine went speeding by,

Blowing his horn clear up to the sky,

And searching for smoke with a wary eye,

To save the people and save the town,