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The Poetry Of Brian Faulkner

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#1121 B. Royce

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Posted 23 December 2013 - 08:16 PM



Producer, Originator, Titan of Mind,

Material spiritual Man of Mankind,

Highest in Virtue, Noblest in Thought,

Master of Matter captured and wrought,

User of mountains scooped up for gain,

Lasher of oceans bounded and chained,

Joy of fair valleys citied and filled,

Gladness of plain-lands wheat-gold has thrilled,

Ego of mineshafts, brain-life of coal,

Self of the steel of manhood's control,

Rocket of reason, right in your aim,

Universe future---light of your flame,

Worshipper wholly and solely of one

Magnificent being who works the work done,

You must now sanction you as the cause

That reins in reality, grasping its laws!


You have been damned as a spiritual nought;

You, who were first in each battle men fought,

Bringing them fire, and comfort and health,

Giving their lives the most glorious wealth,

Saving their skins, working harder and late,

Wearing the worst of the curse of men's hate;

Atlas unbending, giant sublime,

Their hate of you---an immoral crime!


Speak, and declare it---"Virtue's my thought,

Weakness is wishing, nothing has brought.

Rational selfishness---that is my key,

Opening wider my mind that is me.

Trusting my vision, judging alone---

Jewels that are glitt'ring daring I've shown.

Now I am done with the creeds of deny;

MY moral creed is "'I' for my 'I'".

I am not guilt, but pureness of sun,

Aimed at my aim, my way begun.

Profits---I earn them, none of them yours;

Justice is justice while justice endures.

Pitiful needing, that's not a claim;

Who's wanting fire starts his own flame.

Mine the ability I have set free;

All that I make comes rightly to me.

Proud must I be, loving my worth,

Standing glad man, gladdest on earth."

Producer victorious, heeding those not

Who, whining, resentful, selves have forgot.

Men who would force me off of my course,

Knowing their living leans on my source---

Source that's my spirit, voice of my will,

Virtuous reasoning choice that I fill.

I am the engine, drive me I can,

I, the producer, highest of man."


Honesty---virtue, integrity, pride,

Valiant in worshipping all you have tried---

Effort unending---spiritual flight,

Truth never bending for any man's fright;

Youth in you always, joy born in place

There in the tightness sculpt in your face.

Face of man certain, sure you are good,---

Sing out your rightness!  God, but you should!


Soul of fair valleys nightless with light,

Spirit of gold plains grain does ignite,

Ego of railroads, highways---your soul,

Self of the conquering speed of far goal,

Rocket of reason closing up time,

Bringing the stars to an easier climb,

Worshipper wholly and solely of one

Magnificent being who works the work done!



Brian Faulkner

#1122 B. Royce

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Posted 24 December 2013 - 05:47 PM



Love is true, love is long,

I love you over strong;

Joy is long, joy is true,

All my song just for you!


I as you, you as I,

Dim and dull pass us by.

Song of me singing you,

Long and long, true and true!


Self to self much the same,

Separated by a name;

Name of you flame of me,

Fire I you set free!


Though we're two, oh, yet one,

Separate thoughts just for fun;

Both our dreams coming true---

You as I, I as you!


I as you, you as I,

Common men pass us by;

Love in  me loves as you,

Long and long, true and true!



Brian Faulkner

#1123 B. Royce

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Posted 08 January 2014 - 08:45 PM



Silent, he looked at the moon;

Silent, he looked at the stars,

Wondering at the light tune

Bright'ning his mind with its bars.


Not from the sky did it come,

Not from an air he had heard;

Just an original sum

No nature nursed in a bird.


Yet, not a composer was he;

Noting of notes not his line.

Whistling, he walks again, free,

Loving his dreaming so fine.


Stopping, he wrote down a word,

Added a few more for fun,

Wheeling more free than a bird,

Rising too fast for the sun.


Now, he'd the line of a song;

Thrice then he sang it, and four.

Felt he a joy in him strong

Whistling on up to the door.


His landlady said, "What's this?"

With inquiring, lightened eyes.

"Oh, but a sliver of kiss

Swinging its way to the skies."


Later she heard, as he sent,

That slim little sun-ray line,

And didn't ask for the rent,

Thinking, "Oh what wealth is mine!"


Came he to pay---a day late;

She admonished not at all,

Just said, "I really can wait,

But when will you sing it all?"


Silent, as looking at stars;

Silent, as looking at moon,

Head tilting from the bright bars

Adding themselves to his tune,


He whistled.  She whistled, too!

And slender new lines took flight,

And the wings of love flew true

Day long, and long into night!



Brian Faulkner

#1124 B. Royce

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Posted 02 February 2014 - 10:43 PM

Happy Birthday Ayn Rand


Ayn, Ayn Rand,


Most perfect moral being made on earth,

Made by selfish self---your honest mind,

Delivering exiled man's sacred worth,

His guardian teacher, his pilot, too,

Who sends him on his glorious way

To be the bannisher of false from true

And brand his reason with the light of day,

Inspiring songs that wing his name up high---

The soul-and-body splendor of heroic "I"!


Ayn, Ayn Rand,

Up-ending men's low morals with top thought;

Though hated for the words you wrote and said,

You touted sane ideas none had taught

And lived your truths, in love with where they lead.

Integrity of spirit and of act

Made you your final and exalted fact,

A self-sustaining gal of honest mind,

That shone, and shines, a light of wisdom true,

Through eyes that lead awak'ning men to you.


Ayn, Ayn Rand,

Most just, most benevolent because most just,

Praising man's proud works of "judge and do",

Creating citied walls from famished dust

By raining down his thoughts on things lit new,

Adventure-made by single, honest mind

To be each one to him as you to grand---

Independent, passion-living, free,

A signal-light of happy, waving hand,

Which beckons: grandeur's stations wait for thee!


Ayn, Ayn Rand,

Delivering man's radiant, sacred worth,

Most perfect moral being made on earth.



Brian Faulkner



#1125 B. Royce

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Posted 08 July 2014 - 07:40 PM



Who worships heroes on a canvas painted

Herself has made a heroine self-sainted,

And for purity of rapture her we praise

Who shares her heroes that we all may gaze

And be uplifted, too, with what is high and true.

We spread our joyous mental wings of flight

To join Odysseus and his onward-rushing crew

And dare the wild waters of swoln waves,

That plunge and rise, and plunge and rise again,

While we sing fear down fathom deeps of death

And hail each morning with a full glad breath

That triumphs in the iron souls of men!

Who worships heroes on a canvas set

Herself has made a heroine self-met.



Brian Faulkner

#1126 B. Royce

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Posted 13 July 2014 - 06:54 PM



Four hands that come together

While four lips press,

Then push away for never,

But cling and press.


Four eyes of intermixing

With love full caught

In laughter all bewitching

Of light-heart thought.


Four ears that hear the gladness

A-gasp so fair

Of joy that's almost madness

To breathe one there


Who's selfish as one's self is

To have and hold

The meaning of what wealth is

When life is bold.


Four minutes, then four hours,

Four days turned years,

Forever are love's powers

Beyond all fears.


For two who love two truly,

As one loves one,

Complete each day completely

With night-time sun.

#1127 B. Royce

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Posted 14 July 2014 - 05:31 PM

Poet to Inventor


To delight in the brightness of light

As it catches hard metal and gleams,

When man's competence wrought it just right

As it leaped in his thought out of dreams,

Is to love the inventor's first ways

And the hardness of difficult acts

When he gives an idea his praise

By objectively biding by facts.


And the praise of the poet is strong

For the man independent, alive,

Who is making the world a song

While his winged curiosities thrive

In the ardor of theories so new

He can sleep for an hour, not more,

But is ready to stand and to do

Something different than he's done before!

#1128 B. Royce

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Posted 14 July 2014 - 08:31 PM

Let's Be Altruistic


Oh, let's be altruistic and give up our pay

To all who are standing for handouts today!

The self has no meaning, the ego is ill,

We'll give all we've got to whomever we will.

Poor people are coming, and it isn't fair

That we should keep something and not even share.

True livers are givers and givers give life

Till dead they lie peaceful, without any strife.

The end of all giving and living is one---

To end up with nothing, toasted and done.

Let's be altruistic, for self is a sham,

And the meaning of life is to not care a damn

'Bout any old purpose, or happiness, pride,

Or joy of our being that we would decide.


For others, all others, all others mean more

Than all that we've worked for and all we adore.

The fact that they've nothing is proof of their worth;

The fact that we've something is proof of bad birth.

The fact that we've struggled, and saved, and have wealth,

Is proof that in spirit we've not any health.

The fact that we've made this great country so free

Is proof we have reason no longer to be.

And that we've great cities, with skyscrapers high,

Is proof we must sacrifice, give up and die.

For we are the bad ones, the worst upon earth,

Who think us the good ones who work to be first.

Let's be altruistic, surrender all goals,

And save us by giving up bodies and souls!

We'll save us in graves while those others go on

And live for themselves till all freebees are gone!



Brian Faulkner

#1129 B. Royce

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Posted 15 July 2014 - 06:28 PM

Struck (inspired by Brittney Fay Rivera)


Sunlight on your hair of gold

Marks you there:  This fair behold.

Love of light that sparks your eyes

Tells aright:  This fair is wise.

Light of lip and brow and cheek

Sunrise gives to all who seek.

Altogether all things fair

Sing the height of open air,

Wid'ning skies, freest space,

Matched by your triumphant face---

Face of beauty living right,

Guided by your selfish sight---

Selfish sight and selfish mind,

Oh what mine do we here find!

Mine of riches glowing gold,

Mined for action true and bold---

Bold to sit on boldest horse,

Galloping in joy the course

You have set with tight'ning rein,

Loosed again to strike, and gain!

How we marvel you can be

Here the sunshine we can see,

Of such confidence so rare

There is nothing half so fair

That for song's sake, yea, for rhyme's,

We are glad we're in these times!

Though the world so dusky seems

Struck we are by your high beams.



Brian Faulkner

#1130 B. Royce

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Posted 17 July 2014 - 04:32 PM

Atlantean Heights


May Phil/Amanda, uniting two in one,

With happy eyes on bright new day---their son,

En-gold with gladness, and with high-light cheers,

The daily trophies of triumphant years.

Fate's waves do rise before them, but they rise, too,

To sail their freest, open best, and brave on through.

With mental wheels spinning, and keenest youth beside,

May vent'rous days be one long glorious ride

To seek Atlantis' shores, yet be Atlantean heights,

Themselves the living proof their own dear love ignites.

And may they walk in peace in some afar fair place,

Or climb somewhere---a threesome---to some mountain's peak

Where all below is shining like their son's bare face,

Which glorifies the beauty of the life they seek.



Brian Faulkner

#1131 B. Royce

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Posted 20 July 2014 - 08:38 PM

Ideal You


If I could paint a beauty-hue to magnify the sky,

'T would be the blue of very you that's in your eye.

If I could paint a glorious sun a more glowing golden gold,

'T would be you hair of yellow flame too untame to hold.

If I an apple sweet could paint of luscious reddest red,

For which love's lips did crush the air, as though they fed,

'T would be---Oh, need I say it now, since you must know?

You are the model final, the highest work and show!

The critic is but me, who writes his poems of praise

To magnify in music of melodious rays

His dream-beams seeking, sighting you ere he

Became in words the worshipper of life so free!

More free than beauty's being, more than cloudless blue,

No sweep of painter's brush can touch ideal you.



Brian Faulkner

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