B. Royce

That's "Down Here". Glad you love them. Well, Way down below me there's man-made stars, Ordered galaxies of shooting cars, But here, unmoving, am I who see---- The city's soul and its energy. So pale are the stars, and their will is weak, While mine is the height for which they seek. A little reflection is all they get; Firsthander, I----the sun not set. ___________________________________ Brian Faulkner

Down Here Way high above me there's blue and white, And it's always open with easy might. Oh, slowly-softly full clouds roll by; Blue right above them; down here, I. So bare are the trees and the air is cold, But I couldn't care, I have room to be. Glad I lie and I watch everything on high---- Half-subtle changes shadowing by. Slim going, going, is the blue I see; Low thickened clouds grow billowy. Huge and wide, they do flow and spread Till blue is an eyelash overhead. Then up there thunder comes unbound; Then slender lightning lashes down. Swept rain is all a-falling as I stand to sing; Winter is calling, but I am Spring! Half-subtle changes, passing by; Blue right above them; down here, I. _________________________________________ If I Were If I were the watch on your wrist, Or the copper-blond color of your hair, "Unstrap me not" I would insist, And "Don't cut me off, don't you dare!" Then I'd feel all your pulses dance by, Watch you every my minute, hour, Tickle both your ears when breezes fly And cover up your throat from April shower. If I were the space between your lips When you suddenly smile, When you closed them I'd be gone---- For a happy slim while. ________________________________________ Brian Faulkner

"Anthem" was my introduction to Ayn Rand. "I am, I think, I will" were the first great words of liberating joy I had read and spoken. Several years ago I wrote To Ayn Rand I love your heroic innocence. No tragic sigh could shake Your daring trumpet-mouth, Nor one frail "I" hail you. For joy of your Anthem's speech I see rare glass within reach; Beauty draws light from my being, Light sight, sight right, Till I see what I am seeing. Your hymnal hath spoke me such worth That my lips now say what they can: I hear your dear voice spear the earth And cloven in one is man. ____________________________________ Brian Faulkner

Maty, I really like "Ocean" the best, it is so light and soft, like being up with the clouds. The stanza beginning "Those traces of you..." is a beautiful statement of the meaning of life for anyone who creates. I must spend some more time with your poems----reading them aloud. I'll say more later. For now, thank you for posting them, and good writing to you.

Oops! Sorry about the misspelling in line eight.

Richard, this last stanza strikes me as the best thing you have done. The unnecessary bad grammer at the ends of the lines ruin it, however. Why not something like this: Now the sleeper is awak'ning; Everything's now his for the taking; Free, proud, and no longer shaking, Taken with great joy for what's his; Not by the force of his fist, Yet by the earning of his keep, And from the very light of the deep---- Thar warm place down within him, The happy light outshining the dim. For he is The Sleeper Awak'ning And the World is his for the taking. Notice, by using "light" in line seven more emphasis is placed on "happy" (and thus, the whole, contrasting, "happy light"). Also, "awak'ning, "taking", "shaking", are now active, thus representing an active living being. The idea of the poem and the basic stanza structure are excellent, the latter a good fit for this strong, self-assertive declaration.

mweiss, you make a strange statement: "As much as I like to refute the existence of a diety..." It sounds like an ongoing process that never reaches a conclusion. Is that true?

Sisyphus He leans back upon a hill, laughing. He was so fast. Boulders lie shattered and broken all about. ________________________________________ Rest Deep in the meadow, down Under thick trees, Slumbering summertime Lies at ease. Limbs of the shadows there Stretch in the sun, Languidly striving with Sunrays spun. Softer than silentness Flowerbells ring; Louder than puffballs Not one thing. Robin nor sparrow now Chitter or peep; Fast in the bushes All things sleep. Arrows of memory Glide into peace; Quietly, silently, Sad things cease. Light as a melody Blown upon air, Faint as a butterfly (Oh, fly fair!), Warm as the wind is Over high grass, Deep in serenity All things pass. _____________________ In Silence 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. Brian Faulkner

After seeing a beautiful production of Shakespeare's "A Midsummer's Night's Dream" I tried writing a fairy poem. No One (1976) I am the fairy that leaps on the lawn; I leap in the moon till the moon be gone. I go in the glow at a pretty pace; The dew o' the grass be a mirror-face. My limbs are alight and my body sings; My hands are as fleet as a sparrow's wings. I'm here, now there, I cannot be caught! If any be faster his name be nought. But lighter and quicker, a flicker-----me! And what is "I am" is never to see. I step in the night when the good folk sleep; The wings of a leap be the dreams they keep. I trip to the "fa-la' that no one hears; They waken, and oo! the dew-bright tears! "Fa-la, fa-la, and fa-la" again; Follow me, Fa-la, wakening men! Now hush! Now still! The night's away! In again, in again, night's away! But I flick so quick I never be here; Dawn again, dawn again, No One is here! _____________________________________ Another poem of night. Far-Off How quietly the night goes gliding by; How peacefully the might of it doth fill. There's not a star up in the far dark sky But fiery, gleams, and yet is calm and still. An ocean of sweet grass flows around The houses on the dimlit street. Some far- Off bird cheeps, then goes to sleep. She found In dreams, perhaps, some higher bird-like star And waking, saw, but knew she dreamed too far. Yet every height was in her leap-star sound. I hold her voice; the daring of its bliss Stirs through my spirit all that I have yearned For in my blown-out past, and, as I will, The inner wick of dream to flame is turned. Brian Faulkner

After reading Shakespeare's sonnets I thought I'd write his 151st. Oh, Winter (1975) 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! Brian Faulkner

After a parting, the next morning, seeing a butterfly outside my window: Gone By (1976) 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. ______________________ And a year later, 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. ________________________________ After walking all day through rich farmland in Illinois and thinking of my new love, I wrote, Old Song (1979) No bells but cowbells Clang in the glen; Bird-song and maid-song Sing without end. Sunlight and dewlight Quiver and shine; No heart but your heart Beats into mine. ______________________ Last year, after a fading romance, Winter's Gone (2004) Your kisses fell like rain on me (Oh gentle storm, oh ecstacy!), And I embraced and held you fast To make our Winter last. Yet wasn't Winter, no, was 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

Some years ago while waiting for a long-distance phone call I wrote The Call From pole to pole And pole to pole Wires soar and sing and soar Higher, lower, up and higher (Wire wire wire wire), Over mountains, Under sun; Cross a prairie (Smoothly done), Pole to pole And pole to pole; Sing! you wires, Sing! and run Higher, lower, up and higher (Wire wire wire wire), Over mountains, Under sun; Fly a valley (Smoothly done!) Pole to pole to pole to pole to pole. Higher mountains, Higher sun; Pole to pole to pole to pole. Final hill Now begun; Pole to pole Pole to pole (Wire wire wire) Higher higher higher, RING! Brian Faulkner

I think Kevin Delaney"s idea about the Savior fits in well in here. The Christian idea of the hero as a savior probably plays havoc with a lot of men's attitudes toward women, and some women's attitudes toward men as well.

Here is an old favorite of mine, which so well expresses a father's love for his children, their love for him, and the alive, innocent fun of it all. The Children's Hour by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Between the dark and the daylight, When the night is beginning to lower, Comes a pause in the day's occupations That is known as the Children's Hour. I hear in the chamber above me The patter of little feet, The sound of a door that is opened, And voices soft and sweet. From my study I see in the lamplight, Descending the broad hall stair, Grave Alice, and laughing Allegra, And Edith with golden hair. A whisper, and then a silence: Yet I know by their merry eyes They are plotting and planning together To take me by surprise. A sudden rush from the stairway, A sudden raid from the hall! By three doors left unguarded They enter my castle wall! They climb up into my turret O'er the arms and back of my chair; If I try to escape they surround me; They seem to be everywhere. They almost devour me with kisses, Their arms about me entwine, Till I think of the Bishop of Bingen In his Mouse-Tower on the Rhine! Do you think, O blue-eyed banditti, Because you have scaled the wall, Such an old mustache as I am Is not a match for you all!? I have you fast in my fortress, And will not let you depart, But put you down into the dungeon In the round-tower of my heart. And there will I keep you forever, Yes, forever and a day, Till the walls shall crumble to ruin, And moulder in dust away.

A poem for a child. A is A Square block on block Stands tall, won't fall; Round ball on ball Won't stand at all. Round ball rolls, Or bounces by, Or up into my cup so high. Square block stops, And stops, And stops. The ball was rolling fast And hit another ball. The other ball rolled past And hit the wall. The wall didn't fall, Didn't turn, Didn't move at all. The wall, it not a roller is; The ball, it is. ____________________ And one more to begin the day. Will You Go Hugo? (Accenting Hugo on the first syllable) WILL you go Hugo a-marching with me? Will you go Hugo way down to the sea? Over the hills we'll go into the sun (Shining on flowers and kissing each one). Into the wind we'll go singing so fair, Skipping a song through the salt summer air! Under the bridge we'll go hollering loud; Hollering, hollering, hollering proud! Down to the sand we'll go, down to the shore, Down where the waves are a lion a-roar! Over the hills and on down to the sea, Will you go Hugo a-marching with me? Brian Faulkner

I wrote this poem about twenty years ago. How Rare A Lyre Empty streets, empty days, Year after year no word of praise. Men called villains; women, too; Year after year no dreams pursue. Achievement past marked Selfish Greed, Now no one dares one exulting deed. Action's over, goals are dust; No vital triumph, no joyous lust. What? What?? What??? What alien sound is that? How rare a lyre of human fire I hear rise warm and clear. From lost years' height new singing might Fills abandons here. "We are the light of heroes' sight---- This stone-cloaked steel and I. Our tall proclaim: he bears our name Who'd from himself not fly.' Up glad'ning slope I stamp my hope, Then top a hill to see---- A halo hair, a face taut-fair, A form's dare harmony. She stands alone by skyscrape stone, Then scans it, proud and free. Lines far beyond have but one dawn---- Her climbing self to see. "I sang to man one creed, 'I can', Though none came here long years. I sing again, 'I can! I can!' And you step near to hear. "Your fearless gaze shows thought-filled ways, Each step you take is great. Your truth that wins be man's 'Can't sin, Can only 'can't' abate. "These temples won, their forms well done, Each soaring man-love free, If by life's rise you'd guide your eyes, See them; but first, see me." I name your name----Egoistian Flame---- And walk the high way to; I brush the lyre of Midas-fire And feed my lips with you. One liquid breath, one gilding word, I need not hear or guess; Song's singeing blaze molds all its rays To fill my mouth with----"Yes!" Then up, alone, by aspiring stone, Past death's humility, It's you and I, and I and you, And ledges edging free. Now both your hands are bolt my hands, And so our frames, enwound; We feel Love's might inseal us, bright, Who is our shrine profound. We string the lyre, sweep breath entire, Desire, chord in a kiss; With lips our-curled we mine the world All lines of "can" insist. On tamed rock plane we lock in gain Like granite-bursting wings; And Passion gives, and Beauty lives, And First Dream wakes and sings. "Your lines are swept, their views I've kept, I know the love of Time; In Pride's high place see I my face, Devoured of eyes that climb." Our mouths are pure, rare lyres endure, All towers cast up right; High steps that dare, high scans "Up there!" End first, right here, in light. Mid dews soft-sewn on silvering stone The heights of the world live; And lays of youth, and the praise of truth, My hands to your body give. Brian Faulkner

No. Simply, if what a man says exists is not based on his looking at reality, it must be based on his imagination. If he says he is looking at, praying to, or hearing God, he is "in" his own mind, not in reality.

My definition is, God is a figure , and the power, of each believer's imagination when he regards it as existing in and effecting reality and calls it God. Thus, there are as many Gods as there are believers. When believers talk about God as though it were one, not many, well that is just part of their self-deception. The Greeks were getting close with their many humanized gods. The next step was to to make man the supreme being of the universe. Ayn Rand did that. But first, there was the backward perversion of Christianity.

There is a bit of fiction mixed in the following poem, but it expresses the best feelings I've had when working in factories. In high school I received the lowest score in my class on a test for machanical ability. In one of my early factory jobs I set a record for production on the electronic seam machine. This was on the day after the foreman had told me to slow down, because I was making the other machine operators look bad, and the people down the line who supplied me with material were having to work too hard to keep up. We had a huge rush order, with a chance to win a big contract. My boss, Sel, worked sixteen hours a day and I wasn't going to let him down; besides, no one tells me to slow down. I got a lot of resentful stares and some veiled threats, but Sel got the contract. Our Factory We break the day by waking up our factory; The cyclone parts, and are we ever glad to be. So ring the bell, the better part of life is here, The meaning, love, and joying of is very clear. Giant shelves of steel gleam; Stamp the presses, strong and grim; Burnt oil smells, compressors hymn; Our waking island's not a dream. Tides of power rush on through: Electric, steam, and gas and air; Pipes and wires flexing here For the hands of "I can do". Competent, and with control, O Perfect Product, be our goal. Right Desire, never tire, Climbing ever higher, higher! Motors roar, conveyors fly, Solid men are standing by; Glance upon us, signaling---- Whip together, separate, one! Turn that wheel, get up speed; Focus sharp there, mark the need. Full attention, guide it; get behind it, ride it! Drive yourself efficiently! Spinning rollers----vibes of steel---- All about me, good to feel; Stainless panels----let 'em roll---- Stamp together! print in soul! Edge to edge and side to side All we make is endless pride; Pride of Planner's, Thinker's "Go! Sure I had it, now it's so!" Yes, he had it, he was right, Life is here in genius flight. He took the earth, changed it, shaped, re-designed it, Made the wants of body, mind. Two-pound ovens, railroad cars, Hand-held scopes for unknown stars, Piano pedals, rud's for ships, Nine-foot jets for "Be there!" trips. Slanting down, soaring high, Full conveyors hum on by. Measuring, wrenching, tooling fast, Man to man the job flies past. One by one by one they come, Silver chains and boxes flow, Stop and twist and turn and stop, One by one by one they go. All these orders coming in, Newer product's going to win. Fill 'em, pack 'em, slap 'em down, Count 'em up and wrap 'em 'round. "Look out! Jam!" Trouble now, but that's a "nought"; Cancel jam out with thought. Step right to it, see the cause, undo it, Then back on track to make up time. Our fingers sweat and shine with life, Our shirts and pants are sticking; All in control of holy strife---- This city's heart is ticking. Ten more pallets, that'll do; One last order strides on through. Comes in searching with numbers set, Writes out tickets of no regret. Ten one ton safes, all coal-mine black, White gold inside, like this day; A sacred life to keep intact On a paper of That's My Way. Then, one by one by one they come; Hang the doors and close 'em----so! Stop, and twist, and turn, and stop; One by one by one they go. All these orders going out, Older products still have clout. Take 'em, stack 'em, read their codes, Strap 'em up and weight their loads. Deed-rich towers, there they stand, Angled "V" to cross the land. From "My intent" of mind's invent To complete perfection endlessly. Loader! Forklift! over her! Make it fast, haven't got all year! Cold blades under, smooth and swift; Now up, tilt back; oh, nifty lift! Trucks are empty, feed 'em fast! World's awaitin', waking, vast! Houston, New York, Rome, Paris! Forev' L.A. and young Boise! Farmers, doctors, waiters, sec's, Pert saleswomen and tall exec's. And some one person in some one place Is seeing the options of some one case. "Ring!!!" Oh! It's over! Where did it go? Did we have lunch? I can't remember. No? Oh well, that was the bell. Now to sweep, and clean up well. Motors sigh, and rollers cease. All is quietly at peace. We off the lights and take last sight Of tomorrow's ready-set might. We end the day by closing up our factory. We've earned a rest, and earned it ever happily. The city lights are beaconing a welcome cheer, The joy and love and meaning of is very clear. Brian Faulkner

Another poem for children. Maybe you know a child who might like it. The Best We are happy to be happy, For we do the best we can; We are rolling through the prairies Bringing loads of goods to man. He is hungry, he is thirsty, He would like a roof above; He wants apples, he wants music, He wants diamonds for his love. He wants more than we should carry, But we bring it just the same, For we hope to live in future As a sign of human fame. We struggle up a mountaintop, Push! Push! Grind the rail! Hard now! Go as one! All you Engines, drive! Don't fail! See the rocks far down below us Grinning greedily for our fall? Hear the thunder right above us, Throwing scorn upon us all? We must drive a little harder, We must strive until we win; To do less would be dishonor, To give up would be to sin." Over mountains, through the forests, 'Cross the deserts cruel and dry, We are rolling, we are rolling, We are rolling rolling by! Oh, we're happy to, be happy, For we do the best we can; And we love our happy purpose---- Bringing all his goods to man! Brian Faulkner

Here are a few poems for children: Catch'm Zip! goes the fly; Zoom! goes the bee; Up and down the butterfly "You can't catch me!" ______________________ Sibs I am the brother of her And she is the sister of me; Whenever we confer We talk slowly. We talk so..o sslow Words b..arely g...o. We can-not e-ven hear them s-t-o-. And yet we do concur That she is the sister of me And I am the brother of her! ______________________________ Hum Quietly, gently, grow all the flowers; Snails snug under them in daylight hours. Peacefully, sleepily, Night's robe spreads; Now all the snails leave their beds. Then comes the dew and the grass smells new; Then come the snails to sip and view. They see the whole garden, they like it fine, And there's a mouse come out to dine! And a passing airplane hums so low The snails wonder, "Could we hum so?" They try and they try, and they're almost done, When suddenly, quickly, up leaps the sun! As fast as they can they turn on their tails, Sliding and gliding o'er very small dales. Then over the hose and around the rocks, Up to the back wall where nobody knocks. Now deep in the shade they slow down to rest, "Ah! so cool! For sleep it's best!" Brightily, lightily, the sun's rays near, To spang a leaf, or to point and cheer. Quietly, gently, hum all the flowers, Snails snug under them in daylight hours. Brian Faulkner

Thanks

Here's a poem I wrote a few years ago as a song sung to Beethoven's "Turkish March Into Athens". Awake The heavy trucks roll up the street And I roll, too; I rise, I do; I stand up on my own two feet. I see the rolling might of dawn Keep going going on and on, And glad am I to be awake And hear the city come to life. Planning my day, I think of a way To make my work much faster, better, richer, And I come to the true and know what to do, And off I'm gone to break through dawn, Down to subway, up through town, First elevator rising, rising, rising, And, I walk to my door and open it wide, Slants in the sun to work at my side, Far o'er the world I see every thing Ready in light awakening, See every way open and free, Shining with joy to be. Now focus in, get to your task, There's very very much to do. Make that call, that question ask, Then tell them it is up to you. Sell the goods just like you should For profit, profit, profit; Then buy the best and re-invest, They're coming even more to you! Write a report, regard every word, Communicate right context, purpose, meaning, Meaning Right from the start and clear to the end Say what you want and then never bend. Wrong implications, they'll never do; Master Of Logic----that must be you. Sign that report and send it away, Gold in your pocket, today! Stand up, I do; stand up, I do; I've done and won the very best. I whistle, too; I whistle, too, And give myself a music rest. Sold the goods just like I should For profit, profit, profit! And now the men who want the best Are coming more to me! I gaze out my window, see what is mine, Mine in the spirit, standing in line. Stone had a master, steel had a will, Struck them together, handles them still; Gave them a purpose, drove them on high, Filled them with meaning-----"Mine is the sky; Rise up to me, I'm sure that you can; Climb, and you'll be a man." Now focus in, get to your task, There's very very much to do. Make that call, that question ask, Then tell them it is up to you! Brian Faulkner

When I lived in New York I loved riding the subway---the sound, the power, the unrelenting purpose, the joyous speed of the Lexington Ave. Express. That's living. We Come To Work The bright doors close. We move; the station passes. Now darkness swallows us As we pour through it. A yellow light------past! Another light------past!-----past! A flat white streak, and we don't stop, We speed! faster, fiercer, driving! And we are lovers lashed through wonder, Joy's soul storming with purpose, Ideas tracking dreams. And hundreds, thousands, millions, going to work: Bold-thinkers, old-thinkers, gold-thinkers, All, pow'ring through the earth, shaking it. And now slowing down To stop at home. The bright doors open, Out steps the city's heart and mind and blood and guts and soul. We are its seeds and wings, its sparks and words; We dreamed it, built it, love it, worship it. And now it smiles above us waiting its great parents---- Its masters, kings, angels, bosses, gods---- Its real women and its real men. We come in steel bolts of lightning And we bring the day! Brian Faulkner

As of yet, I have not written a poem for the Father of our country, that practical man of action, George Washington. However, about a dozen years ago, when wishing that I had another patriotic song to sing besides the Star-Spangled Banner, which had no religious ideas, I decided to revise "America" . Here's what I got: America--------originally by Samuel F. Smith, revised by Brian Faulkner My country, 'tis of thee, Sweet land of liberty, Of thee I sing. Land where my Father's pride, Unbound in open stride, From every mountainside Made freedom ring. My sovereign country, thee, Land of the noble free, Thy name I love. I love thy cities strong, Bright strings of lights among; High towers rise in silent song Through clouds above. Now music proves the soul Of manhood's self-control---- His reason's might. Now all our hearts abound, Each one partakes the sound, Stands rightfully upon the ground With fearless sight. My Father's life, to thee, Rational Liberty, To thee I sing. Long shall my land be bright With freedom's honest light; I guard thee day and night In everything.