My Poetry

[AMERICONORMAN]

I don’t consider myself a good poet. I know I have so much to learn. But I wonder what Objectivists think of my poetry. (By the way, “Paine Sailor” is my pen name).

And So We Dare You Not To Dread Our Wrath.

How dare you smash two planes into our tallest twin towers!

How dare you try to sink the source of all our powers!

How dare you take our strong, our brave, our weak!

How dare you say to us, “Freedom you shall not seek”!

How dare you forget the wisdom by which we started!

How dare you think our golden economy will remain retarded!

How dare you use your “god” to stop American ambition!

How dare you leave ten blocks beyond all recognition!

How dare you leave our thousands buried dead!

How dare you think we will betray what we have always said!

How dare you slap the face of “life, freedom, and happiness”!

How dare you dance proud of your damned wretchedness!

How dare you not have learned our pledge to: liberty or death!

How dare you make them scream before one last breath!

How dare you believe that we will let you survive!

How dare you not have known our history we shall revive!

How dare you not have feared our knives, our guns, our bombs, our minds!

How dare you evade the justice no holy war defines!

And so we dare you not to dread our wrath…

My Dying Love That Keeps Me Living

I see you—my love—dying and bloodied on a stretcher.

And see you fighting for you life in vain battle.

And lying still—remarkably—a thirst quencher.

Now you’re not there on my study mantle:

You’re not a ray of sun drying my hopeless tears.

I see you shining, laughing in the face of evil motives,

See my love waiting for four long tortured years!

See your aquatic eyes saving a thousand lives.

And those eyes saving me with just their image.

You’re a ball of light at the end of my horizon.

You make my passion pray in god-seeking homage.

You are my dream evoking an ecstatic sensation.

There!—is the beast that seeks to end my striving

Because my love is full of goodness earned.

This is what hurts my soul that’s living

For a grace unable to refuel my ashes burned.

You lie dead in my soul as you have asked for.

Now I, prepared to find my personal angel,

I cannot seek some cesspool whore.

You’ve left me facing a ruthless jungle.

But—I’ll fight and fear no more!

MY LOVE UP IN THE AIR

When your spirit yells a cry of despair –

Tears shoot down as your face looks up to the air –

A peace is broken that seems so hard to repair –

You have finally seen the long since mismatched pair –

So you scream as you pull at your hair:

“Oh my God, this is just not fair!!”

You ask yourself over and over, “Why doesn’t he care?” –

And you struggle with a trembling that’s so hard to bare –

At his image in space you just sit and stare –

You remember the first time held by his beauty so rare –

And the last time that the test was given and you didn’t prepare –

… Don’t reach for the blade – don’t! Don’t you dare!

Nietzsche:

You, awaiting the will to power,

Over those whose wills must have to lower.

A man of rhythm who wants to conquer

Those mediocre whose doom he will secure –

Both come out as master and slave

And foolishly together you both behave.

The ego spurts the “will to power.”

It is the cause of every tower.

The ego drives one’s will to progress.

It has its reasons for its success.

You say you hate the muddied waters

But change the muck to bloodied matters.

You seek to step, and crush, and climb

But to the Atlas you give no dime.

You say he pampers to the herd.

He lives alone – have you not heard?

Seldom comprehend his lonely flight –

And you’re half blind with all your sight.

You talk of strength, and steel, and heart—

Is money-making but a weakling’s art?

You praise the drives that move one’s reason—

To the will to power in every season.

You see no “I” behind your driven spirit—

Is there no “why” behind your insane limit?

Sorry Freddy that you pulled the fatal trigger.

But Mr. Roark is destined to grow much bigger.

Untitled

When I can climb the mountain I’ve always dreamed about,

I wont’ fear ugly ‘giants’ I’ve so feared to bout.

I’ll sing those passion songs I’ve so longed to shout.

Here, inside my soul will grow that flower I have promised.

I’ll catch that shooting star that in my daze I almost missed.

I’ll save that precious love that in my madness was dismissed.

I’ll tempt that luring snake that wooed me with his wisdom.

I’ll fly like iron eagles that - in war- saved every kingdom.

I won’t cry like whining lambs fearing blood-bathed martyrdom.

For if it has to come to that I’ll be a wolf that lives on meat.

Or an ascending, roaring lion from his crowned golden seat.

Or toil daily in a brother’s work destined to repeat.

But if I find those precious stones all past ages have forgotten,

I may make those new- found metals never before begotten.

And so deny those barren lands where dying spirits still lay rotten.

This is the song of man and not of priest and not of king.

It is the youthful chorus of every child that can still sing.

It is the shot between the eye from David’s worn out sling.

And so I’ll fan that burning fire kindling from my passion.

And so guide it to its goal with my hand’s controlled possession.

And set it on its way to that release which is my mission.

THE LIVING PAGE by Paine Sailor

Evening engulfs around this domicile,

As persist my song words descending.

Subjects predicate, acting instantaneous.

And often errors, my page, do sting,

On moments flapping imbecile

Wings.

Between moments as I continue scoring

Rings

Weaved, of gold—A Chandelier tremendous!

This crown above continues glowing.

When the pen flow briefly ceases of my rectitude—

A word, a hand, a scratch all signal trash towing;

A silent writer rescues his sacred attitude.

So I go soaring,

With a slender Page I go exploring.

Breathless singing,

Soaring.

AN ANTHROPOMORPHIC METAPHYSICAL ROMANCE

Love, the link that keeps us together

Bade that I be borne for you to love.

Dear, keep on dancing all around me—forever!

Ceaselessly work, glide, shine up above!

Please know that I am a part of your beauty—

That without me who will know of it!

But without you I am a nobody.

And without me there you still sit!

Remaining spinning, lighting and dimming!

And so you glimmer as my eternal jewel.

Though, I cannot grasp your all forever dominating.

But I know that you are all-in-all.

Rose by rose I can grasp your fragrance.

Comb by comb I delight in your nectar.

Still I persist despite your arrogance.

Window by window I witness your splendor.

Day by day I long for you touch

That sends my locks flapping behind.

Object by unit you tell me too much—

So the rules of my method placate but bind.

Those blasted rites that forbid me your everything

Are your taunt that tempt for another beyond.

Isn’t a gust an “I love you” you breezingly sing—

And your form of embrace and a delicate bond?

Here on this rock I will breathe out my arrogance.

No love of you is there without my eyes.

Without my ears, no drum for your resonance.

And If I don’t wake I’ll miss your sunrise.

That love that binds is seated in my heart.

Words to make love final come from my mind.

You walk in beauty and are night—but not smart:

Returning from my songs your response I never find!

I know nothing of your love, though I soak with your tears.

Though I thank you for your fertile rains, I am of your harvest.

Plop! Those rings that multiply in the water, seemingly for years—

May one oneday reach your finger from me, your dearest.

But be careful not to drop it—

For you might crush me with it!

Thus spoke consciousness to existence on one long day.