The Poetry of Brian Faulkner

[B. Royce]

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

[softwareNerd]

Love them both. Reading "Down Under" I had a (michievous?) thought: what would Gail Wynand write in a poem called "Down Under" as he lay in his glass-ceiling bedroom

Lying in bed, he could study the stars over his head, or see flashes of lightning, or watch the rain smashed into furious, glittering sunbursts in mid-air above him, against the unseen protection.

[B. Royce]

Love them both. Reading "Down Under" I had a (michievous?) thought: what would Gail Wynand write in a poem called "Down Under" as he lay in his glass-ceiling bedroom

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

[B. Royce]

I wrote this several years ago for my cousin.

Angel Sun and Rebel Star

The sweetest child I've ever known

Is now a grown up girl;

She knows her self,

Her judgment's clear,

She's competent and smart.

And most of all she's logical

In mind and soul and heart.

Right now she dreams, and boasts, and sings,

Of one who's just her type----

Who thinks things through,

Who's got a clue,

Who has himself in hand,

But disagrees with the world he sees

And yearns to understand.

They both hear much hypocrisy

'Bout what is right and wrong,

But follow their own reason out

And guide themselves along.

They've honesty and self-respect

And love of their own sight,

And always this----Logic's torch burning through the night.

What is this night that's all around,

Whose shadows chill the soul?

That love of self is ill, unsound,

That sacrifice is whole.

But get this, that's amiss.

For if you didn't love yourself

You wouldn't breathe or eat;

If your whole life you gave away

Your heart just wouldn't beat.

But he or she you love the most,

Who makes you feel more whole,

Is like a glass you always pass

Reflecting your own soul.

So loving him is loving you,

Him loving you the same,

While sacrifice would mean give up

Your one life's only game.

Death----one, Life----zero,

Before you've shot the ball;

Death----two, Life----through,

When sacrifice is all.

The good self-love of rose and dove,

Of sea and sun and sky,

Becomes complete in summer's heat

When happy lovers sigh.

They sigh and kiss

And breathe in bliss

Of selfhood's love divine;

Their minds say, "Yes,

I understand

What joyous work is mine.

"When I create,

It's for myself

To see and feel my soul,

Look how it flares, builds, wakens, dares,

And shapes the truth I give.

Why, in myself and for myself

I stand and sing and live."

The sweetest child,

This grown up girl,

Her lover strong, sincere,

I hope they see themselves entire,

Accept, and never fear.

Nor crack Love's glass for others,

Their glaring expectations,

Their poisoned defamations,

Their meanly razored pokes

And ugly beastly smearing jokes.

Shine, shine, shine against the wintry day

Of freeze-your-dreams-to-deedless-grey;

And aim, O Star, against the night

Of trust-yourself-is-never-right;

And while the night is not yet day

Shoot! and blaze the dark away!

Mirror, mirror, on the wall,

Who's the bravest of them all?

Angel Sun and Rebel Star,

Shining real, seeing far,

Taking in each other's light----

Happy sparks of selfish might.

________________________________

Brian Faulkner

[B. Royce]

A couple of years ago I met my nephew's wife. Besides her home-run computer business and her husband, she loves the harp, and plays it excellently. After that first two-hour meeting, having seen the love which shone so brightly in their eyes whenever they looked at each other, I wrote this:

I Play The Harp

I play the harp;

It understands

What's in my hands;

And what's in me my hands set free:

Delicate joy

For simply being,

Delicate love

For all I'm seeing:

Quiet hills

That roll out far

To where all shimm'ring

Waters are;

Where, up with sun,

Fulfilling dawn,

Arising birds

Flash on and on;

Where laughter, silent,

Shouts up leaves,

List'ning, quiv'ring,

Through the harp-like breeze.

For I am a wind

That is never still,

Unbeatable rush

Of a trembling trill,

And through soft hands,

Quick fingers, light,

I ripple the message

"All is right".

For all IS right

In the center----me,

When I'm free to be

What I choose to be:

A teller of tales

That weave a spell

In the heart and mind

Of who listens well;

A spell of innocence

Void of fears,

A spell of trust

That fakes no tears,

A spell of the awe

Of my childhood's flight

When Lo! I saw

The perfect sight!

A face reflecting

Mine brand new,

A mindful soul

Connecting through,

A being glad

To spell in me

And weave one life

Of integrity.

Integrity, Adventure,

Flight,

Joined in joy

In our marriage rite.

And that is why,

Seeing eye to eye,

I play the harp.

It understands what's in my hands.

____________________________________

Brian Faulkner

[B. Royce]

And She Said,

"I am the flower rising to your lips;

You are the sun that bends to mine.

I the butterfly at your fingertips;

You the hand of delicate design.

"Burn me to my roots, O Mighty Sun!

I will catch the fire from your brow.

Or touch me till I'm utterly undone

And I will bite the hand that feeds me now."

________________________________________

Brian Faulkner

[B. Royce]

An innocent frolic apropo to the thread on masturbation:

In The Moonlight Bright

Dancing light in the moonlight bright,

Oh, what a joy! Oh, what a sight!

Prancing rare on the grass-hair fair,

Dance what you can, dance what you dare!

Body bends back, body bends low,

Body springs up again, body lets go!

Naked we run again, nude again sing,

Breakin' in tune again, doin' our thing.

Hoppin' up, boppin' up, moppin' up glee,

Skippin' up buttercup, butterfly free!

Feet are ashine again, rampin' is fair,

Off with your coverups, down with your hair!

Starlight is waiting now, waiting won't bide,

Open up in of you, let it outside!

Hummin' out, strummin' out, comin' out big,

Jumpin' up beautiful! don't need a fig!

Had to be, mad to be, glad to be free,

Stewed again prude again never will be.

Dancing light in the moonlight bright,

Oh, what a joy! Oh, what a sight!

____________________________________

Brian Faulkner

[B. Royce]

The Honest Creationist's Hymn

There is no god found anywhere,

Or on the land or in the air,

Or back of stars or under sea;

But when imagination flies

(inside my head----God's paradise)

Then all the world is made by me.

For I am God, it's plain to see,

And what I wish, it must be true.

That's why Creation must be taught----

I wish, and what I wish is "ought".

And schools are made for wishes' brew,

From wish in me to wish in you.

___________________________________

Brian Faulkner

[B. Royce]

I just finished this today.

Lightness!

If the life in you is the life you love

And the joy of life is your purpose,

Then stand up and sing,

Speak loud of that thing,

And never be heavy again.

Ha! For the body of right is a lightness,

And its engine a rational will;

And the self-leading soul, now a fighter,

Will never be heavy again! Ha!

If the thought in you is the thought you live

And the aim of thought is your profit,

Then stand up and sing,

Speak loud of that thing,

And never look down again!

Ho! For the cup that is full is a lightness,

However so large it be;

And the self-loving soul, now a giant,

Will never look down again. Ho!

If the flesh of Ideal is the flesh you want,

And her mind-in-body your mast'ry,

Then clasp her and swing,

Bell bound to that thing,

And never be heavy again!

Ah! For the Altar Of Want is a lightness,

Where no one's true love is lost,

And the power of pride, so inspiring,

Will never be heavy again. Ah!

If kisses, embraces, and profits, and life,

Aren't misses and chases, and losses and strife,

Then get them and do them and earn them and win,

And never be never be heavy again! Hah!

______________________________________________

Brian Faulkner

[softwareNerd]

I loved it, thanks! A difficult theme, executed beautifully.

[B. Royce]

I loved it, thanks! A difficult theme, executed beautifully.

Thank you. It was fun writing it. I wrote the first four stanzas Friday (4th) morning inside the back of a book as I was walking through a park. Finished it yesterday.

[B. Royce]

I wrote this just the other day.

All Night Long

All night long my hands were burning,

Dreaming of you and your beautiful hair.

All night long, tossing and turning,

Turning, and hoping to find you there.

All night long your name I've spoken,

Calling your image into my view.

All night long, beaten and broken,

Oh! not one of my wants came true.

All night long you lay beyond me,

All night long, with your lips so sweet;

And never a kiss to catch and wake me,

And never a touch of your love-tap feet.

All night long my arms were empty----

Oh! how I wanted to have you there!

Holding, snuggling, you and your body----

Clasping your heartbeat, breathing your hair.

__________________________________________

Brian Faulkner

[B. Royce]

Dawn (November, 2005)

I lie and worship at the shrine

Of every feature, every line,

Held by my mouth and hands.

Of sacred love for two

I'm on the pedestal with you,

Above the windless sands.

Beyond all things that be,

From lightening sky to sea,

Is your cupped length under me.

Your turning hips and thighs,

Your closing lips----all of me defies;

This through your taking eyes I see.

Now with your grasp of light,

That is my mast'ry's might,

I claim my life's desire:

To be an only selfish thing

Possessing one possessing thing

In passion's ramping fire.

Light dawn is almost done;

Bright day has now begun;

Ripe majesty of rapture rules the sky.

There is not more of worth

Upon this whole live earth

Than having you, my Love, in having I.

_____________________________________

Brian Faulkner

[softwareNerd]

Thanks for yet another great one. I had to smile at "taking eyes"

[B. Royce]

Thanks for yet another great one. I had to smile at "taking eyes"

You're welcome; glad you were taken.

[softwareNerd]

You're welcome; glad you were taken.

[B. Royce]

In celebration of Thanksgiving Day here are some stanzas from my "Conscious, Unbound". I call it

The Producers' Hymn

Men's thoughts are their conquests

Of all they can scan.

This earth and that starway

Take spirit from man.

He gives to all forces,

All things of all kind,

The touch of first purpose,

The aim of his mind.

Their use for his living,

Their use for his bliss,

This use is their heaven

And man creates this.

His motive's pure profit---

For no men the same,

But no creed of needing

And no need to blame.

Hard work, and so challenging

Good men may rise,

While he who is masterful

Draws up their eyes.

Yes, men can be heroes

If work is man's heart,

And if each end accomplished

Strikes another to start.

For men of high virtue

Each morning is one---

To stand up in gladness

For the things to be done.

The raking of oceans,

Cutting down trees,

Exploding through granite---

His hands are for these.

Scooping the earth up

For truckloads of ore;

This, too, is his virtue---

To take, and take more.

Pipe lakes into deserts,

Turn rivers around;

Give them direction,

"For market you're bound!"

Bend steel over chasms,

Sweep concrete o'er streams,

Plant signs on the highways---

DRIVE FOR YOUR DREAMS!

Raise towers and statues

And smokestacks and light,

Then lift up new cities

Like gems in the night.

Like gems, and like silver,

Like gold piled high

On the desk of the trader

With that look in his eye.

If these would reach climax,

If triumphs you'd see,

Then one thing is certain---

Man must be free.

For no man can prosper,

And each man must need,

If he's not the reaper

Of this, the soul's creed:

MY work, MY achievement,

My worth without strife;

My strength and my nature,

Their whole cause---MY life.

Self-love is my virtue,

Self-will is my right,

My reason my standard,

My pride and my light.

_____________________________

Brian Faulkner

Happy Thanksgiving!

[B. Royce]

I posted the following poem last year. I have added two stanzas and made a few other changes. I am at last REALLY pleased.

Christmas, Go On!

What a bubbling jollity and what keen delight

With "Golly! Everything!" deep in the night;

Hands-On packages----all there are;

Rippling ribbons fluttering out far!

Open that box, there; what've you got?

"All that I dreamed of, dreamed a lot!

Tickets and maps, yes! Trips over sea!

Ah, and for you, dear, a present from me."

So grand the shape, and so firm each part,

I know what it is, it's my new heart!

A gold one, a bold one, with a verse inside----

'May your life be integrity and your mind your pride.'

It certainly is! and yours is, too;

That's why we're living, naught lesser will do!

Giving, and taking, glad to have won,

Like bankers, like merchants, hey! we have fun!

"Now put on the coffee and turn up a light;

We'll open a map into many a sight:

Vales little thought of, mounts never touched,

Trails just beginning, wonders half-clutched;

Plateaus of promise waiting man's right----

Planet impassioned with trader's delight;

New dams awaiting, new cities, new farms,

Sparkways of business spreading out charms;

Thousands of earth-stars----Edison's eyes----

Set to all angles of wid'ning surprise;

Shipyards and airports humming deep strength;

Trainways and highways freighting out length;

Tap-footed uptowns, where Top-Competence climbs

With Honor's dealings and Profit's chimes

(Ting! rings the money; cling! rings again!

Desires exchanging, happy are men);

Marble-halled Fame and bronze-palaced Art,

Where Beauty's power drives the heart---

Heart and soul, and the mind of man----

To clasp the gaze of his self-command!

To these we'll go, all these we'll see,

And learn us the march of history;

Though Reason holds up her torch so high,

There's less of 'March' and more of----'Fly!'

Now down the lights. Hey, what've you got?"

A new beginning of an ancient plot----

Some bubbly, bright, for the coming year,

And me, myself, right now, right here!

"And now Love touches; a kiss----one....two!

Our true destination's a self-made brew.

A trip for tomorrow, a sip for today;

To have no sorrow we gladly pay!

Routing and plannign, and shouting, "To be!"

Sweet is the music rounding the tree.

"Yea!" to life's pleasure, "Hail!" to this dawn!

Worldly happiness, Christmas, go on!"

_________________________________________

Brian Faulkner

[B. Royce]

I wrote this a few days ago, after a walk at dawn looking up at the sky.

The Scheming Sky

A silver plane is writing I...LOVE...YOU

Upon that paper called the sky,

And someone down below---I'm sure it's true---

Feels lightly winged and high.

The missile in my hand writes just the same

Upon this cloud called paper sheet,

Solidifying my ardent flame

So snow-bound you may feel love's heat.

The plane flies off, its letters drift;

A so light thing---that soul-filled gift.

My letter, too, shall take up wings

Until your hand the writ cloud clings.

Now separate lines of white blush pink

To feel quick love of the sun's warm ink;

With neither pen nor plane to spell,

Its message none to clear can tell.

But should you see, where far you stand,

A lettery rosiness above the land,

The plagiarized pilot---he, and I---

Are in cahoots with the scheming sky.

________________________________________

Brian Faulkner

[B. Royce]

I was not satisfied with the last two stanzas of the above poem, so, with a new title here is

My Cloud

A silver plane is writing I...LOVE...YOU

Upon that paper called the sky,

And someone down below---it's surely true---

Feels lightly winged and high.

This missile in my hand writes just the same

Upon this cloud called paper sheet,

Solidifying my ardent flame

So snow-bound you may feel love's heat.

The plane flies off, its letters drift;

A so light thing---that soul-filled gift.

My letter, too, shall take up wings,

Until your hand the writ cloud clings.

Now separate lines of white blush pink

To feel quick love of the sun's warm ink,

As though lit eyes of her down here

Tossed happ'ly back her pilot's cheer.

But should you see, where far you stand,

A blurred torn paper sweep the land,

A black-ink rosiness will warm you through

When you spread out my cloud---I...LOVE...YOU.

____________________________________________

Brian Faulkner

[B. Royce]

Still unsatisfied with My Cloud, I have rewritten it ---one last time.

My Cloud

A silver plane is writing I...LOVE...YOU

Upon that paper called the sky,

And someone down below---I'm sure it's true---

Feels lightly winged and high.

This missile in my hand writes just the same

Upon this cloud called paper sheet,

Solidifying my ardent flame

So snow-bound you may feel love's heat.

The plane flies off, its letters stay,

Then, having spoke, they drift away.

My letter, too, shall take up wings,

Until your hand the writ cloud clings.

Now separate puffs of white blush pink

To feel quick love of the sun's warm ink,

As though lit eyes of her down here

Winked softly back her pilot's cheer.

But should you see, where far you stand,

A tattering ice-paper sweep the land,

Whole black-ink clarity will warm you through

When you spread out my cloud---I...LOVE...YOU.

__________________________________________

Guardian (or, The Anti-Missile Controller)

Yes, I will stand on earth in selfish might

And blast a missile from its New York sight.

I'll keep the towers of each wealthy street

As free from danger as their climb is right.

Vain? I once levered steel right through the sky,

And clasped the promise of a pagan day.

I saw the scattered jewels below me shine

Brighter than stars above, and knew the beauty

Of naked thought in hero-stance of truth.

Then flew to my lips surge of praising song,

And with the plane's motor grew mine more strong.

My purpose---first night-time flight---swept, soared, curled.

I landed, taxied, stepped out; winds swirled,

And there I saw the greatest city in the world.

And now I sing much prouder of man complete

When carved with joy I walk each towering street.

And now I speak out loud for selfish kind,

"Man is good, life his all, sure his mind!"

And I will stand on earth in selfish might

And blast a missile from its New York sight.

__________________________________________

Brian Faulkner

[softwareNerd]

I'm curious if you've ever recorded yourself reciting your poetry.

[B. Royce]

I'm curious if you've ever recorded yourself reciting your poetry.

I just noticed this. Yes, I have made my own recordings, and I've done Noyes' "The Highwayman", which is a vivid and dramatic read.

[B. Royce]

Here is my first sonnet in years; not perfect, but will have to do for now.

Fear not, O Universe, the taking eyes of man

(Embracing close your swirling spheres of fire),

Nor shrink from reaching hands that would you grasp

And purify your globes with calm desire.

You're not alone now as you were before---

When thought was not, nor any hopeful scheme;

You're wanted wholly, sought into your core,

To fill the hunger of a dreamer's dream.

This ball beneath man's foot, those unchained stars,

Shake fascination through his questing mind;

He trembles---but with joy, then flies to Mars;

And all that's passed is noted, measured, signed.

The taking eyes of Love hold all in thrall,

And Universe, you've got a master after all.

___________________________________________

Brian Faulkner

[softwareNerd]

Yes, I have made my own recordings, and I've done Noyes' "The Highwayman", which is a vivid and dramatic read.

Highwayman would be great. Another that I'd love to hear recited well is Longfellow's "Psalm of Life". Would you be willing to share any of the recordings? Are they published in some form already?