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The Poetry of Brian Faulkner

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Brian Faulkner

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Here are two unrelated poems.

Night's Done

Are these mere baby's eyes

That claim all starry skies their own?

There is no crown here

But a soft brown down

For queen or kingly sign.

One finger points, puts out Mars;

One calm palm pats the moon.

Baby smiles, and we know night's done soon.

Done soon? Done now!

Shade eclipsed by radiant lips and brow,

By smile mild face that leaves no trace in ours

Of sorrow's powers or twilight hours.

Some fools be wait till day to see light;

We but see our baby---the sun is bright.

_________________________________________

Determined

I have not chosen to say

That I have no choice what I say,

And I have not chosen to post it

Or pick up my drink and toast it.

I'm a robot in all that I do,

A robot in all that I am,

Determined to sit with my brew

Remembering choice is a sham.

"The bar is closing; it's one."

Wait! You can see I'm not done!

My God! How can you so dare!?

You're not, evidently, fair!

"I have not chosen to meet

The seat of your pants with the street,

But it comes with a bit of a smile, oh,

A choiceless, choicy style---oh?"

_______________________________________

Brian Faulkner

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A few lines based on The New Testament:

"Go thou, and love thine enemy," he said.

I heard, and how I love that he's now dead.

"When thou art stricken, turn thy cheek, be kind".

I turned, walloped, made him meek-inclined.

"He plucked thine eye? Give him the other one."

I gave him perfect site of my loud gun.

"He thirsts; give him for drink thy living blood".

O vile teacher, evil son of God.

____________________________________

Brian Faulkner

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Five Point O

My perfect grade's

Not four point O,

But five points made

That grow and grow:

One, you are the one;

Two, you know it's true;

Three, 'twill always be;

Four, what'd have you more?

Five, just let it thrive!

The tests are done,

All courses passed;

Diplomas burn

In one held fast.

_____________________

Brian Faulkner

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  • 2 weeks later...
  • 4 weeks later...

This is my latest poem, written yesterday after work.

O Concrete City

O Concrete City, yea, I do love thee.

Thou art the earth made perfect,

A clean vision of civilized man.

O Splendid walks I walk upon,

Paths of confidence and pride,

O risen walls that lift my sight---

Anchoring walls, my hands upon!

You silent-shouting soaring-walls of life!

I walk and look, and stop and touch,

And feel the steel within me spearing the sky,

And round about me your joyful motors cry

Passionately the tremors of my body,

Exultingly the powers of my mind,

Triumphantly the harmony of my spirit!

O Concrete City, yea! I do love thee!

__________________________________

Brian Faulkner

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Iraqifice

Here's the story of the war in Iraq:

We could have dropped a mighty bomb

And not have lost one fighting man, not one.

But instead, we fill up needs in Iraq,

Build up a place where savages

Can freely vote with little bombs, boom boom.

How gloriously noble are we (to our shame!)

For creating freedom selflessly (just a name!)

Instead of wiping the bastards out in a day,

And joyfully marching upon our selfish way.

"Die! Die! Die!"----it is the altruistic wail.

A chance to die for others,

And if you live you fail, each one.

No self-centeredness allowed,

Don't be bertter, don't be proud;

Go lose your life for strangers, boom boom.

Now, if you die, or nearly do,

Iraqifice is famed for you---

Name, rank and serial number written down.

And "For us he paid the highest price;

He was really really really nice;

We'll wish a prayer for him all over town".

_______________________________________

Brian faulkner

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  • 4 months later...

You're Fired

"Cease firing", the back-seat commander said.

Up front, they fired! and fired! and fired!

Till everyone was dead! The enemy, that is.

Then they turned to the back-seat commander

And said, "You're fired", and he got his.

_________________________________________

Friend or Foe?

Who is your foe?

He who wants to kill you,

And he who says "Go slow".

Who is your friend?

He who says, "You take the left, I'll take the right;

We'll finish these bastards in one short night!"

_______________________________________

The General's Song

When the big bomb's dropped and the cities blow,

There's millions less of the evil foe.

No man of mine has lost his life,

But comes back home to his kids and wife.

To enemies no chance I give,

No hope to them who hate to live.

The haven alone which they all find

Is no more place for a mindless mind.

They've hated reason, freedom, peace;

From each of these I grant release.

Destruction's been their only aim,

And now they've got it----righteous flame.

When the big bomb's dropped and the cities blow,

There's millions less of the evil foe.

________________________________________

Brian Faulkner

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  • 4 months later...

O Holy Night (revised)

O holy night! The stars are brightly shining.

It is the night of the mind's sacred birth.

Long lay the flesh in wayward, aimless pining,

Till thought was reared and the soul felt its worth.

A thrill of hope, the waiting world rejoices,

For 'round us breaks a new and glorious morn.

RISE from your knees! O HEAR the reasoned voices!

O night divine, O night when Man was born.

O holy night-----O night-----O night divine!

__________________________________________

I made a few minor changes in the following from a couple of years ago.

Midas Day

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 a-light,

We shoppers scour the mall.

Jewelled gifts 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 up close to find----

That Perfect Prize, that Light Of Eyes,

That Mirrored Aim Of Mind!

Our piles of dough, we love them so,

The jingling, crinkling bliss;

And goods held tight in owner's right

Is like a Midas kiss.

And so we say on Midas Day,

"Our gift of life's not luck;

We made our dough, we traded, oh!

And bull's-eye Joy is struck!

__________________________________

Brian Faulkner

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The Killer's Fair Fight

Bert the gunslinger got word at the bar

Was a man down the street wearin' a star

Said Bert was a murderer (and it was true)

And he was gonna hang for an hour or two.

Bert the gunslinger sent word then and there

That he'd meet the Marshall and fight him fair.

So out in the dusty street walked he,

Lookin' at the jail where the Marshall should be.

Close up behind him, calm, like the sun,

The Marshall stepped with his pointed gun.

"Bert, this is fair as you deserve", he said.

"You murdered, you're evil, and now you're dead".

Four shots rang out in the hot dry air,

And Bert almost said, "But that ain't..."

But two more bullets split his heart,

And Justice, fair Justice, played his part.

_____________________________________

Brian Faulkner

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Insanity Plea

Jim the killer sat in his cell,

Thinking what he the judge would tell.

"I'll say I'd been drinking,

And it weren't really me;

In fact, I'd a touch touch of insanity."

They took him to court

Where he spoke with a slur,

Rolled his eyes all 'round

And growled out a "Grrr!"

The judge looked him over,

Then made his decree:

"It's so plain to see

That crooked you're made with insanity,

I'll tell the hangman,

And he's got clout,

With the rope of justice

To straighten you out."

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A poem of spring for the beginning of winter.

The Light Of Day

The light of day is streaking forth into the towered town,

The might of May is leaping north with waking scent and sound,

And down each road and up each street Objectivists do drive,

With love of work, and far-out plans, that keep the town alive.

And stepping up from underground, their faces diamond bright,

Objectivists who came in trains now bid the night "Goodnight".

They're businessmen, investmentmen, whose purposes are pure---

To make the most of every trade, increasing profit's store.

Along the walks, in-out of shops, they swing so free and swift,

Briefcase in hand, true news from stand, and coffee-cup's sweet lift.

And smiling nods, and winking eyes----those destinies of day---

Surround the sounds of "Hi!" "Hello", "Let's go", "I'm on my way!"

And on they pass to palaces that wait the soul of man----

His holy, selfish motive, "I'll do what new I can."

And polished brass swings open, and clearest glass does spin,

As hands-on, firm, lightheartedness Objectivists lead in.

Then taking hallways, floor by floor, up to the very top,

Come master traders---profiteers!---whose engines never stop!

Through windows high above the town they look, they think, they see

That all they've built is good, so far, but less than what will be!

The light of day is streaking forth into the towered town,

The might of May is leaping north with waking scent and sound,

And down each road and up each street Objectivists do drive,

With love of work, and far-out plans, that keep the town alive!

________________________________________________________

Brian Faulkner

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  • 3 weeks later...

Most of us have probably felt pessimistic at different times. I, too.

No Room For Doom

"Oh, the gloom,

And the doom, doom, doom,

Of the low slow times to come.

"Oh, the night,

And its last, sad light,

And the streets bleak, dark, and cold.

"Oh, the death

Of the brief, brief breath,

When there's no strong songs to sing.

"Oh, the slain,

And the wet bright stain,

When the full red blood runs free."

But ah, the leap,

When these dooms sink deep,

And the high fast days fly back.

And ah, the life

Of the clang, clang, clang!

When the fired men's minds attack!

Then see! The light!

(As the old gloom creaks)---

It's a fair wide flare a-bloom!

And hear! The right!

As a glad man speaks,

"There's no more room for doom!

"No room for doom,

No room for gloom,

But only underground.

"Pack off, you clods,

Go back to gods,

Way down there, underground.

"Now die, I said,

Be double dead,

You two of lost hopes' aim.

"You doom, go down,

Go down, you gloom,

And claim your tomb of shame!"

_____________________________

Now that I've got that out of my system, I'll just be

Scuffling Along

I was standing outside

On a downtown street,

Listening to the sound

Of the people's feet.

A tap tap here,

And a clop clop there,

A tip-tap clip-clop

Everywhere.

Then a scuffle through some leaves,

Feather-scuffling, full of ease,

And a smiling, bright-eyed face

Above the shoes.

Up into the sunny skies

She had set her laughing eyes

And she didn't seem to have

A single care.

And the clip-clops ceased to be,

Or at least, inside of me,

As I fixed on her a mighty

Spellbound stare.

Then I found me in her wake,

And I was sure 'twas no mistake,

For I followed that gay leaf-flag

In her hair.

It was just a week ago

That I stood a-listening, oh,

And what a glorious seven days

Have passed!

Now I scuffle in my ease

With my scuffler of the leaves,

Two gold rings around our fingers

Tightly cast!

Oh, you tap taps here,

And you clop clops there,

Oh, you tip-tap clip-clops

Everywhere,

I do love you for your sound,

For the girl you brought around,

For the town and street and walking

You make fair!

____________________________________

Brian Faulkner

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You write a lot of poetry!

As the old saying goes, "the more the merrier". :(

Here's one for an energetic 8 year old boy I knew who was starting to write his own poems.

The Happy Poet

I bend down low to tie my shoe.

I jump straight up to the sky so blue.

I lift my arms and pretend to fly.

I soar up over the clouds so high.

I return to earth with a big loud Splash!

Out in the pool I'm taking a bath.

I dive like a whale, grind teeth like a shark,

And then dog-paddle with a friendly bark.

I stand up tall to say my poem.

My mother's listening, working at home.

My father's friends clap him on the back,

"It's a real fine thing to have a son like that.

"For strong the spirit and strong the brain

That can each day a poem attain.

The moon may pale and the sun fall down,

But all is bright when a poet's around."

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My 8-year old has been making up some poems for a while (though many sound a bit like nonsense verse, really). So, I'll show him this poem, thanks.

You're welcome. My 8-year-old friend started out by following the pattern of my

"One knock-knock,

Two knock-knock,

Three knock-knock,

Four,

Who's knock knock knocking

At my castle door?" with

One writing,

Two writings,

Three writings,

Four,

Who has been writing

All over my floor?

After a few more that rhymed with four he went to eight, with

Five cartwheels,

Six cartwheels,

Seven cartwheels,

Eight,

I am cartwheeling

Right out the gate!

I've found that most children love the rhythm. It is that initial enjoyment of the music of verse which, if not forsaken as one gets older and modernistically (sarcastically?) "wiser", can lead to a life-long love of poetry.

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Don't be Selfish

He hogged the ball,

Took shot after shot;

He made them all,

His coach was hot.----

"Our team did win

Because of sin,

And now you're through,

You selfish you."

The team's next game

Was void of bliss;

In selfless shame

Each shot did miss.

But Coach was cool,

He was no fool.---

"I've got my dream:

A sensitive team."

______________________

Song Of The Selfish Player

I'm never here to lose,

I'm always here to win;

To shoot or pass I'll choose,

Depending on the spot I'm in.

And yes, if I am hot,

And grooving in "the zone",

Give me the ball a lot;

I'll win this game alone.

I'm selfish to the core,

I pass to be on top;

Man's open down the floor---

Throw! We never stop!

"Take charge, high self assert",

That is my teammate's cry.

A selfless team would hurt,

But we're a team of "I"!

I guard, I block, I steal,

I find the open man;

A swish! we seal the deal!

We'll take whate'er we can.

Then comes the bal to me,

I'm forty feet away;

Right through the rim, we see

I've got my touch today!

We're selfish in each soul,

We play to be on top;

A healthy, high-five whole,

Let I-ball never stop!

___________________________

Brian Faulkner

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My Pure Selfishness

Every time I wake at morn

I open eyes like one new born

For my pure selfishness.

Every time I breathe the air

I fill my lungs with loving care

For my pure selfishness.

Every time I go to work

I do my best and never shirk

For my pure selfishness.

Every time I spend my dough

It's for the goods I'm wanting so

For my pure selfishness.

For I am selfish, yes, it's true,

Especially when I think things through;

And oh, it's great to figure on

What I will do each coming dawn

For my pure selfishness!

Every time I kiss those lips

Whose spirit is the sun's eclipse

It's my pure selfishness!

__________________________________

Brian Faulkner

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  • 5 months later...

I wrote this today.

Independence

Independent in the morning,

Independent at your rising,

Independent when you look around and see---

For yourself and your own thinking,

For the facts that you'll be linking

Into action that will get you mastery---

O'er your independent progress,

O'er your independent climbing,

O'er your independent striving for the height---

Of your life that's independent,

Of your joy so independent,

Of your mind in independence, proud and free!---

That, that is your meaning;

That, that is your glory,

That grand and single self that does not bow,

But with gladdest independence,

But with laughing independence,

But with standing independence stands up now!

______________________________________________

Brian Faulkner

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