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The Poetry of Brian Faulkner

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Brian Faulkner

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Here are three poems which I've written in the past week.

Old-Time Fighting Song (with a debt to Ayn Rand for the last line)

That man whose grasp of spear

Holds not one ounce of fear,

But reddest pounds of right

For hurling into flight

The fact that he is good

To fight the fight he should

Against man's evil foe---

The lowest of the low---

Oh, may his aim be keen,

And may his throw be clean

To strike between the eyes

The men of hateful lies,

That they may parted be

From all we hear and see,

And standing, spirits strong,

The men whose eyes are song,

Whose laughter lights the earth

With solemn, gladdest worth,

Yea, standing up, I say,

Like shouldering month of May,

When all the hills up high

Thrust buds into the sky,

And storms, they envy not

This flowery, happy lot,

And planets almost dance

To see lost man advance,

For where the hero goes

Ebb back the old-time woes,

As God is set aflame

And faith goes down in shame,

And chains of brotherhood

Are stricken off for good.

Now only this is clear---

I am, I think, I steer.


Gone For A Week

Ah, you are not here, my diamond darling,

My ever shooting, radiating star,

My rose-petaled sun,

My swaying, dancing song,

My ship come into shore,

My many pounds of gold,

My one unique flower,

My highest hill,

My soul.

Ah, you are not here,

And the new year seems so far,

So sere, so still, so very cold.

Oh, but the light of you lingers,

And the minutes run on up to you,

And I am ready now to leap,

But the hours creep,

Am ready to fly,

But can only sigh,

Could sing,

But I cannot sing.

Your name is on my lips,

Waiting your breath

To burn it to a burning brand,

And the storming of your hands

Is in my hands.

Ah! You are not here!


The Gift of Cyrano

For her whose mind is set aglow

By reading hero Cyrano,

May all her dreams come shining true

Whatever paths she seeks them through,

And may her courage never fail,

How strong each storm, how stiff each gale,

And by the light of reason's glow

Find her own living Cyrano.

But may the end that's in the play---

Of lovers wholly cut away

Before sun Joy has showered bliss---

In life turn into lasting kiss,

And Cyran's spirit shine so bright

That farthest stars seem hers by right.

And so may reading prove its worth

By granting heaven more on earth,

Inspiring her to hands-on deeds

For all she wants and all she needs.

Rostand the master a great play made;

She'll grasp its law---Live unafraid.


Brian Faulkner

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  • 3 weeks later...
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The rain came playing down the gray sky

And dancing lashed each passerby.

Some, voices joined to the boisterous noise

And laughed and danced and ran like little boys.

The rain came swaying through the great trees,

Branch on branch was dashed with ease,

And each wet leaf was set a-sway

With silvery tips a-lit so gay.

The rain lay chaste on the naked ground,

Its panting past cast not a sound.

The young sun sprung way high o'er mounts,

Which tumbled some in bubbling founts.

The lake is razor-rate, sharp and great,

A sheer clean mirror in keen clear state.

The dark tall trees around that are

Frame beauty in this storm-built star.

It waits the face of brave bright maid,

And manly hands all unafraid,

To be baptized by meaning much

And sacredized by human touch.


Brian Faulkner

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  • 5 months later...


Do it yourself, depend on no other;

No one's your slave, nor brother nor mother.

Work out a plan, stand up a man;

Earn what you get and never forget

Depend is a vice,

Depend is not nice,

Depend is the source of downward course

To dark and empty night.

Independence is the only way of light.

Independence will flick your switch to bright.

If you'd be wholly free

Then self-sufficient be;

If you'd live unafraid

Then work and earn and trade;

If you'd not waste your time

Then thinking is no crime;

If you'd not fall to fate

Then make your reason great.

If you would top a hill,

If you would cross a stream,

Then climb with your own will

And build on your own scheme.

If you would lag at ease

Till all comes "somehow" true,

You're lying with the fleas

Till some cross dog bites you.

So, depend on no other, do it yourself;

Stand up a man and work out a plan;

Earn what you get----don't ever forget!

Then sing free, "Independence!"


Brian Faulkner

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  • 1 month later...

O Holy Pig

I went to Hell

And felt the flames

Of all those whirling,

Swirling dames.

I played at cards

And threw the dice---

No more snake eyes,

That was nice.

I filled my belly

Full with meat,

Ate every cake

And every sweet,

But when I slaked

My last desire,

The Devil threw me

In the fire.

"Ouch!" I cried,

And "Oh, it's hot!

Why must i

Be in this pot?"

"Do be still,"

The Devil said,

"You've had your fun

And you're well-fed.

"God needs smell

Your sacrifice,

Smell it once

And smell it twice.

"He must thrill

To hear you cry

When you ever

Almost die.

"Die, or fry,

He cannot tell;

Only loves

To smell the smell.

"Piggy He,

And piggy blind;


Is God designed.

"That is why

Your fall is sweet---

Kicked to Hell

By God's pig feet."

"Ouch!" I cried,

And "Oh, the pain!

Who can save me

From the slain?"

Jesus came,

Filled with teeth,

Sharpened them

On my belief;

Ate me whole,

Devoured all;

All my bits

Too small to fall.

Jesus loves me,

THis I know,

For the mindless

Tell me so.

Little bits

To him are big;

And I'm a bit---

O Holy Pig!

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It's Nice To Be Here

Here, above the land, I take your hand;

Here, where all is open, lit with sun,

Upon a peak of rock we looking stand.

Together we have climbed and reached and won,

And now the earth rolls outward from our feet,

Or does it gather up to us, complete?

Your hands are scraped and scratched like mine;

Your cheeks are very roughly brushed up too,

Yet you are more than beautiful to see

And all the hills about must climb to you.

"It's nice to be here" are the words divine,

And I am here with you, and you with me,

Where far-off mountains gleam and shine

And twitterings of birds sail out so free,

While on a peak of rock we looking stand.


Brian Faulkner

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When All Seems Hopeless

When all seems hopeless as a down-set sun

And future days are grey with shadow-mites

Of some bad man our President become;

While many countrymen are blind to see

How they are lead away from human heights

Down into foreasts dark with savages

Who scream with glee the rights of savages

To scream, but not live, and men not be;

When this seems overwhelming in my mind

I turn about and take your book in hand,

Then turn the pages till man's hope I find.

It is not made of feathers or of sand,

But truth's hard-builded walls that bind---

The vallied vault of the golden Rand.


Brian Faulkner

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Born Again

O Happy Town, that leaps to life again,

With cars and trucks and people on the go,

You have no need of base complaining men

Who hold your triumph but a hollow show.

Nay, vile they say it is, your tow'ring course,

And must be stricken down for wolves and bears,

And mindless acts of Mother Nature's force;

Yea, mindless---bent design of all their prayers.

Run forward, leap, and higher, stronger, grow;

Exult with pride that you're the best on earth!

Roar out your motors, sing along each street,

Disdain the pits that dare to pull you low

And climb above the clouds with all your worth.

The weekend's past and 'born again" is sweet!


Brian Faulkner

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  • 4 months later...

Very High Midas Day

Oh, Very High Midas Day,

Now you are here,

Clothed in prosperity,

Best of the year.

Armfuls of laughter,

Lipfuls of light,

Eyes in affirmance

Of everything bright.

Ribbons are spreading and

Trees are a-glow;

Splendid the setting

Of Midas-Time show.

Down every avenue

Silver bells chime,

While choirs of drink-songs

Clink them in time.

Dollar-signs stand on

Rooftops for glee---

Red, green and gold ones,

And many swing free!

And Santas are shooting

From chimney to chim

(Helpers called Backpack,

Vigor and Vim).

Here, a piano

Rolls to a door;

There, a mink stole

Lets hands go explore.

Here, a convertabile,

Flashy and fast,

While lust-dust of diamonds

Everywhere's cast.

Peacefully beautiful,

Wholesome and rare,

Very High Midas Day

Men made you fair.

Happy and satisfied,

Filled to the top,

All you could ever be

Never will stop.

Oh, all over town

There's a soft glowing fire

Of joys made real

For human desire.

Oh Very High Midas Day,

Face of our worth---

Proud of Prosperity,

Merchants of earth!


Brian Faulkner

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