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Brian Faulkner Poem
The lightly touching tinkling bells,
Shimm'ring, babbling, laughing in the breeze,
The ever-merry tapping bells,
Who now has these?
Low, slow, iron bells;
Deep, still, lead bells.
Bells. Bells. Bells.
All gladly-sounding glowing golden-bells,
Lilting, lighter, brighter yellow bells,
Mightier-yellow even whiter bells!
Ivory-keyed I-concerto-bells!
Striding proudly in the breeze
I have these!
The bells of thoughts serenely dear,
Planning, looking, finding---here!
The hand that reaches for the loved bell's face,
Then touches, almost, the perfect place.
Low, slow, iron bells;
Deep, still, lead bells;
Bells, bells, bells.
Bells. Bells. Bells.
All terrible-sad mad rebellious bells,
Brazed, swinging-fast Goliath bells,
Stronger, harder-hearted mountain bells,
Caught! Smelted! Recast!
Now joyous-sounding royal-loyal-bells,
Silver-lovely radiant treasure-bells,
Sure-as-morning's darling pleasure-bells,
Sledging! steady! ready! wedding -bells! Bells!
All happy in the breeze,
We have these!
High, soft, snapdragon bells;
Kissed, whisp'ring, thoughful body-bells,
Bells.....bells.....bells.
Copyright © Brian Faulkner | Year Posted 2008
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Brian Faulkner Poem
The echo of the echo
In the minds of you and I,
It tells our lips to tell it,
It flies to make us fly.
The glory of the glory
That enrings our eyes like spring,
It lifts us in its vision
To wing and dance and sing.
The echo of the echo
Then replays again, remains,
Reverberating verbals
That rain and kiss and reign.
The glory of the glory
That is me and you, and we,
It soars in every story
That leaps into "agree"!
It dances up the hollows
Of our lungs and mouths and arms
Till world in world is whirled
And charms are meeting charms.
It touches lips with brushes,
Becomes a firmer sum;
Our inner lust of winning
Is one and whole and won.
The echo of the echo,
Oh, it will not die or go,
But ever be an echo
To show, and tell, and show.
Copyright © Brian Faulkner | Year Posted 2008
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Brian Faulkner Poem
May the sun shine bright and the wind smell sweet
And lightness be ever the weight for your feet,
And the songs of life, that are lighter yet,
Keep rising on and never set,
And the strong sure sweep of your mind's desire
Sparkle up stars through your spirit's fire.
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May you spear your stake
In the universe cake
With a spaceship in hand,
Or two.
When it's time to eat
You will feel complete,
For the icing's the best
Of you.
Copyright © Brian Faulkner | Year Posted 2009
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Brian Faulkner Poem
Happiness is working,
Success is completing;
Hell is environmentalism
Taking everything away.
Excitement is planning,
Benevolence is cooperation;
Hell is environmentalism
And government
Killing you together.
Hapiness is independence,
Success is capitalism;
Hell is collectivism.
Copyright © Brian Faulkner | Year Posted 2009
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Brian Faulkner Poem
"The Industrial Revolution!"
It is the workers' cry,
Who'd rather earn their bread each day
And plan their lives and save their pay,
Than lie and steal and die.
"The Industrial Revolution!"
It is the bosses' song,
Who'd rather teach the willing man
To shape the world with his own hand,
Than 'plain of social wrong.
"The Industrial Revolution!"
Consumers lively shout,
When they can buy what greets their eye---
A sovereign wing that sweeps them high---
Than trudge along and pout.
"O Industrial Revolution,"
Great poets glad declaim,
"You've put man into motion,
You've moved him up to fame,
And Poetry is happier
With lightbulb than with flame."
"The Industrial Revolution!"
The politicians chime,
"Makes honesty a virtue now,
No kings around to hurt you now;
In fact, a king's a crime!"
"The Industrial Revolution!"
Proud businessmen declare,
"Means longer health and greater wealth,
And finer chance of high romance,
Than only low-life 'share'."
The Industrial revolution
Made industry a smile,
That men who think and do their best,
And send their thoughts on long-range quest,
May wear a long long while.
The Industrial revolution!
Now, everybody, cheer!
Strike fires in you for all things new!
Strike truth to where you're going to!
Strike! for your life is here!
Copyright © Brian Faulkner | Year Posted 2009
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Brian Faulkner Poem
I pledge allegiance to each self-loving, self-made individual
Whose sole need of men is force-free profitable trade,
Who judges aims and acts with his own thinking mind
And stands proud to receive judgment, sure and unafraid.
I pledge allegiance to the state of individual rights,
The law-bound republic of only private property---
Private flesh and thoughts and lands and tools and lives,
Where each man holds the wheel of self-responsibility.
I pledge allegiance to the rationally selfish self,
And to the happiness on earth that each may find;
And I pledge totally against the death-blow evils of altruism---
Communism, socialism, fascism, religion and environmentalism.
I pledge allegiance to life---human life above all other--
Actual life above potential---fact above wishing.
I pledge allegiance to me; yes, to me I pledge allegiance;
With myself and by myself and to myself, I pledge allegiance.
Copyright © Brian Faulkner | Year Posted 2009
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Brian Faulkner Poem
Christmas is all about the gifts:
The gift of love, whether earthly, or above;
The physical gifts of joy---a muffler or a toy;
The gift of laughing cheer with someone you hold dear;
The gift of receiving, if you're worthy and undeceiving.
Christmas is all about the gifts:
Givers without receivers would cancel giving, too;
Receiving is a virtue, so be glad when you do;
When you get what you want, don't sham a shame and wilt;
Feel no dishonest guilt, take Christmas to the hilt.
Copyright © Brian Faulkner | Year Posted 2008
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Brian Faulkner Poem
Up! butterfly, up! butterfly;
Down! dragonfly, down!
Bees zooming everywhere,
Nuzzling the flowers there,
Business as usual,
Guzzlingly beautiful,
Zeroed on musical
"Buzz!" full!
Heavy with pay again,
Vooming away again!
Mumbling and rumbling
And heading back home,
Over the fields
To Honey-Bank Dome!
Up! butterfly, up! butterfly;
Down! dragonfly, down!
Copyright © Brian Faulkner | Year Posted 2008
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Brian Faulkner Poem
Earth rushes on back,
Into white-dot black we go!
Hi-Ho to high/low.
Copyright © Brian Faulkner | Year Posted 2008
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Brian Faulkner Poem
Though a sad day goes,
And a sad night comes
(For my Dear's not here with me),
I will bring up living
Our first love's giving,
When out of the sea came she.
Her leap was as sweet wind was,
Singing sweet, and where white waves
Rushed downward, shedding brightness at her side,
Her spirit-wings went soaring,
The song of her was pride.
Her face flamed into rapture
As she plashed upon each wave;
High billows swelled against her,
But how low to one how brave.
Her hands, in easy motion,
Caught a foam-bell at her knee,
Caught it up and, leaning shoreward,
Blew it shining clear to me.
So light a thing, so fragile,
Yet it sailed above my hand,
While climbing through the combers
Strode all Beauty to the sand.
She, who saw me rising,
As in worshipping I rose,
She, whose tender love-poem
Was the pureness of no pose,
As I closed the reach between us,
Going softly through the tide,
Said to me, spoke words to me---
Great love-words undenied---
"Sing, O Man, make music,
Say desires here;
Our hearts have blended rhythms,
Our eyes make flames appear.
My limbs, and all my body,
My yearning blood and will,
For reign of thine are ready,
Thy loving lust to fill."
Huge waves crashed over gently,
Huge roar of them was sweet,
While flying ubbles shattered
All their flakes upon our feet.
Our hands were like half-flowers
Feeling glad again to rise,
Then the petals pierced together
And the sun shot from our eyes.
I knew her dreams were Passion;
I knew her name was True---
True Love of Full Possession---
That all my longings drew.
And though how scorched within me
My thirst kept welling up,
I knew my soul abstracted,
And speech spilled from my cup.
O Sweet Warm Mouth so perfect,
So justified to be;
O Rare High Brow a-shining,
Whose thoughts Love's deeds will be;
I sign my lips upon thee,
I sign my life and soul,
Shut out all gods but Beauty,
Make you my only goal.
Now with these waves competing
My coursing veins aspire
To be in your veins beating
Until my blood turns fire.
Copyright © Brian Faulkner | Year Posted 2008
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