Brian Royce Faulkner

The evil of Islam is blacker than night;
Yea, night is as day next an Islamite.
It’s born of a hatred for reason in man,
Hates every achievement that ever began;
It hates every beauty, hates every choice,
Hates every singular, self-willing voice;
It hates the great cities, hates the high dream,
Hates everything—-but the fear in a scream.
It hates every hero who stands up alone,
And only loves stones when Allah says, “Stone!”
Inhuman, barbaric—that is its soul,
And men without minds its nihilist goal.
The law of shariah? No law, but a curse
On the joy of men living in this universe.
Who chooses to bow to the Islamite faith
Loves nothing on earth but the crushes of death.
He loves its dark shadows and brings what he can
To kill the life-love in the spirit of man.
But first, and but foremost, his self he does kill,
Exists as a zero under Mohammed’s will,
Awaiting the order to act out his hate
On all that is good and everything great.
A stone, or a bomb, to him is delight,
For death and destruction is his sense of right.
Now, you who betray us and give him excuse,
All civilized beings for you have no use.
You’ve sold out your spirit to nihilist ways
And crucified man in your self-hating blaze.
There’ll be no forgiveness, no peace will you find,
Who have not the courage to love your own mind.
When the star of man rises, as surely it will,
You’ll lie all forgotten in some dusty hill.
No angel will find you, no heaven give grace;
The joy of your youth—there’ll not be a trace.
For death and destruction is all that you win,
Who think that your thinking is your highest sin.

A gold banana moon in dark blue sky;
Horizon pale green o’er mountains high;
Those solemn peaks are almost black to see
As softest cooling airs waft in to me.
I sit inside my room in my hotel;
I hear the roar of traffic come and go
So steady, calm and easy—all is well;
If there is war somewhere, I do not know.
Yea, here is peace, here tranquility,
As men go home to eat and drink, or nod,
And dream of some bright future that will be
When reason is acclaimed the only god.
No mountains now—one solid wall of dark,
And yet the sun still leaves his fruitful mark.

In all the land there is no poem of worth
That speaks of man above the sky and earth.
Then shout, inventors; merchants, give deep voice!
Let all the world hear virtue of your choice!
Let thinking men and women grasp and praise
The high creative prowess of your days!
Let universal joy begin to be
When all yours works are branded Majesty!
But most, when artists great do take the stage
To send their heroes blazing through the age,
Made strong with beauty’s all-unvanquished eyes,
Inspiring men to stiffen backs, and rise
Up proud for their own good, that say they can,
“Above the earth and sky I am a man!”

Up, up and away, we’re on our way today;
No matter if there’s dark, no matter if there’s cold,
No matter if our blood runs slow and if we’re getting old!
We grab the all we’ve got and throw it in the pot,
Then burn it up entirely until our lives are hot!
The fire of us is our own fuel to be consumed in our renew’l,
And that is why we’re positive—’cause we are our own causative!
So keep on singing as you can and keep on being one whole man!
No matter if there’s ice, no matter if there’s snow,
Up, up and away, the only plan is GO!

Ksenia, sweet-breathing beauty’s being,
Alighting here with gold-soft hair
And star-ray voice from lips so fair
All I can do is hear and stare.

And yet I sense intent of seeing
Might send you off in sudden flight,
So off I look a little right
To happ’ly feel your fairy’s might.

Ksenia gentle–no, not this “gentle”—
Too hard for you, so heav’nly fine;
“Divine” itself too harsh a sign
For airy face of tend’rest line.

Yet in my hand is yours to handle
For one brief second’s dearest hour,
When life gives me your sweet’ning power
As soft as petal-closing flower.

Ksenia, sweet-breathing beauty’s being,
But not too frail for Russia’s snow,
A mind and spirit strong to go
And fly above the winds’ cold blow,

To be heroic self within your being,
To keep your joy your great account,
And adding as through clouds you mount—
A radiant show of life-spring fount.

And now you’ve flown I sense a seeing
Arising still within my brain
From fairest fair I did attain,
And gladly sing my soft refrain:
Ksenia, sweet-breathing beauty’s being!

Dave said, “Mack, I love you more than anyone I’ve ever loved before. For me you are the great One of my life.” Mack responded warmly, “Dave, that is just as true for me. Joe said we should get married, but I told him that marriage was for a man and a woman.”

“I agree. We can have a celebration of our choice to love and care for each other exclusive of all others, and we can put a big full-page ad in the Times and make declarations of fidelity on the internet. Then we can publicly sign wills leaving all our possessions each to each. But marriage? Hell no. There’s not even the possibility of our having our own children.”

“What about adopting children?”

“Hell no, again. If I wanted children I would find a woman and get married. I certainly do not want a child which comes from an act between a man and a woman, which act I personally find undesirable. And it certainly seems rational that the natural parents would want (or would have wanted, if they are now dead) a mother and father for their child. And neither of us ought to be pretending to be a woman or a mother. We must have no dishonesty in our relationship. We’re both men, and that’s a fact.”

“But Joe said he sometimes feels like a woman, and maybe I do, too.”

“Nonsense. You can’t. At most, all can do is feel like what you imagine a woman to feel like, but that’s not reality and it doesn’t make you a woman. Look at all the great writers who were straight and yet who portrayed the innermost thoughts of women better than most women could. And all the straight readers who can follow this imagination right along without a hitch. Imagination is easy.”

“You know, someone at work the other day said that she couldn’t believe that homosexuality had a psychological base because I seemed normal in every other way. At first, I thought it was a very odd statement, because she’s never seen me engaged in love-making. However, I told her that I sensed that I had a deep, unresolved conflict that could probably only be gotten at after years of too expensive psychotherapy, and since it only related to sex, I had easily compartmentalized it. You know, even when we talk about “straights” and “gays” it doesn’t sound quite right. It’s like we’re putting a person’s private sex life out in front as the most important public thing about him and relegating his public character—his honesty, or dishonesty, his integrity, or lack thereof—to a hidden, secondary, private place.”

“Yes, I know what you mean. Now tell me, how did you feel when you told this person that you sensed you had a deep, unresolved conflict?”

“It’s strange, but I felt proud, full of energy. I had a great sense of self-ownership. I think it’s because I was acknowledging that I make my own choices and that I am fully responsible for who I am, even in my subconscious, all the way through.”

“I know. That’s why I love you.”

To fall on bed in mirrored glow,
My arms round you and yours round me,
To breathe our breaths, our wantings show,
To take what we are giving free;
Then mouth to mouth to grasp the mind
That seeks the highest it can find
In merging mirrors’ take and pull
As in I enter sexual,
Where your desire, pleasure mine,
Are centered in a spirit-line,
And in my ear your riot moan,
And in your ear my giant roar,
Our mouths in philosophic tone
That call, imperious, “More! Give more!”

A unit we, in action same
That gives and takes for selfish aim,
With meeting hips fulfilling hips,
And swelling breast fulfilling chest,
That harder merge with fervent urge
Until that thrill of bodies’ trill
Sings, “My whole will is your whole will,”
And we explode in harmony—
A height of metaphysic thrust
Where lust is love and love is lust,
Our natural bodies well-designed
For mirrored act of mirrored mind,
Expressing full and beautiful
All the sense of reaching flesh
Expanding through its mental mesh.

And that is all, until again
We tell each other where and when,
And through our loving mirror fall
To crash with light and have it all!