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About Deviant Artist FaulkyMale/Australia Recent Activity
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Literature
Our Daily Genesis
Every day the world begins,
Turns on me with eyes agleam;
Headlights on a country lane,
Dimmer than they seem.
Every day the world begins,
Sings its songs when no-one's in;
Shines like fire and smells like rain,
Says it's sink or swim.
Every day the world begins,
Turns to me with eyes agleam;
Talks of towns that have no name,
Never having been.
Every day the world begins,
Sighs and asks for whom I ring;
Mind is looking for a name,
Mouth says not a thing.
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Forgotten Afternoons :iconfaulky:Faulky 1 3 Detritus :iconfaulky:Faulky 1 0 Old Oak :iconfaulky:Faulky 2 0 The Cherub :iconfaulky:Faulky 0 0
Literature
Night Train
Train wails through the night
watched by plaintive faces of ochre
graffiti eyes on impossible crags
On it rushes through catacombs
Night is just a tunnel we pass through
the green lush hills can never be dark
I can't imagine a lost soul on them at this time
such a lost soul as we might pick up
from some lonely station
like a moth drawn to an oasis of light
one strange man sits next to me
waits for the light at the end of the tunnel
pines bow beside the tracks before their ranks
break and scatter into the hills
still the train sends its searchlight into the night
collecting those lost souls
like the one who I sit beside, who
looks at me all the while, and I
look at him all the while
:iconFaulky:Faulky
:iconfaulky:Faulky 0 0
Literature
Autumn Sacrament
Time arrives awearied eyes
& jonquil blooms afade
As she sits side her loom and sighs
soft prayers throut the day
Fallen leaves of family trees
like spirits float in the parlour
In dancing, blow on their own breeze
In rustling, make their own laughter
:iconFaulky:Faulky
:iconfaulky:Faulky 2 2
Literature
pearls o wisdom
c'mere y'little urchin
lemme tell you somethin i was told when i were knee-high to a christmas beetle in july - if there were such a bug
every word o wisdom spoke serves no point but to betoke some ol hope that's now as broke as my ol gramma's urn
an if i should sit an harken (thinks I) to the pearls o some ol harpin bore who could not even sharpen pencils 'gainst his wit
i can see how i'd become a sodden, tatty, tragic bum with half a suit and all a thumb twixt me an a worm!
:iconFaulky:Faulky
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Sir John Bumblelow's Dog :iconfaulky:Faulky 1 0 Greening Over :iconfaulky:Faulky 2 0 Cages :iconfaulky:Faulky 1 0 White Cross :iconfaulky:Faulky 0 0
Literature
Edwardian Mirrors
(under review)
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self :iconfaulky:Faulky 0 0
Literature
Joy
Oh I am lost in a hollow of snow
darkling mid-afternoon
And if I should not find my way out I do
hope the wind carries this to you
All of the times I've gone to bed
without saying a word, laid head to head
With you, Joy, and for all the things left unsaid
I don't know what to say for them
Joy! please understand that
Joy! please understand that
Joy, please understand that
All time is not long enough for me
Christmas on the peer, Christmas at sea
Harbours burn bright in revelry
Christmas on the peer, Christmas at sea
Your heart is a harbour to me
Joy! please understand that
Joy! please understand that
Joy! please understand that
All time is not long enough
:iconFaulky:Faulky
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Literature
Ocean Summer House
Sky has a haze of empty old scotches
I have nothing to say                             I wait
Brains feed on themselves, as in blurs of frenzy
Sharks may devour their own tails
The silver is good, but the sky is dull
It wants polishing . . . ( You there – get a ladder )
I am fine
How are you. thanks  ?    How are the    kiddliwinks  ?  ,, how  i  s   t he   m rs    did you miss us?
You look a bit stooped yes       i understand
I too carry my desires like pails on a yoke, you see       not a drop spilt .   but forget all that .
Let's take you in and sit you down
letmetakeyouintomydepthsandcrushyou
Tea?
For years i have
:iconFaulky:Faulky
:iconfaulky:Faulky 0 4

Random Favourites

Are you 'avin a laugh?? :iconashr90:ashr90 6 4
Literature
Some Beards I Know
I have seen the pictures of your face
thundered and thick with storms
while whorls of satellite cloud banks
Churned across your jaw.
Another, older, wears a throne
sat upon his upper lip, gloriously trimmed
with cappuccino foam and bejewelled
by bits of rich tea biscuit.
This face meanwhile purrs for friction
and, like balloons towards static
hot hands are called to it
as it hums and is sung to by wordless lips.
A final childish chin has grown
a rough-plucked, naked chicken’s skin,
which crackles and splutters under thinking fingers,
now the strange rough grass of foreign parts
and no longer the smooth earth of home.
:iconyellowpeppers:yellowpeppers
:iconyellowpeppers:yellowpeppers 1 3
Literature
The Field
Children used to play in this field long ago, when it
wasn't devoured by thorns and weeds. It was a
remarkably happy time, when the sun shone mercifully
onto the lush green grass and the children played
without care.
One day, a child found an old man walking at the
field's edge.  He called to the old man, and he came
over to the child. The children liked the old man.  He
told great stories and funny jokes.
One morning, the children arrived in the field and
noticed something odd.  There was a hut in the field.
They had never seen it before.  They entered the hut,
and the old man was there. He explained to the
children that he came to set up a business, and would
not tell any more stories or jokes.
The children were speechless. They really didn't know
what a business was. The old man explained, he would
be giving things to the children that they needed in
exchange for money. The children liked this.
The next day, the shop was open for business.
:iconKreoche:Kreoche
:iconkreoche:Kreoche 3 3
Literature
Cemetery Flowers
The graveyard
was a vacant field
before we all died
and turned God's acre
into an evergreen mortuary
Headstones for tombs,
Vague epitaph for each --
Husband
Parasite
Fraud
we are ghosts
embittered by
the broken stems of flowers
left by strangers
ten years ago
and our children
who pray that we stand
on their shoulders
with our magic wands
and halos
waving away the black
clouds and toxic winds
helping seventeen year
old Molly with her
opiate addiction
our children . . .
our children
who never visit
:iconTheActionIndex:TheActionIndex
:icontheactionindex:TheActionIndex 1 1
Literature
Inferno Slumber
    Rise and shine
to holocaust,
    Pyre in the chasm
            of sleep.
                Asylum for
                    coma
                and
                    quietus.
    Where eyes opened
    and closed since
    many moons past.
Flames extinguish
        dreamland--
            Arson in
            R.E.M sleep.
    Awakening eyes like
        orbs in panic.
    Requiem in the form of
     
:iconTheActionIndex:TheActionIndex
:icontheactionindex:TheActionIndex 1 1
Literature
Can we rest yet, love?
All I want:
 To lie upon the lake shore,
Our breath in time with the slow boast of our hearts
"I am, we are, we live, we love."
To write
  sestinas on your skin
In the silence
As the sun sets.
To come home,
  To sleep soundly,
To find myself
Complete.
:iconrunfromthelight:runfromthelight
:iconrunfromthelight:runfromthelight 2 9
Bloc Party :icontheseblueeyesofmine:TheseBlueEyesofMine 23 27
Literature
1954
Before soldiers
were baby killers.
When the world a giant stone
            never rotated.
Axis dormant in concrete
—ignorance a blissful
            stagnation,
flowers windswept
and swaying immortally through
the winter which never arrives--
        always sleeps,
        never looms.
Eyes blink for decades,
decadence unknown.
No need for a graveyard.
            Universe a
slumbering puddle—ripples
asleep at the helm. Tectonic
plates washed and dried
--standing dominoes in
the 1954 cupboard alongside
dime-priced dinnerware.
My grandfather in the park
adjacent from home,
stealing bases, throwing
        curve balls,
Pastime Americana.
Prepubescent
screeching cheers to
    celebrate the
          
:iconTheActionIndex:TheActionIndex
:icontheactionindex:TheActionIndex 1 1
Literature
November In The Chair
November in the chair, the
       fire burning low as night crawls in.
Smoke rises, still and sharply fragrant,
       last of the apple logs that dreamed of being blossom.
The clearing is hushed, subdued.
The wood holds its breath in the gathering dusk
Between the huddled birches, the lingering autumn shadows promenade and
       skeleton leaves fall, sighing, like so many cigarette-ash coloured ghosts.
Drifting through the trees in sepia,
they call silently, chanting with the wind.
What else am I to do
     but follow?
:iconrunfromthelight:runfromthelight
:iconrunfromthelight:runfromthelight 1 3
Literature
Alter Of Memory
   They say that love is blind but he begs to differ.
   He is an oddity, a dying man of seventy eight, oblivious to the gradual lessening of his pulse, still wandering, out of focus, through over-saturated coma dreams. He is hunting. Hunting for a faceless, nameless, long-dead girl.
   A girl he has been consumed with the love of for thirty one years, two months, sixteen days, thirteen hours, twenty three minutes, forty seven seconds...forty eight...forty nine...
   The vision bleak is brighter, clearer, more detailed now than the first, last and only night he ever caught a glimpse of her. The barest flash, a single frame of film, bestilled.
   Cobalt dress, amber hair, ivory skin. Semi-precious girl. Blue rhinestones glisten like undried tears on her hair, pearls look to be choking the stiffly held neck. Head inclined slightly to the left, out of the spotlight his gaze has cast upon her. The dress seems a litt
:iconrunfromthelight:runfromthelight
:iconrunfromthelight:runfromthelight 1 3
Literature
what matters most...
sometimes i  feel like
Herrera Santoro
plucked from argentina
with a
11
-
9
-
2
record
to be fed as a midnight snack to
Teodor Lown
with a
21
-
-
record
                      (all
                             KOs)
it was a laughing matter for
everyone,
ol' Santoro never stood a
chance:
he was
34
fighting a
22 yr old with more knockouts than
Santoro had victories and draws
combined
"a walk in the park" everyone said
the bastards all marched to the arena screaming and hollering
like rabid dogs all desiring
argentinian
blood
Santoro had no
style
a boxing mantra from the pages of
1921
stamina of a 40 yr old and a bad left
eye.
but what he lacked in
technique
he more than made up for in
guts.
he had more fire and guts in him than
:iconmoejo:moejo
:iconmoejo:moejo 4 4
Oscar Wilde and Bosie :iconducasse:Ducasse 154 17 Thom Yorke :iconcadynho:cadynho 56 70
Literature
Redemption and the Carnival
Redemption and the Two-Dollar Carnival
Vertigo kept me from the swirling lights, the hypnotic pitching,
until mother surveyed the menagerie, hoisted me
onto a hollow-eyed wooden steed named Lightning;
said, "try it," and I felt the visceral wrench
like gravity from a tightrope over Times Square
Rising, falling, faces blurring, becoming conspirators
in the dizzying scheme; I almost forgot the singeing smack
of her hand across my flushed cheek that morning;
Watching the Queen of Olympus as she rises, falls, becomes
a valiant white mare, unbridled, with golden mane
thrown back, muscles tense, hooves beating the air,
now a swan, snowy wings stretched and reaching for ambient light
beyond the jaundiced glow of beer-stained decay;
and now
the tiger, crouched outside my door at night when I lie
sleepless in my bed, holding my breath and straining to hear,
praying it's the gentle click of a cockroach spooking around
in some shopping bags by the door
Flecks of gold-esque paint and the od
:iconjkomando:jkomando
:iconjkomando:jkomando 2 2
day dream :icontoadsmoothy2:Toadsmoothy2 266 84
Literature
whose femme
A body shaped like a pocketwatch,
fat and distended with truth,
blunt fingers swipe at the sky
and slash battered laughlines
shaped like trees.
With skin like a blood pomagranate
beneath a sliver of moon, wrinkled with frozen
lash-tips that stand like soldiers cannibalized
with frost; a woman is a shimmer of a thing,
brief and incessant, pockmarked with mortality.
I will lick the morning from your heels
and follow the savage beating
of toe-shaped drums that hack and spit
a blueish rhythm.
It is steeped in veins
and has the curved spine
of an old woman,
azure fluid on the way
to the spirit, it tiptoes
up the vertebrae-- I have supported
the haggard weight of 10 righteous men
whose breath cradled the dawn with savage delight--
she was a woman too, like pregnant rocks
and soft-pored puddles.
The wrists of nature are thin,
and attached to nothing.
:iconRoulle:Roulle
:iconroulle:Roulle 2 8

Activity


deviantID

Faulky
Faulky
Artist
Australia
Current Residence: Podunk
Operating System: Windows '87
Shell of choice: jewel-encrusted tortoise
Wallpaper of choice: french hotel
Skin of choice: bare
Personal Quote: Only dull people are brilliant at breakfast
Interests
Recently (today) finished, after MANY stops and starts, the draft of my second attempt at a novel manuscript. I've opened a blog, my first true blog in a long time. you can find it here mindfaulk.blogspot.com/

There I'll be keeping updates on the work's progress, as well as a whole mix of other things: journals, observations, reviews, impressions, whatever else comes to mind. I'll largely be dividing my online time between that and twitter ( twitter.com/Faulky_ ). The facebook page I opened in April has unfortunately been closed due to a lack of interest, not least of all on the part of the creator.

No new poetry lately I'm afraid, though travelling overseas next month so I should muster some ideas up. Hoping, as always, to get back to this. Not sure when I will.

Lastly, hope you all had a good Christmas, and of course for tomorrow, to all a happy new year :)

best wishes
  • Reading: The Counterfeiters - Gide

Comments


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:iconpenessence:
Penessence Featured By Owner Mar 9, 2010
Hey thanks so much for the watch :)
Reply
:iconnotyoursteppinstone:
NotYourSteppinStone Featured By Owner Feb 16, 2009
Thanks for the watch!
Reply
:iconblue-bard:
Blue-Bard Featured By Owner Jan 26, 2009
Thanks for the :+fav:
Reply
:icondamnseagull:
DamnSeagull Featured By Owner Jan 13, 2009  Student Filmographer
Thanks for the fav :-D...
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:iconfaulky:
Faulky Featured By Owner Jan 13, 2009
no problem :)
Reply
:icontheactionindex:
TheActionIndex Featured By Owner Dec 8, 2008
Sorry it's taken me so long to respond. Been a bit trapped in the flow of things.

Firstly, I greatly appreciate your kind words regarding my work. It's evident that you understand the purpose of poetry, especially through your own work. You're not a fraudulent abuser of the written word, nor a literary blowhard obsessed with concrete form and correctness, thus I value your input greatly.

In terms of your poetry, what I appreciate most is the imagery, whereas a great deal of poetry obsesses over the verbatim expression of certain emotions. I prefer narrative works of poetry over anything else.
Reply
:iconshichi-reifujin:
shichi-reifujin Featured By Owner Nov 24, 2008
Thanks for watching me! I promise to get some more writing up soon.
Reply
:iconrunfromthelight:
runfromthelight Featured By Owner Nov 15, 2008  Hobbyist Writer
Thank you so much for the kind support.

Much love from the UK =)

xx
Reply
:iconfaulky:
Faulky Featured By Owner Nov 16, 2008
You're most welcome :D thank-you for writing, I look forward to reading more of your work.

your Australian admirer :P
Reply
:iconcadynho:
cadynho Featured By Owner Nov 11, 2008  Hobbyist General Artist
thanx for the fav
Reply
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