S. J. Fulton
Biography of S. J. Fulton
Former career USN officer (Vietnam era) , now member of Vietnam Veterans Against the War, Veterans for Peace. Divorced. One married son, Gulf War veteran. A granddaughter. Began writing, editing, illustrating in grammar school, continued until retirement. 20+ books & government pamphlets, articles, illustrations in books and magazines, poetry published in 'little magazines'. Active in Unitarian Universalist church, economic & social justice, peace & alternate energy. Haven't watched TV in years. BA Linguistics (English) : MA Medieval History and Philosophy.
S. J. Fulton's Works:
Power Unlimited-or P.U. (comic book, wrote & illustrated, EAE) : Save Energy: Save Money (U.S. Govt) : Producing Your Own Power (editor & contributor, Rodale) : Alternative Sources of Energy: Practical Technology and Philosophy for a Decentralized Society (Seabury) : Royal Castle Building in Medieval England (SCA booklet) : The Path of Knowledge (Unitarian Universalist Assoc.) , etc.
S. J. Fulton Poems
Here on this island, summer never sleeps. In the green valleys, smoke in cane-time drifts With mist—frail tide that laps the chasmed deeps Between the steep clean hills as the sea-tide
Sonnet: To Emily Dickinson
She speaks for those who cannot speak at all, For those upon whom fate and chance have fed, Yet whose mute hearts since the Couple’s fall Have sought the golden apples, not the red.
More than thirty years have come and gone. Phony patriots still sell out America, chop at the Constitution with Dark Age axes, poison the air and water,
Concerning Joe Mccarthy
The seeking mind’s not only quite uncouth, But shamelessly subversive, so they say; It wastes the enterprising years of youth On heresies. But who are they
A Woman In A Very Hostile Land
She’s eighteen, she gets married, Up till then life was varied, But that’s how life goes as far as she knows, A woman in a very hostile land.
O Oil Slick
O oil slick, O oil slick, You make a pretty rainbow. O oil slick, O oil slick, You give me such a pain, though.
Mr. Wenceslas went out From his door one morning. So much smog was round about He couldn’t see the dawning.
Song Of The Exiles
Listen cousins, and daughters and sons, This is the song of the exiled ones. Run away to the mountain, go hide in the cave,
A Knight Curses God In The 1361 Plague
When I was a young esquire, O God, as battle raged on every side of me, I stood upon a hill of heads and limbs and stared to see you grinning in the clouds,
Staten Island summer. Lawns dry and bleached as sand, leaves withering like wrinkled old men while we sog and sweat
Sonnet To J.L. #5
Let us spare ourselves from even brief Regrets when we remember our last night Together; nor should we regret the grief Our parting caused us. No one can say
Sonnet To J.L. #1
I wonder why your ships are painted green While ours are gray? I’ve heard some sailors say That swift ships, camouflaged, can move unseen Against the sea. Strange, though, it’s always cold gray
The Hills Of Aiea
To the hills of Aiea, Kamehameha came, Lord of his people on isles beyond his seeing. Shading his eyes, the king stood cloaked in fame And crowned by a curious crested feathered helm.
Staten Island summer.
Lawns dry and bleached as sand,
leaves withering like wrinkled old men
while we sog and sweat
in air thick as a bathtub sponge.
How can so much water hang in the hot sky
for so many weeks,
sculpting endless clouds
that tease with sly promise,