Warren Falcon

Silver Star - 4,409 Points (04/23/52 - xxxx / Spartanburg, South Carolina, USA)

Warren Falcon Quotes

  • ''What is all this singing bathed in tears born of
    tremendous desire and fear? Whose arms would
    hold fast and safe, embracement against the brace
    of all us we fallen stars who do burn out brightly
    or, more like me, privately in quarters counting
    days as if each is the last until that dread thing
    finally enters, after a life time of daily threats
    and close escapes, with hopeful relief?

    Hopefully there will be no buyer's remorse for purchase of Death.

    ''Here, '' I'll try to say 'ponst that day',
    (one must become Shakespearean in such company,
    last payment on the installment plan) ,

    ''Here's breath for you. I tried to use it well.''''
    from 'Here's Breath For You - Upon Purchase & Buyer's Remorse - A Letter Poem To Lowery McClendon'
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  • ''I am the older sister, and ugly.

    I watch the sea by the wall,
    yearn for each tide's return.

    I walk the surf in all weather
    and spend myself amidst

    the sea wrack screaming
    with the tern and the dove.

    I count my white hairs by the
    sea weighing each for love.''
    from 'Three For Cemetery Statues By The Atlantic, Falmouth, Massachusetts 1977'
  • ''Roses diminish before your
    bare feet treading upon a serpent,
    a tourniquet of gold each ankle
    entwining.

    Virgin stars minus 5 surround
    your curved shape defiant of robes
    meant to convey the holy restraining
    in my groin.

    Odd collections mount in the attic
    where I retire to cloister and wait.

    Leaden pilgrimage up and down pointless
    stairs accumulate distance.

    My beard becomes a convention of lepers and bells.


    Fingernail parings

    clumps of hair

    bits of flesh

    sacks of ears


    all are relics in the making.''
    from ' The Year I Almost Became A Catholic'
  • ''Admit you are no good at numbers.
    Admit you can only count to a certain sum,
    or down to it. Reverse your life if you want to,
    wind it down with a memory. Beef up the end.
    Noble or not, you can fake it.
    Planning is what counts for indemnity.
    You can make it seem to make sense.
    You can try a new line on every stranger you meet.
    You've only begun to juggle Euclid anew under
    white lids painted shut with mortician's abacus.

    You know a new counting accounting for fainter signs,
    new ground to flick numbers between your teeth.
    What's left behind is now wrong.''
    from ' Autumnal Math'
  • ''I am right now to speak
    of this, retrieving the soap
    which clings one strand
    your hair tangled there,
    a cypher I read
    with joy grown
    long into cleaner
    disorder

    a leaf upon the
    bathroom floor
    blown in through
    the night window
    random now
    for discovery
    a gift

    I bring it to
    you calling to
    me from the
    bedroom
    as you pack
    fumbled upon
    the unmade
    bed,

    'Are you hungry? '''
    from 'Are You Hungry - A Poem For Departure'
  • ''All hurt now stings twilight quaked into being.
    Your breath falls upon me now, taut, sinew,
    bruising hands, purple insides flare warrior nerves
    to unknotting surprise.

    Magpie dances.

    Lines, veins, strung between Pole Star
    and First River Mouth, an embedded ruin uncovers in milk floods.
    Touch gently first what has been too long concealed.

    Hard touch congeals once was telling mud remolded into
    "Not again. Not yet the bleeding Centurion."
    Wield roughly then through gates too long shut.

    When I cry out, do not mind. Blindly ram. Do not stop.

    Magpie, my keeper, is flying.''
    from 'Archeology - What The Stele Says Upon Taking A Much Younger Lover'
  • ''Scattering wind over bending blades,
    I grieve still her leaving,
    feel its weight as I see scattered ones
    on benches in the park, asleep,
    one wretched man huddling where
    a band of young musicians tune
    their instruments for song…

    ..It appears to be ended
    but as grass shows there is
    a forming wisdom and the same,

    Desire

    The fire in our house of living rages
    and we cannot come out of our own accord.
    The event of her going is a beckoning
    to see the flame leaping so let's creep
    toward the Green and be silent
    but if we cannot be then let us be as she,
    frail and tender, lifting voices up
    in the greening shadow''
    from ' The LoRuhamah Poems - Her Death Discordant'
  • ''In the shorter light,

    in the extended night of
    cold and star-bright questions,
    may you cast

    clumsy net forward
    into what it all might mean
    to fretted you,

    to me, stretched
    canvas, though I will
    not thrust these

    words upon your
    paint or palette but
    make offering for

    your own work
    to feed us through
    the eyes''
    from 'Poem For Caravaggio - Contemplating 'Conversion On The Way To Damascus' At 4 A.M.'
  • ''yet burns no desert

    impervious to heat of

    all kinds, even human,

    excepting the heart,

    its capacities to startle''
    from ' The Empress Of Contrails Writes Upon Darkness - Anxiety Of Influence'
  • ''Punished flesh leans into ground.

    Our roots there
    ungrieved are
    ungrieved still.

    ..I remain stuck in King James,
    entangled in lyrical tongues,
    Revelation's old virgin.''
    from 'The Nyro Poems - Majestic'

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Best Poem of Warren Falcon

David To Jonathan, A Lost Psalm Recovered, Recent Translation, Circa 1978

'And it came to pass...that the soul of Jonathan was knit with the soul of David, and Jonathan loved him as his own soul...Then Jonathan and David made a covenant, because he loved him as his own soul. And Jonathan stripped himself of the robe that was upon him, and gave it to David, and his garments, even to his sword, and to his bow, and to his girdle.'
- 1 Samuel 18: 1 - 4 King James Bible

The Lost Psalm


This ancient tonguing
betrays some fault
disdaining the human world -

which occurred first,
the birthing or the wounding?

Abjuring flesh of...

Read the full of David To Jonathan, A Lost Psalm Recovered, Recent Translation, Circa 1978

Autumnal Math

The ground assumes its portent.
The good of the season remains in what is left behind.
It takes what lays down or is laid down upon it.
You'd think it a kind of king of accountants.
You'd sink down an addition of arithmetics,
heartbeats, breaths, footings found and lost,
all the unintended landings of a life.

You'd think it wouldn't stop.

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