I travel in circles but never move far, I mark who you are, yet I’m not a scar. I can call without speaking, bind without rope, A small shining loop, or a sound filled with hope. What am I?

Without our first, we're mealy grains. Without our second, we dangle. Without our third, a forum's banes. Without our fourth, we strangle. Without our fifth, we're almost beat, But all together, we're fleet!

Take away my second, and I’m a crunchy main ingredient in a lunch menu item. Or the last name of an eighties dancing man, who may need to tighten a body part. As a whole, I’m something that’s used as a signal for directing or warning. I’m usually quite bright!

You'll often find synthetic versions of me in your favorite coat or vest, A famous golden me once launched Jason and the Argonauts' fateful quest.

Golden rows stand tall in the field, whispering secrets of the harvest. I dance within the kettle, and pop to bring joy on nights of flickering screens.