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Seán Mac Falls Jun 2012
1

The chards rising.  Am I the praying bird?
In the gleaming sun my bones are negative,
My flesh a cypher walking through the plains
As ghost I move, my dark lord, above me
Flocks swirl and spike. I stand accused,
Your pointed face divining oblivion,
And no redemption in the rains of my
Cliff walk days.


2

I see my shroud pinning on the wires
His legs are razored forks spinning my
Compass from True North. Your dark brush-
Fire wings, the swept wind, wheels and strings
My fate. Such black rhetoric in a burn,
Your caws, loosed perches, on the stakes, picks
My crowning grave. Black dove, your feathers finger
As they slice.


3

Smoke, the cardinal blood caries my teething
Bone, spades my hand without a flight.
Taut, the pulled noose my hooded one
I see my scarecrow’s reflexion, the scar,
Let blood, the seeded droppings end trailed
To my door. Feathers, ferry to carry on
Dowsing downward, black knight of down, to sticks
On extended wings.
Psychosa Jun 2022
It was not me
who you loved.

It was not me who you saw,
but rather the mirror you put before me.

It was not my voice you heard,
but rather your own echo.

The mirror you held between us was fragile.
Slowly it began to crack.
Each time I held you closer,
the mirror began to disintegrate.

The more the mirror began to break,
The more you saw me.
But you cannot stand to not stare
at your own reflection.

As the mirror shattered,
so did my heart.
You picked up the chards and threw them to my skin.
For you do not see the blood coursing through my veins,
but rather the lack of yourself.

For it was not me who you loved,
but rather your
mirror.
Seán Mac Falls Oct 2012
1

The chards rising.  Am I the praying bird?
In the gleaming sun my bones are negative,
My flesh a cypher walking through the plains
As ghost I move, my dark lord, above me
Flocks swirl and spike. I stand accused,
Your pointed face divining oblivion,
And no redemption in the rains of my
Cliff walk days.


2

I see my shroud pinning on the wires
His legs are razored forks spinning my
Compass from True North. Your dark brush-
Fire wings, the swept wind, wheels and strings
My fate. Such black rhetoric in a burn,
Your caws, loosed perches, on the stakes, picks
My crowning grave. Black dove, your feathers finger
As they slice.


3

Smoke, the cardinal blood caries my teething
Bone, spades my hand without a flight.
Taut, the pulled noose my hooded one
I see my scarecrow’s reflexion, the scar,
Let blood, the seeded droppings end trailed
To my door. Feathers, ferry to carry on
Dowsing downward, black knight of down, to sticks
On extended wings.
Seán Mac Falls Dec 2014
1

The chards rising.  Am I the praying bird?
In the gleaming sun my bones are negative,
My flesh a cypher walking through the plains
As ghost I move, my dark lord, above me
Flocks swirl and spike. I stand accused,
Your pointed face divining oblivion,
And no redemption in the rains of my
Cliff walk days.


2

I see my shroud pinning on the wires
His legs are razored forks spinning my
Compass from True North. Your dark brush-
Fire wings, the swept wind, wheels and strings
My fate. Such black rhetoric in a burn,
Your caws, loosed perches, on the stakes, picks
My crowning grave. Black dove, your feathers finger
As they slice.


3

Smoke, the cardinal blood caries my teething
Bone, spades my hand without a flight.
Taut, the pulled noose my hooded one
I see my scarecrow’s reflexion, the scar,
Let blood, the seeded droppings end trailed
To my door. Feathers, ferry to carry on
Dowsing downward, black knight of down, to sticks
On extended wings.
Seán Mac Falls Feb 2013
1

The chards rising.  Am I the praying bird?
In the gleaming sun my bones are negative,
My flesh a cypher walking through the plains
As ghost I move, my dark lord, above me
Flocks swirl and spike. I stand accused,
Your pointed face divining oblivion,
And no redemption in the rains of my
Cliff walk days.


2

I see my shroud pinning on the wires
His legs are razored forks spinning my
Compass from True North. Your dark brush-
Fire wings, the swept wind, wheels and strings
My fate. Such black rhetoric in a burn,
Your caws, loosed perches, on the stakes, picks
My crowning grave. Black dove, your feathers finger
As they slice.


3

Smoke, the cardinal blood caries my teething
Bone, spades my hand without a flight.
Taut, the pulled noose my hooded one
I see my scarecrow’s reflexion, the scar,
Let blood, the seeded droppings end trailed
To my door. Feathers, ferry to carry on
Dowsing downward, black knight of down, to sticks
On extended wings.
Perig3e Feb 2011
a poem is not a ***
made of potter's clay
shaped by spinning
against an artist's clever hand,
nor as useful as a fired cup or plate,
but if a poem should fall to ground
it will not break,
should it find a broken heart
it may collect the chards
and remake a loving vase.
All rights reserved by the author
Seán Mac Falls Jul 2013
1
The chards rising.  Am I the praying bird?
In the gleaming sun my bones are negative,
My flesh a cypher walking through the plains
As ghost I move, my dark lord, above me
Flocks swirl and spike. I stand accused,
Your pointed face divining oblivion,
And no redemption in the rains of my
Cliff walk days.


2
I see my shroud pinning on the wires
His legs are razored forks spinning my
Compass from True North. Your dark brush-
Fire wings, the swept wind, wheels and strings
My fate. Such black rhetoric in a burn,
Your caws, loosed perches, on the stakes, picks
My crowning grave. Black dove, your feathers finger
As they slice.


3
Smoke, the cardinal blood caries my teething
Bone, spades my hand without a flight.
Taut, the pulled noose my hooded one
I see my scarecrow’s reflexion, the scar,
Let blood, the seeded droppings end trailed
To my door. Feathers, ferry to carry on
Dowsing downward, black knight of down, to sticks
On extended wings.
Rose Petal Feb 2014
I loved him in pieces of me
Like bits of an empty leaded
Crystal vase
Clumsily glued together
He inched closer
Knowing
I could cut his soul in half
How could he say
That I was beautiful
Did he prefer
Broken things
Was he enticed
By the scattered prisms
Of light reflected back
In his eyes
Maybe he thought
He could dull
My razor-sharp edges
That he could catch
And hold onto me
Unscathed
He sought pleasure
Yet settled for pain
My colors danced
In the chards of mosaic glass
It beckoned him to reach out
Only to tear into his hands
Over and over again
A knowing look remained
As if he had graced me
With acceptance
And the last bit of me
Slipped from his grasp
And shattered
Like a billion shiny stars
Already dead
Before they hit the ground
He deserved more
Than empty
Bloodied hands
Not all things that shine
Are precious
Not all beautiful things
Are meant
To be touched
Geno Cattouse Sep 2014
Pulling chards and splinters from all four chambers all those missions.

All those submissions to loves demands.
Splinters deep fast asleep fast as a nordic frost setting deep in barren earth.

Rusted spikes driven in during days of sin. From brighter days and carefree obsessions. Keloids and scar tissue.

A do over ?

Ready.
Set.
Begin.
Riot Jun 2014
******* hole
in the chards of my heart

wondering will i ever be good enough

my life is a chore

adding on more and more

but that won't fill the void
Ashton Sky Sep 2014
that deep breath of defeat.
the one you inhale, and when you exhale its like all of the
hope
energy
effort
soul
you had left just leaves your body
and you feel empty
like whatever was left of you just dissipated into the air
and after that breath that you feel is your last, though you know isn't, you just stare
blank mind
no emotion
you feel nothing.

you take a single moment to almost leave earth
and travel to your own world
collect yourself and your thoughts
and then take another deep breath.

and that next deep breath
is the one that matters
the fact that you did continue breathing
continue fighting
continue achieving
chasing
living
feeling

you take that deep breath in
scrape up the chards left of your hope
pick up the pieces of your shattered faith
and find your lost energy
and you get up and go right back to hunting down your dreams without even a second thought.
Chris Dec 2018
She comes back to me

Like all hearts broken

By hands and a mind
Carelessly unraveling

Undeserving
Walking
On chards
Of glasslands

The words so pleasant
In sound waves

Traveling amongst tunnels
Where my guages used to hang

Exfoliate this given temple

When the feeling hits
And the meaning contradicts
The action shown

Dig a hole
12 feet deep

Cover a body
Bathe him in dirt

Fate says we're all deserving
Mark Bell Apr 2017
Barbed wire inside a silk purse.
A woman of beauty just a curse.
Eyes so piercing,chards of glass
Only the brave would touch her ****.
Cursed souls still they tried
For a glance of her beauty
They accepted and died.
We put her on a pedastol
Cancerous to the core
Medusa you are whom we adore
through the long lens we often will bask
into the trash...,
a gift to renew;
in borrowed basement pews

insde we often will ponder
a common call from up yonder
in velvet skies beneath the toil
transfixed with lucid dreams & hay

a ****** to ponder when my journey has ended
until that blessed face I see,
deeper then the gallows swallow
deeper then the ocean blue

as high as the eagle fly overhead
chards of flames of passionate conquest
swallow me deep beneath the orchids to parade
where mere mortals will confess

to woe beneath the glass
compass the reunion of the leaves
come quickly lest I refrain
onto the sabbath's duty will digest

the power of the union of friends
love is the essence of my meager existence shun the resistance
ever eager for battle grow to summon the cattle
crafted and created an **** of suspense

not to don nor straddle the fence
Amen to the solitude amidst the commands
my heart gives pause to enter into heaven's gate
call it my destiny nor meager fate,

when all of the flask & timber will end
I will see him on the other side
millions upon millions robed in white
forget the night for the day is far spent

out of every circumstance learn to take part in the dance
I exist as a vapor then I am no more
a challenge to be free is a question of time
only one life is soon to pass only what's done out of love shall surely last

bask in the vast expanse between time & space
face, eyes & hands
Hopefully someday all will understand ?
Sukanya Basu Aug 2021
I thought I put up a tent,
I racked up chains, chards and Chopard
It was inside of beast,
I Flared,
Flabbergasted, I knew there was
An indecent stare,

I put the candle and the pen in his pancreas,
And wore what was left of a man,
A writer is a friendly beast,
Beast he heard and he ran.

I Write of Sonia the Mexican peddler
Of two counts of forgery and what not,
A writer's guilt is that he forgets man,
And he becomes the God.
A writer's guilt is Bible's trouble
To determine a Lord.
in the dungeon of my mind stretched forth the enemy rob you blind
in certain pillars through the windows chased back the film of you heart
put your head down to magic through the pillars diced on a pond to caress to flight
nature from the regime through the range ace to a bass let us know
through sudden marks of here & now...,

made my claim for us to play
for us to stay a hook for shoes
bottom basement dear
cosmic cashmere sweater dear
nice to the range a pillar to scream
through leaves that pursuit in the humble

do a dance traverse to the dance penetrate in advance
a bridge a gap stay source through making some spaghetti
notice the vast energy come to sit next to me play it cool don't you see
sold out to madness called to sgut the casket through the chains we get grafted in

cry me a melody once to a work in history laying down don't you see
cash in advance you could ever factual screme crime with thunder to its extreme
called by silence through the edge in my mind loving turned around lift your head up high
like a closet arm band when to understand all the loop holes through each ballonn to mode

shaped back your dreams in the vanilla ice would help you think all shaped of a glossy permit
get a gloss show we are let to go through the closet cushion fold don't you know,
Dance through the cash advance a walk out the seperation all would end in jealously
some fall apart of the gay scene during its closet queen...,

Mercy me you closet queen for those to agree
painted faces filled with timeless ages
as long as you here some call it by fate
look out your window sought to march the windows

shades of black
chards of grey
sought for rice
a twist of the dice
wouldn't you like to know what's in you mind

running bases trains elated, closet windows hear the door bell swing
doors as to bow in the age of the fawn sister moon applaud..,
eat your fill give way toward song
shadows in the shining sun even hype to fill by song
weakness through the garbage in the pillar of your mind

adore ye
awakening thee
cash by the dream
pull await the closet queen

what words cuisine...
broad display
part single & deffinately gay
a trance at which to its historic way

pull toward the notion in good motive to turn
long to turn one will burn
collage in the spot through Gin
sweet closet queen

rhymes we mix through a shade of a door
kicking it down with a two bit *****
be at tops with the pops
can be at the top of society fence
away far in a trance
fate in a trance
away...

my lover sought through the timber bush
I only date women but I'm hooked with a song
bisexual nor down beat *****,
spring through the hedges
look to the stars you grow bars
time well spent with thought

alive she cried sought a radio flow beneath the brains
Signal the phone fare from home...

Savor the shower cool as the wire
Shadows the plot thinking a lot;

lone rivers to each run
the cascading falls to rivers edge,

1984
a shadow escape to grab the bait
through barrren sky a slight lulabye

People swing open chards of food to display;
love is the condition to let things go
parade through the historic swing
silence is some what a virtue,

comedy stuck inside of me
George Orwell spins to turn
right to the edge of time
brace for the opinion
shallow pool of gold

1984
my stomach swell
engaged on puree hell
follow faces to cling to gold
spreading beat the news
credit launched to case...
Twisting your roundabout flows
into hazy smoky rooms
where consciousness then grows
without reducing one gloom.
silent gloom among the never world
left safety for personal freedom
Chards of pure relation there comes the disco

Simpe minds with simple taste
ice cream cake has left a dent
send forth the *****...
stop the prejudice,
Heather Moon Jun 2023
I seem to look for you
In all places I go
Sometimes I cling
To the memory of your
flesh
Your beating heart and gentle hands

But what is there to cling to now?
Its all just
Dust dust dust

So the walls in my home
Are dust
The mantelsills and coffee cups
Are all just
Dust dust dust
And I wait for you in that old familiar chair
Covered in
dust dust dust
For these days it is the only thing
I know how to cling to
And I want to hold onto something
But even then
A gust of wind easily blows through
these fragile walls
And scatters
The dust dust dust

I look for you
Everywhere I go
On my wedding day, my graduation, even in my lonely walks
Looking
For you
Looking for
dust dust dust

Particles of stardust
Blowing in the wind



I go to peculiar places to see if I can find you
Like hospitals
But all I see is the clinging
That familiar feeling
That itches deep in my belly
The clawing kind of sorrow

As if we could hold onto a piece of mortal flesh forever
As if life was eternal
And I do believe it is eternal
But it's all just eternal
dust dust dust

So I cling to dust instead
of the impermanence of
flesh and bones
But its hard when I remember
How beautiful a hug can be
Just how beautiful a hug can be
And how I long for my heart to touch yours again
How I long to be met by you
Not this dust
The emptiness
Of the night greeting me again

I see you in my dreams often
I wake up crying
With my remembering
I still reach out
Only to find the dust dust dust

I try and stay in old homes where there is more dust
Where there are stories etched into the floors and walls
I cling to your dust
I keep it close to my heart
I gather it in my basket of hopes and prayers just as I gather the seeds for my garden

But sometimes there are these empty mornings like today
When I wake up alone
And there is no dust
In this home
And I have nothing to cling to
Just sprawled out naked
Before the sea of life

So I went to watch the sunrise
Which still hadn't dawned
And I reached out to the sky
Because I miss you
Like an aching in my soul
It's like I swallowed chards of glass
When i realize you aren't here



I never looked forward to dying
But here I am
And who knows if there is heaven
Or if I'll be reborn
And even then
You may not be with me
Maybe I'll wake up one day and it will all just be
dust dust dust
Whispered like a cute joke from the creator
That I need to wrap myself around for a while to understand

There is a gift in creators whisper
The dust that spirit blows every which way
And so I hold my hand out to the sunrise
Feeling the dawning warmth glisten and the birds echoe

And I try not to cling this time
Though I ache to hold something
Instead I try to know
That everywhere I go
And every sparkle and glimmer I see
Is this
dust dust dust
From every dancing tree and blooming rose bush
Every twinkle in an eye
And a heart bursting open
There is
Dust dust dust

I felt you
All around me this morning
So I let go
Of the dust to which I cling
Only to find  more
Dust dust dust
Like a reminder
That you
Are everywhere and in everything
Just as we all are never that far away.

— The End —