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 Jun 2013
Seán Mac Falls
Seeing eyes at night  .  .  .
Sentinel owl gliding strikes—
Mouse under dead leaves.
 Jun 2013
Seán Mac Falls
Striped wings scythe, sailing across
The late summer sky, wraithing kites
Wrangle with nimbus streams streak,
Banded birds knowing of deaths trace,
One can see such sound which circles
Make, def cries low by an insects wake.
 Jun 2013
Seán Mac Falls
Four crows, black on cloud,
Dark, sordid wings parry and ******—
Murdering white skies.
 Jun 2013
Seán Mac Falls
He walks in stolid darknesses
At days zenith, hears whispers
In the dew dusted fens, lights
Leaves into sun candle flames,
Drew a lake sword by maidens
Hand, alchemic shaper of water,
Air, old fires and earth, bending
Cold elements of moly and lode
Rushing forth, in extra emotions.
 Jun 2013
Seán Mac Falls
Snowy crags and tarns,
Puffed clouds blistering sun,
  .  .  .  Penultimate heaven.
In Norse mythology, Bifröst (Bifrost in Scandinavia) or sometimes Bilröst, is a burning rainbow bridge that reaches between Midgard (the world) and Asgard, the realm of the gods.
 Jun 2013
Seán Mac Falls
After days of rain,
Garden birds flicker— sparkle,
Lighted by the sun.
 Jun 2013
Seán Mac Falls
I tried to capture you
In the forests of Donegal,
Your bark of hair, red, so dark,
Was smear, camouflage, and window
Into a lost Fae world made as I was sinking
Without ever knowing, falling, without fear
Years later, you have long left and I still
Breathe in a wooden box of dream.
In Celtic folklore, the Irish: leannán sí "Barrow-Lover" (Scottish Gaelic: leannan sìth; Manx: lhiannan shee; [lʲan̴̪-an ˈʃiː]) is a beautiful woman of the Aos Sí (people of the barrow or the fairy folk) who takes a human lover. Lovers of the leannán sídhe are said to live brief, though highly inspired, lives. The name comes from the Gaelic words for a sweetheart, lover, or concubine and the term for a barrow or fairy-mound.

The leanan sídhe is generally depicted as a beautiful muse, who offers inspiration to an artist in exchange for their love and devotion; however, this frequently results in madness for the artist, as well as premature death.
 Jun 2013
Seán Mac Falls
Deep in the chalk of gloaming flame,
The tawn and pale, of moan and loon,
Where under leaves of forest shades,
The crescent rails of the riding moon,
Here is when the quick blood running
Drains with shear seepings and looks,
With eyes agape, small game stunned
Over pines and green hemlock wood,
The ferryman wings and clawing tears,
Whose silent strike and low red raking
Blasts unto an indifferent lane of peers,
This is the house of apparition's name,
A mages fugue, muffled muses reprise;
The **** song which creeps as sun dies.
 Jun 2013
Seán Mac Falls
Wildcat bobs, circles,
Briars twined with stalks and reeds,
Red wings— black birds fall.
 Jun 2013
Seán Mac Falls
I stack the round stones
From the river, my sculpture grows—
Crow will knock it down.
 Jun 2013
Seán Mac Falls
Haze of cloud, light rain dropping cauls—
And nowhere is betraying sun to be seen,
Drowned streets, are pathways of shawl,
Low scapes of shun— wind caries a keen.
 Jun 2013
Seán Mac Falls
The tamed light describes
The counting of the moon,
It softly burns the white
Shadowed walls in my loft,
Foot falls sound in the cramp,
The dry creeks spell black,
The spinning clocks twine
As the river drains, staining
My pebbled rug.

                                 Sea birds
Cry from the other roofs’ top.
The muffled baying sound
Circles with the roiling fog,
A commotion of vapour swells
In my floating clouded minds
Eye, youth springs at night
And old age, ropes a dry well
In the merest morning.
 May 2013
Seán Mac Falls
Sun snuffed in cloud days,
Sloe black crows perishing grey,
  .  .  .  Dirge plays in silence.
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