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Seán Oct 2016
I'm uttering auditory caresses on a payphone, short changed
baying for blood with clenched fists as though blood has congealed in the palm.
Time passes and the mechanism sets into motion,
beeping sounds, sirens for the sentient beast to be feed.
Coppers flung loosely into the gaping mouth,
slowly realising the distance in the echo of the voicemail.

Terrified due to the subdued paroxysms deciding to undulate,
the robin looks to me, for its prototype as the breast swells.
I'm looking in dreams for an escape,
an alternative phantasm, our oscillating hands through the tulip field;,
But I’m scared as our love is falling into sepia landscapes.
The robin sheds its feathers like deciduous leaves and lapses into clay..

Wake up alone in stained bedding where it seems I was not always in solitude,
it's like the sinews of my dreams were torn and you fell within the corporeal world
as I slumbered, unloosening the rags in which I slept, letting me hold the forms of you
that I wish I held, the ones I lost so long ago, and when I am conscious
I beseech you to stay; I'm losing the fragments of who you were and you're losing words and
I’m losing myself, an appendage wilting, disconnected from the whole.

I'm still here, payphone to payphone, I left my charging device at yours
but I'm too scared to knock on your door like it were my own jaw,
and how many dreams have I opened that door to find you there,
you ******* magnolia beam, you lingering sunlight, you nefarious glow,
opened the door to find you there with your hands yearning for me, talking to me
in a ciphered rhapsody, a fading voice in a crumbling periphery;

the saturation of dreams through reality.
small piece I read out at some small poetry night. Not great but something.
Seán Jul 2014
Our nights of assessing God,
With our heads conjoined to the windowpanes,
Our thoughts permeating throughout the glass.
Two lukewarm coffees embellished the windowsill,
The synthesis of our cognition and entwined fingers,
The soft touch of shoulders leaning upon each other,
Brought forth beatific vision, we saw God;
His blemished flesh, the formation of his bones.

It began,
His vertebral column, intangible lights, the Aurora Borealis.
His archaic vertebrae, stained in ethereal fluorescence;
The curvature, swirling, as the Deity writhes in euphoria,
A childish game,
Our God, content in the night.

His hands, formed from the dust of Bethlehem,
Grains of sand corralling to form flesh upon the detritus of Rome.
His Holy land, The Vatican; Structures of marble and stone,
Merely his cupped hands,
As his disciples' feet caress his palms.

His organs; The planets in orbit;
His heart, our sun.
The rays of light that adorn our skin,
Merely the palpitations of a hidden pulsating heart.
his divinity,  subject of uncertainty in the petulant eyes of his children
walking in Terra Incognita.

His skin, Lo, to the stars;
Our hands yearned to touch the celestial freckles,
outstretched to feel the fibres of God;
And like our limbs, so did God outstretch,
his flesh, but space; suffusing within the translucent contours of the cosmos.

To be told we were made in the image of God, is to be deceived;
Our childish conjecturing, truly a theorem to be displaced,
Our augmented minds, illuminated;
An aureole behind our heads,
We became biblical as we touched lips by the mantelpiece.
A small piece.
Seán Jul 2014
Some days the sky is a glass chalice we hold between our lips to take a sip
The palliative qualities divine in nature are seeping through the subtle splits on the surface of our palms
Fleeting textures suffuse through our quivering hands
Various hues illustrate the wrists as they coil upon the cadaverous structure
Outlining our internal scaffolding with diverse shades
Colours ricochet within our human receptacles
Our bodies are prisms allowing the light of the sun to shine
Beams break forth from the orifice that rests upon our undistinguished faces
Reminders of what is within splintering through every available opening
Wandering rays rendezvous at the core of the chest
Exploring uncharted paths on the geography of our physical selves
Transcendent roads vague to our periphery  
Slowly defining their forms on the outskirts of our wearied retinas
Our illuminated minds, embodying the sun  
candescent stones fortified by layers of bone meant to hold their fluorescence
Our organic beams of light, such tender arms, lingering in the punctured sky
are using the clouds as paintbrushes, pieced together bits of mosaic already at their disposal
Our backs resting on abstract clay with shifting pastels, whispering clarity into our cartilage
leftover laments torn apart to bits with the newfound realization that we are whole.
Like unearthed clairvoyance, we survey the translucent waters before us
peering into the stillness our bodies disrupt like the pillars of beautiful dissonance they are
A collaboration with Michelle Bellanova (@Bellan0va on twitter)
Seán Jun 2014
Rivulets of smoke lacerate the atmosphere as weary limbs embellish the plain;
soft flesh embedded within the dark soil.
Our wrists tarnished by the exposure to air as we kept them secrets to the wailing winds,
we feared the noise that hit the window panes as children.
We writhe within our grained bedding as we glimpse at the past
as we are met with consternation for the future.
The sunset kisses our skin, as though to elongate our presence in its gaze.
We find ourselves satiated, our bodies lapsing into lethargic planks.
The taste of wine rested on our lips as we presented ourselves to glass bottle tops;
our laughter vibrated throughout the hills; our bursts of noise ricocheted,
returned to us, and allowed us to perpetuate our curious canvas of joy.  

Clouds scuttle by in the wind as though fearing to ruin our sight of the sky lost in various hues.
The birds’ songs became whispers; their secrecy only augmenting the beauty.
The paws of foxes created a rhythm of which our fingertips complied,
dancing upon the grass as the wind caressed our skin.
Our phantasms became entwined with our realities,
our palms touched and seemed bound by twine.

Such a sequence ended with the ascension of our bodies from the floor;
the moon sighed at the loss of a picture.
The wind exhaled and clouds wept,
the birds lost their songs and the foxes ran to the foliage.
We found ourselves lost but in being lost we found ourselves.
With strong hearts, swelled chests and cleared eyes,
we left the borders of vision.
Originally posted on

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