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Seán Mac Falls Apr 2021
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I wanted to know the sighs
Of mercy.  On the bed she lied,
Laid bare in the shocking light
That twitches, as she rolls
I hover and cage her in question,
With moist eyes, abandoned
By loves interrogations,
I stab at the untruths and confusions.
I wanted to hear the supplicant
Murmur of indolence and shame.
With windy caresses I break
Her arms, she ropes me red
In tangled hair and I struggle
To let go.  I wanted to taste
The twin defeats of victory
And indifference, when in the light
Of darkest night there are cries of yes
And no and false accusations,
There is consuming pain and excruciating
Pleasure and as we squirm
And seethe, she teases,
Goading me and then,
I loose it.
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Seán Mac Falls Feb 2021
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In braze, silent breeze of dreams incantations,
Shiva arms sway in the forest dark, mushroom,
Cloud, lord with fungi, mosses whose clinging
Shades of branches, braids deep, forking stories
Of old, brooding cauldron Druids, sidles Eastern
Spindrift words of Sanskrit spake, told in veined
Sacred hands unfound, celestial spines, moulded
Green, in the windy monkish statutes of the fallen
And single handed claps of the missionary leaves.
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The hazel's unusual branch formations make it a delight to ponder, and was often used for inspiration in art, as well as poetry.

The bards, ovates and druids of the Celtic day would intently observe its crazy curly-Q branches. Doing this would lead them into other worlds of delightful fantasy. Much the same way our modern imaginations can be captured by a good movie, the creative Celts were artistically motivated by the seemingly random and wild contortions of the hazel.

A more commonly known fact is that the hazel is considered a container of ancient knowledge. Ingestion of the hazel nuts is proposed to induce visions, heightened awareness and lead to epiphanies. Indeed, the legend of Fionn Mac Cumhail tells of his gaining the wisdom of the universe by simply coming in contact with the essence of the hazel nut.
Seán Mac Falls Jan 2021
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The wind carries its soft dirge
Out to sea, across a lamented
Land of bones and vail memory,
Sea birds sail in solitary griefs—
Above the loam that light darkens
As each soot year is lowly churned.

And the slate stones are mossed,
Like trees that no one is hearing,
In forests bereft, unto the shawls
Of ferns as they bleed in the dank
Undergrowths of sorrels and ****
Curling in trite, pale green contritions.

In cemetery lots, the dead are ******,
Intoxicated on their lost beds of lime,
Where trees surround in wrangled keeps
And bare feet's are buried by the spades,
With the untrod grasses, trimmed like nails
And the daisies that rain from the ground.
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Seán Mac Falls Dec 2020
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The worst betrayals,
Do lurk in familiars—
From those of your kin.
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Seán Mac Falls Dec 2020
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By the clouded wall
enameled form
is dearly gathered
into amber vase
stretching light
out of salt shadow,
the mind is carried,
clear into shy awakening,
by the once indifferent room,
anointing the eye.
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from Wikipedia:
More than simply putting flowers in a container, ikebana is a disciplined art form in which nature and humanity are brought together. Contrary to the idea of a particolored or multicolored arrangement of blossoms, ikebana often emphasizes other areas of the plant, such as its stems and leaves, and puts emphasis on shape, line, and form. Though ikebana is an expression of creativity, certain rules govern its form.
Seán Mac Falls Dec 2020
(Sonnet)

Had a friend and she was life, held bewitching,
Came a time we could not hide ruthless feelings.
In a masque we swirled without words, flailing,
Our rooms ignited in tempered darkness alighted.

And fingers grew flighty in Fae bodies shrunk,
Diving into pools of water and silks, breathless—
Gasping for the sun that waited in white windows
On the bark sailing by breached shores of evergreen.

How time passes as it rakes, jarring the spun soul?
What bliss is felt as strung bodies creep into being,
Leaving the shrapnel of loss, airy touches unbound,
Wanting to die immortal in moments already gone?

Then came the morning dirges like an ashen shower,
A firebird breaking— wrest in the heats of a blown star.
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Seán Mac Falls Nov 2020
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Man of science,
Only sees what is there,
Wants to build the fence.

Man of religion,
Out of nothing sees everything,
Wants to envision the fence.

Man of philosophy,
Out of everything sees nothing,
Wants to sit on the fence.
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