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Jun 1 · 180
Shelter my eyes, with lighted skin,
Touch me with printed flame, rapt
In songs of joy, for I am unarmed,

Lift me to the spiral keeps of soul,
Spires thrusting in hearts firmament,
Set free in curled locks of your hair,

Let us be new as babes are nestled,
Long in the pines of the bristlecones,
Ageless and evergreen in cloudy bed,

Close the lids of night in sensate blue,
In eyes piercing painted skies of dark,
See my shroud cast out with the dawn.
Bristlecone pines are known for attaining great ages.  Some bristlecone pine individuals are more than 5,000 years old and are the oldest known individuals of any species. Bristlecone pine grow in scattered subalpine groves at high altitude in arid regions of the Western United States.
May 5 · 123
Flailing Joy
Like trees when friends meet
Windy gesticulations . . .
The heartbeat of boughs
May 5 · 98
Without rains sun pools
Unruly lilacs next door
Feeds ambrosia
May 2 · 198
May Flies
In my darkest hour, by the rage of sun,
I met her in a shower of April days,
Riding to the moon in twined études,
The dry chrysalis of winter shells
Gave way to lightness, glaze,
The rain in our eyes, amaze,
Her voice as it fluted, broke,
Like feathers from a wandering bird,
Were my wings of iridescence and joy
And we were blind when we were born,
We were blind as bells of floating grace,
Lived forever by such a new shore,
Such ends of buzzing time,
As May flies.
May 1 · 355
To serve some Sake
Soft light bathing the mountains
Eyes gleam as we pour
From Wikipedia:
In Japan, where it is the national beverage, sake is often served with special ceremony, where it is gently warmed in a small earthenware or porcelain bottle and sipped from a small porcelain cup called a sakazuki.
Sake is often consumed as part of Shinto purification rituals. Sake is served to gods as offerings.
Apr 27 · 218
Sake with old friends
Leaves spring forth from hazel tree
Sharing ancient boughs
From Wikipedia:
In Japan, where it is the national beverage, sake is often served with special ceremony, where it is gently warmed in a small earthenware or porcelain bottle and sipped from a small porcelain cup called a sakazuki.
Sake is often consumed as part of Shinto purification rituals. Sake is served to gods as offerings.
Apr 15 · 197
Owls speak at night
Voices breaking in darkness
Always in questions
Apr 15 · 494
Loves Prisoner
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.
Feb 6 · 85
Hazel Tree
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.
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.
Jan 13 · 94
In Cemetery Lots
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.
Dec 2020 · 220
Seán Mac Falls Dec 2020
The worst betrayals,
Do lurk in familiars—
From those of your kin.
Dec 2020 · 395
ikebana poem
Seán Mac Falls Dec 2020
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.
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.
Dec 2020 · 75
Merciless Youth
Seán Mac Falls Dec 2020

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.
Nov 2020 · 175
Holey Trinity
Seán Mac Falls Nov 2020
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.
Oct 2020 · 99
To Spring
Seán Mac Falls Oct 2020
Showers of promise punctuate your days,
The waters creek, mumble rise and swell,
Flowers, spark of youth, marching in the rains
And birds sing anew, bright pages, bursting-bell,
An earthy coronation, cleanse and glisten,
All the wood, shorn by Winters’ wane and fan,
*** and waltz in balmy breeze collecting
Ferns and Falls’ forgotten blood red hands
Renewed, the grass and trees, heavens missal,
Wing-lipped leaves exploding green, just listen;
The washing rains parade, all resurrection.
Oct 2020 · 341
We Were As Downy Birds
Seán Mac Falls Oct 2020
We were as downy birds,
Sky once had names for us,
Rain pooled into faery wells,
Supernatural was our blood.

We saw each with opened eyes,
And touch was permanent as sun,
Light swooned about our keeping
And the earth was without tomb.

But time soon railed its perishments
And a star turned with pointed wind,
We lost the sun raise of innocence
And the glass of truth broke in a jar.

Now, lovers roam in the still hollows
And reminisce only on stoney banks,
A great ocean of peace was drowned
And to childish walls, a castle of sands.
Sep 2020 · 106
Sea Poem
Seán Mac Falls Sep 2020
The whole world is a sea—
A great ball of green blue eye
Watching the skies with a watery
Gleam in the round and swirling
Aye, the sea is a sauce, quivering
In the bowl of heaven and clouds
Are blushing with rivers run flushing
Waters older than the gold of stars,
Into the sea.  I see that hushed time
Is flowing as it all revolves with tides
And birds, white as snow and foams
Pure as dreamed downy wind, wings
Long, sure, set for a choppy pilgrim's
Sea journey, swaying with the stages,
Always breezy, sliding as fish do flying
In her rounding depths and her gusty
Crests and all are riddled as mariners
Who travel on her spindrift ways, days
Of the dizzying sun and steamy springs,
We all go step into deepest end, darkling
Fathoms of slip, those eventual afterwhens,
Riding the sunk, fabled under-ocean streams,
In mangled kelps of weeds, into the murky wave.
Aug 2020 · 156
Pine Tree
Seán Mac Falls Aug 2020
Some branches of broken horn
Called to me, as most others
Were rungs, the trunk, a great pole
For one to vault, into the heavens
Where was perched a wild nest
Of a red-tailed hawk, at the top
I could see the great bird, once
Was there, upon his cloud throne
And all the woods and ripples
With the lake, in dear murmurings
Played for me to soundly hear
The waves lap onto the shores
Under my flight and the lighted
Breeze that sifted through needles
And the sap that patched me there
Out on the limbs of my swaying
          O to sail in the scented sun
Of the great old pine of tinted
Sage and black tall bark, to be
Nestled in the forests on high
Within its mystery and wisdom,
All the way up I rose, the journey
Earthward was so much harder.
Aug 2020 · 313
In the Marshes of Youth
Seán Mac Falls Aug 2020

We stalked and ran with endless time,
Knee deep in rains of muck, grew lost
In tails of the always new, overreached
By trammeled spots, dotting, red wings
From black birds, knobby toads, garter
Snakes that shocked, marigold swamp
And we bolted above ruddy moccasins,
As ever wet, holey, dying for new days,
Gleaming in the swelters of the horse-
Fly sun, in the giants' grasses, we were
Heroes by the falls of light, glow, dusky
Bold, joys travail and dewy eyes echoed
With sprite flashes by the flies that fired.
And all our conquests— writ in the wind.
Aug 2020 · 135
Ode to Great Blue Heron
Seán Mac Falls Aug 2020
Seasons shuttle the tall stoic figure,
Graceful and solemn as wafted mist,
When seen, as if he was always there,
Overarching into meek, gloamy skies
Of mornings and dusk, mid day, lost,
Seems not right for wading out kills
That crane from above into the mud
And murk of the penny eyed waters
Only the ferryman will tender, for time
Slips, sleeping with the fishes, spears
Puddle and rim in the wakes, sparks
Of waters break like a sputtering fire,
His dart eyes are as yellow as golden
Sun dancing in funeral pyre.  So green
Creatures, must they always be gotten,
Gone, have it coming from the sheering,
Mercies of the Great Blue Heron who is all
Seeing, scything, down to dazed judgement,
Incited, pecking to order at the squirming fold.
Aug 2020 · 427
Seán Mac Falls Aug 2020

Tired, I awoke upon a lonely island beach
And gazed on a Goddess above the shore,
With sea foam hair, coral skin, what dream,
My salt eyes, blinded, open, wanting more,

Conspiring with rays of summer she shone
So bright, this daughter of the sun, we stood
I and my castaway crew, to that siren prone
As she led us to her mansion in the woods.

Her potions tamed the forest wolf and lion,
Spellbinding warrior poets to liven feasts.
Why then must she turn ***** men to swine,
By what she most desired contented least?

Desert falcon, my moly held Pharaohs' breeze
And what nil escape above the wine dark seas.
The name 'Circe' means 'falcon.'  She was a beautiful woman, whose braided red hair resembled flames.
In Greek mythology, Circe was a goddess of magic (or sometimes a nymph, witch, enchantress or sorceress). By most accounts, Circe was the daughter of Helios, the god of the sun.
Circe was renowned for her vast knowledge of potions and herbs. Through the use of magical potions and a wand or a staff, she transformed her enemies, or those who offended her, into animals.

As told in the Odyssey, Hermes told Odysseus to use the holy herb moly to protect himself from Circe's potion and thus resisted it.
Jul 2020 · 186
Seán Mac Falls Jul 2020

Poppies, wild in a quarry,
Orange, brighter than sun,
Thrusting thoroughly gravel,
Bold as soul crossing sticks
Into ****** pagan heydays,
A crop of colours branding
The loose stipend of stones,
One windy trail-flare shock,
A bulwark of stars, so laden
On landed, maiden shores,
The first batillion breaking,
By mighty petal, prim hands
Fiercly alive atop the lifeless,
Gravely low, defeated soot.
Jul 2020 · 405
Wild Grapes
Seán Mac Falls Jul 2020
Tangles of vine, wisps of thorn,
Roping a rocky face of granite,
High, on a hill are drops of sky,
Green hands cradle purple beads
Of the sun, whose skin is frosted
In water vail, morning days' dew
Has come, birds and bees singing
Songs to hum anew, this offering
All to ancient invitations of spring,
There will be wine and flower laid,
Before rise of moon or day is done.
Jul 2020 · 129
Róisín Óga
Seán Mac Falls Jul 2020
(‘little young rose')

It is late this day the hushed sun falls, my dying flame,
The night appears without stars, only memories of stars,
The sparkles in your dark red hair, the moon in our eyes,
Across the lake my faraway heart shudders with the loon.

I promised you a paradise of days, you gave me the night,
That we would be together in sweet fields of lamb and rose,
But now there is only wandering, now there is one long road,
Aye, tis a cruel way that a man must rove to make his keeping.

When I set myself to sea to ride the unbounded waves of loss,
I sometimes take to wheel in early morn and the blaming gulls
Surround me with the great blue of the ocean and endless sky
And I weep at the mizzen alone on oak decks, wet in misty cries.

I weep even before the rains have come as they always gather,
Dark and cold in the maelstroms and whirlpools of oceans deep,
To know the seven seas of the globe and not be with my dove—
She with eyes, vast and blue as ocean, with hair of the setting sun.

It is too much to bare, the endless silence in the fury of my travels,
If only I was a merchant, a steward, a lord, even the lolling tinker,
Such a house I would build for us in the ***** of clear lake wood
And we would have such charming brood, enough to quiet the loon.
Róisín, Rosheen or Roisin ( Irish pronunciation: ro-SHEEN ) is an Irish female given name meaning little rose. The English equivalent is Rose, Rosaleen or Rosie.

Róisín Óga ( 'little young rose' ) the name is the Irish Gaelic version of Rose.  Anglicized at as Rosaleen.  The name has been associated with a 16th-17th century poem called Roisin Dubh (Dark Little Rose), the eponymous heroine of which is usually regarded as a personification of Ireland.
Jun 2020 · 233
Once In Heavens
Seán Mac Falls Jun 2020
High atop shining mountains,
Where Gods glint as they spy
On wanting mortals, cast in heat
And toil, in heavens that are always
Basked by sun and days of grape,
That flow from the endless pour
Of golden casks, give mirth to always
Blue veins as they revel in mighty
Perfection and beauty, enameled
With imperishable face and statuary
Form, who thunder above feathery
Cloud, rumbling beyond all earthly
Ken and dream— in these heavens,
Is there myth only of desire?

Or do they yearn in cradle sleep,
As all those landed babes in need
Of mercies and fable, do gods shape
Subtle creations with the music of love,
Of blood in a touch, of dawn and hope
In the flowering of family and learning?
Can the gleaming child ever know needs
As they are met, held by eyes and lip,
The windy caress of kiss and nod
And rarest time as it wanes?

On radiant, fabled Olympus, where
Eagles, golden in the sun, only rake
The rims of Elysium as they song glide
So effortlessly, unlike the perilous, shy,
Wandering tribes basely set so far below,
The sun clad Titans home eternal, who always
Are held, perpetual in ever engulf of skies, rest
Starry, in their sparkling, immortal cloaks
Of milky cosmos and ambrosial aethers.

Above the murmuring clamours
Of the under strays and dogs of plain
And sea, do chose children of light ever
Quake or shudder in awe, never moved,
Or are they but wielders of storm and fierce
Lightning strikes, burnishing in judgement flame,
Never to be struck by leaves that come in fires of autumn,
Such monumental peace in a seasons turn, the simple joinings,
Of lovers, by a hearth, by a road, by rush of mountain streams?
In high heavens do even the Gods not dream
Of deep, down, sole earthly pleasures?
Jun 2020 · 118
Seán Mac Falls Jun 2020
Woe is any town or village
Without alleys.  Pathways
Behind the glamour shops
And shut, work a day worlds
Of the weary, township mates
Who drown after their labours.

In the small, backyard keeps,
Alleys unhinge the moons'
Sorrows even before great
Mercies, breaks of sun. fall.
Alleys of gravel and earthy
Tar, are as veins communal.

Walk among stillness, only
To know what shines hidden,
See the unkept wild yards,
Bright flowers forsaken, yet
So full of life.  Hear new birds
Rehearsing ancient songs
And be glad their is music,
To rouse and uproot a soul,
In the afterthoughts of day.
Jun 2020 · 240
Seán Mac Falls Jun 2020
Handiworks of man
Self raging towards nothing
Water in the fist
Jun 2020 · 208
Seán Mac Falls Jun 2020
Your eyes are always lost,
In empty places, your lips,
Are holding, your touch
Never does reach, unfolding,
And I am adrift in stalled dream
Unwashed by an indifferent
Sun, scarred black by a nil
Crescent moon, still jarring,
Calls through the night,
Of wretched creatures only
Punctuate the sorrows
Of my casted illusion,
With you, together, I
Have never felt so alone,
What stunted days we make
As the sun smokes ascended,
We stand in a doorway
Open to a bloodied heart,
Tendered, misbegotten.
May 2020 · 208
A Sailors Tale
Seán Mac Falls May 2020

In the drugs of the airs so nearly
By her, deep in delusions of youth,
I followed dry some salt seas soul,
Blinded by a siren, in the sundials,
Of her dark, entangling, dire red hair.

My soul was unmembering and lost,
My body, tided to the moons glows
And pull, she rowed us deep before
Dawn, and a drowning mans shanty
Cut my ears.  Was not all dreamland?

Were the stars merely eyes that sailed
Into a sailors tall tales token etched on
Scrimshaw, of bones gut ghostly white?
Do mermaids in waves, pine for mortals?
May 2020 · 343
Temple Woman
Seán Mac Falls May 2020
When your strung hair drops,
In any chamber, all is opened,
All is lithe, flowerfield of mirror
To the gathered stars unto fire,
Below as above is a universe,
Your eyes asking in surrender,
Were never so fair as your face,
My soul drowning in those blue
Orbs, what oceans of sparkle, so
Like jewels in a thousand temple
Reliefs of gold and safire offered
By flesh and thunder, waits to roll,
To wash and crackle firmaments,
Of earthly desires and obsession,
In your temples above and below.
Seán Mac Falls May 2020

If I should die with a shunted echo hear me,
Lost fabled one, my paltry heart the snows,
The warmth rides of the chiding winter sun,
The melody and rustling in cantata leaves,

Whose strings of one, plaintive guitar, strung
By breaths birthing breaks, your tracing lips,
White birds, water wings miraculous, not so
Stunning as your steps float above the water,

I am nothing, less, you shine pure, most of all
More than any heart could tender, how could
An empty house, abridgment only, unhinging
Doors coursing reason hold the new day sun?

As flame was my doom, love hear my thesis—
Should I die, look for me in the loom chrysalis.
May 2020 · 267
Death Insinuates as Whisper
Seán Mac Falls May 2020
Soft is the caul of breaths that seethe,
Loosed in the ears knowing
And light is held as a knife is sheathed,
Hard at the breaks reckoning.

Ebbing crawls in old cradles outset,
Clutched promises engulfing,
Death is a toll which gathers at sunset,
Ending seeps seaward in chills.

Listen for moon as it sails into lime,
Digging lost trails for journey,
Smell the salts as the sands run time,
Boarding penny barks turning.

Black birds soon flutter at drips window,
When dark winds cry crosslegged,
Lightless wings whisper— lit knowings,
Wraiths tapping three score and ten.
May 2020 · 197
Norfolk County
Seán Mac Falls May 2020
I once was young on shores of pond,
Deep in clump grasses mossy, longed
By seasons that turned shining winds,
Older than years etched into tree rings,
I played at song in the rushes of marsh,
Danced to moon from my bedroom loft
And in the theaters of starlight shadow,
Wrote my fables after sleeping narrows,
Dreamed dreams as young boy should,
Rethinking Sophocles in hemlock wood
I named the flowers wildest within sun,
Built forts from the forest floors of ruin,
Burned in rashes of ivy, itching poison,
Swam by water snakes in mucky unison
Spring was tireless as nettles and bees,
A wide river glided into the seven seas,
Pond was lake and oceans uncharted,
Skies rolling thunder after lightenings
More gold than lots' aspirations prised,
All showers flamed, Promethean fires.
Apr 2020 · 187
Forest Gods
Seán Mac Falls Apr 2020
I left the house of the tempest brewing,
Spinning like a rod, spun into flame
And came upon the redwood forest,
Eternal, shouting out heavens name.

The sun was indifferent, the creek shuffled
Its lament, the birds fluted their dirge—
I was so small, in the red giants grove,
Yet, felt so beloved, my pain was purged.

And I warmly came to see again—
My eyes, through the needles drove,
What a trifling is ones fleeting mood,
How true, heroic, immortal is my love.
Seán Mac Falls Mar 2020
Sometimes the body is contagion
To the soul.  Stars in their mission fall
To seed the fertile flesh, ignite
Blue waters of sulfureous hearts,
And so the flash is set to cancel
In the flood.  

Sometimes the lip of soul onto seal
Will not hold, before he first knocked
And let flesh enter, thorny pegs
Pricked nerve and pierced bone on his climb
To the rose, yea, some stars odd as
Meteors crash.

In the swan-sea, song-sangy-frame of crib,
Rough hewn words bent mold to scrape, like
Blasted coral, stood half-submerged
Amid sea and sky, for between the leaves,
Behind the eye, there are little stars
Shining like existence.

In a circle world he fashioned green
Blazons about the darkling day,
Fostered by celestial navigation,
Wrote a language for music, on a map of love
And charted the force of green in a wind-
Rose of discovery.

Sometimes the soul is not contained, it
Bursts in silent sound like well water
From the source.  And of men in streets
He saw the pennies in their grumble
Eyes, and of love and its course he rubbed,
Tickling dim stars.

It was his thirty ninth year in that fall
To heaven when the steeping cell,
Refused to push in its tide.  Homeless
And free on scaffold of bone the middling
Man retracted from sun to sink
With the moon, turn-tiding-toward sea
Like a changeling.

And as ever, nor often, unwavering eyes
Sprout through shifting grains.  And as he spoke
Quite rimless, Dylan Thomas was petrified
In undying light, and solid set within a rill
Of reef sparkling in concert betwixt gas
And sea, so becoming in purple sleeves,
This constellation of mute singers all,
Dried five-fingered-fish, bright embryos
Returned to the shell, they burn between the leaves,
Beset the grounded skies and show sprite flashes
In the dark where He has left his imprints, burning
Above and plastered below.  The first rock stars!
— for Dylan Thomas
Mar 2020 · 219
Seán Mac Falls Mar 2020
In a forest clearing deep in wood,

I spied the grace of doe and fawn

An’ stopped my track as any should,

To set my gate about face in song.
Seán Mac Falls Mar 2020
He wrote in the mornings, she recited to him at night,
He always made breakfast, she made dishes disappear,
His garb was quite frumpy, and hers, made of spun gold,
He struggled with fashion, song birds would dress her,
He thought his poems looked best in moving candlelight,
She made all the fires and lit candles with her eyes.
Once, he was embarrassed and said to her,
'How can you live like this with me in a hovel?'
She said it reminded her of Plato's Cave.
At readings he looked out and saw sinking eyes,
Now he has her read all his poems, it works
Wonders that way, and after-parties are strange,
Everyone keeps staring and asking for her
Name.  She gives cryptic answers and winks
At him.  The poet was running out of words
And thought his days with her were waning.
But she said her heart was kept in a precious
Box of symbols, of words, only he could write.  
She said that it was written in the sky, that poetry
Was dying and that he was the cure.  He told
Her that the stars were lost at night, and fading
While she sparkled unfailing, and many times
They tasted each others tears, many times
The world stopped spinning, he knew
It was her, she felt it was him.  To all
Others, their one bedroom flat was small,
Yet to them, it was the Palace Athene.
Mar 2020 · 171
Pine Tree
Seán Mac Falls Mar 2020
Some branches of broken horn
Called to me, as most others
Were rungs, the trunk, a great pole
For me to vault, into the heavens
Where was perched a wild nest
Of a Red-tailed hawk, at the top
I could see the great bird, once
Was there, upon his cloud throne
And all the woods and ripples
With the lake, in dear murmurings
Played for me to soundly hear
The waves lap onto the shores
Under my flight and the lighted
Breeze that sifted through needles
And the sap that patched me there
Out on the limbs of my swaying
          O to sail in the scented sun
Of the great old pine of tinted
Sage and black tall bark, to be
Nestled in the forests on high
Within its mystery and wisdom,
All the way up I rose, the journey
Earthward was so much harder.
Mar 2020 · 201
By the Druid Stone
Seán Mac Falls Mar 2020
I came to a courtyard of my own making,
To a cottage by the sea at the worlds edge.
I furnished it with my left over life, complete,
Barren and colorless and I wrote the newest
Book of psalms out of tinder and flame, a tome
Of grey and useless poems, unheard of songs
And reams of flesh.  There in the lightest dark,
By the Druid stone that was placed just for me,
I planted a creeping yew tree.  And the moon
Sang in celebration and silence like a fallen
                    Under the covering hazel trees,
That sprung to life after the longest winter,
Which taught me to forget my name, I now
Struggle with light and my body, warring, torn
Is fading slow, like the always arriving, down
Turning solstice, the climates of the mind,
Where it is digging the never ending shallow
Hole only the spreading eternal yew, that I
Planted, will ever know and only the Lazarus
Moon shall ever rise above.

I came to a courtyard of my own making,
Was it dream that led me there or my eyes?
Feb 2020 · 200
Similes for America
Seán Mac Falls Feb 2020
She's like a drama queen,
Plays the 'blame game' like a loser,
Fair minded as a bigot,
Wages war like drones,
As free as surveillance,
As open as privatized prisons,
As equal as feudalism,
As rich as the beggar masses,
Bankrupt as homeowners,
Socialist as the military,
Truthful, trustful as "NEWS," as propaganda,
Pagan as the manufactured Goddess 'Columbia,'
Christian as the stingy,
Pious as a sinner,
Wicked as securities, exchanges on 'Wall Street,'
Insecure as an empire,
Greedy as a fast food glutton,
As brave as a fool,
Warmongering as a chicken hawk politician,
Machevellian as a coward,
As rigged as the free market,
As selfish as Capitalism,
As tolerant as Islam,
Beautiful as a clear cut forest,
Charming as a strip mall,
Forward thinking as chaos,
Lawless as congress,
United as a belligerent crowd,
Compassionate as a swat team,
Green as any petrochemical company,
Organic as pollution,
Deep as a strip mine  .  .  .
  .  .  .
Feb 2020 · 223
Love Story
Seán Mac Falls Feb 2020
In cool light of heavy air,
The lovers worked at song,
Whittling the oak as it grew,
Wrapping time in knot, a gear
By the rounded dial of a snail,
Even the sun waltzed forgetful
And antique moon soon forgot
What it knew under wink of stars,
The field was all in hushed flame
As the new ant trails always were,
Saying in the grass that May, windy,
Is all we can know ever beneath trees
As they burst from breaking blue earth,
Will always, grasping, be this evergreen,
The lovers became here truly, new witness,
To themselves never more, but only this once,
Eternal, fresh, undivided, jewels of sun, divine.
Feb 2020 · 251
What Length Are Days
Seán Mac Falls Feb 2020

What length are days so dearly trodden,
Riddled in stocks, museums of mind,
How can one soul with heart commend
And play these martial fields unkind?
We are wages cast about four corners
And spun to globe of coordinates web,
Sailing by moon, lit oceans of scorn,
Rudderless, blind— innocently led,
Yet here, one star, the sun is a beacon,
We are bathed each day in ****** light
And gifted to morn with new beginnings,
From dreams we wake with newborn sight        
And gods watch over with stellar eyes,
We are babes knowing— cradled in sky.
Feb 2020 · 240
Because We Could Not See
Seán Mac Falls Feb 2020
Because she could not see—
Song in flower, light in lovers abed,
Dream unfolding as we touched,
Because her great beauty was gifted
It was unfelt, undeserved, shunned,
Making her even more irresistible.

Because I could not hold on to self,
Beside such dream, lost to my hands
As prints clutched into the ruin dark
Of her indifference, I made peace
With subjugation and humilities riven
Out of soul and flesh and hollow being.

Because we were unknowing, each
A foil unto ourselves as we cried—
This then was daymare riding in sun,
Twin delusions in oft reign of blood,
O what stories we both shall die to tell,
How the itch of desire scratches bare
Whole psyche as it writhes in a shell.
Jan 2020 · 294
Seán Mac Falls Jan 2020
Your eyes are always lost,
In empty places, your lips,
Are holding, your touch
Never does reach, unfolding,
And I am adrift in stalled dream
Unwashed by an indifferent
Sun, scarred black by a nil
Crescent moon, still jarring,
Calls through the night,
Of wretched creatures only
Punctuate the sorrows
Of my casted illusion,
With you, together, I
Have never felt so alone,
What stunted days we make
As the sun smokes ascended,
We stand in a doorway
Open to a bloodied heart,
Tendered, misbegotten.
Jan 2020 · 144
Stone Chapel
Seán Mac Falls Jan 2020
Frozen in rains, cloistering,
So severe in the dark of day,
Is the walled clutch of garden,
No one escapes, a gilded reaper,
Born of fears, promises beyond,
Of joys on the oak nailed pews.

Above the lost naves, who stand
In worship to a ghost, bones bent,
There are cast arches of old sorrows,
Veiling the lighted eyes of the cosmos,
Shutting out even mercies, heavenly
Lights duly smoked of incense.

And slated roof, so statuary cold,
Of aged rock and moss under spire,
That even the doves, as they coo
Are grounded, up muted hollows,
Chimes that merely echo guilts,
By shadows of faithless pride.
Dec 2019 · 354
Seán Mac Falls Dec 2019
Silent pond ripples
She dips her toes in water
Soft ******* stiffen
Dec 2019 · 222
So, Love Began
Seán Mac Falls Dec 2019
So, love began as it had— always been,
Stars exploding beyond the rays of gold,
Younglings new, born of bode and wonder,
The dearest waves, lept on forgotten time,
Among the furrowed hope of fields we grew,
Days sprung from long vines, handy grapes
Croft with sparkle in the bloomy meadows,
Hands knotted with clear, open eyes and all
The afternoons of spring rejoining, pebbles,
Divining from the told tale of forks in the hills
And reaching to loamy shores of lost ponds
For now, to be on at last warmly and grassy,
Dials of sun and summer cleansing showers
Under the peaceful wake, the never sleeping
Pines, yes and then we were highly held aloft
In the loom and yarns of green steps, storied
By forest upon shires, sandy uncovered eyes,
Happily, lost in the woods of lamb white days.
Seán Mac Falls Dec 2019

If only she would die with me—
Lying a bed on a sheet of stars,
Out of mere dark, our light set free,

Our leaves to hold in rings of tree,
Hair entwined in ocean days hour,
If only she would die with me—

In the forest fern to rest, wake curly,
We would nest in that place so far,
Out of mere dark, our light set free,

To ever notch a simple tapestry,
Colours even sun could not mar,
If only she would die with me—

In this morning all spark wants to be,
What our bodies are joined in marking,
Out of mere dark, our light set free,

We two have eyes blistering to see
And winds that tail the song of larks,
If only she would die with me—
Out of mere dark, dear light set free.
Dec 2019 · 206
The Ploughman
Seán Mac Falls Dec 2019
Still pale grey earth is turned,
Deep is the loam moisted,
Lone by the Ploughman.

The rows of the brushed patches,
Sweating the breakneck blood,
Are painted by labours.

Messiah doors out cathedral,
With iron plod anoints the soil,
Exposed unto mercy sun.

His hands are knobbed in stone,
His eyes searing of the star,
His face dark as deep loam.

Each day ablutions of sod earth,
Heaved out tilling unfree wills,
Burdens of harnessed beast.

Dark is the turned loam moisted,
Water flame heat of veined mist,
Seeds sown explode to bloom.

After thorny works, crowned blood,
Sun leaves to wine red fruition,
Ploughman maker is done.
Seán Mac Falls Nov 2019

I saw a hunter by a country road,
In tandem with me he sailed as I drove.

His hoody-head set monkish to the soil
Conjured up music so soundful, sacred,
And I unmoving over a tired flesh—
Coloured vehicle felt naked and dead

For he so saintly robed and dressed to ****
In the colours of the sky prayed with wings,
My harrier, his eyes cleansed purity and gold
While mine unsightly piebald pale and blue.

But want of food dovetailed two craving
Creatures, yet, over fed I felt rusty
Below his steely hunger and what saving
Grace God might offer either mice or men.
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