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6.5k · Oct 2014
Meeting
Seán Mac Falls Oct 2014
One flash, frozen in light,
The burning of her eyes
Fell my sprocketed night,
Deep in flames shudder,
All language, new, cipher,
Filmy frame, truest colours.
6.3k · Oct 2021
First Consummation
Seán Mac Falls Oct 2021
.
His gift— her moist lips
The perpendicular smile
Each ****** a new kiss
.
6.3k · Jul 2012
Haiku  ( loner )
Seán Mac Falls Jul 2012
With cruelty he loved.
Now, life is measured in rains
Never baptismal.
6.3k · Jul 2012
When . . .
Seán Mac Falls Jul 2012
When you touch,
It is withholding.
When you moan,
It is suffering.
When you smile,
It is mercy.
When you laugh,
I am placated.
When you swoon,
I am not there.
When you vibrate,
I only witness.
When you taste,
I only imagine.
When you love,
I am unknown.
Seán Mac Falls Jul 2015
( found poem )*

1.  If you date a poet, you will know the true meaning of 'swoon' and you will do it often. They know the power of a stunning phrase and it's way hotter than the Hallmark lines a non-poet will default to.

2.  They see the raw beauty in things that others take for granted.

3.  You will never ever need to worry that they aren't telling you something. Poets are ALWAYS trying to tell you something.

4. They're quite handy if you need a graceful way to tell someone off. They can tell em where to go and how far to stick it without using a single foul word.

5. Roses are pretty sub-standard and typical. Instead, you will get hand written love letters and sticky notes with one line *****-wetters. (Yes, I said *****-wetters. You know what it is.)

6. You will never not know the deeper meaning of something. Anything. There is nothing at all that a poet cannot analyze the hell out of. There's an underlying meaning behind EVERY single thing and if you ask a poet, they'll be elated to share it with you.

7. Poets tend to be minimalists. They don't always need a lot to set the butterflies a flutter. If you can come up with a couple of your own expressively charming lines, that will pretty much substitute a $125 dinner date.

8. Poets make curiously good alcoholic beverages. Because poets drink a lot of alcoholic beverages.

9. You'll never be without somewhere to go at any given moment. There's bound to be an open mic night, a poetry slam, a house party centered around poetry, a poetry in the park event, etc. There will always be something poetic going on. And they will know about it.

10. You will know what a true apology sounds like. Poets can apologize like NONE other when they know they have done something wrong.

11.Making love to a poet feels like syllables being whispered along the curve of your spine as you unravel into a million pieces.

12. Poets like smell good stuff. But not obnoxious fruity scents. Poets don't like to smell like fruit baskets. Poets like sandalwood, and amber, and lavender, and patchouli oils. You know...the **** stuff.

13. Poets cherish quiet time. Meanwhile, most non-poets you date will probably have the television blasting, music playing, friends climbing over one another and a cell phone conversation on speaker phone...all at the same time...every day.

14. You will always have a crowd-pleaser on your arm. Not all poets are attention ****** at parties BUT all poets know how to say at least one extra deep/witty thing that will have everyone else envious that you are the one dating the poet and not them.

15. Poets can wear the color black during all seasons, during thunderstorms or sunny spring days and make it look extra sophisticated and intentional.

16. Poets break rules...but also enjoy the process of making them. Keeps things interesting.

17. Poets shun conformity. So you know that if your poet bought it for you, said it to you, wrote it for you, etc...it's gonna be something edgy and unique and outside of the normal (boring) box.

18. Poets are great with their hands and even better with their mouths. Enough said.

19. Poets are the gatekeepers AND the rallyers (is that a real word?) of the community. If you don't know what a gatekeeper is...you aren't dating a poet. If you don't know what a rallyer is, it's because there's a possibility that it's not a real word. But you get it.

20. Poets like to make up their own words.

21. Poets don't like to be told that they can't do something. Maybe it's the whole submit and rejection process of writing. Who knows? But tell a poet NO and they'll keep trying until they get a yes. Persistence is way more handy than what can be explained here.

22. Poets read books. Book readers tend to have better vocabularies. A broad vocabulary is usually a trait of a good conversationalist which means no lame dinner convos.

23. Poets can write ugly things beautiful and can ***** up a pristine scene like nobodies business. In other words, when you need a different perspective on something...your poet can provide that for you.

24. A well-written poem can be the most powerful and therapeutic dose of truth and self-realization. Poets write poems. Therefore, dating a poet is like getting free therapy.  

25. Poets don't need a list of 50 things to prove why dating them is the best thing you will ever do.
Note:
Found poetry is a type of poetry created by taking words, phrases, and sometimes whole passages from other sources and reframing them as poetry by making changes in spacing and lines, or by adding or deleting text, thus imparting new meaning. The resulting poem can be defined as either treated: changed in a profound and systematic manner; or untreated: virtually unchanged from the order, syntax and meaning of the original.
.
6.2k · Sep 2015
Lovemaking
Seán Mac Falls Sep 2015
As olive or grape
So shed paired souls are threshed
Out of their bodies
6.2k · Jun 2015
Swan Song
Seán Mac Falls Jun 2015

*Gentle water lord,
Four seasons show in your graces:

Breezy spring, wafts, leaves so soon,
Lost loves, colours longing for white,
Light jewel.

Hottest summer, moves, in sleepy
Sun, all her ways soothed, running,
Milky days.

Autumn shakes of mellow webbing
Leaf as you arrive, majesty's thief,
Gliding lithe.

Frozen winter, low, pure and pale,
Never demure, as your wings aloft,
Flake so fair.
6.1k · Sep 2013
Meeting
Seán Mac Falls Sep 2013
One flash, frozen in light,
The burning of her eyes
Fell my sprocketed night,
Deep in flames shudder,
All language, new, cipher,
Filmy frame, truest colours.
6.1k · Jul 2012
Love Field
Seán Mac Falls Jul 2012
The small grassland hills are dancing.
The sky is blue and the breeze is long,
I reach out, I touch and I look—
Into your eyes, my fingers in your hair.
5.9k · Jul 2012
Haiku  ( black bird )
Seán Mac Falls Jul 2012
I stack the round stones
From the river, my sculpture grows—
Crow will knock it down.
5.8k · May 2014
Un-veiled Narcissist
Seán Mac Falls May 2014
Un-veiled Narcissist

                      O
         THE             POET
   WHO                      TALKS
    AD                            INFI-
Nitum                             About
  Ones                            Self,
     What                      Low    
          # is                  S/he
                        ?
5.8k · Mar 2016
Starlings
Seán Mac Falls Mar 2016
Dull grey starlings come
Parade on gardens not won
Never too soon— gone
5.5k · Jul 2012
Haiku  ( kiss )
Seán Mac Falls Jul 2012
Suddenly, she stole—
A kiss, a bliss that made me
Love her forever more.
5.3k · Jul 2012
Haiku  ( parting )
Seán Mac Falls Jul 2012
It is over now.
I bow my head as you leave,
Rain fills your footprints.
5.3k · Oct 2015
Time Vain
Seán Mac Falls Oct 2015
Popularity
Such fleeting and hollow wins
Spoonfuls of nothings
5.1k · Dec 2013
Haiku (stewardship)
Seán Mac Falls Dec 2013
Britain has few trees  .  .  .
Fools bespoke: Lord cut them down,
  .  .  .  Ecological disaster.
Seán Mac Falls May 2015
.
Lear wanders in stormy open, bares warring elements,
The heavens blister, crackle, night is balmy shroud,
Wretched monarch babbles in sprinkles of wind cold,
Arguments lost by ones own pouring perturbations
And raining sky said 'nothing will come from nothing.'

Howl, howls into blackness treed in lightning splits,
His outcast soul, reels, fleshed, cut to smithereens,
Tang of salt burns on the bluffs and the sea rages,
So entire and ceremonious is Lear's fall meted out,
Air spoke, 'nothing from nothings ever yet was born.'

Sky proclaimed to man child King, here is a reckoning,                           
Each mad choice was self infliction, now wind flays
And sweet Cordelia lies in her innocent **** grave,
Sky, in thralls of thundering asks, 'what say thee now,
King of highborn follies, even purple heaths are rags,

Yet black and above you and night shades, whine,
Unworthy King, done in by compounded effects,
The might of maelstroms in low butterflies wings,
How now, bare trees, knifing reeds, skeletal flashes,
To rains of night are ever your lanyards my lord,'

Sad Lear so near oblivion fell mute, sky went on,
'Howl and cry mad King your reaper calls beyond,
The icy brisk heavens await to brusque you away,
Your slipshod kingdom was mere and fools' dream,
Howl, til howls abrupt abate, for nothing now comes.'
King Lear is a tragedy by William Shakespeare in which the titular character descends into madness after disposing of his estate between two of his three daughters based on their flattery, bringing tragic consequences for all. Based on the legend of Leir of Britain, a mythological pre-Roman Celtic king.
.
4.8k · May 2015
Trending Offenders
Seán Mac Falls May 2015
Massive egos shine
Mostly drivel on HP
Just Poetastery
Lamest so called writers NOT poets, egos unbridled
4.7k · Jul 2021
Japanese Iris
Seán Mac Falls Jul 2021
.
Shy petals shiver
Lavender belle ringing love
Undressed in the rains
.
Seán Mac Falls Jun 2012
Your lips, soft and full,
Are tearing at my heart.
Your skin, freckled and bumped,
Is at play with my palms.
Your eyes, of water and stone
Rain, storming like fists of hail.
Your *******, are blooms, pouring
Like white chocolate cupped.
Your hair, is a loom even
Penelope could not weave.
Your little feet, are drumming
Like puddles by the sea.
Your thighs, make me mutter
And sigh into the winds.
I will, not go wondering now
For whom is master and who
Is slave, are you the Morgen
Or are you Fand my gentle
Ocean wave?  Your voice 
Is song, your breath is air
And your pooling, marbled
Face, torso, hair, how they beckon
And your words, gifting melody,
Such words must be forbidden.
Red Colleen (cailín rua dearg)
ag Ormond
Do liopaí, bog agus go hiomlán,
An bhfuil tearing ar mo chroí.
Do craiceann, bricíneach agus bumped,
An bhfuil ag súgradh le mo palms.
Do chuid súl, ar uisce agus cloch
Rain, storming cosúil le fists na clocha sneachta.
Tá do *******, blooms, pouring
Cosúil le seacláid bhán Cuasoisre.
Do chuid gruaige, is fiú loom
Ní fhéadfadh Penelope weave.
Do dhá choisín, ag drumadóireacht
Cosúil le locháin ag na farraige.
Do thighs, a dhéanamh mutter dom
Agus osna isteach gaotha.
Ní bheidh mé, dul wondering anois
A bhfuil an mháistir agus a
Is daor, tá tú ag an Morgen
Nó tá Fand tú mo mhín
Aigéan toinne? do ghlór
An bhfuil amhrán, tá do anáil haer
Agus do comhthiomsú, marbled
Aghaidh, torso, gruaig, conas beckon
Agus do chuid focal, gifting séis,
Ní mór focail den sórt sin a thoirmeasc.
4.6k · Jul 2012
Questions for Echo
Seán Mac Falls Jul 2012
If I said I want you,
Would you run and tell the stars
To close their eyes and ring dry
The clouds of tears?

If I said let me hold you,
Would the earth crack open,
To shudder the rolling lands,
Not cradle the hatching seeds?

If I said I am yours,
Would your name soon dissolve
And be lost in the revolving
Night that candles you in light?

If I heard your voice,
In twining dream and woke 
Beside you talking in your sleep
What would your question be?

If I called your name,
Before the first sunning year
And heard you, Echo in the wind,
Would time guide us to the door?
4.4k · Feb 2015
10 Images of the Raven
Seán Mac Falls Feb 2015
10 Haiku of Raven

        1
black God

Huge cumulus clouds,
Exploding into the blue,
  .  .  .  Shadowed by raven.


        2
valley morn

Dark hands working fields,
Raven tracing mountain crests,
  .  .  .  Carnal tillers wake.


        3
Raven spell

Dark sound raven makes,
Chortles top fir tree, haunting—
  .  .  .  Druids incantation.


        4
unfaithful

Snow covers valley—
Solitary raven staining world,
  .  .  .  Love has turned black.


        5
outcast

Many years alone,
Suddenly— old thoughts of her,
  .  .  .  Lone raven in sky.


        6
mischief

Lone raven cackles  .  .  .
Clouds splinter across the sky,
  .  .  .  Mist cuts down the woods.


        7
marked

Full moon crowns tall pine,
Raven landing in cross hairs,
  .  .  .  Dark angels halo.


        8
Loki

Raven knows a charm,
A child's costume jewelry,
  .  .  .  Colours a black eye.


        9
tall tale

Zenith of winter—
Lone raven in naked tree,
  .  .  .  Spring only legend.


       10
dark angel

In his feathered dress  .  .  .
Raven shrouds beneath the clouds,
  .  .  .  Even eyes are black.
4.4k · Apr 2014
Estranged
Seán Mac Falls Apr 2014
Here I tread on a woodland promontory—
With wings and wind conjuring the rains,
All is vastness and shroud, open, empty,
Even the light is carried away in silence,
My flesh all but smearings on the tableau,
Foothold of dream within disrupted dream,
Our hands once reached out into forever,
Now my soul is seeping from veined cairns,
Cut chains, mist, rains hollowing the wind.
4.3k · May 2014
Haiku ( flightless )
Seán Mac Falls May 2014
Peacocks on HP  .  .  .
Are not birds, yet dinosaurs,
Wingless beneath earth.
4.2k · Jul 2014
Hummingbird
Seán Mac Falls Jul 2014
Little king of sun toasting petal,
Cups the air with swirling wings
Flashes, flurries of wetted trials,
How you drink of nectar singing,

With invisible wings let whirring,
So robed in arc of rainbows' sky,
Even lofted mist of morn stirring,
All the shaped air, a moving eye.
4.2k · Aug 2013
Dublin Poem
Seán Mac Falls Aug 2013
In rows like crumpled paper set,
The way one might design a brooch,
There sets a sparkle down so purely
Capital, beyond reproach and sure
She is the blackest flea who sits
Upon an old green dog, now should

You query, her name's a pond.  In Gaelic
It's pronounced: Baile Átha Cliath—
But in Irish she's plain, mightily named,
Dublin.  Where broods the dove, linnet
And swan.  Now take them pi'jons, they got
Dank habits and linnets lament the silent

Stones.  Sure, the goose gave out and took
To the air, but the swans, they've landed,
To roost, enchanted as 'Children of Lir,'
And so becomes a changeling child's
Fair city, for in her anointed proximity,
Gracious white birds do bathe and molt,

Supplied as I can tell, she looks black-
Pooled in clusters, long side her creases.
Stout nectar flows in near every nook
And cranny, but yer man, he's never
Busy, that malty fish, daftly avoids,
Swimming spirals round like buggies

Do on petals, he'd rather grace gardens
By drinking their dew.  O Dublin town,
She wends her ways and rows her houses
Round-a-bout on cobbled shores in tribute
To sprite, deary and fey, Anna Livia—
Who like a stem of blood, stabs right

To the heart of Dublin Bay— and proud
As a crowned thorny, who once had reeked,
She's bloomed large, into one grandeous
Beauty, like a céilí so finely fiddled—
A sandy, spirited, bombastic beach-
Flower, she is, a flag so fitting upon

The doons.  In dream, I flocked to her
Like the wild geese and saw her coy'd
Repose and there I spied, from mackerel
Skies— one monstrous, Irish rose!
Baile Átha Cliath is the Irish Gaelic (gaeilge) for Dublin (the capital city of Ireland). Translated into English it means The Town Of The Hurdled Ford (Baile = Town, Átha = Ford, Cliath = Hurdle).

Anna Livia, Anna Liffey, The Liffey (An Life in Irish) is a river in Ireland, which flows through the centre of Dublin.  The river was previously named An Ruirthech, meaning "fast (or strong) runner".  The word Liphe (or Life) referred originally to the name of the plain through which the river ran, but eventually came to refer to the river itself.  It was also known as the Anna Liffey.

In modern usage, a céilí (pronounced: Kay-lee) or céilidh is a traditional Gaelic social gathering, which usually involves playing Gaelic folk music and dancing. It originated in Ireland and Scotland, but is now common throughout the Irish and Scottish diasporas.
4.0k · Jun 2012
After Rain
Seán Mac Falls Jun 2012
Rain, softly falls in old deer valley,
All the woodlands swimming underneath
The steaming fog.  What peaceful sound 
I hear, softly rings out of the sparkling 
Woods and meadows, chimes like a thousand 
Sleepy bells announcing the rising sun,
Who sings loudest, after the rains.
3.8k · Oct 2017
14 Sensual/Erotic ~ Haiku
Seán Mac Falls Oct 2017
.
1
Wet welling from earth
Deep valleys, hills, sweating *******
I plung into her


2
We are lost at sea
In moonless night our soft cries
Curled waves drowning us


3
Above her in bed
Little breaths lifting our bodies
Eyes, fingers, dreaming


4
Her green eyes are set
Jewels from sargasso seas
My ghost ship is wrecked


5
Her long hair tangles
No struggle in rising— then
We are rapt in bed


6
Her eyes blinding me
Milky way of her body
There is a heaven


7
In forest we taste
Each other in evergreens
Hot dews on the moss


8
Blissful time kissing
My bare thighs sink into hers
Running sands so quick


9
As olive or grape
So shed, paired souls are threshed
Out of their bodies


10
Hummingbirds share truths
Nature sounds with all sweetness
Bee in the flower


11
Always in a field
Wild flowers— a bunch to pick
Herself a bouquet


12
In the park we walk
Flocks of white birds taking flight
Two hearts light as air


13
We kissed under moon
Pox of stars grew flowering
Nightshade of her lips


14
She took me to bed
Skinned in bliss— was reborn, lost
In her satin folds

.
3.8k · Dec 2014
Haiku ( shyness )
Seán Mac Falls Dec 2014
Winter— chance meeting,
How she warms me with her smiles,
  .  .  .  My feet are still cold.
3.8k · Jul 2015
Zz Afterglow
Seán Mac Falls Jul 2015
Bright as any dawn
After dark breaks universe
Wildflowers open
3.8k · Jun 2013
Ocean Child
Seán Mac Falls Jun 2013
She rides the chanting waves
At the seas horizon,
In fires of star sheen and moon shine,
Sweet Niamh of the golden hair, and aqua eyes,

Princess of the green sea turtles,
Of the coral sea grottos,
Anemone naves and kelpie skins,
Trailing the rainbow schools of the whirling fin,

The whole twining ocean globe of blue is swooning
Under the milky waving skies and unfathoming deeps,
Her laughter lighting the unremembered bottom of the seas.
In Irish mythology, Niamh ( "bright" or "radiant". Niav, Neve, Neave, Neeve and Nieve ) was a goddess, the daughter of the god of the sea ( Manannán mac Lir ) and one of the queens of Tír na nÓg, the land of eternal youth. She was the lover of the poet-hero Oisín.
3.8k · Mar 2015
Zz Haiku ( bedded quilt )
Seán Mac Falls Mar 2015
Puddles in meadow  .  .  .
Speckled wings of butterfly,
  .  .  .  Mirror wild flowers.
3.7k · Oct 2013
Estranged
Seán Mac Falls Oct 2013
Here I tread on a woodland promontory—
With wings and wind conjuring the rains,
All is vastness and shroud, open, empty,
Even the light is carried away in silence,
My flesh all but smearings on the tableau,
Foothold of dream within disrupted dream,
Our hands once reached out into forever,
Now my soul is seeping from veined cairns,
Cut chains, mist, rains hollowing the wind.
3.7k · Jun 2012
I Will Not Die For You
Seán Mac Falls Jun 2012
I will not die for you
Woman fey of flesh and home,
I linger but to see you unfrock
The holy, set rogues to roam.

Why should I thus be consumed
In breath like coldest fire?
Shape of rising waterfalls
That state, I surely do not desire

The downy *******, the runny skin,
Spark of cheek, notes of hair in shower,
The gliding step, the gusty tone,
Fools have died for much less a dower.

The lancing pools, the hemlock mien,
The highland sheen, the dawn-bird voice,
The Safire eye, over step of pyramid
Merlin gave Arthur a safer choice.

I will not drown for you,
Flood of hair, red as the lye
In parted Jordan, that sea, not me,
Shall pine as ever, slowly dying.

Your healing humors, your subtle sovereignty,
Your blood, noble as seven-seas are blue,
Little mirror who paints the sky,
Though nearly, I will not die for you.
3.6k · Jan 2015
Circe ( sonnet )
Seán Mac Falls Jan 2015
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.
3.6k · Dec 2014
Way Words
Seán Mac Falls Dec 2014
I have seen couples,
So far from each—
Other, on a platform,
Waiting for the next train,
Never touching, yet how
They ****** their mobile
Devices, how softly, sweet,
Without guile nor agenda
They swipe the glass—
As it swoons back in return
With blue lights and alerts,
So dearly needed and answers,
In way words for the machines
Of flesh and the ghost within,
With such personal aplomb
In real notifications of text
And instant message.
3.6k · Oct 2014
Haiku ( enlightened )
Seán Mac Falls Oct 2014
Exposed kneeling roots,
Graceful boughs of ancient tree,
  .  .  .  Buddha in the sun.
3.6k · Jan 2016
10 Images of the Raven
Seán Mac Falls Jan 2016
( Haiku )*

1
black God

Huge cumulus clouds,
Exploding into the blue,
  .  .  .  Shadowed by raven


2
valley morn

Dark hands working fields,
Raven tracing mountain crests,
  .  .  .  Carnal tillers wake


3
Raven spell

Dark sound raven makes,
Chortles top fir tree, haunting—
  .  .  .  Druids incantation


4
unfaithful

Snow covers valley—
Solitary raven staining world,
  .  .  .  Love has turned black


5
outcast

Many years alone,
Suddenly— old thoughts of her,
  .  .  .  Lone raven in sky


6
mischief

Lone raven cackles  .  .  .
Clouds splinter across the sky,
  .  .  .  Mist cuts down the woods


7
marked

Full moon crowns tall pine,
Raven landing in cross hairs,
  .  .  .  Dark angels halo


8
Loki

Raven knows a charm,
A child's costume jewelry,
  .  .  .  Colours a black eye


9
tall tale

Zenith of winter—
Lone raven in naked tree,
  .  .  .  Spring only legend


10
dark angel

In his feathered dress  .  .  .
Raven shrouds beneath the clouds,
  .  .  .  Even eyes are black
3.6k · Jun 2014
Estranged
Seán Mac Falls Jun 2014
Here I tread on a woodland promontory—
With wings and wind conjuring the rains,
All is vastness and shroud, open, empty,
Even the light is carried away in silence,
My flesh all but smearings on the tableau,
Foothold of dream within disrupted dream,
Our hands once reached out into forever,
Now my soul is seeping from veined cairns,
Cut chains, mist, rains hollowing the wind.
3.5k · Dec 2016
Starlings
Seán Mac Falls Dec 2016
.
*Dull grey starlings come
Parade on gardens not won
Never too soon— gone
3.5k · Sep 2013
Haiku ( Samhain )
Seán Mac Falls Sep 2013
Nuts falling as psalms,
From storied arms of Hazel tree,
  .  .  .  Blue jays turning leaves.
Samhain ( pronounced: sow-een ) is a Gaelic festival marking the end of the harvest season and the beginning of winter or the "darker half" of the year.

Samhain (like Beltane) was seen as a time when the "door" to the Otherworld opened enough for the souls of the dead, and other beings, to come into our world. Feasts were had, at which the souls of dead kin were beckoned to attend and a place set at the table for them. It has thus been likened to a festival of the dead. People also took steps to protect themselves from harmful spirits, which is thought to have led to the custom of guising. Divination was also done at Samhain.
3.5k · Oct 2014
Haiku ( blowhards )
3.5k · Jun 2014
Zz Haiku ( audition )
Seán Mac Falls Jun 2014
She showed me her song,
Fresh voice like water to flower,
  .  .  .  My shut heart opened.
3.5k · Aug 2015
Zz Explosions
Seán Mac Falls Aug 2015
Fireworks at dawn
Fields of colour opening
Wildflowers bursting
3.4k · Jun 2012
Woman of the Far Isle
Seán Mac Falls Jun 2012
Woman,
Why do you visit so seldom, and plant things
In my fallen over garden, lavender and thyme,
Only to leave, but not
To tend?

Woman,
Take my sorrow and turn down the moon,
Plaster the sun in golden dress and spill
The ground with buttons
Of flower.

Woman,
Why does your face haunt me in dreams,
Your voice, play as in the spirit well that sings,
Drops forth, the moving waters
Into being?

Woman,
Take my open hands and travel with me,
Beyond the ninth wave, to the lost island
Of Hy-Brasil, and we will long live,
Wondrous as poetry.
Hy-Brasil or several other variants, is a phantom island which was said to lie in the Atlantic Ocean west of Ireland. In Irish myths it was said to be cloaked in mist, except for one day each seven years, when it became visible but still could not be reached. It probably has similar roots to other mythical islands said to exist in the Atlantic, such as Atlantis, Saint Brendan's Island, and the Isle of Man.

In Irish tradition there is the imramma, the sacred sea voyage that takes the wanderer on a soul-journey beyond the ninth wave to mysterious lands — islands of youth, of summer, of apples, of strange creatures and lovely women, and all the many shimmering dark-deep mysteries of the Otherworld.

The etymology of the names Brasil and Hy-Brasil are unknown, but in Irish tradition it is thought to come from the Irish Uí Breasail (meaning "descendants (i.e., clan) of Breasal"), one of the ancient clans of northeastern Ireland. cf. Old Irish: island; bres: beauty, worth, great, mighty.
3.4k · Aug 2013
Hazel Tree
Seán Mac Falls Aug 2013
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.
Seán Mac Falls Jun 2012
I took a walk with my love,
From Bray to Greystones.
Sharing smiles as we talked 
Under a rainbow.

And the clouds rolled in 
And the wind sprinkled rain,
Our path was etched in stone,
Along Erin's coast.

I took a walk with my love,
From Bray to Greystones.
Time unwent as we strolled
And dreamed of nowhere.

And the clouds rolled in
And the wind sprinkled rain,
Wild rushes and reeds so tall
They sheltered our way,
We moved through the day,

And suddenly,
We were two seabirds gently flying
And our souls
Were laid to rest, on the breath of heaven.

We devoted our lives,
Felt as one our spirits rising toward the sun,
Peacefully, so peacefully
And the Earth,
We felt her deep,
Undersong.

I took a walk with my love,
From Bray to Greystones.
Sharing smiles as we talked
And dreamed of nowhere.
We dreamed of nowhere.
3.4k · Feb 2014
Grey Date
Seán Mac Falls Feb 2014
Last words with her,
So indifferent, so short,
The spoken tongues lashed
Indecipherable, unearthing
Doom, whitewashing the truths,
Forgotten blues of California sky,
Abandoned in that glean, garish glare
Of yellow sun,
            Fearing naught, the dark moon
Would soon arrive, taking place of all
Our glazed, lost, light.
3.4k · Jan 2013
Swan
Seán Mac Falls Jan 2013
Gentle water lord,
Four seasons show in your graces:

Breezy spring, wafts, leaves so soon,
Lost loves, colours longing for white,
Light jewel.

Hottest summer, moves, in sleepy
Sun, all her ways soothed, running,
Milky days.

Autumn shakes of mellow webbing
Leaf as you arrive, majesty's thief,
Gliding lithe.

Frozen winter, low, pure and pale,
Never demure, as your wings aloft,
Flake so fair.
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