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832 · Mar 2014
Siren
Seán Mac Falls Mar 2014
Her languid voice
Drew me in, drooped,
And tentacle hair wrapping,
My feet fell before hers,
Sinking in the faraway lost pool,
The mortality in the sands,
And even the stars, snuffed
Out of darkness and fire
Became the light of the world,
The hushed day breaking
With welling waters and salt.
How can dream be lived,
Within dream?  Must I swear
As I fall into bliss?
831 · Jan 2015
Two Swans ( sonnet )
Seán Mac Falls Jan 2015
The morning world in mist dissolves and under,
Towed to heaven, we, a plod below the death
Of clouds, sing mute, where they trumpet-glide
Flashing into peace.  Three-toed slabs, parched
Of orange, web the stars over the wine
Dark seas and chalk the churn and twining earth
Into gloaming.  In rapt stillness they,
Are import and income, parables,
Echoes of the innocent song sung to a spire,
Gilded hutches, to those who heap on brightness
Swans are brighter even more with blackest
Eyes, they pierce the silent shroud all starry.
I wish that we were like two swans my love,
Neck of nape, embracing without touch.
831 · Mar 2017
I Will Not Die For You
Seán Mac Falls Mar 2017
.
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.
831 · Apr 2013
To Pablo Neruda
Seán Mac Falls Apr 2013
Dear Pablo, as I look over
my soaking body, wet, with patches
of dirt, blotched and raw bleeding,
the clouds turn in my yellowed eyes
in order to love you, my Pablo.  
You, who made me feel radiant.  
As I am the sea,  I fish for you,
rolling in mud, and becoming
mountain, I topple for your toes
who'd dig in deep and itch my aching

breast to sleep.  My dreamful-drowsy
birds, rake the skies, rush-out like nets
wanting you on their wings, my poem.
Pablo, I loved you so when you said,
my flowers were little stars to pick,
and that loneliness was a train who waits
in a far-away station, and how, my most
minuscule attributes — a cat, a pear,
the atom, you praised, in odes, heaped
like showers hailed from heaven, as fresh-

water you reigned from the other side
of tears, and temper'd my salt, my green,
murky life.  Dearest Pablo, since you've gone,
my breath has the emptiness that hides under
stone.  And the blue-winds crossing, my life-
less age, they are nothing but long waves,
keening,   —  Nay   —  rood   —   ahhh!
Since you have left me.  And my trees,
they forget how to grow,
my song, my only,
Pablo.
831 · Mar 2015
Unhurried
Seán Mac Falls Mar 2015
Early morning buzz
Coffee and chair in garden
Bees in the clover
831 · Jan 2015
Haiku ( dervishes )
Seán Mac Falls Jan 2015
Swallows round steeples,
Indifferent as enlightened ones,
Purple robes in skies.
831 · May 2013
Haiku ( fishers )
Seán Mac Falls May 2013
Snowy egrets, pure,
Stoic, white statues of grace,
Digging in the muck.
831 · Aug 2015
5 Of Earth & Sky
Seán Mac Falls Aug 2015
( five new haiku )

1
Overcast

Rain painting the streets
Colours lost on lonesome roads
Reflects only grey


2
Dry Season

Question sails in air
Above late summer flowers
Lone white butterfly


3
Things Mounting

Before hurricanes
Wind stirs about treeless plains
Little things matter


4
Salt beds

Great oceans moulting
Lost weight of life giving grace
Scales of dead fishes


5
Caroling

Little angels come
Alł throughout winter they sing
In tree without leaves
830 · Feb 2013
Haiku (buggered)
Seán Mac Falls Feb 2013
Neocons— like bees,
Puritan values in hives,
So many good drones.
830 · May 2014
Haiku ( naiad )
Seán Mac Falls May 2014
I trembled zipping her,
Cascades of hair— rosewater,
Poured into a dress.
Seán Mac Falls Mar 2015
She put her hair up,
All night I imagined its fall,                                                                                    
  .  .  .  Breathlessly waiting.
830 · Oct 2015
Pole Star
Seán Mac Falls Oct 2015
Autumn falling leaves
Dull winter merely blows in
Brighter sun beckons
830 · Aug 2012
Night Hawks
Seán Mac Falls Aug 2012
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.
829 · Jan 2016
Zz Anointed
Seán Mac Falls Jan 2016
Seashells and castles
Imagination holy as the skies
Sea sprayed our faces.
828 · Jan 2015
Haiku (sweetness)
Seán Mac Falls Jan 2015
Child picking flowers—
She loves me, she loves me not,
  .  .  .  Wind graffiti.
828 · Jun 2013
Haiku (extinction)
Seán Mac Falls Jun 2013
Blessed are the blind—
Reborn on new Permian shores,
Bone eyed hollow shells.
828 · Aug 2012
Ballad of the Mad Babbler
Seán Mac Falls Aug 2012
He shuffles his muffled way through cardboard aisles,
Oblivious, sheltered, speaking in a mumble of tongues,
His piecemeal truths search for all that is meaningless,
Where he carves a gravestone—arguments in the rows.
827 · Feb 2013
Haiku ( singularity )
Seán Mac Falls Feb 2013
All numbers prime— hues,
Whole world but flowers blooming,
Clear hummingbirds eye.
827 · Dec 2014
Owl Whispers
Seán Mac Falls Dec 2014
In the long nothings of blackest night
Owl whispers.  Hair of mouse stands,
As only an under sieged without spear
Can and grave vole, simply wide open
On his mat of dead leaves, drying time
And even the hare, without hope, hops
Maddeningly caught in dark labyrinths
Without sight, dear is the silent scream
Of all that was mere, so slim after light,
Night scurry, dash, curled fingers, prey.
827 · May 2013
Haiku ( trolling )
Seán Mac Falls May 2013
Streams stealing away,
River clotted with salmon,
  .  .  .  Red handed otter.
827 · Mar 2013
Black Wall
Seán Mac Falls Mar 2013
By the dawn's early light,
Casual ties of warring pride,
Who wear the fit of uniforms,
Creasing down the seamy streets,
Who once in his sights were called to order,
By arrow clutching eagles, sandbagged
By the rivers heart of darkness, *****-
Trapped by bootstraps pulled, torn apart
In tiger eyeing fields that lied
In wait while choppers dived, delivering
Payloads of giant dragon flied fire
And this unction was to be their balm
And the swordless Dons were spit out
Of skull hunting windmills, Jonah
Beached to thy kingdom cong.

And over their heads cried the phantom
Jets, bat out of helmet, to the straw
Pulling hairs and these heroes, we
Abandoned without bonds nor blindfold
And lashed them to the flagging pole
With guns saluting while the sirens
Wailed, no wonder they should crack,
Our green jaded Gods, our Greek
Journeymen, due south of lotus land,
No wonder they should break on the China
Seas in that cold, ******* land.
O say can you see, that it is we,
The people, in anger and in shame
Who have no mettle, to give, but tarnish
Foisted on the brave and they
Are worn, like trinkets to dishonor.

And over the deep non-ending sank
Our heroes, betrayed by ism's, discharged
By ghosts in the machining guns,
Unspirited by a corporeal world,
Bamboozled in the muddy thickets
And dropped to the fray on ****** wings,
To foreign soil, where children are lost
In the man eating groves and they
Were thus dutifully numbered by their own
****** arms and all were made
Guilty cold in that sliver of uncivil
And polar eyed land, O say can you see,
The burning of twilights last gleaming?
And, we sutured a wall for the trigger-
Happy dead, we dammed the bleeding,
But can there be no bridges?

And further from those chilling fields
They are casting us letters, address
Unknown and mid adrift are messages
In drowning bottles by the waysides,
They are swimming to our doors,
Where, we the people, have built a wall,
Made of stone, black and shiny, it will
Not smear— and we are polishing off
Our dead, say the cold blooded
Behind that face and in front runs a red
River running down the vane, glorious sun,
Yet, this humble partition, in stories and tears,
Is deconstructing grave white heads,
Quartered in pride and darts to the ground,
That warring bird, crowned to his vacant
Lots.  O— say can you see, the turning
Of twilight's last gleaming?
Poem written in honor of all fallen soldiers and commemorating the 'Vietnam Veterans Memorial Wall' in Washington, D.C.

The Vietnam Veterans Memorial is a national memorial in Washington, D.C. It honors U.S. service members of the U.S. armed forces who fought in the Vietnam War, service members who died in service in Vietnam/South East Asia, and those service members who were unaccounted for (Missing In Action) during the War.
827 · Jun 2015
Princess of Aran
Seán Mac Falls Jun 2015
On that western isle, bathed in gold-
Drenching sun, my only, giddy love,
Weaved a daisy chain and crowned
Herself, above the clouds and purple-
Violet seas, her grace, topping yellow-
Sparkled weeds, to flower, marching
In fealty, round her red, reign of crown,
Soon, after new mornings impromptu
Coronation, misty, bluer, eyes felt slow
Distant dread, the subtle, burning fate,
The inevitable nights of overthrowing
And fade of love's noble, corona light.

Were I shaper of dream, I would build
A grand labyrinthian castle of granite
Stone to contain that day—  I would
Conjure a moat, impervious to shifting
Time, the mute corruption of sorrows
Waking.
826 · Dec 2014
Haiku ( proposal )
Seán Mac Falls Dec 2014
To love she said no  .  .  .
Winter howls ringing so cold,
  .  .  .  Naked trees in wind.
825 · Feb 2014
Winter
Seán Mac Falls Feb 2014
My window frames me in reflection,
I gaze out to the snowy mountains
Beyond myself, yet before such places
You have run to, it has been so long,
Now comes another new winter, I see
Snow drifts reaching, winds to the sky,
High atop the autumn white mountains
Paler than loneliness, white as my hair.
825 · Sep 2016
Zz Euphony
Seán Mac Falls Sep 2016
.
*Sun rings loud in morn
All is song of communion
Church bells chime at dawn
825 · Feb 2014
Haiku ( lonesome )
Seán Mac Falls Feb 2014
Spotted light on lake,
Plaintive cry of single loon,
Full moon in his voice.
824 · Oct 2014
Body of Ocean, Milk and Sky
Seán Mac Falls Oct 2014
Body of ocean, milk and sky,
We are tangled in the hope of night.
The lips of the milky way, creaming us,
Stains and is **** with a taste keening;
All is creation.  My meteors crash
Into your ruptured Earth.  I flame
Upon your must and moisted furrows
And my toes are locked, rooted in yours.

Body of ocean, milk and sky,
In the deserts of the day you are true
Oasis.  The curves and waft of your sands
Seethe and sodden my barren plains,
Are erasing all my wandering memories
Of an endless sky and now your eyes
Are the only stars I know, and your skin;
A sheet that holds the heavens shimmering.

Body of ocean, milk and sky,
Your ******* are the heaving of grasses
And wind, loft and laden in the rounded
Hills, a hoard of ****** bread, bountiful,
Ripe and strange.  Your hair is an endless
Savannah, your valleys are gold and honeyed
With milk, seared, filled by my penetrating sun.
In passion we play; low on earth and deep in sky.
824 · Mar 2017
Touching
Seán Mac Falls Mar 2017
.
*Casements to the soul
Lovers find reaching in dark
O what hands can hold
824 · Dec 2013
Touch
Seán Mac Falls Dec 2013
When she touches me, I feel her touching
Herself, though she circles my shape into
Oneness, I sometimes feel— detached
Within those arms.  
                                   In her startled-fall
To sleep, imperceptibly, she gathers
The room from her vexing childhood.  
Drawing the air and curling in waves—
My hair, as if she were weaving some kind
Of shelter.

When I touch her, it is with desire.
My reach untangles the very dream
Which took thirty five years of dull
Existence to unmuddle— to imagine,
My soul's other.

                         Ten fingers envelop her body
Like splits of lightning— rippling skyward
From wholly, bone-dun-desert, floor and there,
In that rose-journey of unbridled touch,
The shock of thunder makes a mother
Of the sky.  
                     When she breaks her water
The blighted earth that was sung— given
My name, becomes her light, awakening
Child.
823 · Sep 2016
Flower That She Loved
Seán Mac Falls Sep 2016
( Song )*

She took the flower that she loved,
Planted him in the burning sun,
A desert formed around and the morning dew,
Were tears the flower cried,
It nearly died.

She took the flower that she loved,
Brought him near, into her house,
Her house was cold and dry, with no light to see,
The flower could not leave,
It nearly died.

She took the flower that she loved,
Found the place where he belonged,
Without walls, in shade of sunshine, where flowers bloom,
In peace they bear no pain,
And rarely die.
823 · Sep 2016
Song of Birds
Seán Mac Falls Sep 2016
( Sonnet )*
.
Out
Doors
Shout
Floors,

Whispering
Wrings,
Wilding
Wings,

­Emptin­ess
Full,
Loneliness
Unruled,

Angels'
Spirituals.
823 · Apr 2013
Haiku ( weeds )
Seán Mac Falls Apr 2013
She left in springtime,
White globes of daisies explode—
What is left of me.
823 · Apr 2015
Hubris
Seán Mac Falls Apr 2015
Mankind playing God
Red burning sands, angry skies
Blue ocean will rise
822 · Jan 2013
Haiku ( naiad )
Seán Mac Falls Jan 2013
I trembled zipping her,
Cascades of hair— rosewater,
Poured into a dress.
822 · May 2016
Walking Flowers
Seán Mac Falls May 2016
.
Nature cut her ties,
The stem wanders,
Petals splay in wind,
Woman spreads open,
Man needles so within,
Fruit will come, to drop,
After loves have spoken
And the new walking limbs
Of ripeness that leaves out,
Shall branch into us, light,
Under a sun which seethes,
In the salt of the scorn flesh,
The petals of woman alive,
Such nectar that man must
Halve of himself into world
And kind release, breakings
With water unto high earthly
Being and lands unknown,
Like a Phoenix after ashes,
In a shower of clay, dried
Yet bountiful with bloods
Streaming to the afterdays
Of progeny and old hatch,
To hold with stars as chaos
Falls, seeding casted comes,
Liquids into spinning births.
822 · Sep 2016
Potion
Seán Mac Falls Sep 2016
.
*Sloe black Guinness seeps,
Raven eye conjured in glass—
  .  .  .  Frothy and gorgeous!
822 · Feb 2015
Delicious
Seán Mac Falls Feb 2015
Delicious is a word I save for you.
Chocolate comes close but feeds me only
Famine.  Your skin is blest three times,
Once for new redolence.  Bay leaved
To the core, you proffer memories
Which chamber the years in round rooms,
Opening freely into rouge galleries
Of spice.  Secondly, it is soft as summer
Water.  It draws itself toward touch
Like ripples skipping over a sweating pond,
Lapping its way towards the creamy shore.
The third gift of your skin is the colour
Of desired destination, an instrument
Which maps the mirror of a universe,
Because you are deckled with stars so heady,
You are wet smoke from drooling galaxies
And rose white fathoms of sky, they are pooling,
And pulling me with force so fulsome
As to be almost—
Tasteless.

                 The firm green bread of spring,
The blue blood of heaven and the milky
Sun, these are your flavours all intermingled,
And three piquant senses speak to my tongue;
I smell, I touch, I taste— you are,
Delicious.
822 · Jul 2013
Winter
Seán Mac Falls Jul 2013
The lost elk on blue pine mountain,
Where all the stunted world is small,
Know the face of winter as it founts,
Above tree lines, trumpet all is cold.
821 · Oct 2012
Haiku ( damned )
Seán Mac Falls Oct 2012
Godless charity—
Millionaire dreams of billions,
Eremite hoarding.
One in a series of election time ( yes, it is brain dead voter time again ) haikus,

The harsh language is to better communicate with those lacking in humor, sense of irony, compassion for others,
Awareness of subtleties, and or oblivious to their own hypocrisies, aka, neocons, republicans, right wings, libertarians ( anarchists on trust-funds ), and general heartless fuckwads.

Wake up people!
820 · Aug 2013
Her Tears
Seán Mac Falls Aug 2013
Fire on water,
The hearts smoke
And low rain of her eyes,
What wry lashing they gave,
The currency of night's tender,
My fare to the wandering lands
And makeshift rounds of munitions
Heat, mushroom, slice and plosive gaze.
820 · Nov 2014
Treasure
Seán Mac Falls Nov 2014
Lips, soft as petals, rarefied as undiscovered
Wild orchids.

Hair, threads of gold gathered, woven, mined
From secret caves.

Eyes, that fell from violet skies landing on new
Isles of azure.

Skin, so salmon flecked, subtle, delicate, solas,
Destination.

Your body is buried cask and gilded keeper
Of jewels and flame, whispers, searing cold,
Blue fires untamed—

Lush, fertile wanderings, colourful birds, sweeping
Moon, pools of sorrows and light, trees branching,
Pleasures keen, crushing delights without name.
820 · Aug 2015
Before Music Was a Poem
Seán Mac Falls Aug 2015
.
Before music was a poem—
Writ in an empty black book
And then a guitar played me,
The world was rung in stars,
Simple and real as spun light
On a staff of gold in the dark.

And word becoming structure,
Branched out into leaving sky,
The notes of the minded heart
Opened in modulation of keys
And time was rooted in beats,
The song tapping in our dream.

After— music was a poem,
Old as a birth from the lamb
And memories calling forth,
From landed dreams awoke,
Everything before led me on,
This journey into bright morn.
820 · Dec 2013
Story . . .
Seán Mac Falls Dec 2013
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.
819 · Aug 2013
Loves Prisoner
Seán Mac Falls Aug 2013
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.
819 · Aug 2014
Love In Three Colours
Seán Mac Falls Aug 2014
Red was the colour of her hair,
The colour of blood in a bed,
The pastels of lovers burnished
By an indifferent, waning sun.
The mark of my own undoing,
The fey burning in my veins.

Blue is the colour of mirage,
The marriage of the naked oceans
And of the non cloths of the skies,
Blue is the blast of bold dream,
Of the future and of the past
The innocence in her eyes.

White was the colour of her
Soul, her skin, the brash divinity
Within, without, removed, set
And vibrating like swirls, flash,
Particles, parsed, dark matters
In superpositions of quantum flux.
818 · Jun 2015
om boson
Seán Mac Falls Jun 2015
Particles flashing
In and out of existence
Child is born, cries, dies
The recently discovered 'Higgs Boson' is an elementary particle on the quantum level, sometimes referred to as the 'God Particle,' because it gives mass to all other particles of matter.

Om (ॐ; in Devanagari as ओं oṁ [õː], औं auṃ [ə̃ũ], or ओ३म् om [õːːm]) is a mantra and mystical sound of Hindu origin (geographically India and Nepal), sacred and important in various Dharmic religions such as Hinduism, Buddhism and Jainism.
.
818 · Feb 2015
Dove
Seán Mac Falls Feb 2015
If I were to become again
Your dove, in all its tenderness,
Your star in the holding sky,
Would we never know once more
The miracle of flight, of white
lsled lands, undiscovered, burgeoning,
And green, the rainbow sparkled peaks,
The oceanic, new sights of the eye?
818 · Feb 2017
My Ruby Looks On Stones
Seán Mac Falls Feb 2017
.
My ruby looks on stones to see the light.
While amber stars are flashing in her mien,
She forges facets with her eyes and mines
A rocky grave.  To bear as such, the sun
Un-sung, she could caul parhelion to dust
And still doom to shadow those fireworks
She alone ignites.  Here then lies a truth;
My ruby looks on stones to see the light.
818 · Dec 2014
The Naked Kings
Seán Mac Falls Dec 2014
The first ones they killed were the poets.
They crowned themselves, the sterile
And sexless acorns who fell from the felled
And split the air, writing with bark,
Would have us not desire experience
But describing trees.  To the naked kings
The word is a wonder, a tool to be used
Like any other.  With a forge, they called
An altar, they pitted heaven and made miners
Of the Gods.  In high places they read
Their grounded works, sogged with rain
Water from a red wheelbarrow, they list
And bludgeon us with their hammered similes,
Scribe their poems, they are the painters of one
Colour and high priests of alchemy, turning
Salon into echelon.  When the falcon stoops
They name him hawk.  Standing ****, flat-footed,
In bumpy skin, their honks go unanswered,
For they are no kin to the swan that glides
And sometimes they remember that,

The first ones they killed were the poets,
When the sky is etherized, prose made
Verse and their subjects yawn the great
Slaving maw.  Steeped in stale erudition,
They man-scaped the garden, pulled out
The weeds and by their words, they decreed
That only grass should grow, in strident
Chorus they are ringing in the sheaves.
But their poems are only like poems.
The naked kings are clothed in word only.

In the thirsty kingdom, water spills
Stagnant from the stein and the droplets
Echo, "there's no there  .  .  . there."
Incestuously they christened
Each other, one hundred years of virgins
Making love with a dead word
They know not of— Poet!  Asters
Among the daisies, yet on the fields
Of praise, they shall deflower
Themselves and though they strut
And prance as stallions and mares,
You will know them by their brays.
818 · Aug 2014
Haiku ( bathing )
Seán Mac Falls Aug 2014
I draw the hot bath
For you, my sweet goose bumped girl,
Your smile draws me in.
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