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Seán Mac Falls Apr 2016
The ruddy footworn path is wild and long,
Tracing down all of my woodland years,
Shorter in front, longer behind, fading song,
Was its form cut by me or the grazing deer?
Allania Berkey Mar 2016
Today is cloudy with a slight breeze, while it should be sunny
It seems to be cloudy because the sky is left without words to describe the gray

The air even tastes different today
And the feeling in the air brings apon a case of nostalgia
a feeling that becomes of sorrow
Just like memories

Memories
Why I cherish the love of memories, but they do not of me
Memories have a colorful and colorless beauty to them
Paradox some would say
The color is often found in the rececpicrol of good will, but eventually the nuance of them becomes hazey and dreadful to bare
Memories--
I could laugh--
the weather today is something like you.
Seán Mac Falls Mar 2016
( Sonnet )*

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.
Seán Mac Falls Feb 2016
Crow in the sun so black,
You are blue, a dark shining
On the green innocent lawn.

Crow in the sun creeping,
On land you are awkward,
In the sky you are blotting.

Crow in the laze of the day,
Your eyes are unbalancing
In the gardens overgrown.

Crow in the sun so black,
You are shimmering dread,
On the green unkept lawns.
Brandon Crandell Feb 2016
Sometimes I wonder why I put myself in these situations
A never ending battle of contemplation
Good bad
Happy sad
Pixievic Feb 2016
I sit on a bench
On a hill
In the rain
Hiding my tears
My heart
Full of pain
I watch
I listen
I wait in vain
For the answer
To a question
I can't explain

I sit on a bench
In a park
Full of history
Surrounded by people
Who pass by
But can't see me
I am hurt
I am broken
And they let me be
A girl
On a bench
Across from the abbey

I sit on my bench
In quiet
Contemplation
A man walks by
On his face
Admiration
He smiles
He sees
The hurt and frustration
Of the girl
On the bench
Who has no conviction

He sits on my bench
On the hill
In the rain
He asks me
To share my fear
And my pain
I speak
He listens
And I smile again
On a bench
With a friend
On a hill in the rain

(C) Pixievic 2016
Wrote this awhile ago - but it popped  into my head today ....!
Andrew Feb 2016
You are doomed..
Doomed to repeat
All of your mother's
Mistakes.

Pitiful
You are so
Pathetic

Until you grow up
This cycle will end
Only by
The most horrible means.

And I will
Be far
Far Away
Seán Mac Falls Feb 2016
Gentle sounds that jar as fog rolls in—
Blue Jays knock and forage in the leaves,
Days turn to nights in a cold winter rushing,
Atop a hill overlooking my disappering village,
Darkness is expected as always unwelcomed,
My guest that will not— not come— as I wait,
To hear the lone emptiness of a fog horn blow
From out there, incoming, pray old harbour
Bay. Is it an omen of souls landing or lost?
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