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Seán Mac Falls Apr 2015
In the dreamlands of sun,
He streams the invisible rivers
Of lit glories to come,

Careens, lording the beams,
Airs, above the ordinary
Grasses that dry in the gleams,

With eyes that wash over kills,
The forking fowl and mealy vole,
Hare in the runaway hills,

High above the fourth wall, stead-
Fast, stately in his dress,
To commencements of death,

Where eagle strikes with talon,
Crescent as day moon,
Sudden, silent to the cast fallen.
The fourth wall is the imaginary "wall" at the front of the stage in a traditional three-walled box set in a proscenium theatre, through which the audience sees the action in the world of the play.
Seán Mac Falls Mar 2015
Statue comes to life
Suddenly wings breaking free
Great blue heron flies
Seán Mac Falls Mar 2015
The lone stark bugle cry—
Horn of the great mountain elk,
Ripples down cold through morning
Dusted wood as the mushrooming dews        
Drop into dearly waded pools under
Fawning toes of forage and cool
Evergreen.
Eleanor K Mar 2015
The crows cawed out with harsh, sorrowful cries as we drove up.
I fumbled to pull my phone out of my pocket,
and asked my mom to pull over.
She gave me an odd look,
but did so all the same.

It was a true ****** of crows,
like none you have ever seen in your life.
Black on the gray sky,
they swooped,
each feather a silhouette against the shades.

They sat on street wires,
balanced on wobbly tree branches,
and pecked at the ground.
Fifty? A hundred? Two hundred? Three hundred?
Too many to count.

I walked around the sidewalk in awe,
as in waves they would lift from the ground,
soar as one,
before lighting back down,
as if nothing had happened.

The busy cars whirred by on all sides of the small, road-boardered area. What a great welcome to your new home.
Would you have taken it as a bad sign?
Something of that majesty?
01-14-2014
Posted Originally on 420 Fables
Seán Mac Falls Jan 2015
Frogs— suddenly dive,
Blocks of flesh crane to the sky,
Heron holds head high.
Seán Mac Falls Dec 2014
Falcon rise— yellow racing eyes,
Blue wraith that rakes the skies,
Never has one fared such beauty,
Airs naught wholly bright as thee.

Is there a kneel for end of days—
Songs, deeds for those who prey?
Is there light breaking pied wings,
Or is heaven overlord to all things?

Sun spots feathering coated crest,
Talons top spires mountain breast,
When rivers of the wind fail all fowl,
What grace and splendour in a cowl?

Is there a psalm in the wailing winds,
A hymn that carries all innocent sins,
Or a fable, blue as stupendous skies,
A truest place where redemption lies?

The sea slides with lost ocean birds
And blue wings coast, row unheard,
Edging the skies with razors' tinge,
Seeding the immortal spark begins.

Falcon rise— yellow racing eyes,
Blue wraith that rakes the skies,
Never has one fared such beauty,
Naught airs wholly bright as thee.


                  — *after William Blake
Seán Mac Falls Dec 2014
Wings beat to overtake.
Now, above you like a fire shot
In a silent film the rush begins.
Wings fold inward, the air turrents,
Streams, as a ball swirling in a tube,
Grey bullet in the barrel,
The slide to the **** and the talons,
Make their mark before the hitch.
Soft plosives bearly sounding,
Crake, blood cupped in the claws,
From the breast and the rose  
Heart, now in a tail spin,  

Nostrils whine in the fall.  
No jury just but a sup of the faded  
Heart by one raging one.  
The wilted wings are stirring  
To the last as the pointed  
Wingman ferries, the wholly bred,
Quarry of perfection, jolts  
And jilts, and His scythe of feathers
Holds sway in the whirl.
As the God-made creature
From high heaven flies
The mourning dove must die.
Seán Mac Falls Dec 2014
Snow capped mountains,
Bald flights of soaring eagle,
Dual forms Godhead.
Prabhu Iyer Nov 2014
How shall I hymn you,

majestic presence? Shall I

be the wide sea, and

weep, overcome in your vastness?

or, evaporate, seeking you?
1. This is written in the style of Japanese tanka – my first attempt at that, all you experts, guide me if I’ve got something wrong there!

2. The origins of ‘contemplate’ are rooted in meditation on the sky!
MysteryBear Nov 2014
There was a girl.
And this girl wore her heart on her sleeve
Everyone saw this and everyone cared.

There was a guy.
And this guy wore his scars on his skin
Everyone saw this but no one cared.

Why would they?
She was beautiful, had a voice that made waking up worth while
He was beautiful too but you couldn't see that through his denials

The girl finally noticed the guy.
He was the only one who never said hi

She asked why he never cared
He answered "I'm sorry your majesty"

This went back and forth for a couple weeks
Until one day he didn't come to school

There was a guy.
And this guy hung a crown around his neck
No one saw this but everyone cared

The girl finally noticed the guy.
He was the only one who never said bye
Stop worrying about yourself all the time because there are tons more people in the world that need caring for too.
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