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betterdays Jun 2014
the wavelets,
nibble
at our toes.
as my boy
and i comb
the tideline,
for tiny treasures.
curls blowing,
ever which way
in the salt
tanged breeze.
little hand holds
red bucket,
the
clicksnickclack
of shells
already collected
is a comforting sound.
as we
meander along,
soon we
will turn
and
wander homeward
to warmth
leaving the sealife
to their own
care.....until,
the next time.
on the way home, we stopped at beach... it enriches us both...
now time for chicken noodlesoup(home made)
big bubble bath and bed....
Seán Mac Falls Aug 2013
— for Seamus Heaney*

Forging scaffold and wells of tongue,
Whose every word— rung to the stars,
One sprite, born a new heart to Ulster,
Tanged in sounds of the beating sparkle,
Now the leftover sun, a light in absence,
Falls with leaves of the turning autumn,
Tears, sloping, in a feathered arc, so fair,
Splitting to the shores of a western isle.
The Celtic Otherworld (orbis alius, so named after Lucan's account of the druidical doctrine of metempsychosis) is a concept in Celtic mythology, referring to an Otherworld such as a realm of the dead and a home of the deities or spirits.

Tales and folklore describe it as Fortunate Isles in the western sea, or at other times underground (such as in the Sídhe mounds) or right alongside the world of the living, but invisible to most humans.
Seán Mac Falls Jul 2015
— for Seamus Heaney*

Forging scaffold and wells of tongue,
Whose every word— rung to the stars,
One sprite, born a new heart to Ulster,
Tanged in sounds of the beating sparkle,
Now the leftover sun, a light in absence,
Falls with leaves of the turning autumn,
Tears, sloping, in a feathered arc, so fair,
Splitting to the shores of a western isle.
The Celtic Otherworld (orbis alius, so named after Lucan's account of the druidical doctrine of metempsychosis) is a concept in Celtic mythology, referring to an Otherworld such as a realm of the dead and a home of the deities or spirits.

Tales and folklore describe it as Fortunate Isles in the western sea, or at other times underground (such as in the Sídhe mounds) or right alongside the world of the living, but invisible to most humans.
.
Seán Mac Falls Oct 2014
— for Seamus Heaney*

Forging scaffold and wells of tongue,
Whose every word— rung to the stars,
One sprite, born a new heart to Ulster,
Tanged in sounds of the beating sparkle,
Now the leftover sun, a light in absence,
Falls with leaves of the turning autumn,
Tears, sloping, in a feathered arc, so fair,
Splitting to the shores of a western isle.
The Celtic Otherworld (orbis alius, so named after Lucan's account of the druidical doctrine of metempsychosis) is a concept in Celtic mythology, referring to an Otherworld such as a realm of the dead and a home of the deities or spirits.

Tales and folklore describe it as Fortunate Isles in the western sea, or at other times underground (such as in the Sídhe mounds) or right alongside the world of the living, but invisible to most humans.
Anais Vionet Aug 2021
Sudden kisses, in ***** stealth - warming as morning sun - unmasked favors to allure and added heat to deep affection.

Those eyes, fair heaven should be spangled with such stars - and those radiantly concupiscible lips perform witchcraft.

Slow hours of marriage-like joys soon followed - lover’s tongues tanged from the sweetest flowers not of the field.

In that dear company, I surrendered, like eve's apple, that treasure - peevish, proud and idle whose natural enemy is man.

What I find now haunting my sleep are the nights, the years of lost and unused benefits - knowing that fault was mine.
Bring again kisses - bring again life.
Seán Mac Falls Mar 2014
— for Seamus Heaney*

Forging scaffold and wells of tongue,
Whose every word— rung to the stars,
One sprite, born a new heart to Ulster,
Tanged in sounds of the beating sparkle,
Now the leftover sun, a light in absence,
Falls with leaves of the turning autumn,
Tears, sloping, in a feathered arc, so fair,
Splitting to the shores of a western isle.
The Celtic Otherworld (orbis alius, so named after Lucan's account of the druidical doctrine of metempsychosis) is a concept in Celtic mythology, referring to an Otherworld such as a realm of the dead and a home of the deities or spirits.

Tales and folklore describe it as Fortunate Isles in the western sea, or at other times underground (such as in the Sídhe mounds) or right alongside the world of the living, but invisible to most humans.
F Jan 2019
i.
you evils,
you way back when;
the bud of youth torn open.
voodoo dolls, one for everyone you
know. mine your favourite.
stab the button eyes.
twist the straw torso.
stamp it out with the heel of your foot.
and i: confined for years,
steeped, like tea, in misfortune.
you elude the fates, karma, cosmic intelligence,
and tanged, twenty two months ago, life
thread in a tight knot,
ready to be snipped.

ii.
tar floods the eyes
and spews out like the **** of a spot;
acne-ridden teenager. that’s
all i was. crater-boy.
now i am stupid-boy.
subservient to the waves that jostle,
the spurs of your moods.
a marionette propped up on charles bridge,
forced to wave and smile.
day by day a diminishing, a fading —
a mystical dementia ravages.
people go, but never come, tired and bored.
the slow death far from over.

iii.
rotting but still alive.
those ol’ friends are fiends.
I sometimes miss this girl
who enjoys sitting in cafès
with her emptied cup.
She who finds grace
in the presence of waiting
And believes in happy ending.

I sometimes miss this girl
who's so good at self consolation.
She who patronises self rule
more than any other,
Someone who's still whole.

Now cafès reminds me
not with coffee fragrant promises
But of bitter tanged memories
While sitting becomes restless waits
I have come to miss the girl
I was before you-

I still long of me a little.
Dissident Aug 16
Yes
You are the first strike
The flint, the steel, the silver spark
Yes, you are, in fact, burning alive
You dissolve against the test
Melting quantum cotton candy
At the speed limit of Gods hot mouth
Yes
you're the dancing static of dreams
A fortuitous concourse of atoms
Yes you are already dead & birthless
Your gigantic solitude swallows entire copper colored mountain ranges
Vast cloud choked landscapes, silent forests and still lakes, where rolling planets lull and white dwarfs, red giants gas and sputter.
All/Not.
Yes you are born again
Neither lost nor found you find yourself
Awake at the dark hollow egde of another decaying era
But your foundations smoldered
Long before the deep Stone Ages
Remember?
before blood signaled Tanged Point Technocomplexes before the cardinal idiot's first monolithic abstraction-before the first eye ever blinked against the light
We mingled
dangling our feet over the edge a while there in that anti-light dawn
vertigo
before the flow took us again
remember?

— The End —