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 Mar 2014
Seán Mac Falls
.
Eyes, orb as exploding stars,
Weighted light of hair rushing,
Held extremities, nimbus limbs,
Eons' spring, singularity crushing.
 Mar 2014
Seán Mac Falls
Her fine hands are gentle
With lithe and spiny fingers
Of bone and fin.

Her eyes are opal,
Essence of emerald and topaz,
A hoard of treasure.

Her hair is sea gathering
And dances in the blue currents
Deadly as the sea snake.

Her skin is coral,
Made of mineral and sorcery,
A fatal beacon.

Her lips are urchin,
Set in a whirlpool of face,
A spiral of doom.

Her voice is dream,
Rocking the lost wrecked ships,
Ground into sand.

Her long tail is fable
Of paradise, beyond faraway seas,
Cyclones and waves.
 Feb 2014
Seán Mac Falls
Ruddy and worn,
Dusted by turf and salt,
Sun rose cheeked and blue
Clouded eye spurt in a gait
Ended by mute journeys and toil.
He breaks the long day with a shove
As the old pocked door is waiting to be
Opened.  At the crowning stand of the bar
He orders his Craic, some froth of tar, his black
Medicinal and when the tales of tall pints grow, sinking,
Live, flickering light slows and smoulders, shoulders with moist
Embers of smoke trailing by with an impromptu céilí and all is brilliant,
Blind, awful and right, cast in the sprite, spirited dance of the verbal swirlings.
"Craic", or "crack", is a term for news, gossip, fun, entertainment, and enjoyable conversation, particularly prominent in Ireland.  It is often used with the definite article – the craic. The word has an unusual history; the English crack was borrowed into Irish as craic in the mid-20th century and the Irish spelling was then reborrowed into English.  Under either spelling, the term has great cultural currency and significance in Ireland.

In modern usage, a céilidh or ceilidh ( pronounced: kay-lee ) 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. In Irish it is spelt céilí.
 Feb 2014
Seán Mac Falls
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.
 Feb 2014
Seán Mac Falls
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.
 Feb 2014
Kevin Eli
I went to bed Thursday night and I woke up Monday morning.
Where the **** did my weekend go?
I made sure not to drink so I could remember it this time.

Why do I have this paycheck?
Wait, where did it go?
Here's another one. Cool.
Gone again. ****.

Wasn't I supposed to have some money saved?
Some energy recovered?
Some sleep caught up on?
Some more stories to tell than I do?

The sun is setting and the coffee isn't even done brewing.
I thought it would've been different this time around.
Late to life, early to death.
I don't want to work anymore, I just want to rest.

**** this impending deathbed regret.
Sleep is for the dead, and work is for the lost.
 Feb 2014
Seán Mac Falls
In the early dawn
A shout is seen
As the moon is falling,
Tawny birds blithely dart
In the scarlet tangles
Of your heart, always escape
Yet never so parading past
The topped prime colours
Of bleeding eyes uncovered,
All the fields and clearing
Woods have cordoned
Themselves, beyond
Your glorious boundaries,
In the knotted, noble trials
Of briar and serrated leaf,
Green trails ply angled thorns
Leading to one ****** crown.
 Feb 2014
Seán Mac Falls
Showers of promise punctuate your days,
The waters creek, mumble rise and swell,
Flowers, spark of youth, marching in the rains
And birds sing anew, bright pages, bursting-bell,
An earthy coronation, cleanse and glisten,
All the wood, shorn by Winters’ wane and fan,
*** and waltz in balmy breeze collecting
Ferns and Falls' forgotten blood red hands
Renewed, the grass and trees, heavens missal,
Wing-lipped leaves exploding green, just listen;
The washing rains parade, all resurrection.
 Feb 2014
Seán Mac Falls
So many words between us—
The caustic breech of abatement, ruin
Runs atonal, in recitals of indifference,
How even the ****** birds now sound
Discordant and rain crushes as it falls,
Ballistic.

The pinprick stars are merely eyes
Undraped to the worn soul's veil
And gorgon time roils setting our feet
In the crust of wishes and delusions
Kept.  

The bullet riddled skies in absence
Of colour are but particulates of lime
To the moonless night.  Words have no
Eyes, they can only finger.

O the sorrows of the untouched—
The cruelty of the sightless and bent blind,
Drab vermillion stars felled like forced tears.
 Feb 2014
PrttyBrd
There once was a boy over yonder
Who gave the girls something to ponder
And I must confess
Though loathe to acquiesce
Despite my denial, I've grown fonder
;)
2414
 Feb 2014
Kevin Eli
I am a collector.
Some would say I am good.
Others would say I am lucky.
A few who know me would say I'm a *****.

I couldn't care if I bang you.
I just want your number.
I'm just feeling the need to be better
Than everyone else.

To know I can get your girl, or that one over there.
My presence is bigger and I'm more important, you should care.
To know I could sleep with a celebrity's daughter.
The paparazzi would obviously look at me if they caught her.

Trust me, I can beat you at whatever it is.
I might be lying, A bluff; hit or a miss.
I've done someone like you before this,
A dozen times or more.

Bottom line ladies and gentlemen:
Know not just who I am,

I make myself look like a rogue and a roar
For fear of finding my role.
Collecting people and demanding more
Because I am afraid of who I am.

It's alright to be me.
I am nothing more.
 Feb 2014
Seán Mac Falls
High school fealty shines,
Linking Titans with lame hacks,
  .  .  .  Everyone is pleased.
Hello Poetry - wake up and smell the doff heresy!!
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