Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Jaelin Rose Oct 2012
A Brave and Startling Truth

We, this people, on a small and lonely planet
Traveling through casual space
Past aloof stars, across the way of indifferent suns
To a destination where all signs tell us
It is possible and imperative that we learn
A brave and startling truth

And when we come to it
To the day of peacemaking
When we release our fingers
From fists of hostility
And allow the pure air to cool our palms

When we come to it
When the curtain falls on the minstrel show of hate
And faces sooted with scorn are scrubbed clean
When battlefields and coliseum
No longer rake our unique and particular sons and daughters
Up with the bruised and ****** grass
To lie in identical plots in foreign soil

When the rapacious storming of the churches
The screaming racket in the temples have ceased
When the pennants are waving gaily
When the banners of the world tremble
Stoutly in the good, clean breeze

When we come to it
When we let the rifles fall from our shoulders
And children dress their dolls in flags of truce
When land mines of death have been removed
And the aged can walk into evenings of peace
When religious ritual is not perfumed
By the incense of burning flesh
And childhood dreams are not kicked awake
By nightmares of abuse

When we come to it
Then we will confess that not the Pyramids
With their stones set in mysterious perfection
Nor the Gardens of Babylon
Hanging as eternal beauty
In our collective memory
Not the Grand Canyon
Kindled into delicious color
By Western sunsets

Nor the Danube, flowing its blue soul into Europe
Not the sacred peak of Mount Fuji
Stretching to the Rising Sun
Neither Father Amazon nor Mother Mississippi who, without favor,
Nurture all creatures in the depths and on the shores
These are not the only wonders of the world

When we come to it
We, this people, on this minuscule and kithless globe
Who reach daily for the bomb, the blade and the dagger
Yet who petition in the dark for tokens of peace
We, this people on this mote of matter
In whose mouths abide cankerous words
Which challenge our very existence
Yet out of those same mouths
Come songs of such exquisite sweetness
That the heart falters in its labor
And the body is quieted into awe

We, this people, on this small and drifting planet
Whose hands can strike with such abandon
That in a twinkling, life is sapped from the living
Yet those same hands can touch with such healing, irresistible tenderness
That the haughty neck is happy to bow
And the proud back is glad to bend
Out of such chaos, of such contradiction
We learn that we are neither devils nor divines

When we come to it
We, this people, on this wayward, floating body
Created on this earth, of this earth
Have the power to fashion for this earth
A climate where every man and every woman
Can live freely without sanctimonious piety
Without crippling fear

When we come to it
We must confess that we are the possible
We are the miraculous, the true wonder of this world
That is when, and only when
We come to it.
Maya Angelou
A porcupine skin,
Stiff with bad tanning,
It must have ended somewhere.
Stuffed horned owl
Pompous
Yellow eyed;
Chuck-wills-widow on a biased twig
Sooted with dust.
Piles of old magazines,
Drawers of boy's letters
And the line of love
They must have ended somewhere.
Yesterday's Tribune is gone
Along with youth
And the canoe that went to pieces on the beach
The year of the big storm
When the hotel burned down
At Seney, Michigan.
Michael Tobias Sep 2013
I will make a fangle of mechanisms,
a creature with iron snouts
and concrete aortas.

Its fevered howl will wake the duplexes
perched on sloped land,
built from collected tins and bottle caps.

Boys sooted in grief will balk like ravens,
chew sweet dip, and spit,
but never reach the foreman’s gate.

They’ll crave a tavern with antlers as chandeliers
where a black flame burns
on the brim of a zinfandel.

But tonight they’ll gristle through streets
to a stale room
where fluorescent lights blanch a young widow’s skin.

Basic cable ministries will flick and dim
in the homes of the wigged ladies who wait for them—
the howl keeps them

breathless, each of them fearing
the slow swallow from a snake’s mouth
to its furnace.
mEb Nov 2010
Vicinit vicinit the gamut go round
Progenies excogitate faster
Ode to no eminent thing
We all morph into matter.

The atramentous inky and blackest dense;
sprints and weaves in and out.
Tenuring twains over head, under toe;
Absconding ways in which we've never known
A paramounted heretic defeat.
Darkness that foliole footprints sooted deep;
Seeping stenches of fowl un-scented reminiscent in attire of the welkin;
Vastly sly making a skullduggery indent.
CR2X let us pseudonym by hex.

"No nomen no nomen for I matter dark"
"Matronymic nix hold's my fine lark"
"Nongermane logics are behind you and left"
"I am not your scientific pet"
Not a test, nix preliminaries"
Matter of all is of all existing quarries"

Spoken gallant and wise
Need not ever a compromise
"Matter dark matter dark it is you we embark!"
Johnny Noiπ Jan 2019
Viva's Saber (in Spanish: L Awaller)                                                   [1...]
In 1798,                                                 the Spanish artist Francisco Goya
drowned in a canal.                             Today it takes place in the Lazaros
Museum in Galadiano, Madrid.
It was purchased in 1798 with five other paintings
relating to the wise duke and Osvan. [2...]   ||      Viva Sabers (Spanish: L Awaller) [1 ...]
                                                 In 1798, the Spanish artist Francisco Goya.
                            Drowned in a channel that today takes place in Lazaros.
Galadiano Museum, Madrid.
It was bought in 1798 with five other paintings.
Connected to duo knowingly and with Osvan. [2 ...]
Due to the capture of secret images,                the duchess was responsible
                     only      for the duchess, but she did not know
                    if it was finished or not.
[2b] In the twentieth century, painting.
It was bought by businessman José Lázaro Galdiano,
And his death was transferred to the state of Spain.
On Saturday there is a handwritten light.
Like a goat captured during the baroque desert period,
With a blanket of boys and magicians.
The goats have large horns and are decorated with oak leaves.
The old salesman had a baby in his hand.
Satan seems to be working
as a priest at the opening ceremony of the child,
although sometimes the belief in superstition
It is often the whip,                     and the vessels of the people who feed on it.
                       You can see two guys cheating.
One on the left,                                 the other on the crown facing the center.
                                      Established office clothes picked up a touch of earth,
Satan was a cassock. [2, 5]                                         Therefore, beards [2. 6];
                 The silhouettes act like poverty and the body cavity of the mouth, keep applauding and applauding. It's a medium
As you can see,                              and with respect to Moloch's abomination,
                            dirt without form at the same time
The Canaanites, to have a Kircher illuminated 1652.
[In 27 schools]                        Before the court stayed too often as a woman,
especially if they derive from Cowin Woonderfull.
[28] The other form of terror brought arcs;
                        His head had to be watched
          while the patient breathed with fear.
There are women in the history of art,                writes Brian McQuade,
"subgroup of men gathered
and this is mainly due to wild idiopathic stars. "
[29] of his absolute power that women compare.
                                 with King Carl Jung, in 1815, near the Philippines;
There are many specific chauvinist influences,
fear of power [3] and women, young and old,
And similar characteristics, but the rope and the nerves at work are ...
in the atmosphere of Perkins' tone,
I created Luis Vives during the fourth Gomarrah,
Ribera and Jusepe; It is this fact, however,
who are using changes from each one of you,
And in the dark, he was an admirer.
From the chiaroscuro of Caravaggio.
Chamber Orchestra; and the steps,
that are used in obedience still known
for the things that were given to him,
And the same sources,                   as well as Rembrandt.    
[30]                   the devil in the form of a goat,
Surrounded by the flock of the crescent moon.
From the prey of the Covina pig,                          it illuminated Món Barril.
he conquered the crown of oak leaves and goat horns,
You will have a wide range of closed transactions,
It must be picked up in the child's hand.
Near the body, the children are dead.
when a bird was flying over the night of the head.    Substrate with seven arc
                       waves 1789 -
Goy images of witchcraft,                                 they saw the fear of a robbery,
Political gain and half of age of the people.                                           [31 ...]
                                 An old woman sitting to the right of the goat;       I'll see
Nobody hides his face,
And half of the white man is the copy.
Of the hooded head and habit habit.
I sat to the right of the bottles and the axis region.
   If Judge Robert Hughes is wonderful,
"And witchcraft and the filters of evil".
[32] With all the eyes of the characters.
They are full of white paint [33] in which the two main figures -.
The goat and the extreme right in recession.
The woman was separated from the group,
      You can hear what is happening at Covina's request.
[32] These two kings, and probable lover, good maiden.
Perky in his industry, Leocadia Weiss [2 ../ 5],
The image appears throughout the fill in the same series.
                                                                ­   [33]

It is less than the black passenger.
Solve the problems of Perkins,    painted in blue, brown,
gray, serious and serious blows.                  Sometimes they went to the place
                                        where they were staying, where the dark black was.
           Of course, they are in the form of a girl,
This is the pain, given the feelings of the devil.
Like other works in the series,
take a week after work,
net shots [34]                     The thickness of the black carbon chalk is applied
                                                    to the underground wash with a white pencil
    Because of the capture of secret images,                                    the duchess
                 was responsible for the Duchess,
but she did not know whether it was finished or unfinished.
[2b]                                     In the 20th century, the painting
was bought by businessman José Lazaro Galdiano,
and his death was transferred to the state of Spain.
On Saturday, handwritten light appears
as a goat captured during the baroque period of the desert,
with a blanket of young boys and old wizards.
Goats have large horns and are decorated with oak leaves. |
The old seller had a baby in his hand. ||
Satan seems to work as a priest during the child's opening ceremony, although sometimes belief in superstition
is often the whip and goggles of people who feed.
You can see two guys cheating.
One on the left, the other on the crown in the center in front.
Wear clerical established picked up a mound of earth,
Satan was an cassock. [2, 5] Hence, the beards             [2. 6];
       Silhouettes act like poverty and body cavity of the mouth,
and a heavy, described clapping.                              It is a form,
as can be seen, and as for Molech the abomination,
of the filthiness out of shape at the same time
the Canaanites,                                  to have a 1652
                                                    Kircher are enlightened;
                                           [He holds 27 school positions]
before the court sat around too often as women,
especially if they derive from Cowin                                      Woonderfull.
[28]          The other form of terror carried bows;
his head to observe as the patient inhales in awe.
There are ladies of art history,                                 writes Brian McQuade,
                                    "sub-group of men gathered
and which is due mainly to the wild, idiotic stars."
[29] of its absolute power that women compare
with King Carl Jung, in 1815,
near the Philippines;
|   there are many specific charisma's influence,
power fear. [3] and women, young and old mix,
and similar features,                             but the job's sad cord and nerves are...
                      in the atmosphere of Perkins' tone,
used to create Luis' Vivas in the fourth Gomarrah,
   Ribera, and Jusepe; it is this fact, however,
that the use as of the changes of all of thee,
and in the darkness was an admirer
of de Caravaggio as chiaroscuro.
Chamber Orchestra;                                                       ­    and the steps,
which are used in yet learned obedience
                                            by the things which were delivered to him,
and out of the same sources, as well as Rembrandt.                        [30...]
the devil in the form of a goat,
surrounded by the rising moon flock
of loathsome Covina carrying,                              illuminated World barren.
conquered the crown of oak leaves and goat horns,
has a wide range. it will be a closed transactions &
should be taken up in a child's hand ordained inside.
Located near the body, some children died
when a bird flying over head night.                        Seven bow wave substrate
                                                          1789 -
Goy images of witchcraft,                       who saw fears of a robbery,
and half of people's ages political gain.                                       [31 ...]
An old woman sitting to the right of the goat; see.
There is no one hiding the face thereof,
                                           and the half of the white man is the copy
of his hooded head, and of wearing of the habit of.
He sits on the right of the bottles and the shaft region.
If Judge Robert Hughes is wonderful,
                                           "and witchcraft and philtres diabolical".
[32] With all the eyes of the figures
are lined with white paint [33]
in which the two major figures -.
The female goat,                       and the far right - in a recession.
The woman was separated from the group,
one can hear what is going on in demand Covina.                  [32] These two kings,                                          and probable lover happy maid
Perky in her industry Leocadia Weiss [25+],
whose image appears on the length of filler in the same series.              [33]

                                      ­               That is less than the black sooted passenger
solving problems Perkins, painted in colors of blue,            brown, gray, wide serious blow. At times,                                    they went into the place & left,
                                                                ­            where there is the dark black,
it is clear that they are in the form                                        of a girl,
this is grief given the feelings of the devil.
                    Like other works in the series,
carrying a week after he worked,
slashing strokes. [34]           The thickness of the plaster carbon
black paint applied to the field underlain wash
with a white pencil, color,                                                crystal glass of red
                      and blue in Dortmundi
crushed iron oxides,                               Orphic ointment, cover.        [35 ...]  
     It is not necessarily material is mixed. [23] Technical analysis indicates
                                                                ­ that the majority of Black Art began
with preparatory drawings.               This page was the exception last week
of the composition of the waves does not think
that there is no reverence,        portrayed    in stone.      muzki of the brand
seems to have critic Carl, Mark Licht
«clumsy, bulky and slow, 'it is not enough in comparison
with what went before the end of the work.
                What a thought of how much is a scam,
and they were unable to believe, being vainly Lit
          by their own feelings in the body,
the introduction of a human is doubtful.                                               [36]
The only thing for the series of the week, and the sagas have not changed significantly from the original work Perkins.                                       [34]
Function fantasy wizards, many characters.
The goat runs to the left of the child,                                             not the left,
and the moon stands in front of the canvas
in the upper left corner.                            [5]         In the middle of high land,
many brave warriors can see the speed
of moving backwards along the curves of Chris S. Chandler.

        When the religious clergyman puts an end to the monk,
he brings out a pile of earth that the devil can eat.
[25] Thus,                               the silhouette of a beard                               [26]
                                               works like poverty,
the body cavity, the womb,    the palms
and the palms.           It is a form, as you can see,
and Moloch has put the filth of dirt in the figure,
while the Canaanites,                                  to get illuminated 1652, Kircher.
                   [It took 27 seconds
                                                   before the courts became known as women,
especially if they came from Quinn and Wunderful.                               [28]
               The other form of terrorism takes its head
                                                   to control the patient's inhalation and terror.
There are women in the history of art,
he writes that Brian McQuaid is "a subset of people gathered,
mainly because of silence, because of the stars".              [29]
His absolute power is compared to that of women
with King Carl 1815, near the Philippines;                There are many effects of specific charisms, of fears of power. [3]
Women,                                           a mixture of young and old traits, similar,
                       but the task is nerves and rope. n    
                       The tone Perkins used to create Louis IV's Lives to the fourth
                 Gomorrah,                                                        ­     Riviera and Rio;
Jusepe. Saint-Tropez is a coastal town
on the French Riviera, in the Provence-Alpes-Côte d'Azur region
of southeastern France. Long popular with artists,
the town attracted the international
"jet set" in the 1960s, and remains known
for its beaches and nightlife. The cobblestone paved
La Ponche quarter recalls its past as a fishing village,
although yachts now outnumber fishing boats
in the Vieux Port (Old Port).           However, this is that the use of change
                                                    in everything,
and in the dark,                                                 was admired by Caravaggio
as a true one. Chamber Orchestra;
           the steps used in obedience
that have been won so far by the things
that have been given to him
and by the same sources,                     as well as by Rembrandt.
[30]                                          The devil, in the shape of a goat,
                         surrounded by the high moon of litigious cattle,
illuminates the arid world.                        The crown of crowns
ed oak leaves and goat horns have a wide range.
               The operations that will be carried out
in the hand of the child specified at home will be closed.
Located near the body,                       some children died
when a bird flew during the night.
Seven Substrate Rainbows,        1789 Joey,
magical images that have seen the fear of theft,        half gain political gains.
                                                                ­              [3, 1...]
An old woman standing to the right of the goats; watch.
Nobody hides his face,                   half of the white man is a shadow version,
usually hard.
It is located on the right side of the bottles
and the axis area.                                   If Judge Robert Hughes is wonderful
"and a witch and a demon".
With all eyes, the numbers
   fill with white paint [33] -
where the two main characters -.
The goat and the woman from the far right -
in a recession.          The women separated
from the group, you can hear what happens
with Covina's request. (32)                            These two kings, likely lovers and the complete maids of Perkins Leocadia Weiss,
[25] the image appears throughout the series.  [33]

This is less of a problem to solve
the Black,                                              Black Perkins problem of silkworms,
painted in blue, white, gray,                                and once serious and severe.
Sometimes they went to the left where the darkness is dark,
of course under this form is the sadness,
                                 taking into account the feelings of the devil.
Like other works in the series, it takes a week after working, cut.          
                                                  ­                                            [34 ...]
The thickness of the black carbon ice layer
is applied in the field below the surface by a white feather,
a color and a red and blue glass crystal
in iron oxides to the floor of Dortmund. [35]
The required material is not mixed. [23] Technical analysis shows that most of the black arts began with preparatory drawings.
                          This page was last week
except for the composition of the waves,           I do not think there is respect
                        for aesthetic photography.
The photo of the brand seems to be Karl's critic, Mark Licht,
"unfortunate, huge and slow",
it is not enough to compare it before the end of the work.
What he thinks about the amount of scam, he could not believe,
                      being unnecessary to his own feelings in the body,
the human introduction is questionable.                    [36]
The only one that has changed for the series of the week
                      or the epic of Perkins' original work. [3. 4]
poppies and chamomile bloomed roads,
covered in warm dust... such a pity
that these are the only ones left
to be pointing towards the eternal city,

where marble and stone still stand
on places gods used to walk bare-footed,
where belief was more than just demand,
until cassocks have had ancient ways sooted.

A place where manner was turned into art
And polymaths emerged from genius creation,
where Latin blood spills from heart to mart
In a continuous state of vibrant elation.

where green is the colour of oils and lust
and the sun can burn to a lemon flavour,
and the sand on the front of the boot is black
and the wine is more than a bitter-sweet savour...

There, where a walk through square paved markets
is bursting with hand-made stories,
where scratching through history's pride
would always end in timeless glory...
When in Rome, one writes about Rome.
i can hear your hesitant silence
louder than an
atom bomb

and the sliverous little
glances
that weave between the
minds

i counted them
once before

when the wind
blew out your
lashes,

when your
fumbly words
and jumpy fingers
gave away
all
your secrets.

show me the string
that unravels the thing
ive been
hunting all day
in search for -

the mirror in the rain
that collects all the pain
for gain
that
ive been waiting
my life
for.

'bunch of student
pollutants,
faces sooted
in black,
fingers
grimey and sticky,
snatching the little
i got.

all ive ever wanted
has been a
simple enough dream:

to be happy

and sappy
with my lover,
my cream,
to play my part
and finish out
what i
started,

to exist on this earth -
serene

but there's this itch
i can't get
to succumb to a
verdict.

this is it.

are you coming
or going?
Seán Mac Falls Aug 2012
I hear echoes that have no voice,
Sad before the vaulted tongues
Over brimmed, who spill on shunted ears
The sour milk of pressed pictures
And sooted lights of lime
And the golden knobs taste
Jarring-dry to their saw dust toes.
Must the babe be chosen
By its mother?

The sea dirt is lined with woolen shawls
And the chasm shout shall dig our graves,
Throated hollow, to the abyss, we sink our six
And ***** the dirt, call not them the spades.


I hear echoes that have no choice,
But to skim the moated land
And wash well eyes with leaven walls
That tease and **** the sum to crushing
Columns lifted shoulder 
High by zeros of kneeling numbers
Worming in bedded slumber.
Must the maker of builders
Be dismantled?

*The sea dirt is lined with woolen shawls
And the chasm shout shall dig our graves,
Throated hollow, to the abyss, we sink our six
And ***** the dirt, call not them the spades.
Seán Mac Falls Aug 2013
I hear echoes that have no voice,
Sad before the vaulted tongues
Over brimmed, who spill on shunted ears
The sour milk of pressed pictures
And sooted lights of lime
And the golden knobs taste
Jarring-dry to their saw dust toes.
Must the babe be chosen
By its mother?

The sea dirt is lined with woolen shawls
And the chasm shout shall dig our graves,
Throated hollow, to the abyss, we sink our six
And ***** the dirt, call not them the spades.


I hear echoes that have no choice,
But to skim the moated land
And wash well eyes with leaven walls
That tease and **** the sum to crushing
Columns lifted shoulder
High by zeros of kneeling numbers
Worming in bedded slumber.
Must the maker of builders
Be dismantled?

*The sea dirt is lined with woolen shawls
And the chasm shout shall dig our graves,
Throated hollow, to the abyss, we sink our six
And ***** the dirt, call not them the spades.
Seán Mac Falls Jan 2013
I hear echoes that have no voice,
Sad before the vaulted tongues
Over brimmed, who spill on shunted ears
The sour milk of pressed pictures
And sooted lights of lime
And the golden knobs taste
Jarring-dry to their saw dust toes.
Must the babe be chosen
By its mother?

The sea dirt is lined with woolen shawls
And the chasm shout shall dig our graves,
Throated hollow, to the abyss, we sink our six
And ***** the dirt, call not them the spades.


I hear echoes that have no choice,
But to skim the moated land
And wash well eyes with leaven walls
That tease and **** the sum to crushing
Columns lifted shoulder
High by zeros of kneeling numbers
Worming in bedded slumber.
Must the maker of builders
Be dismantled?

*The sea dirt is lined with woolen shawls
And the chasm shout shall dig our graves,
Throated hollow, to the abyss, we sink our six
And ***** the dirt, call not them the spades.
Seán Mac Falls Oct 2016
.
I hear echoes that have no voice,
Sad before the vaulted tongues
Over brimmed, who spill on shunted ears
The sour milk of pressed pictures
And sooted lights of lime
And the golden knobs taste
Jarring-dry to their saw dust toes.
Must the babe be chosen
By its mother?

The sea dirt is lined with woolen shawls
And the chasm shout shall dig our graves,
Throated hollow, to the abyss, we sink our six
And ***** the dirt, call not them the spades.


I hear echoes that have no choice,
But to skim the moated land
And wash well eyes with leaven walls
That tease and **** the sum to crushing
Columns lifted shoulder
High by zeros of kneeling numbers
Worming in bedded slumber.
Must the maker of builders
Be dismantled?

*The sea dirt is lined with woolen shawls
And the chasm shout shall dig our graves,
Throated hollow, to the abyss, we sink our six
And ***** the dirt, call not them the spades.
Seán Mac Falls Jan 2014
I hear echoes that have no voice,
Sad before the vaulted tongues
Over brimmed, who spill on shunted ears
The sour milk of pressed pictures
And sooted lights of lime
And the golden knobs taste
Jarring-dry to their saw dust toes.
Must the babe be chosen
By its mother?

The sea dirt is lined with woolen shawls
And the chasm shout shall dig our graves,
Throated hollow, to the abyss, we sink our six
And ***** the dirt, call not them the spades.


I hear echoes that have no choice,
But to skim the moated land
And wash well eyes with leaven walls
That tease and **** the sum to crushing
Columns lifted shoulder
High by zeros of kneeling numbers
Worming in bedded slumber.
Must the maker of builders
Be dismantled?

*The sea dirt is lined with woolen shawls
And the chasm shout shall dig our graves,
Throated hollow, to the abyss, we sink our six
And ***** the dirt, call not them the spades.
Seán Mac Falls Nov 2012
I hear echoes that have no voice,
Sad before the vaulted tongues
Over brimmed, who spill on shunted ears
The sour milk of pressed pictures
And sooted lights of lime
And the golden knobs taste
Jarring-dry to their saw dust toes.
Must the babe be chosen
By its mother?

The sea dirt is lined with woolen shawls
And the chasm shout shall dig our graves,
Throated hollow, to the abyss, we sink our six
And ***** the dirt, call not them the spades.


I hear echoes that have no choice,
But to skim the moated land
And wash well eyes with leaven walls
That tease and **** the sum to crushing
Columns lifted shoulder
High by zeros of kneeling numbers
Worming in bedded slumber.
Must the maker of builders
Be dismantled?

*The sea dirt is lined with woolen shawls
And the chasm shout shall dig our graves,
Throated hollow, to the abyss, we sink our six
And ***** the dirt, call not them the spades.
PK Wakefield Jan 2012
come earth
come flushly
come trees
come birds
come all warm living heat
come frothing leaves and grass
come oceans brimming deepest
come able breaths of god
come creation
come body
come soul
come all rightness; all rawness; all bleeding and kissing
come hurt
come pain sorely and pleasure elated
come knees greenly sooted in the Summers virginal lush embrace
come lovers
come clear crystal nights
come drunken muddled nights
come stars
come lips and cheeks
come arms
come hearts
come urge
come increase
come wilt
come rind
come life
come death
come all things simple
come all things complex
come all
come everything
come and i will meet you
come and i will greet you
come and i will touch your bodies with my bodies
come and i will brush the lewd breaking dirt of you with the clean sturdy skin of my body
come and i will know you
come and you will know me
come O soft careless husk of amorous purple spring
come lilting
come graceful careful colours of flowers blossoming
come sun
come light
come women
come men
come **** ample female things
come mothers
come children
come into each distinct infinite freckle of the days agreeable self
come churches
come houses
come hovels and shanties
come love(and hate even)
come each thing and i will kiss you and i will tangle the crass and the beauteous in the immutable soul of my flesh
come and make
come and do
come and live
come and rejoice

All things good
All things evil
(nothing was ever either wholly
even holy neither)
All things studious
All things slack
All things fair
All things ugly

(the world's a body innumerable
a body complete
a voice and sinew
and to each great
frolicking kind bit
and to each meek
cowering mean bit
we are all
and everyone of us is
we contain every creation
every destruction
every birth
every immolation)so let's reconcile our own flesh with it
                                 and let's meet it squarely
                                 let's fit into it's cracks snugly
                                 and let's kiss each grain of sand
                                 let's love it
                                 let's become it
                                 (for it was always us
                                 and we were always it)
                                 (and i know it)
Seán Mac Falls Sep 2012
I hear echoes that have no voice,
Sad before the vaulted tongues
Over brimmed, who spill on shunted ears
The sour milk of pressed pictures
And sooted lights of lime
And the golden knobs taste
Jarring-dry to their saw dust toes.
Must the babe be chosen
By its mother?

The sea dirt is lined with woolen shawls
And the chasm shout shall dig our graves,
Throated hollow, to the abyss, we sink our six
And ***** the dirt, call not them the spades.


I hear echoes that have no choice,
But to skim the moated land
And wash well eyes with leaven walls
That tease and **** the sum to crushing
Columns lifted shoulder 
High by zeros of kneeling numbers
Worming in bedded slumber.
Must the maker of builders
Be dismantled?

*The sea dirt is lined with woolen shawls
And the chasm shout shall dig our graves,
Throated hollow, to the abyss, we sink our six
And ***** the dirt, call not them the spades.
Yet still how the Mind would by Conscience clear
As Pickled Brains could those Sooted Clouds mop
If Facts extolled by such Roomed Degrees fear
The Elder-of-Age; Check deserve his Crop
That by addends of his Résumé, form
Match sordidly less to his Passion burn
And plomb much Skin; Past Generation's norm
Make less easy for Child Labours in-turn
Unless hammered - again - wax this *** Refuse
To sacrifice your Male for Image spent
Soon Locks will rust; In best Demand abuse
By plucking the Peacock's Magnificence.
Can you Comprehend? This Well-Minted Voice
Ask for Pile's Honest; Beg for your Fine Choice.
#tomdaleytv #tomdaley1994
Seán Mac Falls Jul 2014
I hear echoes that have no voice,
Sad before the vaulted tongues
Over brimmed, who spill on shunted ears
The sour milk of pressed pictures
And sooted lights of lime
And the golden knobs taste
Jarring-dry to their saw dust toes.
Must the babe be chosen
By its mother?

The sea dirt is lined with woolen shawls
And the chasm shout shall dig our graves,
Throated hollow, to the abyss, we sink our six
And ***** the dirt, call not them the spades.


I hear echoes that have no choice,
But to skim the moated land
And wash well eyes with leaven walls
That tease and **** the sum to crushing
Columns lifted shoulder
High by zeros of kneeling numbers
Worming in bedded slumber.
Must the maker of builders
Be dismantled?

*The sea dirt is lined with woolen shawls
And the chasm shout shall dig our graves,
Throated hollow, to the abyss, we sink our six
And ***** the dirt, call not them the spades.
Seán Mac Falls Apr 2015
I hear echoes that have no voice,
Sad before the vaulted tongues
Over brimmed, who spill on shunted ears
The sour milk of pressed pictures
And sooted lights of lime
And the golden knobs taste
Jarring-dry to their saw dust toes.
Must the babe be chosen
By its mother?

The sea dirt is lined with woolen shawls
And the chasm shout shall dig our graves,
Throated hollow, to the abyss, we sink our six
And ***** the dirt, call not them the spades.


I hear echoes that have no choice,
But to skim the moated land
And wash well eyes with leaven walls
That tease and **** the sum to crushing
Columns lifted shoulder
High by zeros of kneeling numbers
Worming in bedded slumber.
Must the maker of builders
Be dismantled?

*The sea dirt is lined with woolen shawls
And the chasm shout shall dig our graves,
Throated hollow, to the abyss, we sink our six                                                    
And ***** the dirt, call not them the spades.
Lucca Roberto Aug 2017
You lead a life which happens to be fallacious
You live inside your head and happen to never travel far from it
In fact, you praise the open road
and travel, still you sit relapsing on
obscure memories that only ever bring you to the borders of insanity

No one could have dreamed this up but yourself
The world continues to rival and thrive
and wallow and rise from malign characters and sensibilities

Or that so you think

All you ever happen to do is not much but
Drive your self dry in misprinted thoughts and distract yourself from the evidential truth

Post-parched, you continue to further down a path which is only going to crackdown upon your world of disinfected affairs
Soon, will the sooted streets that chafed your unworn boots collude
And all that was ever known, even if it was but the faintest of an understanding as to how this time in space truly functions, Will soon perish in sanctuary

Soon will contemporaries all alike
Recede with tides anew
Soon will it onset the primitivism
Locked behind plywood doors
Soon will you know unfortunate
Tribulations beyond recovery
Soon will you be segregated from
Yourself, indeed

Indefinite suspension will bestow
a harrowing animation that will find
Itself repeating until you finally cross the
aforementioned border without any luck
Of returning home to the sheer bliss that
Was only good to you in youth
Fair enough in the last years adolescence
But unforgiving come the dawn of manhood
And soon on
ash May 2016
violet sky gathering sooted clouds
as sunlight gives way to nights shroud
a touch of rain falls warm
the pepper clouds may yet bring a storm
Seán Mac Falls Jul 2017
.
I hear echoes that have no voice,
Sad before the vaulted tongues
Over brimmed, who spill on shunted ears
The sour milk of pressed pictures
And sooted lights of lime
And the golden knobs taste
Jarring-dry to their saw dust toes.
Must the babe be chosen
By its mother?

The sea dirt is lined with woolen shawls
And the chasm shout shall dig our graves,
Throated hollow, to the abyss, we sink our six
And ***** the dirt, call not them the spades.


I hear echoes that have no choice,
But to skim the moated land
And wash well eyes with leaven walls
That tease and **** the sum to crushing
Columns lifted shoulder
High by zeros of kneeling numbers
Worming in bedded slumber.
Must the maker of builders
Be dismantled?

*The sea dirt is lined with woolen shawls
And the chasm shout shall dig our graves,
Throated hollow, to the abyss, we sink our six
And ***** the dirt, call not them the spades.
Annie Pence Jan 2017
You lie
Perfectly
Openly
Honestly
Upon my bed
And while
I want nothing more
Than to curl up
Beside your flawless form
I fear
My essence
Sooted with vice
Rough with coarseness
Would tarnish
The sublime glint
You flaunt
So innocently
But
I know
The feeling is mutual
For perfection
Is arbitrary.

Diamonds
They reflect
Their effulgence
Is no weakness
For nothing can cut
Or blunt
Their brilliance
And I suppose
This is the lame
Metaphor
I have reverted to
As a demonstration
Of my ineffable
Vertible
Love for you.
Jamie Richardson Mar 2017
From my window, only darkness falls in the room:
and in that darkness is only darkness
The sooted moon and ashen stars lie cooling in the fire
Only darkness is in this hour.

A scene heavy and distilled with fear
Oak leaves falling from the tree; a weightless mass
silently sliding into the void, that is all that is out there.

In this hour, the hour of the unborn,
no ghoul or monster stalks. Nothing else is left out there.
Only the thick deep terror that remains unanswered.
tainted black Dec 2018
sooted
candelarias
greeted  my Christmas morn
along with the flakes of snow that freely falls---

the ground shivered with me as I
touched your hand
that is as cold
as the asphalt covered
with white that somehow
immitated your lips
so pale 'tis

daffodils replaced the poinsettias
mourners replaced the gifts
tears replaced the smiles
still, we hope you're happy where ever you are
This happened two years back and it  still breaks my heart.
Dawnstar Jan 2019
More belongs to he who holds the stone,
Of fortune's birth, the pharaoh of our time.
When words proceed, he directs them;
When foes recede, he compels them.
Hear the labor-stricken bones of men
Wail out from death and sooted soil:
Hail the River King, our stoneworks praise him!
Hail the River King, the rushes raise him!
Starlight Mar 2019
****** out arms,
like the conductor of a grandiose majestic orchestra,
fingers sooted,
as if lisps of coal had swept into the cracks of a smile,
and what belies the truth,
O sonnet of beloved decibels,
do cry and masticate from the heavens above,
O roar me with your shaking lungs,
crescent moons of red blood - eyes but a shimmer,

do corral your final motion,
blackest pledge for harrowed heroine,
the soul lives on.
S R Mats Dec 2024
With delicate needles made from animal bone
They sow warm winter clothing for the family.
Each sit, these tribal sisters, by the light of a fire pit.
The walls of the cave, a natural shelter, are sooted
And lapping tongues of flames flicker across the scene;
Children play at the mouth of the cave, running, giggling.
They are bundled up in skins along with fur-shod feet,
Their mothers keep an eye on these precious offshoots.
The men are gathered toward the back of the cave
Sharing stories of the hunt, one sketches on the wall.
They will go and track game before the morning dawns.
Then men and women will prepare the bounty together
And the tribal sisters will sit to sew with delicate needles.

— The End —