Mermaid Verse

music flows from lips and as words meet sound bound and found me, your eyes wide open, soul sprightly greeting thee….


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It hurts so good (8-2-14 to 8-3-14) – by Megan Seaman

Something golden below the surface

Something golden below the surface

It hurts so good.

You run the sharp nail over the raw and tender surface and it hurts so good. It is the feeling of nothing; a faint scream, or some noise six billion years away. But you hear it anyway. It is the trickle of water from some cracked pipe, in some wall, on some floor, in some building, in some city, in some country, on some continent, and it leaks and flows in the darkness. But you hear it anyway. It is the glimmer, shining, thirty-six thousand feet below the sea, where Spanish dancing cucumbers can’t even survive. But you see it anyway. It is the honeyed smell of spring, some one hundred and seventy-nine days after the first leaf falls on autumn’s ground. But you smell it anyway. It is the flavor of the pomegranate in the dark red depths of the wine that grew from the grapes nourished by the land, which flourished an orchard of Persephone’s fruits nine thousand years ago. But you taste it anyway. It is the aching feeling under three (thousand) layers of skin, wanting to be exposed and touched, wanting to be acknowledge for the sensation it brings. But you feel it anyway. And though it is tender and raw under the piercing metal,

It hurts so good.


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Mr. Wilson’s Thoughts Late Saturday Night (11-30-13) by Megan Seaman

“I don’t know where to begin. I asked the questions and no answer yet. Still waiting. I feel really gaseous. I just farted. I’m looking at the ember colored wall and have the Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young version of “Only Love Can Break Your Heart” in my head. I don’t know if it is CSNY or just Neil Young who created the song.  I think about this girl with glasses, this songbird, this creative soul about a million times a day. I keep wondering when she will call. And then even that question makes me sick. I feel, I think that I’m clinging to that idea – like clinging to a person. Like clinging to one person will make all my life happy forever. And I judge myself. So many judgments about how love is supposed to work, how people are supposed to notice each other, what kind of people date and get together with what type of people. And it aches my heart and makes me feel queasy inside. “Only love can break your heart/try to be sure right from the start.” Like one should try to control what love does to you. I once saw a clip from a movie I don’t remember what movie but a girl says to a guy that the most important thing to do in life is to fall in love and give your love. And the guy says, “no the most important thing in life is to get your heart broken over and over and over again.” That’s what makes life. I never thought about it that way.

I think we live in this ideal state – maybe it’s not we, maybe it’s just me – but we live in this ideal that we’ll find “the One” and then everything will be just dandy. And if it is already dandy then we’ll just be dandier. But if we follow the guy’s mantra “most important is to get your heart broken over and over again” then there’s a little more freedom in that. As if there isn’t one state of being, there are many possibilities – and to try them as they come up, rather than passing them by for some ideal. Not that I think people shouldn’t have ideals or dreams or goals or something to aspire to or some direction. On the contrary, I think that people do best when they have some place they’re pointed to and with effort and grace moving there. I think knowing what you want is half the battle. Knowing what you want helps you intentionally make decisions about how you want to spend your time, who you want to spend your time with, and where you want to be. It promotes motivation and perseverance toward something. However, getting so attached to some outcome (i.e., goal, aspiration, dream) can shift you out of the present moment where you need to be to see the steps that will take you to those ideals.

Keeping a wakeful eye on the future is so important, but even more imperative is our abilities to stay here-and-now. It’s really easy to say that, but harder to play out daily. That’s where the practice begins. Instead of being ruled by our feeling about what is going on in our lives, rather we could notice the thoughts – the habitual patterns of how we think, and then with intentionality choose the ones that bring us closer to our goals and release the ones that don’t serve us. Staying present allows us to see the signs, hear the songs, smell the roses, taste the nectar, and feel the closeness of everything we aspire to. On our journey to what we want, it’s the practice in falling down and getting our hearts annihilated that will Godspeed us to all that we dreamed. And so loving as long and wide as we can – even at the expense of a broken heart – might just break down the hardened walls around our love, and let the true self shine.” – Megan Marie Seaman


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Shed this Skin (9-21-13) by Megan Seaman

the snarl for the end.

the snarl for the end.

“Tangled hair once silken

Now brittle layered in

between oil and skin flakes

animal skin

flaking

flaking

mistaking

the snarl for the end.

 

She reached her fingers in

Toward the pit

and ran

them through

silk and mane

pain

pain

of skin scabby cracked surface.

 

The purpose of this dermis

And the shedding of matter

No longer needed

For her journey coat

Broke

Broke

Choked

on the matted hair that pulled.

 

Shed this skin

Shed this skin

Shed this skin

 

Voice, body, and soul whispered

 

Shed this skin

Shed this skin

Shed this skin” – Megan Marie Seaman


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Boxed Up (7-30-2012) by Megan Seaman

Cat in a box

“In the clutter and clatter

Of old clanking things

I stumbled upon

Battered boxes dusty

From their own decay

I couldn’t help myself

From pulling them open to discover

Lost memories hidden away

In dirty depths were

The pages of twenty-two

Years past, and they unfolded a path

Taking me back

Down treacherous road

Full of broken glass and strange fluid

Certainly destructive with one single touch

And as words violently

Reckless wrestled in front of me

I felt a shutter of fear

Run right through me

As I saw the young girl so lovely, but lost

She was fragile like butterfly wings and subtly cross

It scared me, she frightened me

Just seeing her face

So I closed that box with its disintegrating flaps

Pushed it away

Now as I sit here

With dirty box at side

I am warmed with a fire that burns inside

That the young girl with her sullen eyes,

She strengthened her wings and let herself fly

So this dusty container is all that is left

Of a past life, its karma met

And completed,

moved on to other things.” – Megan Marie Seaman

 


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Untitled 337 (5-30-2012) by Megan Seaman

“Fleshy thoughts

Sweat and sex

Mounds of skin

Thin from moments

Upon moments of

Thrush and thrash

Trashing our hearts

Smashing the parts

Hidden and forbidden

To be seen

To be heard

 

Beats, beats, beats

Of fists in rhythm

Sounds like hearts

Thumping pumping

Mistaken

For true love

Sent from above

I touch my face

Feel the little land mines

Signaling an explosion

Any fucking minute.” – Megan Marie Seaman


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Transgression (3-21-2012) by Megan Seaman

Jaded

Not creative

Phony

Can’t control me

Lost

Feel the frost

Cover

Sick lover

Caught

In thought

Missed

After fatal kiss

Stung

After seductive song

Wait

But it’s too late

Forever

So clever

Say

Cause dismay

Lie

Just a lullaby

Appease

But you tease

Love

Sent from above

Joke

Each word spoke

Myth

Meaningless wish

Done

Too much wrong

Slow

Let it go

Goodbye

Let it die.” – Megan Marie Seaman


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Sickness (3-6-2012) by Megan Seaman

“Sickness has no shame

Pressure pushing the places

Behind crackled itching eyes

Breathing in and hear the

Distant banshee scream of

A wheeze through

Cavernous depths

And exhale, feel the tickling irritation

Sensation of spots sore inside

Raw and realized spaces

Skinned rubbed rough

And rosy, with deceiving blush

But fiery stinging burn comes with each touch.

 

Roar from lungs

Surprises the life

That rests inside this house

Of flesh and blood, bone and bile

That quakes with each rush

Of desperate air moving quickly and with strength

To force out the intruder that

Penetrated permeable walls

And has overstayed its length

As violent wind gusts enter

And at one leave each orifice

The victor will be thee

On battleground of holy body

And cure they being it must!!!” – Megan Marie Seaman