Mermaid Verse

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

Leave a comment

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.


Leave a comment

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




the snarl for the end.


She reached her fingers in

Toward the pit

and ran

them through

silk and mane



of skin scabby cracked surface.


The purpose of this dermis

And the shedding of matter

No longer needed

For her journey coat




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

Leave a comment

Tried to Stay in the Lines By Megan Seaman Saturday, December 8, 2012, 11:36PM…writing this dissertation. Feeling the itch to get the heyell out of town. Send me to the sea, east. And then I’ll be happy.

marble floors and alligator, richmond, va

marble floors and alligator, richmond, va

“Um pardon me,

but I never told you

That I’d be the one to bend and twist

To fit in to this

bureaucracy of nonsense!


This is ridiculous,

upsetting and obscene.

Practiced and posed to prove to you

My worth.


But I’m worthless to you without

The degree of pristine needed

To prance through shiny waxed halls

Of slippery linoleum


And you told’em that they don’t

Even make it anymore — not that old-fashioned

Sheen that reflects the nauseating

Fluorescent light from blazing tubes


And beam

with sickening buzz,



And the sarcasm bears a weight

That’s not funny at all.

And I feel my belly gurgle

In that unsavory way, as if

I might retch up late day bologna.


Fumbling, stumbling down checkered halls

Walls, concrete and cold

Painted in grey vanilla hues


Hearing the click of my heals on that fake

Linseed and cork,

I shuffled, blundered for the door

‘til I couldn’t stand it, anymore


and practically fell through the threshold

to my knees and breathed

a breath unfamiliar to my lungs


something like freedom, but sweeter

to the taste

yes, it was more like serenity

ecstatic joy in place of all

that functionary jive!” – Megan Marie Seaman

Leave a comment

To Mess With Winter (12-1-2012) by Megan Seaman

“Lips covered

with sticky balm

So I’ll kiss you

with my nose and my cheek

Fingers separated by sheeps’ clothes

So I’ll touch you with boxing gloves,

No man to know the feel the forfeit and weak

Arms and chest hidden behind synthetic puffs

Made by faces of bombastic northerner race

So I’ll burrow into you with royal crown,

rest my tumid belly down,

While swollen wings bring you in my space

And the texture covered my lover’s legs

Like burlap or canvas or gunny sacks

So I’ll wrap the limbs that held me up

around his roots, my source, our backs

But even as the vines that crept through toes

They could not penetrate

So I’ll hold down the foot that would move so swift

Without question or motion to hesitate

and I should have known better

than to mess with winter

trying to bring the dead back to life.





Our souls to be the sacrifice.” – Megan Marie Seaman

Leave a comment

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


Leave a comment

seductive sea (6-19-12) by Megan Seaman

“He clasped my hands with his

And laid me down

Warm bare skin pressed together

And I felt him strong solid hot

And I felt me open fluid boiling

He moved up my leg

Diligently tracing the path

To that surging sea inside of me

Without hesitation and dove right in

Moving back and forth

Under and out

Waves raged and crashed

Discerning the map of ocean floor

He sent out his men in search of the pearl

And planted golden grace

Silky white lace covered

Our flesh in the aftermath.” – Megan Marie Seaman

Leave a comment

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


For true love

Sent from above

I touch my face

Feel the little land mines

Signaling an explosion

Any fucking minute.” – Megan Marie Seaman