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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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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I Am the Poet (July 29, 2013) by Megan Seaman

I am the poet, not the songwriter

Weaving words in perfect pattern

Like soft threads, golden and red

I sew the suit you wear.

 

You are the songwriter, not the poet

Silvery sounds are your guide

Harnessing hums of traveling tunes

You amuse me with your magic moods.

 

I am the poet, not the songwriter

Picking precisely each phrase

Crazed with analytic eye

Speaking how it feels inside.

 

You are the songwriter, not the poet

Like a dance routine or dramatic scene

Disguised calculation of emotional relation

You play the poems that arise.

 

Enticing player with sweet-sounding whine

Tell me your lies and I’ll listen

Very closely to each piece of fiction

Oh, promise you’ll lie.

‘cause what’s the use of truth

in this production put forth

skilled rendition of unvarnished life.

 

But, I am the poet, not the songwriter

With a wish he will listen to my bit of diction

And feel the warm blood that

Melts the ice.

 

And, you are the songwriter, not the poet

Blind to the rhyme, yet heedful to the tone

The music that opens what hides

Behind those sleepy blue eyes.


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B. Tucker My Dreamy Companion (7-8-13) by Megan Seaman

Music Man 5-7-4

Music Man 5-7-4

“And he said, “you know what it’s like? It’s like riding in your dad’s old beater car

Through crowds of teenagers, loud

Because the exhaust system had a hole in it

And you just wished that the ride would be over

‘cause you’d been ridin’ too long

and here you are, through this sea of young things

you are also a young thing

but you wish you were 20 years older and knew

how it all turned out.”

 

Blue was the sky that day when he told me about his disease, caught

while drifting on water

Hotter than the white hot ash smashed into the tray

Burned it did when it hit my skin, heart burned

And busted from dis-ease he gave me

Mouth to mouth resuscitation. No it wasn’t a kiss

Just a wish for life. Please ease me back to light, life

And it finally set in what the goggled-eyed man meant when the sputtering car

Stuttered through the crowd

Pain in my heart, tears down my face, caused by you… my only you.” – Megan Marie Seaman

 

 


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Intention #33 (April 24, 2013) by Megan Seaman

"laughing at the pain left in the watercolors..."

“laughing at the pain left in the watercolors…”

“Maybe if I think you hard enough

You’ll be mine.

I’ll wish you – want you – wistfully whim you

Into reality, serendipity, destiny

And see your bright blue eyes

Gazing at me with a twinkle

And a grin – Yes, a smile

Walking through doorsill

Stealing my will to deny you any longer.

And against my tenacity for sorrowful sourness

You’ll woo my heart to the warmth of your

Tender softness.

Your pure essence – a creative soul of deftness

At burning late day clouds away

With your hot-hot sun

We’ll have fun, Will,

While the kids laugh and play

By seaside, salty and soaked to the bone

We’ll look back in time and realize the signs

Were all pointing to sandy steps.

Laughing at the pain left in the watercolors of

Some murky wet paper, some class, some teacher

Long longtime ago,

We’ll know that tears wept then

Created the sea before us

And the cries were echoes of seagulls

With wanderlust

For coastlines like the one

We stand upon today in

Lingering light of July rays.

And we’ll breathe the sea air and hear

The giggles of children with no care

For sad stories of yesterday.” – 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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Just a thought (6-5-12) by Megan Seaman

Visit to the Man in the Moon, Silver Lake, CA

“Stony blue sueded mat

Lay flat so that I might

Ride that magic carpet

Through gardenia and jasmine blossom

Intoxicating with sweet summer air

Captivated with blue eyed stare

From the magic man of the moon.” – Megan Marie Seaman