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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Little Red Heads by Megan Seaman

“Thick ice to see through only gives

Cool blue sheen

To frigid white blankets – chill

To the touch.

 

Beliefs that it was always that way

From birth, and as the small child grew

The blue sheen grew too

And darkened what was there.

 

Slow short steps still moved forward

Even through shaded hues

The claws of some unknown being

Reached out into the blue blindness.

 

Moonlight or some heavenly glow

Shined from a far off insight

And touched the edges of

The tangling thorns.

 

In the glimmer could be seen

Little red heads silky

To the touch

Tight in their winter sleep.

 

What could those heads be thinking –

Dreaming about” – Megan M. Seaman


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I speaking those – I now silent (12-18-13)

Dream Doodle

Dream Doodle

“I looked at the reflection in the oven

I wore the dream, I heard the dream, I looked the dream straight in the face

 

Speaking of dreams you said it dimmed

Speaking of times passed way down and gone into endless oblivion

 

Those eyes they glimmered

Those eyes they beamed and pierced even through the complementary colors of the MAGazine

 

I wish on the lonely star shivering out there

I wasted my only breath on silly dreams of a silly girl unwilling to give up silly visions

 

Now here in the wee hours of stillness

Now there you are singing or something with clowns and circus performers of amazing feats!

 

Silent intentions small and secret hidden warm

Silent sighs to the soul who only answers, “someday, someday, someday…” by Megan Seaman


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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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Terrible Mistake (9-24-2013) by Megan Seaman

Mermaids mused about the comforting coolness of their blue black refuge... only depths away

Mermaids mused about the comforting coolness of their blue black refuge… only depths away

“Was I your terrible mistake?

Five years gone blue then black

Attack of memories and

Flood of fury rocked and

Rolled me

To think that All I was

Was your terrible mistake.

 

Listening to The National

Sing about love given

Then lost, flagrantly

Left behind, lonely

And your apathetic

Words send me back

To that terrible mistake.

 

And no matter how much

My smart head refigures

Recalibrates the path

The viral data eventually infect

Each new datum

Downloaded from above

And imprint this terrible mistake.

 

Silent prayers to see

Your smile beam

Sunlight on me

Again, a risible wish

Spoken to apparitions

Who have no permissions

To mess with the plight of terrible mistakes.

 

Then the blue black darkness

Gets deeper, colder, faster,

Closes in quicker

And it half occurs that

The emptiness before me

Rests within me

As I persistently prescribe this terrible mistake.” – 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.