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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Patience, please (sometime in March-ish) by Megan Seaman

Written…Maybe like Thursday or Friday, March 14th or 15th, in the middle of the night

“Sneaking suspicion you’d come

By in that way

Late in the day

And whisper a springtime tune

But Mark says snow will

Come, again

And summer will arrive in

Late June.


Whispers wheeze through the trees

I always liked that rustling sound

Cool skin of leaves green

Cast their shadow

On the ground

In the long

Light still reaching

For the day

As it fades away

In the din of

Lonely town.


Sit, sit, sit, Sit down now

Wait, wait, wait, Wait

For the monarchs

Believe they will

Fly and flutter

In the butterfly

Bush covered

With its purple

Cones, in droves

They will come

If only you



And I read about the ones

Who counted

Not just counted on them

To show themselves

But counted their

Every presence

But what about the Monarchs

That were seen dancing on

the sea?

Or did they even know

That some had broken from the band

And resigned themselves

To following Atlantis

And the mermaid

Songs.” – Megan Marie Seaman

And this was his tune…

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You’re Not Right For Me (8-3-2012) by Megan Seaman

White Pirate Ship on distant waters

Friday, August 3, 2012, 12:42AM, sitting writing my dissertation. Got a text message from TF. It read, “The Buddha was with me today.” ‘The Buddha” being the small Buddha trinket I gave to him before his trip to Columbus. He’s stealing my heart. And I know it’s all wrong. Oh, love, oh life. Is it really about being brave enough to get your heart broken again and again?


You’re not right for me

This is all wrong.

You told me you liked the mountains

I told you I liked the sun

And the way it shines on waving tide

Of an ocean, Atlantic blue

The feel of sand under soft toes

And mellifluous sea songs too.


You told me that you would never accept

The furry little beings that accompanied my side

I told you that love knows no limits

It is unbounded, infinite and shows its pride

In the small gestures and looks

That are shared by two lovers

Unafraid to let go, open up

Reveal what’s covered.


You told me that you were scared to love again

and lay bare your downy tum

where the huntress once crept

and laid her blade down

on holy body, yours to sacrifice

to give it all up, without looking back

move forward, and not think twice.


And that is why I know

You’re not right for me and this is all wrong.

I said I wanted to love you

You said you wanted to move on.


So, just go.

Leave, now.

let me be, Gypsy soul.

Before I look back, turn around, let love take its toll

Because if you’re looking to pay the price

Then what you’ll get is the deed

And a heart of gold to entice

Cast its spell to follow her lead.” – Megan Marie Seaman