November Western Pennsylvania
When the great lakes recedes into
itself
Gels to frigid mass
Her elements condense, ice to
inertia
By crystalline spearheads
Launched from the throat of
Arctic
They scour the loping whitecaps of
Erie
To lance the hulls of nomad steamers
When polar furies gallop the glazed
plane
Howl their venomous gales
Flocks flee with locust horde
Molt snared in stiff barbed pines
While great schools of trout
solipsists
Submerge in liquid marble solitudes
Sirens rise from cavernous chambers
From aqua-black pits in the womb of
her
One hundred miles due south
A lapse in time descends upon the
land
Unnoticed by city and industry town
River crawling through valley
Stream treading mud banks
Pond convolutes to motionless
spirals
Squirrel, rabbit, muting gray
Deer herd thins and brittle leaves
Snap like match heads.
Movement measured in mortal ticks
All the dogs are pensive
Insatiable shadow – a glove upon all
Within my corrugated urban fabric
maze
A speck of yard my countryside
Dormant patch of wind scathed crust
Suspended, slumber, limbo lull
Between trumpet blast of autumn
shock
And fluted shrill of winter
Soulful peel of cello chords
When poplar bows the breeze
Each raw note – one raw nerve
Unleashed nature, her naked self
Tree of bone, rock of muscle
Hills of twisted spine.
I October
I October
Fire, color, syrup sweet, dripping vines
Grand, my consummate embrace of passion
Ablaze,
my glorious variations
Radiant,
defiant my stand in the throes of encroaching shadows
Triumphant,
for a spellbinding moment
Misty
haze aromatic, my perfumes scent the harvest
Take
me, intoxicate, dine at my table, drink me to your fill
Excite
with me, spread your limbs free
My
winds, swirl, whirl, rustle you open
Beautiful,
naked, flight of the leaves
Night
owl hoots, field mouse dances
A
distant train passing in the night
It's
lazy cadence beckons you dream
As
it shuffles by gently, a faint lullaby
Passed,
the plentitude of mother spring's seeds ripened,
Passed,
the bounty of father summer's fallen fruits
Take
me, la grande dame, yours, encore et encore
November
soon to strip me to the raw
December
to bury me in his white shroud cover of snow
I
October, last grand consummate embrace of passion
Bittersweet,
before the silence
Bird talk
4 a.m. Paris
Jazz meditation ebbing the silent
pool of nocturne.
Then to greet the dawn
As it leaks through the window
A gentle wash of light.
A walk along barely stirring streets
Green leaf dew drop
Bird talk
Tomorrow another day
Seager is a poet and jazz & blues vocalist who sings his poems on stages in Paris,New York and elsewhere and has recorded 2 jazzpoetry c.d.s.
Seager founded and hosts Angora Poets (Paris) World Café,100 Thousand Poets for Change Paris and is one of the coordinators for le Fédération des Poètes paris.
He has 5 collections of poetry and currently publishes with Onslaught press, Oxford, U.K. Other poetry collections are issued from the French Ministry of Culture –
Dream Bearers,1990.
One World, Cairo Press –in Arabic translation, 2004
We Want Everything in French translation, les Temps des Cirises, Paris, 1994
Perhaps, La Maison de la Poesie, Grenoble, France, 2006
Fishermen and Pool Sharks Busking editions, London, 1992
Additionally Seager won a Golden Quill Award (USA) for investigative journalism,1989 and received an International Human Rights award from the Zepp foundation, 1990.
He teaches writing in Paris.
Keep the Beat on the Pulse of Life!
Moe Seager
http://www.facebook.com/moe.seager
http://www.myspace.com/bluenotemetaphor
http://moe-seager.blogspot.com
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