Tuesday 19 January 2021

Three Poems by Moe Seager


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




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