MICHAEL SEEGER - POEMS

Michael Seeger lives with his lovely wife Catherine and still-precocious 16 year-old daughter Jenetta in a house with a magnificent Maine Coon (Jill) and two high-spirited Chihuahuas (Coco and Blue). He is an educator (like his wife) residing in the Coachella Valley near Palm Springs, California.

Villanelle of Your Death
​

I gaze at the sunset and make no plans
listening to the pigeons on the roof--
not from complacency but acceptance.


The mountains outline the sun’s reflectance,
Coral clouds gathered in the east don’t move;
I gaze at the sunset and make no plans.


It is difficult to write a sentence --
the dog-less yard endures without a woof,
not from complacency but acceptance.


The evening’s long shadows heighten sentience
of all things remotely close and aloof --
I gaze at the sunset and make no plans.


There’s an elevating independence
that comes by seeing from such a remove--
not from complacency but acceptance.


Though you have gone, the house holds your essence
Untouched like a needle stuck in its groove--
I gaze at the sunset and make no plans
not from complacency but acceptance.

The Darkness of Our Love ​

et us forget with generosity 
those who cannot love us.  
—Pablo Neruda 


Like dementia, the loss was gradual 
though obvious. Scales fell quietly  
like autumn leaves, vanishing 
from my eyes. Alone I stood
a bare tree in late summer;
You no longer knew me --
as if always meeting 
for the first time.


The mist over the trail thickened
like blood. The dark nights wore 
forgettable faces like cyphers 
whose only real power lay 
in words —words which
brought disengagement, 
hardly noticeable 
at first....


But which proved to be a colossal,  
ever-widening, chasm —like 
love recklessly professed, 
tumbling aimlessly. 
At the center of it all, 
there was comfort 
in the darkness 
of our love, 


Fumbling over thresholds for what
We knew must lay just beyond --
Something. Blind men knew
More. Searching the mind 
for thawing thought 
or what disarms
what’s deeply
seated.


For Words to invoke the sacred name
of Superstition —a valid charm
(Often vaguely repeated to dis-
engage the reasoning mind)
to bless, or curse, and get
what’s needed from
the deep night’s 
undercurrent. 

My Love Wears Shoes of Italian Leather

Though her steps seem as light as a feather --
My love wears shoes of Italian leather.


She is my stay against life’s confusion --
My love's both beginning and conclusion 


I bring her heart-shaped boxes of velvet --
Making my forays when feeling well, but


It leaves me at the end of my tether --
I rest amidst her blue and grey weather.




And we will be forever together. 
My Love wears shoes of Italian leather


But I am in love and love what vanishes
This kingdom I am seeking banishes


Is it fear or is it love I'm finding --
Though her voice glows, her words can be blinding. 


Concupiscent verse every other day
Allows me to have her have her own way. 


And what we do we do it together --
My Love wears shoes of Italian leather.

​

April Storm

A storm brewing --
above the valley darkened


clouds gather, descending
along the western range --


shimmering with lightning 
flares echoing thunder 


rolling high along the canyon 
walls distilled the bright 


awareness swirling within 
the deepest brown of 


your eyes —promising blue skies
and growth. 


Traversing the trail descending 
Murray Hill high above 


the shimmering desert sand of 
the Coachella Valley


the steady strain of rain that fell--
a melody as sweet as


the song of birds —has lingered 
in my ears ever since 


the day you left us
for Idaho.

For You

Morning light peering
within --


falls quietly through 
the glass,


its amethyst glare
of light


diluting memory,
the window


on the ever-present
yesterday;


I am already 
empty,


empty of longing 
for you.

​