The HyperTexts

Michael Seeger

Michael Seeger is a poet and educator residing in the Coachella Valley near Palm Springs, California. Prior to his life as a middle school English instructor, he worked as a technical writer for a baseball card company and served as a Marine infantry officer during Desert Storm.



Transience

I found some leaves in a book
I had picked up from the road

one rainy day last fall. I could
not bear to let their beauty lie

there on the cold, wet ground,
waiting to disintegrate under

the wheels of oblivious drivers.
I tried to save them from their
transience,

                 as we all have tried
in similar ways to save ourselves
from time. Now, it is nearly Spring,

but these leaves, like memories,
tell me, again, how fleeting
everything is.

                   And that no one
can stop, not for a moment, the
constant flow and inexorable
passage of life.



I Wait

Itís heavier here now
Since you left.
Like a miracle; Wow!
See: Bereft.

I have in my hand words
From a book;
An empty sky holds birds
As I look.

Slowly the past recedes,
Timelessly
Emptied, as the mind reads
Watchfully.

Hardened understanding
Changes us
In our views; Birds landing
Make a fuss.

Itís dark where sunlight fell;
You are late.
Silent as a cancer cell,
I wait.



A Letter Had Come

On a cold day where I reside
A letter had come.
And what was found inside
Would leave me dumb.

My Irish mother forty years ago
Had placed me for adoption.
Now there is much that I donít know
But Mom had no option.

Opening the mail I read
A note with eyes drawn to slits.
Stopping at that thought-thread,
I knew it all fit.

Then we emailed one another;
This was how it went.
Learning about each brother;
And what it all meant.

We tried to grow closer as men;
Closer we hoped to stay,
Gathering together then,
On St. Patrick's Day. 



The Poet and Master Teacher

We met in a room where children had learned
eight years at your feet. Now, near the summer's end,
I was new; you offered a hand to lend;
The difference made could not be returned.

And it would take years before it felt earned
But the respect I saw was finally won.
Even though those early days are long gone
The lessons learned during those times are burned

Into my memory and come back today
When in situations I have to say
The right thing. Now there are ladders to climb;

You wrote poetry, spoke of the sublime,
And taught things a certain way: the old way ó
You were here, and I caught you just in time.



Plasticware to Lenox

We went from using plasticware to Lenox
(Not one of us has caused a plate to crack)
And I canít say now that our stoneware sucks.

Weíre careful here and walk around like eunuchs
(Although youíll still find papers in a stack).
We went from using plasticware to Lenox.

Establishing a balance is the crux ó
(Most of the time my back feels out of whack)
But I canít say now that our stoneware sucks.

The floor no longer looks like Jackson Pollockís,
(Though there still exists a cat piss sour smack).
We went from using plasticware to Lenox.

Weíre neither Pollyanna nor grave cynics,
But here to stay and starting to unpack
Though I wouldnít say now that our stoneware sucks.

This allusive Lenox is the bollucks!
(At least weíve found ourselves back in the black)
We went from using plasticware to Lenox
And I canít say now that our stoneware sucks.

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