Coffee and Danish, (Melancholy on the Side)

Ah, Hamlet.
Are you the possessor of
Barrymore’s exquisite profile?
Are you Olivier’s pensive Puritan?
Or are you only Burton’s nasal baritone?
Are you Plummer’s perfect actionary,
Chamberlain’s neurotic fop?
Or are you A.C. Bradley’s
Man of Perfect Sensibility?
Is yours the visage imperfectly reflected in
Coleridge’s shaving glass?
Or is Madariaga correct
in calling you a Borgian,
The perfect egotistical Elizabethan, Spanish version,
Caring for nothing but yourself?
Were you in analysis with Ernest Jones,
To work out abnormal feelings for your mother?
Ah, ah Hamlet!
Surely we should know by now —
All things are nobler in the mind.

L.W. Seeley, Jr.

candle making

Person-to-Person [for Pat]

parentsMy father’s poem to my mother:

when I talked to you
on the phone the other night
after twelve years of no contact
and you with two kids
by another man I’ve never met and don’t want to
I didn’t recognize your voice at first
with its southern accent and matronesque maturity
but I knew it was you and in my wayward mind
whose thoughts I don’t seem to control too well
even after all these years
you were nineteen naked
and it was the first time
all over again

L.W. Seeley, Jr.


Epiphany II

In a clear night of a billion stars
our bodies bundled from the cold
we stood upon the ancient hill
touching each other and the world

as spirits swirled around our heads
the chanting and the drums below
evoked another universe
we would never comprehend

as all our world was kept at bay
for one almost eternal moment
we knew the pureness of ourselves —
now you are gone

L.W Seeley, Jr.