Keeping Vigil

A stripped-down wakefulness waits
on the other side of sleep
when the clock is only ticks and the numbers
stop at 5.

So slowly
the corpus assembles
movements of the march. Left. Right.
Swing and turn, scan
your sector.



Lie back onto the grass.
Prop your back against the rock.
Do not mind the sheep,
the dogs will watch them.
The air is hot and still,
but the wind will touch your face,
sing quietly in your ears.
Feel the grass against your skin, both soft and sharp.
Feel the rock against your back, telling stories.
Feel the earth under your fingers, sustaining you.
Forget the sheep; they are only an excuse.
Forget the dogs; they know what they are doing.
You and the rock will become one.
The grass will take you to itself.
You will not be alone.

— by Lawrence W Seeley Jr.

sky, water


An atavistic appendage of the mind
tingles the nerves occultly
as certain unseen waves
drift through the air

Truth is undeniable to
the switched-on receiver –
Though signals often overlap

Receiving and interpreting these waves
is not the same as casting dice
Though many think so


Dress-up Soldier

I have been a wife, twice.
and I have worn
both husbands’ clothes,

But the frayed, gray
army sweatpants, brown
T-shirts, faded
cammies & spit-
shined boots –
those are mine.

Or were. They are rags
gone to memory now.
Still …

Battle dress is different;
not like normal clothes.
It cannot be borrowed,
or assumed,
or appropriated.

Uniforms can only be earned.

Please do not wear
that outfit

if you, yourself, have
not broken in the boots.

(Camouflage isn’t comfortable,
and gods know
it isn’t cute.)

But it means something
that is not

by Karen M. Seeley,
copyright 2014


Data Days [or, Borrowing Laughter — written Aug. 16, 2014]

Laughter is the proof that we are people,
according to some cultures. A ‘first laugh’ party
— one for each baby — is
traditional in at least one tribe.

But down we forget [as up we grow]
how to truly laugh.
To break open the smile, release the breath,
push from the diaphragm and LAUGH.

indulging in sheer delight, till ribs and
cheeks seize up in happy pain

Why does laughing, nowadays, feel as though
it has become (like so many
other human acts)
a lost art?