When once we ran to the river as children
we saw the spirit of the water
moving swiftly through the patterned current
and the sun shone
as the dead leaves
dropped lightly on the water’s surface
and were borne away.
Each grain of sand reached out
for the wet sunlight
and we were not in the water
but of the water
and the sand was soft and glistened
and the sun warmed our necks
and everything flowed
in one direction.

L.W Seeley Jr.



The cards no longer jump from my fingers
as they did when I paced the barred corridors
or leaped from the rooftops like angels
while the guards in their towers watched nervously
or sang in the darkness curled under the cot without

In the dispensary I took everything I could.
I knew my number and part of my name.
When the locks fell away I discovered my cage.
Now the streets have no end and the houses no number.
When I read the words fall apart in my eyes.

by L.W Seeley, Jr.

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

Karen M. Seeley

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