he shrugs her to death


belled body

raised her others,

lowered all but her platelets

with night

grit, mineral oil, and redeeming finger soil

she beaker-ed exams, tilled, laundered

a retirement, of chequered, unselfish boots to the head.

sighed like justice, fallowed, and grew ever smaller.

checking off the list:

(not twice)

             triumphant calves

             prodigal worried thighs

             gravity bras

             dropped pick-up nickels of time

             varicosed emotions

             hunched jewelry

and laid

on inconsiderate tectonic plates

© Ronald Seatter
published in bywords.ca

the i in q
for BV

I now raise even shape in words,
flat in paper and breathe known air.

I have words and letters to fasten in wood and 
rock under pages and photosynthesis.

I know a suspense in arc,  an each in death. 
notes that evolve pauses  in lingered streams.

Ronald Seatter


published in Bywords

pentecost weekly
three chord bands
o fun 
to tender 
    saccharine lords 
        and lifted palms
    digest a distrust 
should sin 
that bends
and takes it

Ronald Seatter

my english teacher may have been sighing mad

Hamlet was an optimist. and Desdemona was bleeding. just believe it.
Mme. was not an ovary.  can I kiss you, O feel ya? is not appropriate.
sing One Tin Soldier until they are all there (points to his head).
the theme is unrequited love. why do you think there are suicide hotlines?
stop making your thesaurus roar, wasn’t funny the first time.
its ‘honest puck’  with a P. it doesn’t matter that Hercules wore a skirt.
yes I know what a cliche is. Bysshe not bitchass.
alliteration does not give you the right to swear.
you will fit into this plexi-glass box, your head with your coccyx. 
that is writing. no. I’m sad at you, not mad. you will go away. 

Ronald Seatter

published in Bywords.ca