Guest Poet Caroline Seagle

Curing hemophilia

Of a questionable lack of passion-
on cool, Fall evenings during
golden hour-all cornsilk-like and seeping
in the rich hues of the dark
upon dancing leaves.
My hollow unsatisfaction is unforgivable.
yet I've run out of the warmth you left in your
austere fingers playing 
etudes with my heart.
I'm on my journey for that substance in my soul again.
So here's a new approach: cold.
Stiff fingers against my
cheek and crickets and birds musical all around me-
one unnerving, potential, dangling branch is upside down in a 
maple presently devoured by Red.
And never ceasing to regard the golden rays
dissoling to blue-greys, allowing the trees to 
boast their subtle brilliance
furthermore stuns me the robin-
Red, too-like the trees.
And the preparation of the transition to darkness 
steals away the flies, the moths to 
Red glows
of the warmth they need
like me.
And after a while it all tastes very sweet.

And the finish off-the end of it all: 
an incongruous yellow leaf falls from that shaky branch 
which is capsizing and hangs now
by hairs of bark, 
but even so, that golden tissue 
glides down, bouncing off the wind,
resting itself delicately on the spears of 
green grass.
And almost as a replacement emerges
Venus through the darkening melt of sky;
I think that she is a strong one, too.
I imagine myself curling my fingers over the keys-
very 'dolce'-and not smelling
that skin right behind your ears,
under your mass of 
that delicious mix of sensuality and captivating sweetness.
but I think that the Reds of Fall have you beaten.
I long for the taste of my own music to linger 
again on my lips, replacing the 
intensity of your Baroque tonics.

And I'm weeping.
It's cold. 
I'm drowning in my own tub of renewel and
am washed away of the 
of re-opening 
flowing freely

October, 1999

Caroline Seagle's Questions:

1.) Is the comparison of his red hair with the red of nature presented successfully?

2.) Does the reader feel the sense of imagery I am trying to present in the first half? Can you see the colours and the tree branch "dangling"?

3.) Does the title make sense to the reader? I am trying to use Hemophilia (a defective disorder when blood is unable to clot) as a metaphor for the "open wound" he left, am I am trying to portray this idea in something as simple as the colour of his hair. What do you think about this?

4.) This poem is meant to show a personal escape through nature-is that made clear?

5.) I'm still learning. Any other critical suggestions would be greatly appreciated.

   Thank you,


The Albany Poetry Workshop