JEFF SEFFINGA

Karen’s Awakening

As if it had always been here for you,
the sun is stepping forth
to stroke your world with fingers of easy light,
beams that seem too fragile
to hold up fragments of cloud.
Sparrows chatter on the eavestroughs.
The robin on the lawn tugs
no worm but your attention out of your mind
while the heart now beats,
forcing blood to flow to corners
that have need of it.
The familiar rhythm of the rise
and fall of your chest as your lungs breathe
is a miracle
to be examined with awe.

Today your body needs no supervision,
no careful involvement of the mind
to maintain independent
functions against external and internal faults.
This morning shall not overwhelm you
with the thicknesses of light-consuming cloud.
The concentrated forces of your storm
have dissipated;
they threaten you no longer.
And as your mornings fill now with light and air
the cold and weight of driving rain,
heart-stopping crack of lightning,
shall become
faint dreams of moon shadows.



Jeff Seffinga

JEFF SEFFINGA

PHILOSOPHER DOG

Morning to morning, the old dog said,
that is the way the days all grow
together. Knowledge will not sliver
the channels of time. The rain will rain
and snow will snow, each to its season.
Rivers will wander off to the seas,
trees reach into the skies to twist
tatters of sun around ribbons of wind.
All cycles turn, each with its own
texture warped in the passage of days;
each day is a separate fibre that may
be remembered, but after its passage, lost.

That is the way that a life is shaped:
morning to morning, the old dog said.

Jeff Seffinga

JEFF SEFFINGA

MEDITATION AT CHRISTMAS

Christ, you were born with power
enough to fell a universe of
enemies of God,

but you reached out a hand
and smiled at fearful shepherds
and star-gazing kings.

Among the thunder of wars:
oppression, prejudice, meaningless death,
senseless abuse of power,

you walked to save us all;
free us from the curse that we deserve –
the fear of death.

And in your holy name
help me to do the same.

Jeff Seffinga

( from THREE CROWS FLYING)

JEFF SEFFINGA

A PSALM OF PRAISE 

Praise Him among all created things, for His name is holy;
Praise His name with deafening music, with murmurs in every corner.

Let the acorn on the twisted oak sing of His faithfulness,
The wilting potted chrysanthemum proclaim His power.

Among shoes in the closet His name shall be honored,
Blue jeans and pantyhose are dumfounded by His glory.

Hear His name in the passing wail of police car sirens,
A jet engine’s scream, a dump truck’s broken muffler.

He reveals Himself in the scent of day lilies in the garden,
The disposable diapers tossed in the garbage profess His name.

Endangered whales sing of Him in the dark ocean’s chambers,
Children playing ball hockey echo His care in the side streets.


All things resound with His authority and His eminence.
Praise Him.


Jeff Seffinga

JEFF SEFFINGA

SO LIKE A CAT

Your cat has particular manners, ways
developed for her own purposes. A voice
that leaps from articulate whisper to
bone-scraping howl in less than a second.
Hiding places that will change just as fast
as you can discover them. She has need
for constant warmth; on cold days she cocoons
among blankets, in the sun she stretches
out full length on her back.
                                    And you have wiles
in common with your cat. Your body too
stretches to capture my warmth, slips away
from cool indifference. The place you hide
changes with the moon’s phases. Tentative,
my hand reaches to seek your approval.

JEFF SEFFINGA

PHILOSOPHER DOG

Morning to morning, the old dog said,
that is the way the days all grow
together. Hard knowledge will not sliver
the channels of time. The rain will rain
and snow will snow, each to its season.
Rivers will wander off to the seas and
trees reach into the skies to twist
tatters of sun around ribbons of wind.
All cycles turn, each with its own
texture warped in the passage of days;
each day a separate fibre that may
be remembered, but long after passage, lost.
That is the way that a life is shaped:
morning to morning, the old dog said.

Jeff Seffinga

JEFF SEFFINGA

Cinquains

A cinquain is a short, five lined verse that follows a specific pattern in its line length.
The first line consists of two syllables, the second of four, the third of six, the fourth of
eight and the fifth or last of two syllables again.

Here are two:

Summer –
the morning sun
dispels traces of mist,
evaporates dew from the grass,
and laughs.

two lips
touch a forehead
a finger strokes a cheek
the caresses of a lover
bring joy

Jeff Seffinga

JEFF SEFFINGA

PRAYER FOR DIZZY

May in your new existence every whisper
that touches you be filled with a soft light
that carries in the rhythm of soothing murmur
the promises and mysteries of night.

May grass grow ever taller than your shoulder
and fall away from your approaching face
as you explore the clean expanse of meadow
and know that you belong in that new place.

May life again turn in familiar cycles
unfettered by the linear chains of days:
action and rest, hunger and satisfaction,
while all the sounds you hear are songs of praise.

May simple dreams become their own fulfillment.
Rest on those cushions where St. Francis sat.
And when you sing out in the heavenly chorus,
let every angel know that you are cat.


Copyright(c)Jeff Seffinga 2011

Published in his latest book,  "All We Like Cats"

Jeff Seffinga at Tower Poetry Launch



Jeff Seffinga was born in the Netherlands and raised in Eastern Ontario. He has been writing and publishing poetry for most of his life.

 Much of his work deals with questions such as man's relationship with the natural world of which he is so much a part, though he likes to set himself above it.

His latest poetry book "All We Like Cats" is now available for sale.Of the many awards he has received, he is most proud of the 1996 Grain Prose Poem award and the 2007 City of Hamilton Arts Award for Literature.

  He is the current editor of Tower Poetry, published in Hamilton 

  by the Tower Poetry Society.