kokopelle: Black Cat (cat black)
I had a revelation of why crotchety seniors tell kids to “get off their lawn”. It’s not because the grass is more precious than the children’s fun. It is instead because a connection is lost. The ability to fully disconnect is the only path to relative sanity.


Window Fogs

The window fogs from my breath
I rub it off, again it appears
it’s part of living, my mind says
a sign that fate will have its way.

A world is masked by clouded glass
all hopes of reach are removed
the sweet caress I used to dream
when the view was transparent.

This film on pane confirms my fate
removing those who seek the same
thought the layer is wafer thin
it’s the same as six feet thick.

While the bars on prison doors
hold within detention’s charge
the gaps allow for touch to find
contact with an outside world.

No two barriers are the same
now haze descends to blur my life
dimness now where sight allowed
a cruel reprieve in disconnect.

Goodbye to visions beyond the port
perhaps it’s better to not see
be blind to life now left behind
a fitting match to touch long gone.

© 2017. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20170414.
kokopelle: Black Cat (Cat - Black)
I was inspired to write “Mountain Pass” after finishing the breadth of “Great Expectations”.


Mountain Pass

The path has found the mountain pass
leading up to higher realms
where a man will find their home
if earth revolves once more
the march uphill is not a rush
instead lends a misty calm
the path withheld in a fog
until the pass is come upon.

There the snow is on green branch
the evergreen that has last laugh
while it may linger long in leaf
the man finds lack there of the same
above this place the earth is white
the ground is frozen in permafrost
only swept by stormy winds
then brought low by avalanche.

Yet far below there lays the place
where journey started back in the day
by river the valley has been transcribed
by birth and youth they did reside
in that place of fair frolics
butterflies perform their labors
then the flowers bloom all day
the more the merrier as youth play.

"Hello descendants", says the man
from high on perch in mountain pass
"can you lend a bit of warmth
or advise me how chase the cold?"
to this query the echoes laugh
rejoining that the chill will lead
those who climbed so high in life
through the brink of mountain pass.

© 2017, Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20170124.
kokopelle: Frank n Furter (frank_n_furter)
I was at a diner with friends listening to them talk about what had transpired for them in the past decade or half. During the same time I as at the same job passing the years in a fairly productive manner. This contrasts with a friend who is about to embark to college after surviving and thriving in their teen years. The poem “Age’s Grace” looks at how time has apparently expressed different paradigms for each of us.


Age’s Grace

We’ve both walked with some grace
living beneath high firmament
the sun and move walked their paths
tracing lines as they marched
Kronos asks for his due
though each would seem to touched
with unequal yoke by wheel’s turn
ask they years what they have borne.

Decade’s half marked your ascent
five years long yet so short
from periled childhood to the stoop
of adulthood you’ll soon embark
into our midst to make your mark
taking lessons to then progress
what’s come before will inform
the way you will shape the world.

The same years were a beat
echoing same again and again
to this one long crossed that line
listening to a lifetime’s pulse
a metronome that droned along
what I’ve done is now outpaced
by time’s repeating drum
asking only for more of the same.

Against this frame time is skewed
fresh with purpose for one of two
the other sees the span and asks
what it means to walk the planes
when half their age does surpass
less than that of comrade’s life
and what of years yet to come
will grace ask the same of both?

2016, Sean Green. All Rights Reserved, 20161220.
kokopelle: Black Cat (cat black)
I read an article about “old souls” that presented them as stable and focused incarnations. I think I once thought I was an old soul. I lived my life as one for much of the time. Now I wonder, realizing that life is too short to be old before it is required, if it was ever truly required.


To Live Too Old

Old souls are all the talk
human vessels with ancient ways
grounded instead of flying high
seen and done it all
standards set by experience long.
Here I stand without comfort
fractured instead of standing whole
flapping in the world's winds
wondering what's coming next
learning less with every day.

In the past the way was plain
variation was the due reward
for walking the many paths
so much to see and sample once
twice if I desired to try again.
These I tried but did not indulge
wisdom seemed the prudent choice
pace yourself with careful steps
excess came with punishment
this was the voice of the old soul.

Funneled through the checkpoints
stamps acquired as life progressed
stability was the brass ring
there ahead as years passed by
the breadth of the world at my feet.
The circle fell into my hands
reward for the due diligence
the hourglass marked the time
wheel turning round and round
the tarnish found broke my heart.

The contract was incomplete
old souls asked for their due
fine print was there to see
script precise upon the page
in letters that now haunt my life.
Coupon yellowed, now expired
echoes of what could have been
avenues open to far explore
delights bent to appetites
now void though the slip is whole.

The lessons that seemed complete
are dust in the hands slipped away
what was measured by standards firm
agreement's made by gentleman
were fool's errands along the path.
The world still seems plain
except that is all I have
the obvious has moved beyond
contract canceled at soul's request
to live too old before I was done.

2016, Sean Green. All Rights Reserved, 20161027.

Poem - Dusk

Jul. 8th, 2016 11:27 pm
kokopelle: Black Cat (Cat - Black)
The poem “Dusk” is about a time of life I find myself in now.


Dusk

On the edge of dusk's domain
in the shadow of creeping night
I paused to consider where I was
and why you held me in your arms.
I saw the path at my feet
the dusk had not robbed my sight
yet the gloom has now removed
the side trails to consequence.

I cannot forget that evening nears
nor pretend to dance in morning light
when gloom is the phantom’s home
here I live with ghosts displayed
the mirages were all too clear
no longer solid though I could see
their forms cast upon the screen
more real than past memories.

The sun still shines beyond the trees
seen through limbs as sparkling gems
on my face these gently lay
promising heat where none is had.
Why are my eyes struggling
is it tears or dark of night?
Hold me close for this short time
as vision fades in dusk’s twilight.

© 2016, Sean Green. All Rights Reserved, 20160708.
kokopelle: Frank n Furter (Frank-n-Furter)
The poem “Reaping the Rows” is a metaphorical exploration of aging and struggle.


Reaping the Rows

I've sowed the rows since my youth,
now I look back to the sunrise.
The crops were gathered plentiful,
but would I chose to redo it?

The soil was tilled by elder ones,
love was a main component.
I see this now at this late time
though I was blind in past moments.

Into this loam I cast my lot,
above my head the clouds gathered.
I cast the seeds with fear embraced
by self-doubt of worthiness.

The crop grew strewn with the weeds
though the yield did prospered.
Years passed as bounties came
yet there were signs of danger.

Brambles grow when ignored,
in time the thorns consumed
sacred parts most embrace
as the sanity did wither.

The fields I share are diverse
shared with other farmers.
They wish the best for my soul
though I am too trapped to see it.

Now enwrapped in twisted vines
among the treasures of living
I wonder if I would plant again
if my mind would be better.

© 2016, Sean Green. All Rights Reserved, 20160426.
kokopelle: Horse Totem (Default)
The poem “At Arm's Length” focuses on one aspect of aging.


At Arm's Length

So much of life pushed away
kept at arm's length of mercy's sake.
This is best for all involved,
beware the way that beggar's take.
To partake is the fool's fae path,
wisps flit eager to entice.
Turn away as emotions flare,
they are phantoms of life's past days.

Separation is the normal now,
even as the breadth is seen.
To know so much is curse
only if the joy is lost.
Appreciation is the burden held
when this is all life has to share.
Knowledge flows to wisdom's grasp
when then and now are kept separate.

The wheel turns relentlessly,
the days to months and then to years.
Each walks their path with many ones
of those of same and dissimilar.
In the hands of latter folk
the world is held as life is passed.
In time they will feel the void,
fate holds same for all that walk.

© 2016, Sean Green. All Rights Reserved, 20160326.
kokopelle: Frank n Furter (Frank-n-Furter)
The poem “Person Out of Time” is about my experience as a senior dancer. Experienced? Yes, in contra, but I meant senior in years.


Person Out of Time

I'm a person out of time,
living in a world not my own.
People surround this solitary,
different in ways to many to count.
My companions on this path
are early in their youthful lives.
Beginning where I long ago trod,
embracing the fruit now long passed.

My years have passed with consequence
with experiences scarring deep within.
The surface is the easy mask
displayed for the world to digest.
To know too much is my soul's bane,
experience taking differences to shame.
We are more alike in my eyes you see
when the petty games are made to play.

The cliques cannot resist my influence,
I stand outside their tribal rules.
The key that fits no lock may pass many by,
as skeleton as the past in my closet.
This allows for intrusion within,
yet this is less than it would seem.
Full membership is now denied
when scrutiny is at last defined.

No path forward for inclinations,
even if romance was the option possible.
Similarities sparkle in the lives shared,
void by the gulfs of age disparate.
Connections are made on another plane,
this one separate from tender touch.
It is best for all involved,
so says the wisdom of generation's mind.

My time will pass before the rest,
my elders already fade from sight.
In time this will be my fate,
leaving me only in other's memories.
I'm a person out of time,
living in a world not my own.
For this time I fully embrace
those ways we may share this place.

© 2016, Sean Green. All Rights Reserved, 20160314.
kokopelle: Black Cat (cat black)
The poem “Once” is about the changes that time imposes on people.


Once

Lines carved by tears
etched over the years
on a surface once smooth.

Snow fallen on high
masking the dark tones
of a mantle once full.

Windows that have seen
curtains could not hide
the eyes once blind.

Crooked and bent lines
a form now broken
on a frame once firm.

Time has taken its due
asked a price for the ride
on a life once without end.

© 2016, Sean Green. All Rights Reserved, 20160118.
kokopelle: Black Cat (Cat - Black)
The poem “City in the Sky” speaks to the looking back at the past and those things that may be glimpsed, but not truly lived once they are past.


City in the Sky
Poem for Day 319 – 201511156

City in the sky
where I did reside
seen at a distant
only imagined
in my memories
faded reflections
of what could have been.

Visit for a time,
take in the bright sights,
fay phantom walking
I am the tourist
vicarious life
the interloper
the base intruder
a fleeting squatter
here in the city.

Those who walk the streets
wear the age old masks
handed down through time
by the ones before.
There I see my own face
mask on a stranger
passed by the turning
of eternity.

Why didn't I
fully embrace the
my time embodied
by the boundaries
of my time begun
and ended to short?
Only God may know
perhaps I will find
the answer beyond.
Now I flit as a ghost
disquiet haunt in
the city in the sky.

© 2015, Sean Green. All Rights Reserved.
kokopelle: Frank n Furter (frank_n_furter)
I find myself surrounded by the beauty of youth. I also find incredible joy in seeing young(er) people participating in social dancing. Their embracing this life fulfilling activity is a wondrous thing, and at a young(er) age, this can only bode well for their futures. I am in the seniors of this group, perhaps showing that even the old(er) can be young at heart. I don't know, but the poem “Younger Life” is an examination of my life amongst the young(er) people of the world, and the lessons they teach me.


Younger Life
Bonus Poem for Day 318 – 20151115

Remind me of my younger life,
occasions met now passed along,
the time that slipped on by
while I was too busy living life.
Now I am gray in the span of years,
experienced in the loss of heart,
broken down by grinding pain,
and wishing for another chance.

I'm sure I was your age,
logic dictates it should have been,
but somehow I missed inherent joy,
possibilities of youth's loving ways.
My memories drift from happiness,
instead dwelling on the difficult.
I am sure that fate brought my way
the opportunities of these younger ones.

The sadness encroached on the sides,
adulting brought to forefront,
aging me beyond wheel's turns
when I should have rose above.
I thought I was worthless then,
not worthy to enjoy the fruits therein,
dead inside while the bloom of youth
was wasted on the beliefs of doom.

The beauty was present all around,
as much as now, but closer at hand.
How could I have been so blind
when I was young and could not see?
Shyness tied my heart in chains,
held back my tongue so I could not talk,
held back my words of passion’s breath
when we had the years to sally forth.

You remind me of my younger life,
yet in this place I find some hope.
The younger life is a frame of mind,
with time relative to all mankind.
I can focus on the here and now,
see my youth in the place I live.
In that way I will realize
that youthful ways are mine to have.

© 2015, Sean Green. All Rights Reserved.
kokopelle: Black Cat (cat black)
The poem “Hills of my Youth” is an allegory of aging. The sights of youth are still seen, but the traveler has moved beyond.


Hills of My Youth
Poem for Day 285 – 20151013

There was a time I was amongst
the lovely hills of my youth.
They lay spread out in my vision,
rolling to the horizon's edge.
Beauty incarnate in majesty,
satyr's realm amongst the barrows.
Mounts of delight, knolls of bliss,
the path ran through them all.

The wheel turned, I moved on,
the journeyer betrayed by age.
Satyrs may romp but not I
on the road to points distant lay.
Now I see them from afar,
separated by the deep chasm.
The gap not of my doing,
but there nonetheless by time's hand.

Respect asked, dues given hence.
My path lays not in the altitudes,
nor in the clefts near in my youth,
these have passed out of reach.
Long trail back to the mountains,
a journey I may never take.
The hillocks are in my past,
the hills of my youth removed by time.

© 2015, Sean Green. All Rights Reserved.
kokopelle: Frank n Furter (frank_n_furter)
The poem “Fawn of My Heart’ is an allegory about aging. I know where I took my inspiration! Read what you will into the words.


Fawn of My Heart
Poem for Day 230 – 20150818

Evergreen branches contrast paled grass,
the season has pressed into this night.
Mabon has passed this journey way
bequeathing all their due harvest.
Twilight hangs on the mountain pass.
Vision muted in moon's dim light.
Enter the fawn questing a far,
steps on the path not seen before.

Witness the trees majestically tall,
product of many a year on the earth.
A dusting of white softly conceals
boughs of green needles over the path.
Winter's first flakes speckle the ground,
season's trademark of fresh powder.
Producing a glow in moon's weak beams,
the path beckons the fawn ever on.

Many have quested here before,
walked the way through high gorge.
They have passed in their journey,
and now the way is clear again.
The pressing wind carries the chill,
warmth of the past an echo in time.
Kindle the coals to find the heat
whispers the night breeze to the fawn.

The valley waits below on twisted trail,
a journey not meant for the faint of heart.
It would be better by fay’s sunlight,
but now there is only fane's twilight.
Look to the dark of the safe trail
bordered by frosted boughs overhead.
You'll find your way to my side,
fawn of my heart here to reside.

© 2015, Sean Green. All Rights Reserved.
kokopelle: (Cat - Bunny Love)
I've never had a good self-image of myself. Mirrors, below the neck, are unwanted allies. Dance is a blessing, conferring acceptance by my partners who I find to be lovely beyond my aged semblance. Intellectually I know that I should be kinder to myself. The poem “Lovely Followers” speaks to how we see ourselves externally, and how this compares the treatment we receive from others.


Lovely Followers
Poem for Day 137 – 20150517

Mirror turn aside your lie,
the proffered presentation denies
the person I believe I am:
dancer of the light fantastic,
partner to the lovely followers.

I must be another person,
thirty pounds lighter,
two decades younger,
instead of who I truly am,
this outward thing called me.

Youth of another time,
trapped inside this aging self,
seeing myself mirrored now
echoed with unrealized sympathy
in beauty of dancers younger than me.

DJ play your swinging songs,
live band strike up the instruments,
I'll not act my age, not tonight,
my soul is here to dance, merry make,
hoping the body keeps the pace!

Dear mirror, please be kind,
I'm not the man I used to be,
instead I have grown in spirit,
body too, never mind that,
partner to lovely followers.

© 2015. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved
kokopelle: Black Cat (cat black)
I am discovering one of life's inside jokes. A large number of my friends are adults half my age. They are vibrant, lovely, and mature beyond their years. They remind me of my past and the people I knew when I was that age. The poem “Spectral Friend” is about the ghosts of memory that I encounter, and their lesson to me, when I interact with my wonderful younger friends.


Spectral Friend
Poem for Day 011 - 20150111

We were all younger,
those many years ago.
You were so beautiful
with the blush of youth.

I see the same glow
in persons half my age,
your face hides behind theirs
as visions echo from the past.

They are half my age,
mentally you are the same,
ageless in the corridors
of my mocking mind.

Is it really you I see,
or do I long for remedy
to years slow march
from there to my maturity?

That is it, my spectral friend,
beautiful ghost of memory past.
We were all younger,
those many years ago.

© 2015. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved.
kokopelle: (Cat Wet 1)
I am finding aging to be such a funny thing.  Life really treats those 30 and under with kid gloves.  Living forever seems to be an option.  Then the third decade arrives.  Thirty is associated with a person's Saturn return, and the classic meaning of this time is "life's bills come due".  Metabolisms slow down.  Tanning and smoking start to show up on the skin.  This continues through 40 and then it can accelerate. 

The forties seem to be a really mixed bag for adults.  Hair is lost and weight is gained.   The abuse from athletic adventures of the past show up in achy backs and joints.   Fifties and beyond?  That is waiting for me in just two years. 

All through this are a mixture of physical appearance and physical ability.   Mental and emotional health are tested.  The quantity and quality of life are both a friend and an enemy. 

The outcome?  It can be so different, both karmic and random.  Which will impact us more?  Is there a choice?  We'll see.

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