kokopelle: Black Cat (cat black)
“More Than Memories” started out as a poem about discovering the layers of a person. It turned into a metaphysical examination of stripping away the dross of life, only to find there is very little other than the end of existence.

More Than Memories

Inside the many shells we peel
there’s a layer underneath
laid down by life to mark the time
protection for what’s outside
paint with layers a mile thick
or the onion with no center
both are hints what may come
when the bottoms are then plumbed.

The box lids lift to disclose
another square with a top
perhaps round, it matters not
compartments mask more from sight
when there’s another tucked inside
what’s obscured is still veiled
receptacles hide what’s not found
except within the mind’s realm.

The spirals found are infinite
a puzzle snared in veil’s riddle
if deity could show the way
the smoke from fires would blind the day
perhaps the caskets will reveal
or the urns that hold the ash
when the shells are reduced
to nothing more than memories.

© 2017. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20170905.
kokopelle: Black Cat (Cat - Black)
“Painting Sunbeams” was loosely inspired by Claudia Boleyn’s cover of “Take Me To Church”. My muse was excited by the imagery presented both inside and outside an English chapel.

Painting Sunbeams

Stained glass in the windows
in the building outside my bed
imprinting colors on the pews
by the guests at the goodbye
then to tombstones in their ranks
marking memories left behind
there you'll find inscriptions
stating when I left this realm.

Prayers lifted to their God
by visitors to holy ground
intruders for a short time
gather round to bid goodbye
we have so little time
our mortal coils upon the earth
I thank them all for the adieu
memories left as flowers drop.

In their retreat the rest resign
to remain interned in the ground
by form of ash in a jar
or pallbearer's somber load
it matters not what remains
when souls escape from body's cage
passing windows with color's brush
painting sunbeams on the pews.

© 2017. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20170726.
kokopelle: Black Cat (Cat - Black)
"Ending's Gain" is about terminal lucidity, a term coined by the biologist Michael Nahm in 2009,
describes the brief state of clarity and energy that sometimes precedes death.

Ending's Gain

At the end I see it all
and take pen to paper to clarify
what God's revealed to my eyes
perhaps this should not be
the muse evoking blasphemy
though closings bring such memories

a final push of energy
gifting me to share the word
has occurred as midnight's stroke
the tunnel's light must now wait
delay an exit to better realms
while last strength fills my limbs

clarity is the benefit
presenting views most conceal
when honor meets embarrassment
past is brought to present time
social constructs most dismay
are made plain on this day

I'll use the last of my will
before a rattle fills my throat
and the words are ended here
wishing that the season stretched
beyond the terminal now embraced
allowing for ending's gain.

© 2017. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20170712.
kokopelle: Black Cat (Cat - Black)
Two people close to me passed away recently. The poem “Life Beyond” reflects life and the connections made.

Life Beyond

Life beyond value
outside of yourself
in the hands of others
more than you expect

life may be tough
more than you want
the joy that you spread
is the measure of worth

interest accrued
beyond what you see
the ease that you bring
is more than the pain

the web is so thin
flung beyond the eye
life beyond value
spun outside of yourself.

© 2016, Sean Green. All Rights Reserved, 20160905.
kokopelle: Black Cat (cat black)
This year's passing of celebrities is striking especially hard the sense of mortality among the aging population. Our heroes and pop symbols are falling away to the hand of time. The poem “Reaper's Drum” is about the inevitability of this, and how we still have a sense of surprise when it happens.

Reaper's Drum

Echoes of the Reaper's march,
made more loud in this year.
Has it always been this way
or are ears now primed to hear?
The rough percussion never stops
as heartbeats cease to be.
Others rush to fill the gaps
with silence never near at hand.

In nature's bustling cavalcade
everyone is the band.
Most of use sit in the wings
while the rest are center stage.
These avatars of society
made immortal by celebrity
cast in film and song alike
still are taken from our sight.

Damn you Reaper don't you know
that your drum does not console
when the famous that we see
are found human in your revelry.
We saw them as the lords above
the bulk of mere mortal folk.
This matters not when you play
your ancient rhythm of decay.

© 2016, Sean Green. All Rights Reserved, 20160119.
kokopelle: Black Cat (Cat - Black)
The poem “Fast Forward” draws on Greek and Roman mythology. The stone mentioned was swallowed by the Greek god Cronus when he thought he was swallowing his offspring. The stone, named omphalos, was supposed to mark the places of power. Now it is a symbol of the misguided belief that a place of geopolitical power and currency is the most important place in the world. The combination of these produces a poem speaking to the price paid for wrongly living life on the edge of time.

Fast Forward
Poem for Day 209 – 20150728

Fast forward on the edge of time,
no rearview mirror to distract.
Only the now matters to you,
just beware of the bill come due.
Grasp the brass ring with both hands,
win the free ride to try again.
Do so at the risk of losing
the immortal thing called the soul.

Saturn is a friend to few,
by his laws he cruelly rules.
Measure taken for indulgence granted,
in the end he'll judge all men.
Wealth and power he offers,
life to be reaped for that sowed.
Try as you may to outrun his hand,
the river must be crossed one day.

Paranoid of time's prophecy,
you eat your young like Cronus of lore,
consuming your future for the sake
of power's penetrating lure.
Best be warned that fate will fight,
serving up power's false marker.
You'll swallow the cold stone instead,
the weight of the world will be yours.

Time to cross the River Styx,
the sickle will have its due.
An easy task if it were not for
the rings and stones collected.
The world reduced to a watery tomb,
separated from bliss for eternity.
Salvation lost for the world gained.
Fast forward at the edge of time.

© 2015, Sean Green. All Rights Reserved.
kokopelle: Black Cat (cat black)
Flowers are incredibly fragile, temporary things of beauty that celebrate both the glad and the sad. Because of this they are a fitting title for a poem about loss, and how loss is memorialized, even though there is no fitting acknowledgment of true loss.

Poem for Day 206 – 20150725

That was the day I almost died.
Some say I survived the accident.
You and I know different though,
you in heaven and I'm still here.

Flowers are the memorial,
blessed flagrant acknowledgment,
statement of a life now transformed
on the day that I almost died.

The days go by, separated
from before by that fateful time.
The hours mark the absent of
the one that filled my mortal world.

The living one stands by your side,
against cold marble edifice.
Carved numbers state your time here,
six feet of earth between you and me.

Flowers are not enough my dear,
left at your stone memorial,
here to remember the one gone
on the day that I almost died.

© 2015, Sean Green. All Rights Reserved.
kokopelle: Black Cat (cat black)
The lyrics “Trans-Mortality-Morality” are an editorial statement of some religion's fascination with the beyond and the fallen nature of this world. While their number is few, their profile is everywhere in this electronically connected world. Some of these same people are heavily critical of people who are experiencing other trans identity crisis. The irony is palpable.

Bonus Poem for Day 170 – 20150619

I've I were a bit deader,
if I were a bit better,
that would be the red letter day,
best of the worlds cause I'm a trans.

This living is merely temporary,
something I do before I'm dead.
Forced on me by the evil one,
my place is dead by the one's side.
I'm sinning like there's no end,
but that's not who I really am.
The evil one tricked me one day,
led astray from my real purity.

I'm a trans in this mortal world,
not meant to be amongst living ones.
I'm a trans in this evil world,
soul too enlightened for the like of you.

I'll bide my time waiting patiently,
knowing that bus will find me.
It has a gift, my termination,
lifting me to the arms of the one.
Avoidance of all is my goal,
perfection just out of reach.
I will become pure as driven snow,
only my humanity left to besmirch me.

I'm a trans in this mortal world,
not meant to be amongst living ones.
I'm a trans in this evil world,
soul too enlightened for the like of you.

I'm a trans, just a trans,
this I will gladly admit and embrace.
Mortality, morality,
just a trans in this too mortal world.

© 2015, Sean Green. All Rights Reserved.
kokopelle: Frank n Furter (frank_n_furter)
I suspect that my future tome of poetry will be named something like “Statements of Dance and Death”. The poem “Dance and Death” is a free style pondering of the topics I often write about.

Dance and Death
Poem for Day 123 – 20150503

Poems of death
lyrics of love
rhymes of dance
rituals of life's charade
these I chronicle
share more than I should
in a stream of thought
as I reveal myself to you.

Of death I mean change
both big and small
conclusions and climaxes
interruptions all
made to life's flow
the differences you see
are longevity's voice
spoken in poem's prose.

Love is a theme
lust for the world
beauty the candle
to my desire core
what of the age
the difference between
life so admired
and my measured age.

Lastly see dance
a mixing of both
the death and beauty
combined in the heart
the result is sensual
carnal delight
in poetry's language
for salacious friends.

© 2015. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved
kokopelle: Black Cat (cat black)
There are paths out, and then there are just glimpses of escape that are turned aside.

Poem for Day 084 – 20150326

Afternoon sunlight, what do you hide?
Is there a way out for me today?
Stray from the shadows, to stay alive.

Once laughter spoke its voice aloud.
All is mute in quiet readiness
for the night that will soon arrive.

Still I stand frozen here in place,
exit calls within easy reach,
with indecision as my guide.

I cannot leave, dusk take me now.
This is my home, my cold redoubt,
and here I'll stay in shadows deep.

© 2015. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved
kokopelle: Black Cat (cat black)
I saw a meme that denied the popular saying “luck of the Irish”, unless that luck is bad. This got me thinking. Some dear friends sing Irish ballads, and many of them end up with one or more people dead, imprisoned, or both.

Ballad's Sad Rule
Bonus Poem for Day 076 – 20150317

Sing me an Irish ballad,
one without luck,
the topics will vary,
but the results are the same.

Lovers are separated
by blood of flesh or kin,
United they are parted,
and probably both are dead.

Starvation stalks the land,
farms are sadly fallow,
barren, wasted by disease,
a people dispersed to ends.

A people imprisoned
by foreign nations within.
Forced to work and to slave
just to continue to live.

Impassioned rebellions,
bringing arms to bear
against King's country
struggle to be free again.

Sing me an Irish ballad,
look high and low if you will,
find me the happy exception
to this ballad's sad rule.

© 2015. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved
kokopelle: Frank n Furter (frank_n_furter)
The poem “Every Day” started out quite dark. There is part of me that lives that life. The poem was transformed as I talked to a friend about the lessons we learn from hardship, and the freedom that is realized on the other side of the darkness.

Every Day
Poem for Day 071 – 20150312

Every day is one I've not died.
For others every day is
one more they've lived.
They hold on tight to life
while I dance on the cliff of death.

I strive to still live,
other strive to not die.
See the difference:
I am seeking to be here,
while others are elsewhere.

I dance with the devil
to take away his tricks.
The catch is to only waltz,
perhaps a lingering embrace,
but then I go home alone.

I relieve the pressure,
give space to a breadth of life,
in the shadow of a possible end.
Only when I release my grip on breath
does the whole of life reveal itself.

A partnership with the edge
brings life to me now.
Every day I dance on the edge,
fear not the flirted cessation,
and see life as it meant to be.

© 2015. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved
kokopelle: Black Cat (cat black)
A final poem on the theme of “Dead Can Dance”. The living can live dead lives. Transformation can bring the walking wounded back to life. The poem “Dead Can Dance Tonight” is about such an event.

Dead Can Dance Tonight
Poem for Day 036 - 20150205

I need to dance
to revive my body
from an early grave.
I feel so exhausted,
so spent and beat.
Once I was alive
now I am insensible,
tired to touch,
numb to need.

I need to dance
to reset my soul,
to rekindle ashes
cold in forlorn hearth.
Tedious has become
script of my essence.
Psyche cold, defunct
from the lack of warm.
Apathetic, aloof,
heart's glacial state.

I need to dance,
with you as my partner.
I need to live,
with you as my guide.
I need to speak
your gasped name.
Replace one death
with a minor relation.
Our dance I so crave,
the death you will bring.

© 2015. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved.
kokopelle: Frank n Furter (frank_n_furter)
I have over 150 poems to my name now. A friend asked when I was going to publish a book of poetry. I do intend to, and their question got me thinking of the particulars of this action. I’ve embraced many themes in my poetry, but two that stand out are dancing and death. Because of this I can imagine the title of the book to be “Dancing and Death”. I wrote the poem “Death Rides” to celebrate the conjoining of these two themes.

Death Rides
Poem for Day 022 - 20150122

Death rides tonight
on black horseback.
We dance in greeting,
under the bright moonlight.

Look to the bawdy stars,
strip my soiled rags,
I am yours tonight,
here in your consuming arms.
Stroke the mane,
light the candle.
We are babes new borne
to dance in Death's domain.

Turn eyes upward,
look to the angels high,
while our dance combines
our energies below.
Black ewe, white ram,
consorts to Death's prance,
slain to bring about
the passing of each masters' desire.

Cessation of self,
termination of separation,
Death aid us tonight,
in our dance of delight.
No space in between,
Death bring your mercy,
grace of dance complete,
wash us clean in effort spent.

Death rides tonight,
he bears his gift for us.
I am to dance in your arms,
to have a little death with you.

© 2015. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved.
kokopelle: (Cemetery Stone)
My apologies, this is another dark poem, with a happy(ish) ending. I saw a meme that said “Artists are people driven by the tension between the desire to communicate and the desire to hide –D.W. Winnicott”. I can relate to this. Art can be a savior for those wishing to hide. In the past I was perfectly OK with dropping though a hole in the ground and disappearing from people's minds. It was the ultimate hermiting fantasy. I've since touched so many people (and vice-versa), and now a vanishing act is no longer possible. Having those connections is a good thing, and the tensions of art have allowed me to be more present in the larger world.

Dark Fantasy
Poem for Day 042 – 20141104

I had a dark fantasy,
one of dying unattended,
Nobody would attend my funeral,
if I even had one,
a non-event,
All of my achievements are nothing,
my failures vanish also,
double whammy,

Gladly I will fail this fantasy,
I will be remembered,
People will attend my funeral,
a celebration of a life spend,
a grand experiment,
I've accomplished works of art and science,
failures have made me grow,
celebrations of creation,
and life.

© 2014. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved.
kokopelle: Frank n Furter (frank_n_furter)
Personally I have a lot of associations with Halloween. I’ve expressed some of them in a poem celebrating the turning of the year’s wheel. Everyone please be safe and celebrate life as darkness descends.

Jump the Flames
Poem for Day 038 – 20141031

The veil is thin,
in our hearts,
as we remember saints and relatives alike.
All Hallows Eve is here.
Confront death,
ridicule the end most certain.
Hide from death,
jest the far side of the curtain.

Darkness presses in,
the harvest has been gathered,
and livestock slaughtered.
The doorway cracks open,
monsters and fay enter.
Give them treats,
favors most nice,
on this hallowed eve.

The veil is thin,
our mortality is short,
honor the dead and celebrate life.
Light the bonfires,
and embrace life's shadows
to hold back decay.
Jump the flames
and flirt with death's domain.

© 2014. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved.
kokopelle: Frank n Furter (frank_n_furter)
A FB friend posted a story about a boy who was kissed to death. This sounded like the typical Irish ballad: somebody had to die in the end. I researched the story on the internet and found out about a girl who was kissed to death. At first a peanut allergy was blamed, but an update explained that the death was due to “an acute asthma attack after physical exertion with her boyfriend ”. I used this inspiration and wrote “Boy Kissed to Death”.

Boy Kissed to Death
Poem for Day 011 – 20141004

This is a very sad tale
of a lusty youthful lad
who came to an end so sad
at the lips of his best gal.

Some say it was the sandwich
laden with peanut butter.
It was an allergy they mutter
that took the lad before his time.

A deep kiss was the cause
saliva swapped, lips embraced.
The errant nut put in place,
swift death came to take the lad.

But wait, there is an update.
The story has been revised.
It was not as they surmised.
Another end was his fate.

He had a heart attack.
The autopsy revealed.
It could not be concealed.
His girlfriend was cut no slack.

It was due to exertion
expressed before the kiss,
that caused this heart to miss
and the boy was kissed to death.

© 2014. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved.
kokopelle: (Dark God)
Warning… thoughts about suicide. Please stop reading if this bothers you.

Sad Stuff... )

In other news, I dreamed of snuggling with a beautiful woman and this makes me happy.
kokopelle: Horse Totem (Shaman Horse)

A friend wrote “Why do people give death such a negative connotation? ”. I answered “Death is change, and change is bad.” Another person answered “I think it's (death) a fundamentally alien state. Everything we experience (life) is predicated on our ability to be experiencing it. In death, that stops happening. We can't really think about what it would be like to not exist, because the ability to process the thought of not existing depends, by necessity, on existing.”.

The comment that death represented non-existence kicked off a thought for me. While death as change is a valid insight, the latter reason given, that death is non-existence, is the BIG FEAR. This fear of death is unfounded. Fear is removed when the duality of life and death is realized. The following is an excerpt from “The Alchemy of Opposites” by Rodolfo Scarfalloto:

“Birth is a beginning, death is a completion, and visa versa. To allow a thing to be complete is to make room for something new. Fear of birth is fear of the new and unknown. Fear of death is the same thing. To regard one as better is to be ruled by the other. To reject the cycle of birth and death altogether, to be blind to its beauty, is to close the door that which is beyond birth and death. To simultaneously experience the majesty of both is to move beyond both, and therefore, beyond time. “

This excellent analysis explores the duality of birth (life), death, and their connecting element, fear. The fear of death recedes at the same time the fear of life is removed. The interplay of the two polarities, life and death, transcends both.

What does this mean? The bottom line is that people who fear death also have a fear of life. To fully live is to experience many deaths. These deaths come in the various small forms. They are completions that open the cycle to new beginnings. Most people ignore the treasure of these and instead focus on the final big death – Death. and then the final big one. The big one, the apparent termination of being, is itself a transition.

The ultimate illusion of death is the apparent singularity of death transitions. This singularity presents death as a one-way, one-time event. The shamanist knows there is more, embracing the fullness of death for themselves and their charges. Death becomes an entity that is both known and respected, the same as any force in the shamanist's world. The singularity of death is recognized, serviced, and surpassed as both a tool and gateway.

More info about the Shamanist and Death can be found in one of my blog entries from 2007.

kokopelle: (Frylock - Tell Me I've Been Bad)
Near death experiences are great for sharing the wisdom of the moment.  I had one of those this week.  In this case death was change and the near part was real.  I avoided big change, and in the process I saw better my immediate life.  I suppose I have to thank the guidance that's embraced me.  Tis a cool thing!


kokopelle: Horse Totem (Default)

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