kokopelle: Black Cat (cat black)
“I Vacillate” is about the seesaw of my self-worth.


I Vacillate

In this world I vacillate
between two poles of self-worth
one as small as a tick
another has me drive the bus
back and forth I twist in place
without foundation long under feet
pride is found in the bias
as doubts pile to find balance.

With the highs come the lows
bounced between confidence
thrill of living on one hand
an end is sought to compensate
if I’m swept to fall again
it would be normality
may I drift into the air
then fall to ground to try once more.

When the loudest ask for more
than I'm ready to put forth
I slink away to find my place
in the background away from fame
as the years push on by
I’m left again to flip the switch
on a life that’s run its course
this is my feeling in the dark.

I sometimes wonder why I try
to push the boulder up the hill
if my value is mismatched
to the effort of the task
with a vision of my impact
or a blindness of all things
where I stand in this world
is an angst deep in my soul.

© 2017. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20170918.
kokopelle: Black Cat (Cat - Black)
“A Life Redacted” was inspired by the image of a redacted document I saw on Tumblr.


A Life Redacted

A life redacted is still lived
though out of sight from other men
cloaked from those not authorized
to know the secrets sanitized
by black blocks the veil is thick
illegible to all but the one
secrecy becomes the norm
symbols hidden from the eye.

Suppression follows the intent
concealment is the highest goal
hiding more than what is shown
objective chosen above all else
a slight of hand distracts the eye
from the iceberg that lies below
showing what the wizard wants
that tip of land above the plane.

Censorship is made by self
against society with many eyes
judging scorn heaped upon
those who share far too much
escape is made in the fog
with the edit quick to conceal
ready ammo put aside
from the jury quick to rule.

Revelation comes in glimpses
peeks revealed against the black
of a stamp applied to the rest
stating what shall be convert
a narrative that few will see
except in glimpses put to pen
I’ve said too much in this space
a life redacted I’ll still live.

© 2017. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20170917.
kokopelle: (BRA - Dangerous)
“Put Down My Gun” is probably not about the six shooters of Western lore.


Put Down My Gun

Tell the world I’ve put down my gun
retired to shadows away from charm
the limelight with due rewards
no longer calls to this fighter

I’m not seeking to make my mark
with prodigy to extend mankind
beyond generations yet to fade
but in their time all will expire

it’s not that bullets have run out
or that rust has seized the works
as the barrel is still strong
on the shelf these matter not

the powder’s state no longer counts
be it dry or gone to rot
when the pistol is set aside
to gather dust away from sight

no longer questing the fair coquettes
worthy foes to bring to bed
laying low with equal joy
companions sought for at least one time

now I leave to join the march
of past shooters without a cause
musketeers with only self
to pass the time without recourse.

© 2017. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20170916.
kokopelle: Black Cat (Cat - Black)
“Inner Strife” is about the damning voices that scream to the mind, heard by only one.


Inner Strife

My inner demons tell me secrets
riddles of my inner strife
now revealed to seal my doom
that I plunge into the dark

none of these are the truth
fabrication spun from sin
separation from the holy
is the goal of miscreants

whispers of a pending doom
imagined in their fevered minds
asking me to join the chorus
damnation set as the refrain

crushing skies have yet to fall
I have time to turn away
no longer heeding cries of imps
step from gulf of Hell’s domain.

© 2017. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20170915.
kokopelle: Black Cat (cat black)
I am concerned about friends that are out of sight, moved on beyond my immediate space. “Hopeful Echoes” is about my worry.


Hopeful Echoes

Echoes are all that’s left
prompting thoughts of concern
asking more than life will share
portends silent at time of need

footsteps only I can hear
heartbeat tapping on my heart
in their wake the dust remains
evoking doubt in response

so many outcomes out of sight
scripts ascribed to low and high
cries imagined from the pits
or the laughs lift to the clouds

wondering where they may be
under gaze of morning’s sky
bearing witness while I cannot
hopeful echoes in my mind.

© 2017. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20170914.
kokopelle: Black Cat (Cat - Black)
I’ve been posted to various internet social media platforms since about 2007. Prior to that I ran a BBS in the pre-internet world. I’ve been writing and posting a poem a day since September of 2014 across multiple poetry oriented sites (six at this point!). Uncounted other content sharings have been put forward for public review. All of this has amounted to material tossed out to the judgment and consumption of the world. These outcomes vary tremendously. This begs the question: why? The poem “To Live Beyond” hints at the answer.


To Live Beyond

The pebble falls into the pool
from how far up I'll not guess
the height will tell cause impact
not known before stone is tossed
the land may drown in the wave
submerged by the resulting crest
or ripples will disturb the peace
hidden by a calm breeze.

A balloon flies to the waiting sky
another message sent to soar
asking those far below
to gaze above at the sight
what may happen will depend
on who stands looking up
it could be a swarming throng
or silence of deserted field.

Against these fickle turns of fate
the author seeks a surer thing
and artist bends media to mind
before presenting to the world
artifacts made by hand
God's expression none can deny
if there were a few kind souls
to witness dawn of Genesis.

These pleading cries are self-exclaimed
wanting ears to hear the noise
imploring eyes to turn their way
with guarantees worth no more than dust
blood and tears poured to create
asking others to behold
toil embraced to create
hoping some will witness this.

Recognition is the food
for the soul seeking more
than isolation in its art
emotion's void without love
when the pebble seeks the pool
and a balloon flies above
asking all to honor these
the artist's bid to live beyond.

© 2017. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20170913.
kokopelle: Black Cat (Cat - Black)
“More Than A Year” is incredibly dark, but that’s how I felt after I read the story of a YouTuber who was depressed for only a year. The expression of their depression sounded extreme: crying while in the fetal position on the floor. I am glad they pulled through. Chronic/neurotic depression is a different animal, and by its nature, lasts much longer than the one year period. The depressed experience becomes “high-functioning”, also known as dysthymia.


More Than A Year

Some people face it for a year
or a week here and there
bringing life to its knees
then they're back on their feet
sanity returns to the hands
instead of slipping like the fog
hiding that I genuflect
a position I’m doomed to keep.

The power of positive
focusing on life beyond the fog
the life preserver tightly grasped
questing ground beyond the frowns
that’s assuming there is land
not the void inside my mind
mist defying certain gains
against the future I seem to dread.

Here’s the greatest gap I see
that span of years in difference
theirs of decades two or three
mine of half a century
when the darkness walks beside
the sole constant, not quite a friend
instead of the sad transient
I face the cloud more than a year.

© 2017. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20170912.
kokopelle: Frank n Furter (Frank-n-Furter)
I watched a video in which Melanie Murphy, a YouTube presenter and author, talking about what she wears. This inspired me to write “Choose For The Day”.


Choose For The Day

Clothes are chosen for the day
how I feel is on display
with bright colors or the blacks
each is expression of who I am
with rainbow tints set to fly
or goth shades fade to black
both are expressions of my mind
shown together or separate.

A morning’s moment sets the tone
selection from the many masks
arrayed on hangers in the dark
tucked in drawers against the light
waiting for their time to shine
announcement of assertion's jab
fabric clinging to my skin
clue to how I feel inside.

So much pressure to comply
with convention set by the crowd
threads put on to impress
instead of freedom I'll express
perhaps it’s strange, outside of norms
bizarre compared to the passengers
dressing same unlike me
on this ride I share with life.

Now I pause to let you see
the garments worn that strongly hint
by the virtue of many hues
a person hiding underneath
who I could be, this is made plain
or is it so? perhaps I hide
still it's easier to see me
by clothes I choose for the day.

© 2017. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20170911.
kokopelle: (Cat - Bunny Love)
“Crowd For Everyone” was inspired by a close friend who found a dance community that fed their soul and increased their sanity.


Crowd For Everyone

There is a crowd for everyone
against the teeth of cold shoulders
even when the days seem dark
with no warmth to sooth the soul

friendly faces that do not judge
instead they welcome the lost one
too long wandering in the wastes
with lack of friendship along the way

a place to put down your woes
the world is gladly put aside
a daily grind with no end
is paused with those who lift their kin

strife’s not gone with this reprieve
still the space is most blessed
asking little and giving much
warmth for the soul found at last

smiles and tears are ensured
as close comrades lift the load
in requiem we do the same
ease their burdens in kind return

a calm is centered beyond the storm
acquaintances shield the worst that’s felt
push aside teeth of the dark
when there’s a crowd for everyone.

© 2017. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20170910.
kokopelle: Frank n Furter (Frank-n-Furter)
“The Fiend I’ll Be” is about picking the appropriate face for a new day.


The Fiend I’ll Be

I start the morning with a mask
put on my face at dawn’s edge
it will stay until I sleep
return to the lair, my retreat

the one chosen does depend
on the tasks near at hand
the high or low call my name
both are part of the divine

slut or saint, perhaps both
sides of a coin that may be flipped
while in the air both exist
the telling comes with experience

if you wink they that may change
first the holy and then the sin
each is satisfaction’s quest
feeding souls or damning them

it all depends on appetites
emotion’s draw to either side
feeding at the trough of life
satisfaction is the result

you’ll see the frown or the grin
etched on my mask to relay
how I wish for you to see
the day embraced, the fiend I’ll be.

© 2017. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20170909.
kokopelle: Frank n Furter (frank_n_furter)
“We’re All Magicians” was inspired by a cartoon that commented that a together life was a finely-crafted illusion.


We're All Magicians

We're all magicians of a sort
impressing others with our skills
building lives that seem pristine
even though the flip is true

towers built to touch the sky
thousand feet, still they climb
if only they were not submerged
two miles beneath a sea of hurt

this city scape fills the eye
monuments to enterprise
just as hollow as the tombs
scent of death to make a coin

I'll climb the rope to impress
attaining heights above the crowd
with the top obscured from sight
the cord goes nowhere, never mind

spoken wisdom come from my mouth
knowledge blessed on those who hear
philosophy of the purest strain
if baying donkeys are wise men

steel and iron form my walls
concrete laid with rebar’s strength
all of this would be a boon
if this barrier was not made of smoke

with great power I'll part the veil
to raise the zombies of my past
the peaceful grave should be their home
instead of dancing for my soul

constructing lives that seem solid
with a frame withstanding life
it's all a farce, I'm sure you know
we're all magicians on this earth.

© 2017. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20170908.
kokopelle: Frank n Furter (Frank-n-Furter)
"On Picket Lines" was influenced by a social blog and the music I listened to while writing the poem. The social blog was a passionate tirade that seemed state the SJWs (social justice warriors) deserved to die because they were enemies of God. The more compassionate understanding of the blog was that SJWs are pretty much worthless, so death would be OK, given that they are an affront to holy matters. Either way, the message is harsh. I suspect the writer was speaking to a faceless SJW monster. Unfortunately I, one of their social contacts, placed myself in that category.

I considered if this emotional outbreak could be matched by SJW dialogue. I decided yes, the writer did not have the corner of emotional speech all to themselves. I was prepared to write a poem about protesting people meeting half-way, with God being found in the middle. THEN I listened to a handful of songs by the band group Planet P Project. Songs on their albums "1931" and "Levittown" turned my thoughts to a much darker place. A three part poem was the end result.



On Picket Lines

I. The Picket Line

I met God on picket lines
he chose a side, it was not mine
still I pressed to have my say
not knowing how the future lay
a tale of woe will be shared
of deity that met my gaze
foreshadowed by his paragons
firm in belief of one true cause

the barricades held back the ranks
with civil guards in between
doing best to keep the peace
neutral bastions of the law
though their mission was noble
they were too few to stem the tide
when the righteous sought to show
the holy ire towards their foes.


II. Holy Warriors

The signs came first with bold exclaims
of justice and equality
if the color, creed, or bent of mind
was the same, not deviant
our sins were stated for all to see
already judged as a disease
the judge had spoken, jury agreed
now the hangman would be met

God put on his human face
the holy warriors with grace imbued
holding high their sacred tools
ready to tame the Devil's spawn
fervent zeal to prove their worth
divinity stamped in snarling shouts
redeemer embraced with baseball bat
they descended upon my lot.


III. The Fall

I had only words as my shield
insufficient against the blows
with dirging background of gospel chants
solid whacks as choir's response
less than a minute passed on that day
as holy justice was dispensed
praise from the angels on most high
another sinner had been dispatched

against his flock I'd drawn my stock
to represent the lesser ones
now I've finally met my God
with my life as entry pass
his true believers had their say
with the edge of sticks and shields
as I bore witness to their acts
Lord help those on picket lines.

© 2017. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20170907.
kokopelle: Black Cat (cat black)
“The Lens” was inspired by a prompt that asked for the line “the lens through which we view” to be used. On the previous day our 45th decided the six month cessation of the DACA program. To me, this is a decision driven by political appetites with very little, if any, empathy for those most harshly impacted. There are some very evil lens through which people can view the world. Sadly, there is little recognition of this as the lens create their reality.


The Lens

The lens through with we view
is all that we may see
beware the end result
lest a villain stand by your side

please believe the world that’s seen
is much larger than we think
the scope will quickly shrink
with the impact of the mind

this doesn’t mean the others go
as inconvenient as this may be
when desires flow from the heart
outside the realm of empathy

the baby is put out of sight
with the bath water it will go
when only liquid must be expelled
regardless of what there may float

focus reduces the size of the world
walls are meant to keep them out
block the sight of unwashed ones
the stated deviants and criminals

the Devil is held as confidant
even if he is obscured from sight
not because he’s put aside
only because his place is denied.

© 2017. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20170906.
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: Frank n Furter (frank_n_furter)
“Same Lust” is about the unplanned nature of passion.


Same Lust

Midnight seduction
before the twilight
the time of day
in disregard

surprising delight
replacing desire
attracting the lips
to make the same breath

fury unbidden
against all the odds
warmth leaps from flame
to melt a cold heart

form moved to rhythm
brawn meeting same
smooth flush to firm
then turned around

craving expressed
in dead of the night
light of the day
shares the same lust.

© 2017. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20170904.
kokopelle: Frank n Furter (Frank-n-Furter)
“Mimic’s Laugh” was supposed to be about the similarities and differences of mirrors and windows. There are some aspects to this remaining in the poem. The end result is more.


Mimic’s Laugh

I stare into the silent glass
puzzled by the scene present
echoes of sad humor found
on the wall before my face

reality is conviction shared
with impressions floating there
some are shared by the group
others visible to only one

boundary stopping more than life
the touches beyond who I am
flesh to flesh will not be
when the pane is unkind

the hues evoke emotion’s child
with the highs and the lows
darkest blacks and bleakest grays
stand aside with rainbow’s span

portal to the other realms
one inside the mortal flesh
another framed to reveal
workings of an outer world

imperfect copy sadly mocks
cold and flat is all I feel
images that may have depth
facsimile is the mimic’s laugh.

© 2017. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20170903.
kokopelle: Frank n Furter (frank_n_furter)
Love is great. Love also sucks. I need to remember that.


I’ll Forget

I once learned to love the world
or to point, a single one
capital L with all the bows

guarantees heard in my head
to this piper I walked the line
while the world was found deaf

the end result was too much
in between the wrong and the right
crucified in Hell’s hot fire

love betrayed me at long last
delivering nothing in its taunts
I’ll forget to now survive.

© 2017. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20170902.
kokopelle: Frank n Furter (frank_n_furter)
I wanted to play with the concept of midnight. The end result is the poem “The Companion”.


The Companion

Midnight’s edge is my friend
confidant I’ll not betray
holding secrets none shall know
if my ally is kept mute

not a lover, more than a friend
bless satellite I’ll hold dear
I know the sibling is removed
a surrogate is near at hand

behind the clouds that confuse
none may guess who they are
dreams are private in the mind
wisps that hide in sleep’s domain

seeker stalking what’s beyond
intimate is not the goal
unless the treasure is held bare
put to the hand before the eyes

still the orb pins the sky
darkened cotton in foreground
while the background is my goal
questing riddles of the mind

midnight will hold my trust
a path I’ll walk before sunrise
until that time I will commit
to the companion none may see.

© 2017. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20170901.
kokopelle: Frank n Furter (Frank-n-Furter)
I've got a few friends that I can (more) tell how I'm really feeling. With them I can share the (larger) breadth of my life. They are some of the most precious things I have in my life. “Safe Arms” is about the beauty of these relationships, and the perceived dangers of a larger world.


Safe Arms

The door is closed for my good
in response to the world
believing I'd harm innocence
thin veneer of their good
dogma marching in the streets
shouting threats that demand
revelation of the beast
exclamation of what could be.

They're too harsh with their words
when only scars would be revealed
in the company of my truest self
the fullest breadth of nakedness
there are no weapons to be had
unless you count my relevance
put aside when I'm seen
mere distraction from the cause.

Some would see without disgust
their power coming from inside
a frame of reference similar
to the space I've lived my life
in their eyes I'd find respect
to have survived to this point
mutually knowing beyond the shade
that tragedy awaits in the streets.

Where the storms howl outside
intolerance knocking on the door
judgment traded for sympathy
protection arrived at all costs
danger rests in their hands
platitudes spoken for greater good
as the dagger is held in close
behind the smile hiding death.

In this tale of consequence
lovely allies held close to heart
hearing thoughts that come to mind
while the world is kept at bay
this is the caution I embrace
while I seek the other ones
of same scars or even more
to recluse in safe arms.

© 2017. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20170831.
kokopelle: Frank n Furter (Frank-n-Furter)
The other day I spoke to a friend about people seeing past the words of my poems, down into the heart of what I'm saying versus what is being said. “Some to See” is about this phenomenon.


Some to See

Could I be defined by words
utterance put upon the page
with the inner truth much more deep
than the surface I've conveyed?

camouflaged by waving hands
misdirection of intent
while I wink to those who see
the rawness laying underneath

wounded flesh, gaping cuts
ribald taunts, erotic thrusts
these are hidden from the rubes
lacking skill to see my ruse

though this is incorrect
instead a reference is required
a frame upon which to place
equal knowledge of what's been said

here my words wear two masks
the one you see, the one submerged
begging if there is much more
the subconscious of the muse

with poet counted as the tricked
revealing more than what I meant
defining the fallen reprobate
splayed wide for some to see.

© 2017. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20170830.

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