Journey to Ixtlan

The poem “Make a Note” was inspired by a short poem on Tumblr and consideration of my writing about the same topics over and over again.


Make a Note

Make a note to mark the place
something referenced afterward
when the world has revolved
and still the cause pushes on

add to the stack of lettered screams
so many stating a need for change
yet the pile will surely grow
with additions stacking on

without regard for lunacy
the same repeated once again
please don’t fret if this is so
even angels are laid low

just remind the deaf self
something more may be done
announced by notes from the heart
perhaps one day they’ll be heard.

© 2019. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20190405.

The poem “Whispers Will Proclaim” is about the frustration of the poet. A poem attempts to explain the world. By purpose, or accidental shortcomings, the revelations are hidden in the maze of words.


Whispers Will Proclaim

All these poems are testament
to a world found within
the writer with the muted pen
expressing words that disappoint
these desires ask too much
prompting readers to perceive
what is barely recognized
against the screen of inner thoughts

the prose falls flat in response
gibberish that damns the tongue
even while the tumbled talk
arrays a legion of impotence
a thousand weapons making noise
firing blanks into the sky
wishing outcomes that define
something past the written lies

each vowel stands without a voice
the consonants are the same
still the volume turns upward
past eleven in churning words
a vehicle to explain
is found imperfect after all
with no one put to blame
removing readers from the shame

life is more than words may glimpse
when the depths have no end
to shine a light into that well
asks much more than poems share
the whispers will proclaim
what they may in resonance
hoping a single soul
acknowledges the muffled tones.

© 2019. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20190330.

The poem “Beyond the Pen” was inspired by the sometimes solitary pursuit of poetry. A few people have laudable exposure through social media or printed publications. The majority of poets are both unpublished and unseen. They seek something through their craft, even as that goal is not served by the public eye.


Beyond the Pen

If the ink were to dry
letters set for all time
and nobody saw the act
would it matter after all?
this audience of one
no more at day’s end

scribe and reader alternate
as the same experience
a separation of roles
blurred to one from the start
when nothing matters more
than transcribing from the heart

heights and depths are the same
invocations of the mundane
as the saint and sinner seek their own
in the form of sanity
the ink will remain at the end
silent witness to the dismay

shreds of joy mixed with
the stains that pass for life
now this drop stands alone
asking nothing from itself
except to know the relevance
of existence beyond the pen.

© 2019. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20190325.

The poem “Woe’s Bliss” is about the complex word of artistic output.


Woe’s Bliss

Spin the yarn in the head
apply the words to the page
allow for a feel of dread
while exclaiming happiness

top the sum with a doubt
like the period at the end
of a sentence asking more
than what’s sadly come before

allowing for doom's input
while touching ghosts assigned to hope
each has a message from the beyond
yearning statement in the now

count the days without relief
as the muse attempts to breathe
needing both as blessed fodder
towards creation of their art

some small effort would extol
this mix of feelings at its core
divulging more than most advise
even while the angels cry

still the poet will have their time
to spin the yarn beyond mere lies
the deepest truths are much more
than secrets shared on woe’s bliss.

© 2019. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20190208.

The poem “Become a Poem” was inspired by the quote by David Carradine: “If you can’t be a poet, be the poem.” Poets who write A LOT will place themselves within the resulting poems. To what end? Sometimes they may even listen to the advice given.


Become a Poem

I became a poem to realize
the hidden depths both good and bad
that dwell inside my twisted breast
both victim and so much worse

below a surface many see
lays a monster seeking peace
the die is cast by its own hand
along with wounds from other men

this sum that borrows from the soul
asking dues that none pay
with the rub that all must give
more than fairness would see fit

to those ends I press letters
like sad bodies of butterflies
against the page as if to blur
where I stand against the rest

hiding in the midst of prose
there is wisdom in what’s shared
if only the muse would point
to the parts that mean the most

perhaps some others will disclose
how these apply to my world
when the poet becomes the poem
they are lost within the words.

© 2018. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20181228.

The poem “The Poet’s Page” is about the struggle of the writer to produce works with impactful meaning.


The Poet’s Page

The poet’s page demands results
words submitted in due course
on a theme that resounds
with their souls and their hearts

into this space I grasp at dust
sift through the dunes of my mind
seeking more than I will find
epiphanies escape searching rhymes

poignant lines sublimely stacked
in groups of four more or less
upon each other in pursuit
looping round in stanza’s bliss

this construction becomes a fraud
a framework only without resolve
to ordain itself with more
than rubbish churned in empty prose

a foundation ordained by God
or stolen by the might foe
sustains the gospel of the muse
stamped with dogma of deepest doubt

wishful plans that fall so short
when no deity will pay heed
to the twaddle of fool’s discourse
drivel stated and not ‘the word’

these proclamations to all who read
worthy of tomorrow’s dreams
will echo loudly to the fates
exclaiming paths of destiny

lastly consider the substitute
forgotten before the day concludes
this is what I’ve put to page
all to the outcome of my dismay.


© 2018. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20181125.

The poem “Between the Lines” is a poetic consideration about religion being the only source of morality. There is consideration that “true” atheists have no morals and are basically rudderless ships void of ethical direction. While I don’t claim to be atheist, the ones that I’m aware of are perfectly capable of leading ethical lives. Meanwhile, atrocities are carried out by those with motivations, and while a religion may temper the outcome, it does not guarantee that harm will not befall others.


Between the Lines

Morality flows between the cracks
stays the hand from evil acts
consider how this comes to be
from dogma’s fear or something else
the former seems to be true
though one may ask what promotes
adherence to a greater good
when the latter also kind

please don’t kill just anyone
taking blood to cure pure lust
with a lack of deity
some would seek a murder spree
this is fated, some would say
no boundaries set by fear embraced
the punitive is all that holds
strong malice from the human heart

this ascends the iceberg’s tip
so many more sins now await
no longer held by a dread
of what may happen when we’re dead
perhaps you spot a flaw in this
that some people can resist
running wild with no regard
even if they have no god

those other sins may intrude
the ones that are identity
not immoral when affirmed
outside the boundaries of a book
commandments laid at our feet
demanding more than few can meet
some restricted to belief
the others shared by decent men

more than worry of the law
instead a sense of what is right
sprung from souls that conspire
to steer their life between the lines
empathy becomes the tool
a golden rule to guide the fool
to conclusions that serve all
morality to fill a life.

© 2018. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20180903.

The poem “Keyhole’s Width” is about the apparent isolation of individuals, and the power of the written word to build brides, even if the portal is as small as a keyhole.


Keyhole’s Width

I spent my life as a ghost
drifting lost through the halls
knocking on the closed doors
immaterial against their charm

a mere shadow by life’s gauge
with a past the most can’t see
while I dread the future times
existing longer than I dare

in response I mark my time
exploring themes most avoid
by this measure I am lost
a phantom seeking what most avoid

moaning poems to be heard
these enchantments from the muse
delivered a mantra daily shared
asking a world to bear witness

the themes of life are countable
on one hand or maybe two
knowing others also struggle
also shades to my form

only a spectre, nothing more
I’ll end my time with a verse
asking for an equal ear
to listen through the keyhole’s width.

© 2018. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20180807.

The poem “Lines of Blood” is about the testimonial power of poetry. The poet has the option of unburdening themselves through the stanzas they share.


Lines of Blood

These words are traced in lines of blood
calligraphy that few dare
when the worse becomes my best
evoked from realms far below

this ink evoked from split veins
pierced by wounds every day
the font is filled to overflowing
still not enough to share my life

each awaking becomes a toil
asking witness by my poems
this unburdening states my pain
shared by others who travel same

screams impressed in crimson dye
no longer silent as stanzas mount
to fill a space that all may see
what was concealed now freely bleeds.

© 2018. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20180703.

The poem “From the Screen” is about finding inspiration and comfort in the social media sharing of others. The honesty and relative fearless nature of others become my Muse.


From the Screen

Statements come from the screen
those few strangers sharing life
opening windows if not doors
streaming voices to my ears
paced for rushed attention spans
the trail extends beyond my sight
a steady stream I’ve pursued
now I return to pay homage

I consumed them in short time
desire informed by my lack
by the knowledge of who I was
hunger sated in mirror’s face
honesty on the whispered wind
more than most would relate
these voices from the rabbit holes
too brave by twice in utterance

targets for both good and bad
at the worst the trolls come out
unaware of the truth
the gold I find is their dross
tableau of pure suffering
are echoes of an inner space
not the same but close enough
as I’m roused to wave back

now my statements are put forth
sympathy turned to reverence
as I join the pioneers
still upright with wounds concealed
tilting windmills that stand tall
it’s enough to share a nod
affirming tears borne of growth
conveying comfort with my smiles.

© 2018. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20180531.