kokopelle: Frank n Furter (frank_n_furter)
At some point I’ll share the story of how I came to write poetry, and through it, find a measure of sanity. “Write in Time” is a glimpse of the tale.


Write In Time

Anticipation of the words
sprung from pen to fill a page
speaking only to the mind
lest the world know of my kind
it’s not always been this way
poetry seen as a path
to explore the inner realms
turn them over while visible.

I’ve lived in silence while I bled
the tragedies filled my head
forcing me to the ground
even though I seem to stand
I was mute with tears withheld
turning inward while I smiled
wondering if I should persist
as shadows fought to be heard.

“You’ll write in time” said the muse
this seemed insane I’ll have you know
with only madness to convey
I turned away from honesty
still the scribblings were put forth
maintaining contact outside myself
as the topics dribbled out
surface knowledge softly spoke.

Then the day arrived at last
no longer did I hide from sight
poems arrived to fill the void
a method found to spill my guts
the words have flowed every day
so many topics, each a gift
put to page as seasons turn
exploring pain to heal the mind.

© 2017. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20170826.
kokopelle: Frank n Furter (frank_n_furter)
Later September, 2017, will mark three years of writing a poem a day. “Odes to God’s Ears” is about this adventure.


Odes to God’s Ears

While there words I’ve yet to use
there are fewer across the years
by writing poems once a day
dribbling out upon my pen
looking forward to much more
in this effort I must find
inspiration to march on
ascribing odes to God’s ears

I find aid in all things
the grains of sands near at hand
dribble through evermore
plumbing depths of my soul
prompts delivered by a world
the good and evil both compete
asking for an equal voice
through fair coverage in my verse

finding faults in dogma’s reign
exclamations made from high
brought to earth on the page
spoke with voice as truth exclaimed
words are feathers on the scale
between the right and the wrong
one seems the other when balanced
in the shadow of rhyme’s turn

humanity struggles on
I’m included in this domain
seeking portents that inform
why I fail and why I fly
still continuing to exist
another poem has been writ
stating less than you’d expect
ascribing odes to God’s ears.

© 2017. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20170818.
kokopelle: Black Cat (cat black)
“Upon a Hook” started out with the thought that the artist can draw in their audience with emotional expression.


Upon A Hook

I’ll place my pain upon a hook
rhyming, turning, asking all
to recognize the truth involved
the freshest bait is too raw
seeped in blood drained by words
offered up as banquet's feast.

My poems are flayed from the heart
exposing nerves too long numbed
asking them to feel once more
emotion brought to the forefront
the rich harvest at long last
from the depths below the mire.

My dear reader, are you still there?
with this sentence I may sigh
the lure has kept you in my eyes
perhaps the pain is shared by more
this longhand journey brings a crowd
that bears fair witness to my mind.

© 2017. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20170809.
kokopelle: Horse Totem (Default)
I began writing a poem about poetry’s place in expressing a need to connect to the word, how the words may be different from reality, but still have a truth of their own. This very rough draft became “Healing Touch” after I watched a YouTuber I follow. They spoke of the healing presence of video production in their challenged life. I very much relate, using the expression of poetry to provide a “hook” for continuing to press on.


Healing Touch

When my words relate despair
a scratching pen stating woe
it’s no wonder that people turn
avert their eyes from lack of joy
I wish this were not the case
a happy world asks for more
just know that sadness has a worth
madness cloaking healing touch.

Sometimes life is full of walls
erected high, the stuff of lies
whispering deceit to our ears
that trials of life are solitaire
into this my words intrude
stating loud of hardship shared
participation is the norm
to common ills we all endure.

The other balm affirms my life
when thirst for doom is allayed
the chronic need is satisfied
to end it all, remove the hurt
by turn of letters, a poet’s cure
the muse's license removes stigma
in that space I can relate
of life's struggles felt inside.

Drama is not my base intent
though the words may relate
to the matters in my life
of life and death, moving forth
railing against life’s restraints
both in my life and outward felt
combining to crush a soul
that’s what I share, the brunt of it.

2017. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20170707.
kokopelle: Black Cat (Cat - Black)
“I Write Tonight” is about why I choose to write poetry on a daily basis. One day I won’t, and my poems will stand for something in that time.


I Write Tonight

Another turn has found its way
I'll mark this day with a poem
looking back at where I came
leaving words for coming years
as prose allows for stories told
I have several to disclose
echoing what I've written prior
in the stanzas to follow here.

Honesty is my downfall
the muse requesting far too much
from the poet seeking truth
found inside, revealed to you
what cannot speak in common words
the odes allow on lyric tongue
pressed to state all there is
who I am, what I love.

Both the good and the bad
the horrific and the glad
have sprung from pen, put to page
please forgive my tirades
while I view what God has wrought
put upon by our frailty
it is no wonder I am amazed
by the breadth of life's range.

I share to alert the world
they're not alone in their space
this is true, but there is more
as the poems speak to myself
asking for the forbearance
to hang on another day
stating all the whys I can't
to provide the will to live.

What's put here is for today
remembering where I've come from
why I do this these written acts
while the muse moves my hand
for one day I'll be silent
no longer press the quill to task
then you and I may look back
to see these words I write tonight.

© 2017. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20170620.
kokopelle: Black Cat (Cat - Black)
I attended a local poetry reading. There I discovered that a number of the readers shared a common theme in their poems. It is different from my themes. The realization hit me that a careful examination of a writer’s work can reveal a lot about individual poet and the “stuff” they process through their writing.


While I Heal

To each their own, their crux to write
the poet’s urge to say their voice
on topics painfully close to heart

the muse calls for honesty
not just once, but time again
on the topic put to page

in between lighter fare
of flowers and buttercups
spring to summer, nothing more

then back to angst, sterner stuff
elaboration of inner fiends
the writer spins thoughts to words

the purge is good for the mind
emotion filtered by daylight
the sun fighting against the dark

this antidote becomes the cure
as letters pour from end of quill
a tonic expressed to the soul

so my reader, fair citizen
forgive this poet for his sins
expressed to paper while I heal.

© 2017. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20170522.
kokopelle: Horse Totem (Default)
“Candor’s Might” was written for prompt about how I cope when I struggle mentally. One of the things I do is write poetry, seeing honesty and the companionship of others with similar struggles and life situations.


Candor’s Might

With a poem I'll state my mind
looking back down the trail
to where I stand now with my angst
off to a future waiting there

I’m struggling, yes, that’s a fact
though introspection is a bless
putting plain the turmoil inside
making honest what tries to hide

depression grows in dark corners
the light of day shrinks the hurt
remedies move to the front
when pathologies are made precise

anxiety is mistreatment’s child
blossoming when left to cry
champions are called to help
my own mind, those of my kind

it’s a bubble that I desire
to seek the healing, to meet the minds
words put to page is just a start
to letting others know of my heart

friends are found through my poems
honesty through this shared light
I will heal with balm of love
pursuing both candor’s might.

© 2017. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20170504.
kokopelle: Horse Totem (Default)
“None Shall Read” was inspired by the quote, “She lives in poetry she cannot write”, credited to Oscar Wilde. The active poet shares more than most, but even then there are some parts of their life that remain out of reach, by intent or inability to adequately share more.


None Shall Read

I live in poetry I cannot write
ink fails my hand to spill my life
though the page is no longer blank
they are not enough to reveal my life
the void filled with smoke's fury
something there, the question begs
how may existence be confirmed
when words fail their greatest charge?

Rhyme would save if form was king
prose by tradition, muse invoked
the trip of ear connecting lines
allowing flow to carry notes
greatest is the symbolic match
repetition at the end of verse
stanzas blessed with magic's touch
matters not when the middle fails.

The tome is imagined and then put aside
pages pulled against the spine
two covers promise with titled text
coming soon, the breadth I am
the volume heavy with spirit's void
estranged from the soul’s scribbles
what's come before to fill this space
what's meant to follow, what I embrace.

My breath attempts to fill the void
a voice to strive where script failed
conversation meant to cross the gap
between ledge of self and world at large
when my speech is forced out
all that's heard is a sad rasp
to substantiate the there to here
the silence drowns the waiting ears.

Ask privacy to work its guile
reluctance gone when none may watch
only self will hear the tale
poetic journey put to page
release the tongue, tell no lies
this would be apt is conscious knew
what to bring to diary’s womb
the void is found, not the birth.

In the end I live in the void
understated by writ of word
the reasons why are numerous
though in the end I always fail
I'll blame the words for their guilt
though they serve this master's call
no matter how I strive to express
my life in poetry none shall read.

© 2017, Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20170316.
kokopelle: Frank n Furter (frank_n_furter)
The poem “Confessions” was written for a competition with the challenge, “A poem about a poem about a poem”.


Confessions

The words held fast each moment’s breath
the gods sent a beauty to grace my side
their name to lips and then to the pen
describing the bounty of life’s largesse
the poem announced a burst of love
perhaps it was lust, the lesser of sorts
yet in the end the stanzas did state
the letters that mark invoked appetites.

The actors were put together to see
how many impacted the poet within
the genders had varied, each to their own
all shared together in a collection of thoughts
the stories were ours to celebrate
with names withheld or changed within
respect must be given though loins ask for less
in a book of writing with poetic preface.

Now you may ask where to find this tome
mentioned in poem, like dreams in a dream
with stated ambitions at the hot core
wrapped in a scope of book’s enterprise
a collection of ink bound with a spine
again with the preface stating each one
this poem has alerted you to my confessions
held to my heart by the weight of piled words.

© 2017, Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20170312.
kokopelle: Black Cat (Cat - Black)
I pondered a poem for a competition themed by quote of Ray Bradbury that included the words “You have to get up in the morning and write something you love, something to live for”. I write about many things. Some are joyful and others are despondent. All are expressed because I love to write, and at some level, I lovingly embrace what I write about even if it pushes into the darkest corners. The poem “Love of High and Low” speaks to the varied output of the honest writer.


Love of High and Low

In the morn the pen is held
by happy hand or less than that
it matters not in my heart
the love is there for what I write
afflictions seem to bend my will
even as I express beauty’s charm
I continue to scribble thoughts
requested by one beyond the doom.

Though darkness may press within
imaginings of my fevered brain
too long thought to know the way
the words I use reveal the path
if love were only pretty things
life would find the worst to complain
instead I find that the most tender spots
are born by love of high and low.

Life’s varied fount provides the source
the reason to keep marching on
God has asked me to share
all of creation’s mighty breadth
to these I write with greatest love
in varied terms that span the world
from pain to pleasure the globe does turn
each written for compassion’s arms.

2016, Sean Green. All Rights Reserved, 20161227.
kokopelle: Frank n Furter (Frank-n-Furter)
“In the Words” is a poem about the communicative nature of writing. The reader or listener is transported to other realms, ones in which they take on roles sequestered from the rest of life.


In The Words

Who will I be when I read
the fated words left for me?
In rapt response so many ways
the inner ones come out to play
with burning rage or happy glee
perhaps to cry to shed a tear
each has its day in poetry
when words evoke my heart to act

celebrant of joy's refrain
I know the heights that gladness rings
with peeling bells rushed to hit
to find the tones that angels sing
purity cast to heaven's gates
turned around with happiness
ecstatic songs to far exclaim
the pleasure found in the words

mystic of the high tower
mysteries spun by glyphs impugned
with incantations spun without
seeking gold from lead within
secrets too long held
outside of reach until the time
seekers quested high and low
when revelation is in the words

child of the inner space
discovering the colored box
finding with toys within
adulting gone when youth plays
years discarded to transcend
time's burden unduly cast
on the young never aged
inspired by fountain in the words

mourner of a thousand tears
shed to wash away the hurt
borne by those who truly care
for the pain of the earth
in the salve of soul's pour
to drown the sorrow and the fear
with connection to like one
ascending bridges in the words

victim of the grievous crimes
Satan's reign in mortal flesh
brought to bear on humanity
by those who are less than men
recognition births justice
bringing the evil to the light
the wronged acknowledged at long last
sentenced passed in the words

I can be all these, indeed I have
with poetry breaking mute silence
availing words to those who read
creating links between mankind
while few may write, pen to scratch
all may read, find themselves
in poet's grace the mirror turns
to show all our lives in the words.

2016, Sean Green. All Rights Reserved, 20161108.
kokopelle: Black Cat (Cat - Black)
I asked a friend why they acknowledged one of my darker poems, one that spoke to a disquiet emotional expression. They were not alone with an acknowledgment. The same poem seemed to strike a chord with several people. This does not always happen. It is not uncommon that the contemplative poems are met with social silence. My friend responded with an answer that gave me hope that I’m not wasting my time sharing parts of a fragile human being . The poem “Albatross” is very loosely based on my friend’s answer.


Albatross

Poet tell me, how did you know
the heaviness that lurks below?
The reservoir of deep feeling
below the place that most can see
common ground has been found
shown in words spilled on page
with echoes of humanity
confirming a shared albatross.

Perhaps you speak for the muse
with conditions not your own
I don’t know if this is the case
as the words have the same weight
I feel as if the curtain’s pulled
from the window to my soul
this I guarded with too much strength
behind thick boards bound with steel.

A kindred soul is recognized
across the span of written words
around another neck I see
the fated bird of life’s curse
now I compare like for like
though you could not know
my inner heart and head combined
the secret shames of all my years.

Sadness is found in the script
I wish that you could not say
mirrored thoughts on the page
revealing you have these aches
this does not ease my regret
at what I’ve done and what I’ve felt
even so the pain relents
a burden shared is one that’s less.

© 2016, Sean Green. All Rights Reserved, 20160807
kokopelle: Frank n Furter (Frank-n-Furter)
The daily writing of poetry does a lot for me. The poem “A Poem a Day” attempts to share the goals and benefits of daily creative effort.


A Poem a Day

A poem a day
a verse to say
my heart revealed
to the world to see
exit the hell gates
by stroke of the pen
my angst unveiled
allowed to heal
protest the wrongs
with words meant to bite
deny the sacred
when corruption applies
celebrate beauty
when it is viewed
so much around
what can I write
to dance is to live
to live is to dance
prose will reflect
the mirror thus set
a poem a day
many to go
written therapy
so good for me.

© 2016, Sean Green. All Rights Reserved, 20160711.
kokopelle: Frank n Furter (Frank-n-Furter)
On Tumblr the quote “The right people will read all your chapters. The perfect person will help you write them” caught my eye. Through social media I am blessed with people reading my poetry chapters. The astute do learn something about me. This the nature of an artist’s sharing. Through my poetry I’ve celebrated those who have helped me write the chapters. That will be a topic for another poem.


Poet’s Mark

Read my book if you will
chapter and verse through the years
made plain on paper here
ready for those with heart to peer.

The pages turn as seasons passed
some are lost to winds of fate
others published for all to see
may the wheel be kind to those who read.

The joy flows from other pages
too bright to look upon unheeded
a mortal one should know this
that the rest of life must exist.

It was a journey with harsh remorse
of occasions cast to soul’s regret
even as the dice was thrown
without the chance of rewriting it.

The author does not know the end
when it comes or when life bends
to Father Time’s sharp sickle
harvesting all the physical.

Read the book after this has passed
of joy and pain scribed to last
ink spilled to write the place
of poet’s mark upon the world.

© 2016, Sean Green. All Rights Reserved, 20160704.
kokopelle: Frank n Furter (Frank-n-Furter)
The pursuit of poetry can be both fulfilling and dangerous. The poet is given license that few others embrace. The poem “Poet’s Crime” is about this dichotomy.


Poet’s Crimes

Beware the reader of poetry,
the doors are opened to many views.
The honest poet speaks from the heart,
of both of God's seraph and Satan's brood.

Words are lifted on angel's wings
or cast to depths with heart's chagrin.
The heights or depths matter not
when passion drives the heart to bleed.

Lyrics charm the feet to tap
or chill the heart to almost stop.
Pleasure or wrath are the same
with reaction wired to those who read.

Stanzas confirm a loving view
or cast aspirations on circumstance.
To speak the mind walks the line
between contrasting sentiments.

I've only hinted at the scope
of the poet's greatest crimes.
Seek what you will from the breadth
of tainted text and loving words.

© 2016, Sean Green. All Rights Reserved, 20160504.
kokopelle: Frank n Furter (Frank-n-Furter)
The poem “Poet's Triage” is about the place of poetry in one person's life. It was triggered when I commented the following to an online friend:

“File these (bad events) away as future poem ideas. I don't know if I could do what I do if it were not for all the sh*t I've been through. The joy too, yeah, there's that, but I am beginning to believe that people who know only joy don't write poetry. They don't have to. ”


Poet's Triage

I once thought I was quite mad
this thought is still resonates
my point to make is about writing
those things I suffer through.
To come out and speak my mind
would be the bludgeon misapplied
on kind readers with same struggles
not wanting reminder of a cruel world.

I blogged once a day in an effort
to force the inner to find ease
with a world both loved for beauty
and hated for the self-existence.
The angst was skirted in attempts
to share the lunacy within
with vanilla revelations so shallow
as to make wonder bread delicious.

A day years later I was rescued
by the hand of an old friend
poetry had come and gone
from my pen to spilled ink.
Now avenue for revelation was given
to the voices raw with rage
turned against the owner's self
in desire to end existence.

Distance given to bloody tales
denial is the artist's prerogative
even as the guts are spilled
of a tableau of a life exposed.
Uncertainty is the masque
of poet's sharing to the masses
when the wordsmith does proclaim
for themselves or other men.

Larger forces are at here at hand
with tidal forces of humanity
their capacity for joy sometimes outdone
by the longing for something more.
My story was more dire than most
with the tinge of endings wished
though the source is too common
to the expanse of my fellow men.

In the end the dungeons expel
the worst of corpses kept within
through the rhyme of lyrical
wrapped in muse's license to reveal.
Don't imagine confessions tell
that the vampires were mine this day
brought to life to be expunged
witnessed by you fair reader most kind.

© 2016, Sean Green. All Rights Reserved, 20160417.
kokopelle: Frank n Furter (Frank-n-Furter)
“Spill the Words” is about the challenge of writing poetry. There is a technical form to be mastered. The method depends on the future poet's preferences and abilities. This is easily surmounted. So much of life is raw. The active poet will eventually tap into this rawness. The greatest challenge, the topic of this poem, is the writing and sharing of poetry that comes from deep down.



Spill the Words

Words wait to be spilled,
to be written when barriers drop.
Too much of a good thing they say,
too little finding its way to pen.

The entire world is the source,
too little in the breadth of so much.
Water water everywhere,
this is the same for the Muse's charge.

Too much beauty fills my world,
competing with equal ugliness.
Somewhere in-between I seek expression
of sum picture at the zero point.

The hills echo back the muted tones,
ahead the mountains are to be climbed.
Rock is the stone underfoot,
diamonds in which naught may grow.

I am not aberrant in my lack,
others have struggled against a foe
wholly part of probable creator
yet still defying dedication to phrase.

Perhaps if I could docilely frame
the creatures too much for words,
these beings of emotion's source,
that squirm away from my pen.

If only the raw could be said,
the human condition put on display.
I'd be the same after that,
but your vision of me would then change.

So I'll spill the words with no regard
to what may follow to my soul
when you realize humanity's taint
was what waited when words arrived.

© 2016, Sean Green. All Rights Reserved, 20160320.
kokopelle: Frank n Furter (Frank-n-Furter)
The poem “Arrange the Words” is about the workflow of creating poetry. No matter the construction technique, or the resulting structure, the goal is to reach out to the reader in an impacting way.


Arrange the Words

Arrange the words on the page,
begin with thoughts tailor made
to pull the heart strings of readers fair,
to scream the secrets held within.
Vanguard sentences lead the charge,
marshalled first as thoughts collide.
Leading edge to stanzas full,
focused intentions of the poet's will.

The story then begins to form,
short in nature but full in breadth.
Miniature may be its size,
but look to see the message concise.
The river flows through the land,
so does the poem across the page.
Hill and hollow are not seen,
instead terrain is verse proclaimed.

Perhaps to rhyme is the poet's choice,
or to repeat in syllables spoke.
Neither is required when words do speak
to the reader of poetry.
Writer's style please step aside,
there is a task the Muse requests.
This is the most important goal,
ask the mind to think and heart to flow.

© 2016, Sean Green. All Rights Reserved, 20160318.
kokopelle: Black Cat (Cat - Black)
The poem “Book of Life” is one of my darker contributions to poetry. Due warning given!


Book of Life

A chapter is missing from my book of life,
the most important one of them all.
It is full from the half century,
though the lapse was there from the start.

The world tried to fill the gaps
through friends and family compassionate.
The missives entered did not stick,
their attempts fall too short for a book made to last.

Now the hope of future days lays obscured by the haze,
the great potentials of future times has dread in its place.
Freedom seems a memory, replaced by full compromise.
Tragedy is the soup of the day, with insanity the only way.

It could be said that hope is lost with absent words to console
the heart lost to fate if doom is the only path.
Pray that this too will pass in the ways desired by all,
by hook or crook, fair or black, the book will be closed at last.

© 2016, Sean Green. All Rights Reserved, 20160229.
kokopelle: Frank n Furter (Frank-n-Furter)
The poem "Mercy's Bless" was inspired by the portions of the foreword in the book "The Poet's Dictionary", A Handbook of Prosody and Poetic Devices". The foreword spoke of poetry in terms of muses, dance, prayer, and the feminine inspiration. These imperfectly came together in my poem.


Mercy's Bless

Angel wings and shrouds of pain,
burning bright in night's cold sight.
Words to lift and those to ground,
poetic muse please guide my hand.
Let me write of passion's place,
separation and prayers to faith.
All of these are Muse's face
as I seek this to scribe these lines.

This dance is made on razor's edge,
one or other will prevail.
The blood of strife pass away
as I share fruit of union's grace.
It is natural to ask these boons
from the mistress of fay Moons.
Treasures at hand will dispense,
though exchange of mercy's bless.

Distraction given to differences,
unconscious of the binding threads
between the wayfarers of Muse's dream
presented to those who wish to see.
Similarities are contrite
when the moats divide the right
from another other, each their own,
the same in difference ever more.

Prayer is my muted voice,
exclaimed loud in written words.
Those who hear are held to task,
silent witnesses to a grasping heart.
To those who bend on same knee,
I bid hello with last stanzas.
May you fly among the clouds,
far from the painful shrouds.

© 2016, Sean Green. All Rights Reserved, 20160224.

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