kokopelle: Horse Totem (Default)
The poem "What If I Where Hannah" was prompted by a meme that had the two panels: “I love you, Hannah” / “Why didn’t you say this to me when I was alive?”. This is associated with Clay and Hannah, characters in the controversial show "13 Reasons Why". This really struck me, because being alive happens on so many levels, as does its opposite states.

What If I Were Hannah

What if I were Hannah, now departed
gone to a place you shall not reach
she led the way to realms beyond
lay down the body followed by soul
turning both to face the Lord
one can hope, as prayers pour forth

where could we have talked when I lived
before the time of consequence
the stage was set so many times
with curtains drawn before the lights
though now they've closed after the cues
were ignored as darkness fell

who should have made the first move
before the gap was too large
once we were at fingertips
an easy length to make a move
now a universe is in between
the here to there, a hole’s span

why would you wait, tempt the fates
if words were there to be said
you must have seen them sparkle in my eyes
waiting for an invite from your own
now the screams do no good
volume muted when the thread is cut

when will the time come around
to repeat what should have been
ask the man dressed all in black
he'll tell you of better realms
where peace is felt beyond the pain
while speaking of the other side

how did this happen, only words remain
testimony on this side of the grave
I loved you Hannah most of all
we both stand mute in this place
knowing others face the same
on their side of the veil.

© 2017. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20170510.
kokopelle: Black Cat (cat black)
"Beside the Grave" is an introspective look at the impact of suicide on the greater world after the act has been done.

Beside the Grave

The worse is not beside the grave
it's in the common now turned gray
so many questions come to the mind
without the answers that satisfy

what became of hope in the heart
and why had anger poisoned a mind
to allow for what should not be
to blossom in a spray of red?

how many times was the plea put forth
to the ears that hoped for the best
unable to find the balm to hush
from their compassion worn threadbare?

now days end with for the world
putting aside the state of the soul
the victims are the ones left behind
retribution is the whip self-lashed

violated by the killer of a loved one
with no recourse to the law
unable to execute the perpetrator
when the blood's been already shed

the sin is too much to bear
when innocence came to its end
no one is perfect unto this earth
yet there are those who hold a space

supporting those who've come to know
reliance rooted in passion's soul
now taken up and cast aside
by the one who should have stayed

all that's meant to express a love
has turned to ash crumbling to the touch
if the grave was all there was
the questions would be put to rest.

© 2017. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20170417.
kokopelle: Horse Totem (Default)
Trigger warning on suicide. A poetry competition asked, "creep me out you have to think outside the box / reality must not exist in this world". Suicide is "in this world", but not part of most people's reality. Its aftermath is also worse than most horror movies on the silver screen. "Dying's Fear" is on this chilling topic.

Dying's Fear

She asked me then to share a scare
something rotten to the core
this I pondered, then I spoke
to how I'd end my mortal coil

by the gun I could explode
the cranium that holds my thoughts
a large truck speeding past
could break apart the body's frame

pills and liquor beyond belief
would dim the lights when I fade
these are the beginning thoughts
the horrors wrought upon myself

even worse would come to pass
unhappiness upon the world
if I lived or if I died
the peace I seek could have a price

I could survive a crippled man
no longer able to walk around
or able to think the same thoughts
though this appeals if it were so

if I succeed the tears would flow
to drown a world already torn
heaping curses upon loved ones
struggling forward under the load

the true terror could wait beyond
an afterlife spent in hell
or turned around to try again
that time worse by six degrees

all these frights should scare my friend
a diatribe against life's ills
circling round to be much worse
than the cause, so says the world

I'll give you pause as I relate
true insanity beyond the pale
the true horror in my sad heart
is living here, not dying's fear.

© 2017, Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20170407.
kokopelle: Black Cat (Cat - Black)
Trigger warning: suicidal ideation. “I Once Lived” is a poem about the forms that suicidal ideation may take, and how its transformation over time can be subtle, hidden, and ultimately deadly with little warning.

I Once Lived

I once lived in a land
filled with quicksand pits
deep enough to kill
dragged me down until
I could no longer breath
yet in my lingering pain
I was still very much alive
destined to survive

anguish drove me to madness
the former was just life
driving me to lunacy
within my own four walls
there I found a door
writing to find the link
to others outside of angst
or those who shared my shame

here is the rub I try to say
that end of times came to mind
it was a thought I've long had
yet I stayed away from its hand
the quicksand pits have now gone
I no longer wallow there
you'd think me safe from the dread
this is not the case my worried friend

sanity seems to be the ruler
in a land with firm surface
if you look beyond the lines
of failing spirit in the ground
when there are no walls, no prison cell
the way of the world is my peril
one day I will be just fine
and then the next I'll find cleft

the land I walk has solid ground
mostly though, there are the cracks
waiting for a misstep taken
before they swallow another victim
three foot and a mile deep
the crevice yawns aside my feet
waiting for when I sway
to swallow life and convey tears

I worry that the warning falters
when the precipice is so sudden
here I am one day you'll see
and then bam --- six feet deep
simple dirt would will be my cover
set with flowers above the fissure
where I fell to the Grim Reaper
by the breaches hand and this speaker.

© 2017, Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20170213.
kokopelle: Black Cat (cat black)
“Near Stranger” is a poem written for the online competition with the challenge "what would you say to a STRANGER on their death bed?". TW!

Near Stranger

I lay beside the near stranger
In the darkest of the night
speaking words for him to hear
as death crept close in between
I hoped to stay his seeking hand
in a grip that could prevent
encroachment of the hooded one
eager to take what all will give.

"It is not your time my new friend
this beast will take you in the end
but it not need be this very day
please turn from him, this I pray"

In their eyes I saw the fear
the dread of living on the edge
when all of life is too much
the good in things far out weighed
what could I say to save this soul?
bid Reaper go on this chill night
that others wait for his call
not this stranger shivering in my arms.

"Hold on my friend, please frustrate
the leap to realms beyond this place
I know they call with deepest balm
this siren call beyond the veil"

I feared my words were hollow shells
cast into the deepest well
lost from sight as gloom progressed
surrounding us with ill intent
once more I rallied forth
not content to say no more
a last proclaim I would extoll
to break the curse taking hold.

"You are loved above all else
by God above and all your friends
turn back the end, this doom you seek
so you and I will meet the dawn"

I'll tell you this in last stanza
I don't know if I was heard
for in that moment the stranger fell
taken down by his own gun
I did not know him very well
but he and I were the same
the end took him as it did me
I was no more by the same shell.

© 2017, Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20170125.
kokopelle: (Dark God)
“Jester” is a poem about my struggle with the flawed nature of our world. The current election isn’t doing me any favors. I am questioning my sanity and ability to relate to the world.


The jester has the thorny crown
ask not the wise man why this is so
they'll mutter words about this space
equate the world to a garden place
human weakness is our lot
a blessing to force the lessons learned
so say the clerics all
to explain the mess God left behind
this fallen state is the norm
arrangement made at the dawn of time
no matter the myth recalled
the flaws are in the mix from creation's start
my psyche seeks to fly apart
beloved ego how much are you to blame?
the sun rises in the east
why do I sense all of this must stop?
in the end I'll leave this place
find the door away from the carousel
where the quiet will always reign
away from jester, king of pain.

2016, Sean Green. All Rights Reserved, 20161102.
kokopelle: Black Cat (Cat - Black)
The poem “If I Bought a Gun” is about the intersection of depression and suicide. It contemplates the obstacles we place in the way of the ultimate self-harm.

If I Bought a Gun

If I bought a gun
would it give me pause?
effort to find
cold metal in my grasp
meant to test
depression's reticence

how much labor
will turn me from a path?
one way journey
none wish me to travel
meant end it all
when life has lost its bloom

Would the end by slug
or truck be the same?
the later much quicker
than former said
a blissful nothing
to goodbye the day

is this path I plot
set by the devil?
corruption made
when the soul is weakest
permanent fix
for passing sad

can this be separation
from true love?
world turned off
when it should be on
answer found in the
dark of the other side

if I bought a gun
would it give me pause?
so much to do so
I can do nothing else
test the waters
that have no return.

2016, Sean Green. All Rights Reserved, 20161017.
kokopelle: Black Cat (cat black)
September 10th is the 2016 World Suicide Prevention Day. Some people have posted remembrances of past suicides tragedies. While this may be a plaintive warning, prevention for those still alive lies in better understanding the challenges faced. The poem “Depths” was first inspired by a Tumblr posting that said:

Why depression is hard to understand: it is invisible, it is not “feeling a bit sad”

While there is truth is, that depression is hard to understand, I disagree that it is invisible. It is instead a stealthy animal, hiding in the guise of sadness. Prevention is enabled when concerned parties can discern sadness from depression.


Sadness is spawn of loss
entropy asks its due
visitor to all mankind
here today and moving on.

Depression on the other hand
spans a life with its demands
beyond the moments found in time
to the roots far out of sight.

Both are seen by the world
on the surface they seem the same
tears may flow from the eyes
fists are raised in voiced despair.

The iceberg is depression’s strength
most is masked beneath the plain
ever present behind the scenes
when eyes are dry and voice serene.

The depth denies the seeker’s quest
while the rain may cease to fall
melancholy drowns the core
in the fathoms found below.

Beneath the sea there are monsters
with claws embedded in the soul
no mercy offered except to ask
for the sacrifice of the life.

2016, Sean Green. All Rights Reserved, 20160910.
kokopelle: Black Cat (Cat - Black)
The poem "Enemies" is not about flesh and blood opponents, unless we count ourselves as unwilling allies. It is instead about the foes of the psyche, those troubled parts of ourselves that seek to undo what could be.


It would be wrong to romanticize
the numbing ache that haunts my soul.
Still I must shine the light
on the fiends that seek my life.

These parasites do not deserve
anything more than eulogy
at their own departure realized
rather than the host on which they feed.

The thief is the constant mate
stealing joy at every chance.
What it does with the yield
is harmful to vitality.

Monster born of shadow dark,
festering in the mire of fear.
The truth will calm disquiet,
casting the glow to hearten me.

The demon seeks to rob the world
with whispers of false escapes.
The paths invited are dead ends
to a life meant to be lived.

Creature you are the very last,
devouring imp of totality.
No matter what the world may hope
you are the strongest of them all.

I pray I see myself to be
a child of God to banish these
enemies that haunt a mortal frame
and seek to damn a soul to Hell.

© 2016, Sean Green. All Rights Reserved, 20160427.
kokopelle: (Dark God)
Somebody honored me by saying that I was brave, willing to write about topics that others felt but did not express. The poem “Coward” is an occasion when the poem is REALLY dark, but sadly truthful. While I hope nobody else experiences what I share, my heart goes out to them if that is the case.


Color me the coward, yellow under belly,
too afraid to live, not afraid to die.
Do I suffer from unease or a disease?
Pusillanimous would be the decree
when I am no longer here to defend
my actions none will understand except
those who cannot admit they feel the same.

Caitiff seeker no longer seeing the sights,
Adrift in a life that is sampled and not lived.
Prisoner of the funks incomprehensible,
deserter still on the ramparts of life’s decay
while others fight hold their rightful place.
The greatest weakness of all my faults
is the envy and jealousy for those who went
to the comfort of a grave the brave detest.

Life continues for the fainthearted fool,
poltroon of the banquet table set
with the riches of a life lived to date,
taking comfort in the scraps dropped to the floor
when the riches are piled high on the plate.
These rewards missed, be they real or emotion based,
are the things I regret most while I remain upright.

© 2016, Sean Green. All Rights Reserved, 20160217.
kokopelle: Black Cat (cat black)
I struggle with deep (DEEP) anger issues that manifest in self-destructive depression. These thoughts came to mind after I read about domestic violence leading to homicides. While there are other elements (control issues, power issues, cultural issues, self-esteem issues), anger seems to be a component of people hurting each other. It is also a component of people hurting themselves, a very big component IMO. The poem “Anger” examines the connection between anger and the self-destructive actions of people experiencing suppressed anger.


Anger is as anger does,
festering deep in the soul
waiting to finally discharge
in response to life’s abuse.
Anger waits in shadows dark,
nursing wounds most have forgot.
This seems petty, but don't forget,
a wound as such will not mend.
Boundaries pushed once again,
invisible to many, felt by few,
until the emotions explode
blowing in or out in response.
The target differs for everyone,
the outcome same nonetheless.
Frustration strikes when all is lost,
short fuse of sanity run its course.

Mix into this trigger point
the toxic brew of despair and fear.
Nowhere to go, nothing to do,
the anger seeks the lowest path.
The loss of hope removes the guards
from a heart under siege.
The invasion flows through the holes,
anger springs in quick retort.
Fear is anger's sly partner,
making tender the soft target.
Anger rallies the troops to bear
against a world filled with dread.
This end result fills the soul,
Bounty reaped through years.
Two paths move forward from this place,
one to terror, one to pain.

The direction is the pivot point,
inward can be calamitous.
Destruction in a single place
may end the corporal circumstance.
The pain is the kindest one,
through therapy the angst is removed.
Though when the ill is transformed,
discomfort is the likely chord.
Terror is the meanest path,
anger projected either in or out.
It does not abate in these ways,
though inward the body may be slain.
Introspection harbors ills
when isolation is the home
for the heart and soul abused
by a world also confused.

© 2016, Sean Green. All Rights Reserved, 20160212.
kokopelle: Black Cat (cat black)
Artistry does not save a soul from self-destruction. The passing become more bitter because the artist has touched others. The poem “One Now Gone” is a very dark (warning!) look at artists who take their lives in some way.

One Now Gone
Bonus Poem for Day 222 – 20150810

Sing a song to one gone before,
stolen from the world by their own hand.
Sing a song to those left behind,
survivors of this selfish crime.
An artist departs before their time,
with life's treasures not expressed.
Past works become a bitter memory
of a future that could have been.

Beauty does no ensure happiness
when the well has been poisoned.
Muse urges on creation and
the injured soul responds in turn.
Inspiration can turn toxic
when the void is too often seen.
Creation turns to destruction
as the wheel crushes and grinds.

Tears shed in despair are shared
by those who have left and those still here.
The difference is in the timing,
one felt before, the other felt after.
Sing a song and make it too short
to echo the life now beyond.
Give voice to the tears raining
in memory of the one now gone.

© 2015, Sean Green. All Rights Reserved.
kokopelle: Black Cat (cat black)
Sexual orientation identity can be a divisive element in a person's life. Embedded in who they are, their relationship imperatives fight powerful elements of society. A person with an identity not supported by their societal group will find themselves in conflict with that group. The place of support becomes a battlefield. Faith meant to nurture becomes a weapon. This can be difficult for the strongest people. Typically the target of societal judgment must leave their original world, and sadly this may manifest in their taking their life when no other way is found.

Fight the World
Poem for Day 220 – 20150808

Did I wake up to fight the world?
Fresh with dreams of contrary things,
urges that scare my fellow man,
please why should this define who I am?
You say I made a decision,
led by an agent immoral.
You say he whispered in my ear,
tempting me to fight the world.

If only I could live my life,
love the ones I find most dear.
Follow the embedded imperative
that guides me into their arms.
Instead I hide in closet deep,
marooned on island foreign,
holding to the strictures you impose
based on your slice of the world.

I tell you now self chosen foes,
I have no desire to be your mark.
I only want to lead my life
free from your impassioned ways.
You strike out at a large target
and I find myself in your sights.
Dogma and power pull your leash
leading the attack to my throat.

The day of reckoning will come,
I will take matters into my hands.
To throw off the chains or take my life,
either way I will finally escape.
I will become your darkest enemy,
or become a newspaper column.
Is this what you want for me to do
in your vision of love for the world?

© 2015, Sean Green. All Rights Reserved.
kokopelle: (Dark God)
The poem “Living with Madness” comes with a stern warning that it is dark, very dark.

Living with Madness
Bonus Poem for Day 186 – 20150705

Living with madness,
with worthiness measured
by the last time they yelled.
Word of chastising anger
cuts to the deep bone.
If I only I could bleed
from these wounds imagined,
then I would pass quietly
from insanguined cause.

Living with madness,
accomplishment no merit,
retrospect ashes heaped
for a damaged soul to disregard.
The trapdoor awaits below,
a single remark opening
the hatch to ready despair
of a thousand past days.

Dying with madness,
resolved with cold steel,
a few inches inserted,
all would be well.
A few pounds of pressure,
this would all go away.
In chill memorial
these words offer reason
where none seemed to be.

© 2015, Sean Green. All Rights Reserved.
kokopelle: Black Cat (cat black)
I am very familiar with the idea of taking a vacation. For a long time it has been too comfortable a thought. The good news is that I'm not ready. Things to do, people to see. Current and future friends, connections to others as a whole, is the best medicine.

Poem for Day 185 – 20150704

If I could go on vacation,
leave this mess behind,
go away for time time,
forever perhaps,
it would be a relief.

If I could go on vacation,
stray from my fate,
dodge my karmic burden,
life would be easier
because trials would be past.

I could go on vacation,
I'd write you a note
before I departed saying
I'd miss you bunches
and to continue on without me.

But here's the rub my friend,
I'm here to stay,
no vacation for me.
There's to much to celebrate,
to much of life to embrace.

Life's connections in multitude,
seen and unseen,
connect me to the wide world,
beckoning with a promise
I made to you and me.

And to all my future friends,
the ones I've yet to be,
vacation would rob me,
remove the special possibility
since I'd never meet you.

© 2015, Sean Green. All Rights Reserved.
kokopelle: (Dark God)
The poem "Dark Is" is my contribution on the theme of "Dark". Warning. It is.

Dark Is
Poem for Day 168 – 20150617

Dark is
when other's morality
is the only way.
The world was led astray,
and they are all alone
in their interpretation
of God's holy law.

Dark is
cringing in fear
from the future
angry explosion
of a loved one
so close to you
escape is impossible.

Dark is
when your mortality
traps you here.
Continued unwanted.
The joke is on you,
morality and fear
are the lights instead.

© 2015. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved
kokopelle: Frank n Furter (frank_n_furter)
The poem “Go to the Light” fulfills my goal of writing a theme’d poem about “light” and expressing one of my inner struggles.

Go to the Light
Poem for Day 167 – 20150616

If I could go to the light,
escape from this life's blight,
burdens and trials would fall away,
sweet release from life's chains.
This presumes an outward path,
one that forgives the immediate act,
ignoring the betrayal to the world,
offering balm to this tired soul.

I could go to the light,
yet still I stand here by your side.
The burdens grow greater more,
life's chains tighten to constrict.
Here is a truth, this also will pass,
by my hand or that of karmic intervention.
The choice may pass from me,
correctly so if I acquiesce.

You ask why I hold on,
stay with this very mortal coil,
I can only reply with timid voice:
contracts and kindred souls.
Obligations to my fellow man,
those both close and far.
Connections to those like me,
echoing a lust for life incomplete.

Others are an example
of those striving to hang on.
Their coaxing memes tell the tale
of spiritual lives held to heart.
These mantras I know well,
of higher self and thinking right.
Creation is what we make of it,
playground of conscious in a worldly shell.

I will go to the light,
but not to the one of bitter ends.
I will instead walk the path on this earth,
going to the light that shines within.
The path is shown by those of spirit,
those with hearts of gay abandon.
The trials are part of my path here,
these I will embrace as I play here.

© 2015. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved
kokopelle: (Dark God)
Warning guys, this is very dark, and it is one of those “could trigger you” type things. This poem is about abuse and the unfortunate outcome that may occur. Turn away or look if you dare.

Limbo of Pain
Poem for Day 046 – 20141108

I show no signs,
no outward manifestation,
yet the inner pain
drives me away from here.
My purpose is discredited,
no reason to be proud
of what I am.
What path do I have,
in this invisible world?
My soul shattered
and my will is dismissed.

The strikes have no marks.
The collisions upon my self,
massive and pointed,
are seen by none.
I am bruised
Brought to my knees while
you see me physically still standing.

My life has no meaning.
The objects, the things, my actions,
are described in a single word.
Simply put, they are shit.
That is, to say,
they are excrement
The master of manure
stand atop his disregarded dung heap.

Why do I want to continue?
The one I love exiles me.
I am already standing outside,
waiting for the axe to fall.
Why not take the final leap?
Why not pass away?
The dark balm calls me
away from this limbo of pain.

© 2014. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved.

Sad Recipe

Sep. 5th, 2014 11:19 pm
kokopelle: (Dark God)
Warning... about suicide. Stay away if this would bother or trigger you!

Read more... )

kokopelle: Black Cat (cat black)
The suicide death of Robin Williams is becoming old news, but it tickled my mind today when I thought about the connection between professionalism, fulfillment, success, and the artist.

WARNING... if you think Robin Williams was sick because he committed suicide, or you just can't understand why people do commit suicide, this article is not for you.

Some questions to consider:

* Does an artist have to be fulfilled in order to be a professional?
* Is a successful artist always fulfilled?

A friend got me thinking along these lines because they connected fulfillment to being a professional. Robin Williams was professional and quite successful. Assuming his suicide was connected to being unfulfilled, did this somehow remove his professional status? If he was unfulfilled, did this make him unsuccessful? Good questions!

This rabbit hole goes even deeper. Could he have been fulfilled in his art, but unfulfilled in the rest of his life? Was his status and identity as an artist separate from that part of him that lead to his death?

A few more feet down the rabbit hole... can depression, and its horrific outcome, be completely separated from a person's public and private identity? Is depression a thing that defies professionalism, fulfillment, and success?

OK, it is time analyze the rabbit hole. It is my experience that depression is complex. It does live separately from other aspects of a person's life, and at the same time, it is triggered by aspects of that life. Depression is a leech that robs energy from life, and in that it ignores professionalism and success. In time it can destroy these. The relation between fulfillment and depression is complex, perhaps different for each person, but IMO there is some aspect of fulfillment missing in a terribly depressed person. Did Robin Williams fully embrace his artistic career and find despair in some other of his life? Perhaps. The lesson here is that outwardly successful people can still struggle mightingly with depression. Success and fulfillment of the outward mean little in the life and death struggle.


kokopelle: Horse Totem (Default)

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