Poem - Scrawl on the Wall

I saw an image on Tumblr that provoked me to write a narrative poem. Sadly I could not find it when I wanted to link it with the poem. The graffiti plea was issued to Ashley, asking her for forgiveness and a second chance. The letters were on a low wall behind a litter strewed sidewalk. Very sad. I attempted to tap into this sentiment with the poem “Scrawl on the Wall”.


Scrawl on the Wall
Bonus Poem for Day 154 – 20150603

Scrawl on the wall, tears in my eyes,
a pleading note for her to see
poured from the heart, pen to the stone.
Plain to the many passersby
words bled, invisible to her.

We had the world in the high clouds,
before the cracks began to form
Small at first as the words were cast,
bigger as the accusations flew,
until the world ceased to be.

I fell as the angel cast from high,
sin stained as fabled Lucifer,
to the earth here at this low place.
No fiery hell awaited me there,
only distance from the one held dear.

With my blood as ink to beg you,
written on stones cold to the touch,
walls like those that surround your heart.
I scratch the surface in futility,
for forgiveness I'll never see.

I've invoked these words to a world,
"I was wrong and now I'm alone,
Ashley please forgive this lost soul".
I am pitied by those with lives,
casting words invisible to her.

© 2015. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved

Poem - The Muse's Call

I am blessed to know artists of all types: painters, potters, dancers, DJs, cosplayers, poets, writers, performers, singers, photographers, bloggers, and dreamers. The last, the dreamers, I hold in most sincere regard because of the potential not yet realized. The poem “The Muse’s Call” is about the relation between the artist and that larger force driving us to create.


The Muse's Call
Poem for Day 155 – 20150604

I'd like to dance like Fred Astaire
and write lyrics like the Yes.
I'd like to strut my stuff with you
and know that my work's been viewed.
To this end I am not unique,
merely a struggling artist incomplete.
I have my desires to excel,
to leave something of myself behind.

These are this artist's fantasies,
extensions of who I've come to be.
I've become more than myself
with you a witness of my renaissance.
We are all life's participants
in this game till the very end.
The geist of artistry is our guide,
lady of creation cradling the child.

I will not ignore her calling,
the request to speak for the muse.
She holds my hand as I walk,
putting forth my artist's spark.
My words now come to an end,
with Fred Astaire and the Yes in tow.
I'll take my leave from your time,
and know that I have served her well.

© 2015. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved