Journey to Ixtlan

People come to art at all ages. I am tickled pink when I see young(er) people embracing and sharing art. Others, like myself, come to it at a later year. I have my own reasons, and these are contemplated in my poem “Old Man Young Artist”. The poem holds true for people of many ages. The regret of not starting something sooner is not the domain of the old(er). Be kind to yourself, there is a time for artistic creation.


Old Man Young Artist
Poem for Day 240 – 20150829

Why couldn't I produce the art
that flows from my hands and eye
in years more youthful than now?
I've lost the years I could have had
to build my brand and fan my fame
so the world could know who I am.

Another path I had chosen,
left brain slanted for good cause,
not the artistic by and large.
To turn round to the right side,
the domain of artistic types,
came much latter in this mortal life.

Time flowed under the bridge,
revealing the world to my heart
so I may know humanity.
Spilled ink without this magic
is so many words that cannot speak
to others in a voice showing truth.

The public artist is a fool,
the spectacle for the world to see,
exposing themselves in imagery.
I was not so in younger years,
no so brash or ready to say
the words meant for a world to hear.

In the artist the flame must burn
quenched by creation's sharing
even as they are inspired by the same.
This was absent in the years past,
the talent may have been present
but the desire was submerged.

Now I produce to my heart's delight
words and pictures dribble out
bounty harvested from the years.
I am happy to be in this place,
older yet wiser would be the phrase,
and the world now knows who I am.

© 2015, Sean Green. All Rights Reserved.

I've never had a good self-image of myself. Mirrors, below the neck, are unwanted allies. Dance is a blessing, conferring acceptance by my partners who I find to be lovely beyond my aged semblance. Intellectually I know that I should be kinder to myself. The poem “Lovely Followers” speaks to how we see ourselves externally, and how this compares the treatment we receive from others.


Lovely Followers
Poem for Day 137 – 20150517

Mirror turn aside your lie,
the proffered presentation denies
the person I believe I am:
dancer of the light fantastic,
partner to the lovely followers.

I must be another person,
thirty pounds lighter,
two decades younger,
instead of who I truly am,
this outward thing called me.

Youth of another time,
trapped inside this aging self,
seeing myself mirrored now
echoed with unrealized sympathy
in beauty of dancers younger than me.

DJ play your swinging songs,
live band strike up the instruments,
I'll not act my age, not tonight,
my soul is here to dance, merry make,
hoping the body keeps the pace!

Dear mirror, please be kind,
I'm not the man I used to be,
instead I have grown in spirit,
body too, never mind that,
partner to lovely followers.

© 2015. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved

I am discovering one of life's inside jokes. A large number of my friends are adults half my age. They are vibrant, lovely, and mature beyond their years. They remind me of my past and the people I knew when I was that age. The poem “Spectral Friend” is about the ghosts of memory that I encounter, and their lesson to me, when I interact with my wonderful younger friends.


Spectral Friend
Poem for Day 011 - 20150111

We were all younger,
those many years ago.
You were so beautiful
with the blush of youth.

I see the same glow
in persons half my age,
your face hides behind theirs
as visions echo from the past.

They are half my age,
mentally you are the same,
ageless in the corridors
of my mocking mind.

Is it really you I see,
or do I long for remedy
to years slow march
from there to my maturity?

That is it, my spectral friend,
beautiful ghost of memory past.
We were all younger,
those many years ago.

© 2015. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved.