Journey to Ixtlan

The poem “A Thousand Lives” is about the generational changes of life.


A Thousand Lives

A thousand lives are now reduced
the pulsing crowd is not pursued
in the blink of a jaundiced eye
a multitude is put aside
the field of dreams is now bare
fences fall in disrepair
no longer needed to protect
the trampled crops of years past

the kaleidoscope has ceased to turn
colors fade into the night
as dust descends to blind the mind
no longer will the mirrors shine
with patterns set upon cracked walls
taunting what had come before
when rainbows turn to shifting ash
the only motion that now survives

still the shadows are cast to hide
where the road may lead from night
mirrors smashed for their crimes
against the souls trapped behind
the visions meant for cloistered groups
projected upon the broken glass
don’t ask why this must occur
when a thousand lives are no more.

© 2019. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20190425.

The poem “In Due Time” was loosely inspired by the cover of the Black Sabbath album cover for "Sabotage". The band members were so young. Now, well, their music is still fresh.


In Due Time

The time of youth in lost years
was a period just as real
as the ones experienced

by the young of today
repetition of the themes
echoes quietly in the halls

as the past is disbelieved
in the faces of the antiques
loves and losses took a toil

the stumbling steps to joy’s realm
are renewed once again
each endeavored with the same

as the period must recur
even though it seems absurd
look to the young to see the old
in due time they’ll return.

© 2019. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20190226.

The poem “Wide Shame” is a non-autobiographical view of the struggles of older people. The dating pool changes drastically even while the body and mind deny the new reality. Those who ignore this actuality are condemned and shunned. There is a wisdom to this societal behavior. There is also a lot of pain for the impacted while they wake up to a new existence.


Wide Shame

Welcome to the alternative
a world that does not age
welcome to the embarrassment
when I’m oblivious to the shame

the fantasy is one of years
forgotten in the rush of lust
put aside by the fool
courting youth they should deny

what came before now betrays
permission given now rescinds
no longer are the partners sourced
from a breadth of society

relationships that were blessed
become the sin for all to see
the wheel has turned to exclude
now damnation becomes the creed

the need does not relent
to press the wanting flesh
even while the response
is one that few would want

halved plus seven does not compute
in my realm of feeling borne
for the beauty so near at hand
ephemeral in all true aspects

towards this end I’ll deceive myself
ignore the warnings from high and low
pursue the charms all disclaim
while disregarding the wide shame.

© 2018. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20181205.

The poem “Watchers” is about the difficulties of aging in a constantly renewing world.


Watchers

Watchers stand with their grace
now detached from the race
pursuant of the tender flesh

the wheel turns to propagate
population across the earth
requiring lust to consummate

attraction becomes the devil’s taunt
after use has been dispersed
in the flash of a life’s span

beholders left to denounce
what came before is out of bounds
with desire put aside

god has the final laugh
voyeurs present had their chance
separated from what’s blessed.

© 2018. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20181002.

“Two in Bush” is about the irony of aging, that trades are made as the years progress.


Two in Bush

Shadows remain of the largesse
boon of youth now well spent
replaced by a prize of the years
trade endowed by Father Time

once the lines were more straight
or untouched by gravity
curves blessed to remain
until the swap had been made

all I had was that frame
and promise of a future time
what I thought was poverty
was much more when I look back

now I look around the world
to see my friends who exist
in a realm in which I walked
now removed by a chasm’s breadth

gold arrived with the silver
some by the fool, the rest was blessed
if the latter could compensate
for the fading in my hair

I'll not complain too much my friend
this other boon is bird at hand
this clock moves forward only
the two in bush cannot return.

© 2017. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20171025.

I was inspired to write “Mountain Pass” after finishing the breadth of “Great Expectations”.


Mountain Pass

The path has found the mountain pass
leading up to higher realms
where a man will find their home
if earth revolves once more
the march uphill is not a rush
instead lends a misty calm
the path withheld in a fog
until the pass is come upon.

There the snow is on green branch
the evergreen that has last laugh
while it may linger long in leaf
the man finds lack there of the same
above this place the earth is white
the ground is frozen in permafrost
only swept by stormy winds
then brought low by avalanche.

Yet far below there lays the place
where journey started back in the day
by river the valley has been transcribed
by birth and youth they did reside
in that place of fair frolics
butterflies perform their labors
then the flowers bloom all day
the more the merrier as youth play.

"Hello descendants", says the man
from high on perch in mountain pass
"can you lend a bit of warmth
or advise me how chase the cold?"
to this query the echoes laugh
rejoining that the chill will lead
those who climbed so high in life
through the brink of mountain pass.

© 2017, Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20170124.

I read an article about “old souls” that presented them as stable and focused incarnations. I think I once thought I was an old soul. I lived my life as one for much of the time. Now I wonder, realizing that life is too short to be old before it is required, if it was ever truly required.


To Live Too Old

Old souls are all the talk
human vessels with ancient ways
grounded instead of flying high
seen and done it all
standards set by experience long.
Here I stand without comfort
fractured instead of standing whole
flapping in the world's winds
wondering what's coming next
learning less with every day.

In the past the way was plain
variation was the due reward
for walking the many paths
so much to see and sample once
twice if I desired to try again.
These I tried but did not indulge
wisdom seemed the prudent choice
pace yourself with careful steps
excess came with punishment
this was the voice of the old soul.

Funneled through the checkpoints
stamps acquired as life progressed
stability was the brass ring
there ahead as years passed by
the breadth of the world at my feet.
The circle fell into my hands
reward for the due diligence
the hourglass marked the time
wheel turning round and round
the tarnish found broke my heart.

The contract was incomplete
old souls asked for their due
fine print was there to see
script precise upon the page
in letters that now haunt my life.
Coupon yellowed, now expired
echoes of what could have been
avenues open to far explore
delights bent to appetites
now void though the slip is whole.

The lessons that seemed complete
are dust in the hands slipped away
what was measured by standards firm
agreement's made by gentleman
were fool's errands along the path.
The world still seems plain
except that is all I have
the obvious has moved beyond
contract canceled at soul's request
to live too old before I was done.

2016, Sean Green. All Rights Reserved, 20161027.

The poem “Reaping the Rows” is a metaphorical exploration of aging and struggle.


Reaping the Rows

I've sowed the rows since my youth,
now I look back to the sunrise.
The crops were gathered plentiful,
but would I chose to redo it?

The soil was tilled by elder ones,
love was a main component.
I see this now at this late time
though I was blind in past moments.

Into this loam I cast my lot,
above my head the clouds gathered.
I cast the seeds with fear embraced
by self-doubt of worthiness.

The crop grew strewn with the weeds
though the yield did prospered.
Years passed as bounties came
yet there were signs of danger.

Brambles grow when ignored,
in time the thorns consumed
sacred parts most embrace
as the sanity did wither.

The fields I share are diverse
shared with other farmers.
They wish the best for my soul
though I am too trapped to see it.

Now enwrapped in twisted vines
among the treasures of living
I wonder if I would plant again
if my mind would be better.

© 2016, Sean Green. All Rights Reserved, 20160426.

The poem “Person Out of Time” is about my experience as a senior dancer. Experienced? Yes, in contra, but I meant senior in years.


Person Out of Time

I'm a person out of time,
living in a world not my own.
People surround this solitary,
different in ways to many to count.
My companions on this path
are early in their youthful lives.
Beginning where I long ago trod,
embracing the fruit now long passed.

My years have passed with consequence
with experiences scarring deep within.
The surface is the easy mask
displayed for the world to digest.
To know too much is my soul's bane,
experience taking differences to shame.
We are more alike in my eyes you see
when the petty games are made to play.

The cliques cannot resist my influence,
I stand outside their tribal rules.
The key that fits no lock may pass many by,
as skeleton as the past in my closet.
This allows for intrusion within,
yet this is less than it would seem.
Full membership is now denied
when scrutiny is at last defined.

No path forward for inclinations,
even if romance was the option possible.
Similarities sparkle in the lives shared,
void by the gulfs of age disparate.
Connections are made on another plane,
this one separate from tender touch.
It is best for all involved,
so says the wisdom of generation's mind.

My time will pass before the rest,
my elders already fade from sight.
In time this will be my fate,
leaving me only in other's memories.
I'm a person out of time,
living in a world not my own.
For this time I fully embrace
those ways we may share this place.

© 2016, Sean Green. All Rights Reserved, 20160314.

The poem “City in the Sky” speaks to the looking back at the past and those things that may be glimpsed, but not truly lived once they are past.


City in the Sky
Poem for Day 319 – 201511156

City in the sky
where I did reside
seen at a distant
only imagined
in my memories
faded reflections
of what could have been.

Visit for a time,
take in the bright sights,
fay phantom walking
I am the tourist
vicarious life
the interloper
the base intruder
a fleeting squatter
here in the city.

Those who walk the streets
wear the age old masks
handed down through time
by the ones before.
There I see my own face
mask on a stranger
passed by the turning
of eternity.

Why didn't I
fully embrace the
my time embodied
by the boundaries
of my time begun
and ended to short?
Only God may know
perhaps I will find
the answer beyond.
Now I flit as a ghost
disquiet haunt in
the city in the sky.

© 2015, Sean Green. All Rights Reserved.