Journey to Ixtlan

The poem “Expired in Minutes” is about the need and temporary nature of physical company.


Expired in Minutes

Flesh pressed is joy's delight
in face of lonely plight
connection deciding the outcome
beyond existence of the norm

the drudge of simple amusements pale
against the drink of delights gained
enough to fill eternity
expired in minutes with none to blame

all too transient against the thorns
thickets journeyed to explore
seeking methods to indulge
another congress for the cause

the actual nature matters not
except to scratch the loneliness
provide the light to a torch
burning at the merest touch.

© 2020. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20200131.

The poem “Intimate is Understood” is about connection. The need to acknowledge another is transcendent, with outcomes from handshaking to intercourse. Most of daily connection lay between these two extremes. All of connection may defy what larger world may feel is appropriate. The outcome is truly blessed as barriers are dropped and divinity is recognized.


Intimate is Understood

Proximity expands the world
without distractions that intrude
judgments spawned by the eye
dissolve when truth is realized
denying lies that dissuade
connections blessed as consequence
invoking joy where pundits taunt
their ignorance is paramount

that pettiness of life spent
marking scores inside the mind
would deny the status found
in an embrace some would reject
they measure beauty with false hope
that vision knows the hidden realms
while denying the greater need
to feel another while we live

when the intimate is understood
divine touch transcends the flaws
the latter being ephemeral
illusion cast to the side
imperfections melt away
if they were there anyway
when the treasure is revealed
in comforts clasped without regret.

© 2019. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20190309.

The poem “Sight of Skin” was inspired by a conversation I had with a friend regarding social dancing. They had an attractive backless top on. I learned that my friend had a policy of only showing a certain amount of skin with each outfit. The options were back, front, and legs. The total sum of skin shown could not exceed an amount set by my friend’s choice. Why? They had found that guys were “triggered” by a threshold of skin shown. Too much, and the guys would make assumptions. The is followed by the guys being far too forward (handsy). I remarked that a guy would have to be almost naked before this happened to them. My friend agreed but mused that their choice of garments was driven by the unfortunate factor that guys operated by different rules.


Sight of Skin

Show the flesh with a care
lest the action provoke flares
from the gender without control
when the skin is on display
ration out the eye treats
too much is bad for the health
as the hands seek their prize
solely based on prideful lust

there are options across the board
back or front may be exposed
consider legs as separate
just enough goes a long way
almost all should be a right
caution calls for much less
it's not the fault of those
who wear garments for themselves

the masculine may have their charms
wise restraint not one of those
when the female makes a choice
to show their gifts to the world
perhaps libido is the term
it's more likely that privilege
rears it's head at the chance
to press forward at sight of skin

an invitation is then assumed
while not given before the hands
take unkind liberties nonetheless
exploring realms without permit
the only recourse left to take
is unfair to those who shine
hiding beauty because of oafs
are triggered by the sight of skin.

© 2019. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20190118.

The poem “Morning Risen” was inspired by another poet’s work. They wrote a poem about the interplay before foreplay. This led me to write about waking up in the company of another.


Morning Risen

Dawn will soon be embraced
for treasures beyond the curve
of the earth now brought to hand
wanton actions then expressed
the mold is broken and then reformed
sensuous defined by each one

far-flung stars gazed in sleep
Scorpio waiting for a chance
when emotions churn within
private dreams foretold the way
those secret urges beyond the veil
brought to waking in the light

morning risen to exclaim
what the night hid away
the slumbering to be roused
or should arousal be the term
for dispassion put aside
in response to nature’s urge

vocal cocks and stirring hens
or reversed and transposed
now awoken from their sleep
ask for strokes to greet the day
more than enough to awake
achieve release not found in sleep.

© 2018. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20180930.

A delightful dream inspired me to write the poem “Proximity”. The world surrounds me with walls relative to base human intimacy. I celebrate when these are toppled, if only for a moment.


Proximity

Proximity becomes the balm
welcomed shelter from the storm
when two people drop the walls
finding peace in their arms

when the space has given way
walls no longer separate
between the souls needing more
than the speech from vapid tongues

it’s more than body parts
slotting A to match B
fireworks in a moment’s bliss
then comes darkness afterwards

instead the fruit is more sweet
confirmation that we exist
this is forgotten even when
intimacy is only sex

in each moment of embrace
another waits beyond time’s veil
the supply that buoys lives
treasures found none can deny

the nearness fills my life with love
affirming I should stay above
when two people drop the walls
each finds comfort above all else.

© 2019. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20180519.

“Beware The Promise” is about the pitfalls of physical companionship outside of loving relationships.


Beware The Promise

Companionship is an excuse
ready made to justify
exploration outside of realms
based on rules inside of books
one with another to comfort
is the path for much more
when the gate has been passed
there’s little chance of turning back.

What may follow is sovereign
from the framework most engage
though you’d find a larger group
if honesty breached closed doors
b should follow letter a
instead the x is found in three
just sweet solace becomes much more
as fabric walls drop to horn’s blast.

Flesh to fetish is the draw
a will-o-wisp assuring much
when the hole cannot be filled
outside of base anatomy
this novel land is not the cure
to visit once is not enough
this is the trap shared with drugs
beware the promise that does not come.

© 2018. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20180422.

“Just” was inspired by a stream of kissing memes seen on Tumblr.


Just

Just kiss me
so I can feel
fireworks of lips
exploding my mind

just hold me
so I am connected
removing space
all of the air

just leave me
because it is false
only memories
of life in a void

© 2018. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20180217.

I saw a post on Tumblr associated with the user name “notmybra”. Well, it might have been “notmybrain”, but still, it was enough to get me going with a topic for a poem.


It's Not My Bra

It's not my bra, this I'll announce
construction of lace and wire
an implement to help restrain
what blessed nature has endowed

with a cup size that full enfolds
generosity I have up top
more than a handful is enough
to ask support when I dress up

the size is right for my frame
fitted by helping hands
front to back with soft straps
triple clasp to hold fast

pink or red, it's all the same
color echoes romantic bliss
once engaged and then removed
nature follows passion's course

one for the plunge, another prim
each occasion to be addressed
with the shear or full frock
delight is taken in the choice

swathed in beauty to accent
presentation abetted by lift's aid
I could live my life with delight
it's not my bra, though I wish it was.

© 2018. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20180208.

Every so often a person will appear in your life with a reminder that life does hold magical moments. The fog of existence is burned away for a brief moment as the spirit responds to forgotten stimulus. The poem "I’m Not Dead" is about this phenomenon.


I’m Not Dead

I'd forgotten how to live
as a sleep-walker in the din
shuffling feet against the noise
looking down instead of up
I'd thought the end had come before
this mistake made by God
that I was still too much alive
not interned deep in the ground.

The world still turned in its wheels
now two dimensional in detail
gray was the truest tint
while rainbows tempted me
so much to see with cold promise
that nothing warmed my numb hands
matched by a body I'd divorced
from pursuit of desire's course.

Then the flame filled my eyes
sparked the coals nearly ash
embers stoked I thought were dead
resurrected to burn again
now the chill is put aside
if only for a moment's blink
nothing more may come of this
still I welcome the brief respite.

The ego’s mind assumes control
reminds the spirit of its place
do not expect inferno's heat
outside of fleeting recompense
yet I'm reminded that I'm alive
still responding to passion's touch
with a statement that exclaims
I'm not dead, just getting by.

© 2017. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20171027.

“God’s Bliss” is about the polarity between toil and pleasure, the aspects they share, and the spiritual side of intimacy.


God’s Bliss

Proximity is God’s bliss
reward for toil on the earth
there is a place to drive for glory
and then to rest in arms of pleasure

when the work numbs the soul
to keep the roof over the head
a reward may be found
behind closed doors, balm of core

labor bends the strongest backs
in due time all must relax
drop the tools held at hand
hold another for delight

sweat does come from hard strain
and other ways at end of day
the former is guild’s due
the latter taken for pleasure’s sake

damn his enemy for lies told
bodies pressing is natural
subversion of the hunger felt
is Satan’s cruel jest on the earth

closeness should not be the sin
it’s a reward after the toil
sharing pain with tasks before
proximity grasped as God’s bliss.

© 2017. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20170729.