Journey to Ixtlan

I awoke in the morning with the first two lines of the poem “My Mistakes” running through my head. I was thinking of a particularly pleasant experience from the prior night’s social dancing. By the time I finished the poem I realized that mistakes are opportunities for learning, and that “my youth” is as close as the last minute lived. I regret little from being with wonderful friends as they are my teachers today.


My Mistakes

I’m reminded of my youth
the one I lost while confused
in the doldrums of my making
uneducated to the beauty shown
I wonder where I got off track
lost in the weeds of mistakes
lessons placed at my feet
prompts for a life better lived

I knew not how to speak
this is assured misconceptions
trip of tongue, slip of mind
saying words with outside voice
it was enough to tempt quiet
silence held with mouth shut
I’ll instead mull the words
improve the utterance as I learn

my judgment was unhoned
blunders stretching on and on
ignorance bred mistake’s bounty
while stubbornness was fear’s ally
if I knew what I wanted
I would have reached to grab the ring
I’ll now seek what I may
knowing what to leave and what to seize

relationships were close at hand
the best I let slip away
I exaggerate some with those words
“not fully clasped” would be more fair
they come in so many forms
from romance to the best of friends
each one as precious as the rest
to find the mark is my quest

for those who have read this far
I’ll add the twist that blows the mind
the timing is the curve I’ll throw
when distant past was span assumed
instead I speak of the year last past
month or week or yesterday
even hours from this today
each has regrets and lessons I’ll embrace.

© 2017, Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20170212.

I saw a blog entry about the value of practice. It had some good points. This inspired me to write a different kind of poem. I’ve been practicing daily with my poetry. As of this poem, I have over 200 online “published” poems to my name. I wanted to write a poem about the practice making perfect. It is different because it is not about angst or love, dance or sex, abandonment or betrayal. It is about practice. Practicing on a potentially dry subject allows to me stretch my poetry muscles that much more, and with that stretching, I get a little better.


Practice Makes Perfect
Poem for Day 105 – 20150415

Practice makes perfect they say,
a goal that is worthy perhaps,
but there other utilities gained in pursuit
of a thing repeated time again.

Imitation is the practice's beginning,
borne on the shoulders of giants.
In time you will stand out from the crowd,
with a personal style called your own.

Mistakes may be made, and often are,
in the space of rehearsing a craft.
Forgiveness of faults is much easier
when they are a regular part of your life.

Knowledge is gained, stored within,
learned from every mistake therein.
In time you will be wise beyond your years,
with practice the hero of issues to bear.

In time natural action will gracefully replace
the need to analyze every move.
The craft will be more natural,
with memory implanted by rote.

Lastly, and this is the most magical,
the small details will all pass away,
the minor actions transcended by larger,
and your work will become nearly perfect to all.

© 2015. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved