Journey to Ixtlan

Sometimes poems fold into themselves, and then expand as if by magic. My poem “Muse's Grace” worked this way as I pursued the thoughts of artistic direction and the sharing of life through art.


Muse's Grace

My voice was long vacant
as much as the normal man
consumer of life was my task
while articulation was suppressed.
In dusky shadows secrets lay
remote from view in distant glade
only seen at the muse's request
an artist with too much to hide.

The doors were locked for a reason
away in that bunker where madness reigned.
Why does she ask me to step forward
when this past was best concealed?
Wisdom comes from the answer cast
answered by the guide by my side
look within is the her cue
there are things others need to hear.

With each step in darkness deep
a single spark was lit in my soul
with small flames have now combined
enough to light my way on dim days.
This gift I have to share with you
though the wick meager in the dark
unsubstantial in gloom's full force
yet just enough to speak my mind.

The good is eager to show its face
the bad reluctant to share the light
the ugly much shyer in its shame
all of these are who I seem to be.
Is this all I have to deal
a deck stacked by madman's sway?
Yes says the lady of poet's hand
put to ink the worst you can.

This I offer with muse's grace
to tell you humbly that of our place
is shared within living tombs
waiting for our time to come awake.
From our sleep we will emerge
step from shadow out of glades
move to the light where angel's bless
the fallen seeking God's embrace.

© 2016, Sean Green. All Rights Reserved, 20160606.

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