Journey to Ixtlan

The poem “Yesterday” was inspired by a posting on Tumblr that hinted at art expressing the happy past.


Yesterday

Yesterday I expressed
something more than living angst
this surprised even me
with ink as memory
shared with a waiting world
those some words put to page

stated in poetic verse
the quick hope that soon expired
as the sun began to set
the buoyancy was aberrant
even as it is was blessed
flash in the pan before the night

lost as the day began again
with the weight of history
a glimpse through art’s recall
spot of brightness in the gloom
the consolation of the past
now absent in the present time.

© 2019. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20190112.

A friend shared a meme about Toxic People and The Smear Campaign. The meme’s creator commented the following: “I have personally endured this from toxic family, a toxic church, and people online - who claim to be trauma survivors, but fail to admit they are in fact toxic abusers themselves. This happens to kind, honest, genuine survivors of abuse, all too often.”

I sense the creator was making a statement about the kind, honest, genuine survivors of abuse being continually persecuted by the toxic elements. There is no escape for these eternal victims. I think there could be an alternative way to read the same sentences. Toxic people can be trauma survivors. Being toxic does not remove them from that possibility. The toxic people can also struggle to admit they are abusers. The toxic people are also, in their own way, kind, honest, and genuine survivors. This is a difficult concept to grasp. Toxic people are presented as being one-dimensional with no originating source other than pure evil. This is far from any conventional truth. My poem “I Frankenstein” is about how anybody can be a damaged combination of the world that created them.


I Frankenstein

Frankenstein was a master
I'm my own, it doesn't matter
when the parts of my whole
become a monster to the world
the brute exists at the peril
of innocents walking round me
little do they know their place
conjoined within my broken frame.

The outside scars are my frame
connecting tissue disparate
if I'm a work of macabre art
this mural's marked by tissue's grain
too many sources become the one
torn from the shadows near at hand
fiends or beasts are mirrored there
teasing madness from my brain.

If my mouth still had lips
perhaps the screams would be mine
a sharp response to the harm
blossoms fruit that I'll detest
as the knife cleaves the flesh
I'll add the new with bloody thread
a little's lost with no gain
my life diminishes with the pain.

These hands resign to their fates
right from left are ignorant
of what the other may conspire
to collude with spirit's bane
I'm Frankenstein borne anew
both the master and the brute
standing tall on borrowed time
seeking salve I now reject.

© 2018. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20180403.

“Top Regret” was inspired by a YouTube video about living authentically.


Top Regret

If I could name my top regret
source of sorrow in my heart
the villain would the masks
I wear in place of myself

marked with the happy smile
or confidence in business stride
cookie-cutter to appease
disregarding the inner peace

revelation has come at last
then put aside to compensate
for the whims of other men
those who would not understand

such is the challenge I now face
excuse the pun that's been made
while the veil obscures your sight
you'll hear the tears behind the smile

this shell enabled to present
a false guise that brings me grief
blessed by all who walk outside
while I mourn what's lost inside

when the physical does not explain
mute assistant of my pain
giving comfort to the lie
regret struggling in my life.

2018. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20180122.

“Try the Wine” is a poetic experiment on a scene from “A Clockwork Orange”.


Try The Wine

Try the wine, take a sip
thank you sir, (what is this?)
a good brand, worthy ilk

perhaps a trap, this tender
red with pasta, (a good pair?)
reluctantly I’ll partake

Try the wine, none for me
none for him, the muscle bound
my health excludes just a taste

cheers to you (with false charm)
I’ll check the color, it’s still red
then the smell, claret bouquet

Try the wine, indulge your thirst
while I speak about my wife
she’s gone away, no quite dead

badly raped, with assault
by the vicious hooligans
where you sitting with your glass

Try the wine, now I’m bound
to this chair, left for dead
while the flu took her life

I know better, the modern age
removed my dear from the stage
not Pneumonia, it was them

Try the wine, you sad victim
help is now on the way
phone taken to call some friends

(Alex considers to take leave)
forgive my trouble, I’ll depart
no, no my boy, no trouble at all.

© 2017. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20171211.

“Life Explodes” is a very short poem inspired by meme that had the words: “Keep Me Together / Do Not Abandon Me / Hold My Bones Together”


Life Explodes

Hold my bones
ensure they’re whole
when winds blow
as the earth rocks

keep me together
lest I erupt
tie the loose strings
around my tired soul

do not abandon
the one that’s left
when dawn follows night
before life explodes.

© 2017. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20171201.

“Too Deep to Hide” was written in response to seeing a YouTube video. The presenter said that she felt that she wasn’t a misandrist because she was reacting to a lifetime of abuse by misogynists. I felt there was some truth there. This could be applied to some men, those stated they aren’t misogynists because they are reacting as traumatized victims. With that said, I suspect that men are far (far) outnumbered in these respects.


Too Deep to Hide

the cuts are too deep to hide
hot reaction comes to the front
hard earth is bent to satisfy
pain deposited in the soul

many hands took to the task
to slice incisions into life
with the victim left alive
still breathing with desire to die

taint etched on God’s vessel
asking Hell to take the lead
with one avenue left to walk
spreading rage before the end

it’s no wonder the anger waits
brought by those who take vengeance
if you doubt why this should be
look to the cuts that still bleed

© 2017. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20170807.

“My Cold Dead Heart” was written for a poetry competition that asked for the poem’s title to be included as the title, beginning, or ending of a poem.


My Cold Dead Heart

Your eyes hinted
with the world
nothing offered
in full promise
unblinking orbs
full of hunger
look into the soul
absorbing it all

I see clarity
purpose unknown
I see vitality
source deep within
life resides here
welcoming me
inviting departure
if I fall inside

kindness is envisioned
returned now in kind
then I find the tip
dagger unsheathed
pools of emotion
shadows at play
I’ll swim the deep
depths where promises die
look into the eyes
beauty thy name
entrancing the mind
killing my heart.

© 2017, Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20170211.

It is ironic that I’ve been meaning to write on the topic of procrastination, and one possible source of this affliction. I had an epiphany of why I delay doing things, and while this does not give me the means to overcome the root of the cause, it does give me a place of consideration.

I attended the 2016 Spring LEAF (Lake Eden Art’s Festival) event. I took lots of good pictures during the Friday and Saturday day and on Friday night. I captured on video the contra flash mob next to the main stage. The photo and video documentation I got would thrill many people. Posting it would honor the dance and arts I seek to promote. I’ve also not done anything with this material yet. Why?

The shadow side of the event was the overwhelming pain I found myself in. Old(er) age has left me with back issues, and these flared up and out across my body. By late Saturday afternoon the only parts of me that didn’t hurt were my head and my forearms. Moving hurt. Sitting hurt. Holding the camera to take pictures hurt. I could dance in short spurts, with adrenaline, joy, and muscle memory pulling me through, but the on the other side I was in that much more pain. I only had low dosage aspirin on me, no “vitamin I”. I took the aspirin with no visible impact. Sadly I did not think to reach out to my friends for something (much) stronger. My bad.

The weekend ended late Saturday afternoon when I packed up the van and made my way home. At the house I took stronger medications and the pain eased. This detour caused me to miss the Saturday night dances and events on Sunday. I don’t regret the choice in retrospect given how much I was hurting, and the exiting allowed me to recover, but I wouldn’t want to do it again.

What does this tale of woe have to do with procrastination? As I mentioned before, I took lots of pictures and video at the event. These were dutifully copied to a hard-drive to await processing. Time has come and gone, with the files not yet attended to. When I consider working with them I meet an invisible wall of resistance, something almost physical that pushes me to another task. Believe me, I always have some photo / video project waiting for attention. The LEAF work should be at the top of the list given the quality and magic of the material, but it takes backseat to less worthy efforts.

The answer to the question of “why procrastinate” came to me one day. The reply was “PAIN”. There is so much pain tied up in the material. The photos / video are joyful, but my experience during the capturing of them was a story of waking distress. The resistance I feel is purely psychological as I am not claiming that I will actually be in physical pain while I work with the material. In fact, I can’t truly “remember” the pain on a conscious level, but there seems to be some “stove hot” reluctance to approach the work. Some part of me is convinced, at an irrational level, that I will hurt again if I go there.

This was an epiphany to me because there are other areas of my life that procrastinate on. They involve cleaning up past situations that were painful, messy, and complicated in a tormenting way. Life would be better if I attacked them head on, but to do so is incredibly difficult. I’d rather end my life than take some of them on, and this is about as irrational as you can get, as well as being life threatening. The phantom pain feels like a wave that would overwhelm me, and to run is the only (in)sane choice I have.

I’m not being paid to put the LEAF photos and videos out. Their publication is based on my willingness. There is no outside prodding by interested parties. The same goes for the big things I procrastinate against. The world seems content to let the pain lay while rot sets in. This is irrational because there are almost always interested parties. Hundreds of people would love to see the LEAF material. I would be a minor hero to some. Yet this is not enough now, as I write this. The imagined wound, the implied suffering, out weighs these very real factors.

In the end I learn from the LEAF experience. It is the tip of the iceberg that threatens my life deep down. I still don’t know how to overcome this, but at least I am aware of the monster I face.

Interloper
Poem for Day 340 – 20151207

Interloper of body and mind
visitor from hellish realms
have mercy on this mortal one
as you take your evil joy.
Frailty is the human way
body and mind susceptible
no age is invulnerable
to the touch of devil’s wage.

As close as intimates
rude guest of a life lived
boundaries mean nothing here
when you do persevere.
If only others could thus relate
to my body and soul complete
we would be like twin flames
instead judging me as insane.

You take the memories
drag them into the dungeons
stolen from light of day
lived but then receding.
I consider you a passing fog
all consuming in immediacy
forgotten when it has passed
leaving nothing in its wake.

Absolution is incomplete
when self is so complicit
in torments first creation
or continuation of the same.
So many ways to walk the path
or remain once the journey begun.
Succubus or forced partner
the outcome may be the same.

Requestor of the medication
source prescribed and otherwise
I bend my knee in acquaintance
of the needs to ease life.
Many cannot understand this
blind adherence to remedy
even though it complicates
my life beyond the your grasp.

To continue on is the goal
a challenge great in the face
of an opponent with all the cards
held against one with no reserves.
To exit would be relief
devil’s temptation too near at hand.
Get behind me foul voice inside
I’ll fight each day as it were my last.

You are all that survives
crowds all else in sympathy
of body’s and mind’s complaints
urgent in the siren’s way.
Survival becomes the action plan
all other things must pass away
no matter the time or effort made
to accommodate the taskmaster’s ways.

© 2015, Sean Green. All Rights Reserved.

The poem “Interloper” was inspired by a conversation I had with another dancer. I asked them questions about their career plans and they reminded me that they had told me about them at a prior dance. I could not remember and apologized. I later looked back at that dance and remembered that I was in a lot of pain (plantar fasciitis). It seemed, as if, that a portion of the night was blocked out by the pain because my friend’s story was worth remembering!

The poem "Unwelcome Companion" is about an element of many peoples' lives. It is predominate when people are older. The unfortunate young are also familiar with it. The poem has a fairytale ending stanza. Actual life is much less pleasant, but I will save that for another poem.


Unwelcome Companion
Poem for Day 138 – 20150518

Unwelcome companion,
dogging my steps
never leaving my side
wicked follower undesired.
Why must you hound me,
to never give me peace?
I asked for you not,
even if my past deeds said yes.

Handmaiden to my body,
lending your cold hand,
raking me with hot talons,
marks rarely seen and always felt.
Monster's form hidden behind
guise of nursemaid constant.
I'm here to help she mutters
as I writhe in her touch obscene.

Counselor to my desires,
what am I allowed this day?
Dictate my passions,
frustrate my battered soul.
Here I lay in your prison,
distanced from things I crave,
and still you advise
my pleasure is to just survive.

Bring your soldiers,
combatants arrayed in ranks,
capsules and liquids,
to carry on the good fight.
The recruits mutiny,
rebel against the greater good,
and bring the whole of me
to my knees in battle's breadth.

Despot of my life,
you are so many things:
companion, nursemaid,
counselor, soldier.
I only wish you were one more,
perhaps it is too much
for a thing like you to be,
I only wish you were my friend.

© 2015. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved