The spiral spins to the earth
turning round in projectile’s curve
sometimes up for a spell
then circling sadly towards that spot

impact delayed but not denied
postponed until the right time
though some would say this is false
a toll is waged for all involved

while the planning is disguised
behind a mask opaque to sight
the bystanders gaze upon
a false calm before impact

then gravity consumes desire
to escape the twisting arc
survival spun to be denied
no longer knowing up from down

this one direction is foretold
shade of Icarus now fulfilled
a doom once postponed for lost hope
now embraced for mercy’s sake

when wings succumb to the despair
no longer aiding upward lift
towards the realms of sanity
final impact at spiral’s end.

© 2018. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20180522.
The poem “The Spiral Spins” is about the modern day Icarus brought low by life.
They walked a path alone
resembling the norm by only half
with the society as a single part
the remainder was their own

reality twisted to match their whims
the ether bent by force of will
turned to match the innerscape
of a soul that wished to fly

convention was coincidence
on the journey above the rest
embraced if only to assure
life and liberty continued on

to merely thrive was not enough
when the trickster conjoined the fox
each contributing to rebellion's game
moving beyond the nine to five

religion became the trinket held
as the faith of other folk
imbued with magic still not felt
by the one that defined themselves

identity moved to the spread
a spectrum between two points
the poles rejected as the place
the hat was hung for attraction's gaze

what they liked and how they stood
identity of who they were
came on terms self-defined
with the acronym begun with L

this rebellion came at a cost
supporting structures were recast
to the family beyond mere blood
embraced many to support the one

now I follow with rapt intent
observing what I may glimpse
of the soul that walked alone
bending life to match their heart.

© 2018. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20180521.
The poem “A Path Alone” is about my friends who live unconventional paths relative to most people.  I draw inspiration and support from their life experiences.
The remedy becomes the ill
in due time the fall occurs
the trap is laid at the start
waiting for its time to come

monsters lay beyond the balm
remedies that go awry
when the cure becomes the curse
bending bodies to be worse

when the drug is self-applied
calamity lurks to feed
on the souls that desire
something else then hell’s hot fires

intruding on the here and now
cultured by the need to soothe
pains inflicted on the coil
lead to those of the abyss

need consumes reticence
caution lost to feed the beast
the peace once sought is denied
when the remedy is the ill.

© 2018. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20180520.
The poem “Becomes The Ill” is about the danger of self-medication.  The apparent “cure” moves to dependency, trading one problem for another at best, or compounding problems at worse.
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.

© 2018. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20180519.
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.
As fragile as the passing breeze
words are cast to disappear
still I take sure comfort
creation is my genesis

transformation few may see
I’ll pursue in revelry
of sanity found in a phrase
turned to mad utterance

tossed into the hurricane
lost among the blown debris
still I bend to muse’s wish
to generate a daily breath

life assures that all is hid
beneath the layers of poet’s craft
this tidal wave of poetry
cresting over my meager speech

to that end I’ll put aside
the need for fame’s cold hand
asking more than I can give
while I struggle to remain alive

thoughts that wander are not lost
like mist dispersed in morning light
there are still memories
forever written in life’s dream

© 2018. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20180518.
The poem “The Passing Breeze” was inspired by the Anthony Burgess’ quote “ We can destroy what we have written, but we cannot unwrite it.” from ‘A Clockwork Orange’.
Allow me to hum a tune
while we dance to music’s lead
sent by the muse with no strings
except to join as a chorus
song embarked on our romp
close enough to be heard

while the room is ignorant
of our blessing from our voice
two blessed souls lost to time
floating in our confidence
bubble found where we can soar
transcending sound vocalized

when small talk is not enough
we’ve crossed that bridge long ago
conversation turned to song
elevation of dialogue
synchronized the best we can
without training or practice spent

engaging with a pure intent
inspired by minstrel’s steady beat
accompaniment to joy’s wry glee
jester found inside of each
not a crooner in earnest
instead bliss celebrates

while we the key may be off
or the words be muttered forth
the intent is to embrace
celebration of jubilee.

© 2018. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20180517.
I adore humming or singing along with a dance partner.  The poem “Hum A Tune” is about this joy.
I’m now driven to have a voice
turned to share with Kings and serfs
with the former in charge of change
ruling latter by force of will
while the common may share my pain
bent to meet their master’s fears
it’s to the Lords that I’ll submit
rhyming tomes of spoken verse

at first I put the words to page
quatrained statements in the wind
stating truth that few did read
when given choice to turn away
even when the ink was blood
sourced from wounds I sought to tell
these relics from a bygone age
were as feathers in gusting rain

a voice broke out into the void
first a whisper and then a roar
demanding hue from all around
especially those behind their walls
the verbal hammer molded iron
crafting tools that shattered realms
where the Nobles sat above
these unwilling are dragged to court

my pointed tongue condemns their lot
as truth is told through God’s true face
by their mouth the veil is ripped
tumbling Kings to their fates
this high claim may be too much
wishful boasting from a sad bard
still I’ll state the minds of serfs
while damning sins the Kings commit.

© 2018. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20180514.
The poem “Damning Sins” is about the art and purpose of performed spoken word.
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