when one is found to be in lack
insufficient to life's tasks
skin's starvation all too keen

asking me to lay down my life
forever rest in sad despair
far away from partner’s balm

when was the last time I felt alive?
it was in dance through music's charm
when the muse entranced my heart

in my consort’s arms I was found
set adrift in realm of touch
never wishing to come back

I'd forgotten this place of bliss
when stumbling though life's veil
all consumed by drudgery

the realm of two seems enough
perhaps enough to forestall the end
to dissuade the coaxing dark

© 2017. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20170815.

“Coaxing Dark” is the result of wanting to write a poem that is simultaneously cheerful and melancholy.  I think I’ve succeeded.

I wandered far to find myself
exercised my questing self
seeking what I did not have
in far fields on journey’s path

the seas were wet as well as deep
waves both valleys and mountain peaks
across these roads my boat did flow
the passing depths not journey’s end

deserts stretched too far to see
hot to cold as sun revolved
above to sky and then to earth
yet there I did not find the goal

the forests held more than trees
animals stalked my careful steps
eyes shone back by campfire’s light
silent witness to secrets kept

man’s fair cities rose to the sky
while sinking far under earth
knowledge held by my cohorts
where found hollow in false light

a lifetime spent questioning
what I was as I searched
the miles as witness to the hunt
across the lands my feet quested

in the end I finally found
the elusive spark contained
I was a product of the journey
life was about where I looked.

© 2017. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20170814.

A friend quoted "Life isn't about finding yourself.  Life is about creating yourself." by George Bernard Shaw.   This led me to write the poem “Where I Looked”.

Consider phobia as a fault
a statement put out as “I’d never”
by the ones who turns their heads
with blanket statements uttered forth
putting judgment on those who fail
to be in tidy boxes built by life
whether speakers are the majority
or in the minority on life’s fringe.

A natural order is assumed
based on a bubble’s small contents
floating in the larger world
binding those found within
the swaying group may be small
or large enough to swamp the rest
it matters not when hate is found
at end of thoughts that classify.

The vagueness is disconcerting
a step away from normals felt
be they on one end or the other
of the ranged Kinsey scale
bias breeds from experience
society stamping upon the mind
asking thoughts to intersect
with hive mind of company.

The “I’d never” statements cut too deep
harm the target of phobic ends
with a net that’s spread to wide
pointed weapons press outward
with dispassion that violates
the golden rule most embraced
protective thoughts of the group
drive the phobia as a fault.

© 2017. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20170813.

“Phobia as a Fault” speaks directly to a discussion storm I’m aware of on social media, but I’ll stick with the broad outlines of a painful situation.   The poem is about the phobic thoughts inherited from the “hive mind”.   A phobic thought is one that is framed with “I’d never do X with Y” or “X is bad because they always do Y”.   Rejection is predeclared because of another person’s perceived state.    Any size group can promote phobic thoughts.  Groups at the receiving end of phobic thoughts can generate their own phobic thoughts.  Sadly, at their heart, the phobic directions may mean well with an intention of ‘protecting’ a group.  In practice they feed and imbue hurts that are beyond evil.

If I could kiss him on the lips
taste the lust that fills my heart
or much lower, that is true
evoked by forces asking more
this first step invites more
caressing cheek while I adore
the masculine in all its prime
smooching hard before embrace.

If I could pull her in to feel the heat
tucked in close, flesh to flesh
swapping feels under clothes
finding both the hard and soft
indulgence taken as two are one
heaven found at hell’s doorstep
standing up is pleasure’s stance
desiring more beyond the touch.

If I could take them to my bed
gender put up on the shelf
to find instead what’s near at hand
taking all to realm of bliss
parts are parts, we all have them
combining in so many ways
release is raced towards the goals
finding all that’s underneath.

All these ‘ifs’ are my fare
acknowledgment of carnal breadth
not meant to poke the eye of God
instead I bend to whom I am
diversity is my way
the door opened to all kinds
with discretion still in play
finding partners in gender’s span.

© 2017. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20170812.

‘Gender’s Span’ is dedicated to those people who orient towards pansexuality.

Bystanders wonder at the fuss
with no skin in the game
asking why some may howl
and others cry with clear dismay
you’ll see the answer has a twist
the expected with sand thrown in
to the gears that move with blood
no longer spinning against the drag.

Two sides are placed on the field
this is illusion few will admit
when the duo has company
a mixed blessing to both foes
advocate is one name used
ally would be another term
collaborator from another tongue
yelled in disgust at the betrayal.

This third party may intrude
on sacred ground in past hard earned
with good intent and ignorance
their friends aghast at what is said
talking at the injured ones
over heads that do not ask
for the words condemning ways
opinion begins to rip the flesh.

Caring only to be right
misinformed by ignorance
of the ways the others walk
truest by immersion’s blight
when living is the best teacher
immersion both the day and night
skin is the vessel always bound
this is not how the allies live.

There is a way to veer away
to show compassion even when
allies cannot fully know
what to say that does not hurt
be the advocate of the few
giving voice to announce
above the cries of circling foes
“listen to the ones who know”.

© 2017. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20170811.

“Giving Voice” is about the pitfalls of being an ally.  It was prompted by a YouTube controversy that featured allies to a minority group talking over their stated associates.  The talking inflicted wounds, injuries largely invisible to the allies because they didn’t have a complimenting life experience.

Purity strives to be defined
by spiritual paths across the world
seeking peace within the self
against this goal the race is lost
when the child is enticed
to lose its way on forest paths.

Wisps partaken, sweet indulge
spicy meals of flesh and more
stones where the smoke once was
this past becomes soul’s weight
it’s too late when they look back
wondering at the fog’s rough chains.

Virtue traded for subterfuge
embarrassment asking tongue’s silence
against the length of failure’s chain
volunteer or sad hostage
parading by the hellish flames
both are an end none desire.

The escape asks for lack
both shame and fear put aside
to realize the higher ground
embracing whys and whats alike
denying neither, leaving both
corruption denied its oxygen.

The child is found in elders’ hearts
their sad failings are our own
trust is embraced where none exists
a higher guidance is ours to have
purity smudged, yet still it thrives
rock of the soul above all else.

© 2017. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20170810.

A distanced friend wrote about becoming pure once more as a child of God.  I was reminded of the attainment of purity in other spiritual paths.   On these paths purity is known by the names of peace or contentment.  All of the options to attain purity seem to embrace the recognition of things that weigh the soul, followed by the separation of these from the spirit.

I’ll place my pain upon a hook
rhyming, turning, asking all
to recognize the truth involved
the freshest bait is too raw
seeped in blood drained by words
offered up as banquet's feast.

My poems are flayed from the heart
exposing nerves too long numbed
asking them to feel once more
emotion brought to the forefront
the rich harvest at long last
from the depths below the mire.

My dear reader, are you still there?
with this sentence I may sigh
the lure has kept you in my eyes
perhaps the pain is shared by more
this longhand journey brings a crowd
that bears fair witness to my mind.

© 2017. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20170809.

“Upon a Hook” started out with the thought that the artist can draw in their audience with emotional expression.
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