The wolf at the window is held at bay
waiting with patience at our dismay
knowing that all must walk among
forest paths beyond the vale

safety breached to attain
something more than the disdain
of the fools that wish for more
than memories now deplored

the haunts exist by aftermath
in the forest where killers bay
knowing windows lead to doors
allowing all to **** their souls

it takes one chance for the claws
to take the flesh from safety’s arms
before the window is declined
what lays beyond will have its time.

© 2019. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20190830.

Consider a realm where this poem
is unread by mortal eyes
not one sentence witnessed here
finds its way to viewer’s grace

this happenstance of the muse
tossed like a bottle beyond the shore
without a purpose except to state
dictation meant for higher realms

taunting gods in surly jest
for the pains words can’t express
lines inscribed that disappear
perhaps they were never here

the whine with cheese in a poem
now at the end in reader’s eyes
with cheerful thanks even as
the void consumes words not meant to last.

© 2019. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20190829.

Garish should be the undertone
so say the ones who hold the line
desiring only that mutes explain
the breadth of life beyond the pale

until the souls who dare to dream
demand expression beyond the veil
with vibrancy of color’s swatch
and actions stated to justly shock

these statements exclaimed without regard
for sensibilities in fashion’s realm
instead the giants are thrown down
by admiration of damning jests

extracting praise for substitutes
the flagrant over the sadly tamed
a mystery that gods disdain
while beauty fills the latitudes.

© 2019. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20190828.

Sometimes the forest hides the trees
concealing rainbows in the green
when the color meant for most
is the pigment denied by one

the rare exception hides among
the mighty giants of the glade
dictating life of the less
those sprouts seeking something else

a single sprig cut from the sun
by the breadth of canopy
without a path to extend
beyond the grove set in time

a splash of color is allowed
just a glimpse as seasons turn
still the theme must be adhered
to be a tree and nothing more.

© 2019. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20190827.

Write each day to stay alive
this is my task with the pen
to etch mere words upon the page
an exclamation against the dread

lest the ***** becomes a cliff
no longer there to ground a soul
the holding ****** to finally fail
without foundations that must prevail

greet the sun to **** the night
this was the way of ancient man
a superstition in hindsight
the same is said of my task

to write each day to stay alive
a religion I’ll not deny
with the clergy of the poem
the congregation of only one.

© 2019. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20190826.

Dare I show some flesh
metaphorical or in the real
to demonstrate a common ground
between myself and readers’ minds?

if the answer is a yes
the outcome is preordained
as the words and lack of clothes
reveal the person beneath the mask

weakness put to the front
transformation now divulged
down to the skin and beyond
until disclosure becomes old

with a twist that’s laughable
or just ironic in pure hindsight
nothing new is ever shown
****** is shared by all.

© 2019. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20190825.

Affection of the female kind
just the friendship finally found
is the salve for the questing heart
coming from a former self

without confusion that the meek
is the state for woman’s grace
just as fierce with wit that cuts
in defense of worldly strikes

the communal behind a veil
a front exacted against the pain
allowing entry of the type
once existing on the far side

now entranced by support
once estranged before the turn
to the gender that confirms
affection from the female kind.

© 2019. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20190824.