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poetryaccident Jan 2018
The seduction began at the dusk
then progressed as darkness fell
into the blackness, the journey led
with promise made I could not trust

the clouds have clashed against the sun
gray to black, they vow to stay
I seek a shelter against the storm
the rage that circles every day

temptation pledged an escape
dulcet murmurs in my ear
as the strength left my limbs
the voice spoke with honeyed bliss

“I will vanquish this always cycle
the never ending circle spent
in existing, that grind of life
to lay you down in calming arms”

“this retreat will be a void
entreating shade to fill your life
in a realm you’ll find yourself
beyond the pain in the bones”

narcotic call from the shoals
a calming voice in tempest eye
can I trust the siren’s call
when betrayal may occur?

the tempest may welcome me
at the exit of those dreams
forever raging, always there
escape forbidden by the gods

enticement made in bad faith
seduction wooing the battered soul
if only the peace would last
after darkness has had its time.

© 2018. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20180107.
“The Seduction” was inspired by Elizabeth Smart’s quote, “Sleep tries to ****** me by promising a more reasonable tomorrow”, from her book “By Grand Central Station I Sat Down and Wept; And, The Assumption of the Rogues & Rascals”.
poetryaccident Feb 2018
I need a new set of wings
to lift me from this patch of ground
providing views of who I am
above the bane of sanity

this nest does not suit my mind
when I gaze into the frame
of the mirrors I've past despised
because they return error's stain

the images drag me down
armor aching on my frame
asking how I can rise above
while holding echoes of my past

I'm wrapped in chains when I soar
straitjacket instead of feathers worn
able to see the broad sky
confined by tethers to only glide

the old wings had no lift
instead they held me close to earth
feathers fall to spot the ground
shedding now for new growth

spray of color with shades of gray
age's badge I must embrace
never too late to find my space
these new wings will take me there.

© 2018. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20180206.
“These New Wings” was inspired by a Tumblr meme that featured a female model, complete with wings shedding feathers, and the statement “I need new wings”.
poetryaccident Nov 2018
The shoeblack is on the job
bending knee for gentlemen
first the comments about rain
or the lack of, all the same

disagreement may arise
no one knows what may fall
then the earl must convey
politics of the day

opine offered without regard
of lower classes’ principles
still a reply is required
a small offering to the lord

‘cooks are thought to be quite smart
unless the flood distracts the guards’.

© 2018. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20181112.
The poem “The Shoeblack” was prompted by a cartoon of a shoe-shine working on an official-looking person’s boot.
poetryaccident May 2018
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.
poetryaccident Oct 2019
The stand-in has their place
a substitute in many ways
for the creature kept within
fully cowed by cries of sin

evoked on lips as the truth
conveyed out loud in perpetude
from the elders seeped in fear
a bias passed through the years

this masquerade responds in kind
the doppelganger all to mild
seeking peace with the world
at any price is the resolve

while behind the private mask
a hell exists without regard
for the pretender strutting round
the stand-in within the bounds.

© 2019. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20191009.
The poem “The Stand-In” is about the struggle to subsist in a conservative world.
poetryaccident Nov 2019
Blessed are those who can’t relate
to the poems of the dismayed
the depths plumbed beyond the curve
are foreign to the undisturbed

based on years without pain
perhaps a touch though not the same
as the writer with words to share
of despair bled upon the page

puddles seen of life expelled
still the reader is compelled
to state a mystery has been writ
when fortune lays outside the script

each with their own experience
nullifying the shared insight
with no judgment on each one
the sufferer and the stunned.

© 2019. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20191101.
The poem “The Sufferer and the Stunned” was inspired by a reader who admitted they did not understand a past poem, one of my darker fare.  Perhaps it’s for the best that people can’t understand the expressed pain.
poetryaccident Dec 2019
Forgiveness was not my request
solicitation as a bequest
from damnation imagined by
those without a reference to my life

the offer smacks of hyperbole
a bargain made with misery
based on assumptions without a care
for the lives cast to disrepair

to be washed from myself
cleansed until nothings left
has no attraction if life awaits
beyond the judgment of conjured fates

deny the pardons filled with fault
creating guilt where there is none
clemency offered asks one to admit
the sum being is villainous.

© 2019. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20191229.
The poem “The Sum Being” was inspired by concept that forgiveness is required in order to be right with the world in regards to orientation and gender identity.  The non-normative is not broken or sinful.  They are just a different normative.
poetryaccident Dec 2019
Forgiveness was not my request
solicitation as a bequest
from damnation imagined by
those without a reference to my life

the offer smacks of hyperbole
a bargain made with misery
based on assumptions without a care
for the lives cast to disrepair

to be washed from myself
cleansed until nothings left
has no attraction if life awaits
beyond the judgment of conjured fates

deny the pardons filled with fault
creating guilt where there is none
clemency offered asks one to admit
the sum being is villainous.

© 2019. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20191229.
The poem “The Sum Being” was inspired by concept that forgiveness is required in order to be right with the world in regards to orientation and gender identity.  The non-normative is not broken or sinful.  They are just a different normative.
poetryaccident Feb 2019
A desire is enough
to set identity to a course
even though the journey’s end
defies the place it all began

while the clock asks no due
the start and stop are fluid
neither set for the whole
instead the traveler has their own

defying milestones on the path
stones erected in the past
become the lies for the self
even as their truth prevails

integrity is then transformed
as a need leads the way
with no regret in the now
what the sun may shine upon.

2019. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20190222.
The poem “The Sun May Shine” is a glancing look at identity.
poetryaccident Feb 2019
Once the sun rose in the south
like the fowl by the same name
regular enough to set a watch
this ascension of desire’s push
promising much as consequence
if the eye can be believed
even as the owner sleeps
still embraced by wanton dreams

then to wake against the day
asking rutting in payment
to witness god’s greatest gift
bequeathed to eager supplicants
to sate the fire that burns within
the showers pelt in response
by sparse cloud’s drizzling
or the tempest’s drowning fist

this revelry in dawn’s face
expected at daybreak’s light
is now left behind in the years
with only pain to end the night
the sun has set forever more
no longer rising like days of yore
and while the fowl may share the name
no crow is heard at first of day.

© 2019. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20190203.
The poem “The Sun Rose” is a very metaphorical piece about the changes of time.
poetryaccident Nov 2018
The sweetest fruit has a look
beware the suppers who wish to test
what’s been sampled will then be grasped
felling masters with greedy tastes

beauty is seen to be an end
by a queen or castaway
opens doors at a glance
the promise made of succulence

luring all to their doom
no matter station they may hold
seduction is another name
for the mastery now impaired

this fate is cast upon desire
a spell as ancient as the sun
assures damnation for a soul
when the flesh dominates

so round and firm to the touch
without a blemish set by time
this is the plate of offering
at the altar of power’s fall

delicious morsels that could accede
bend the knee in vassalage
will instead enthrall the high
ready victims to tasty lies.

© 2018. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20181114.
The poem “The Sweetest Fruit” was written at the prompt of a drawing.  A vivacious Snow White held court over a group of corrupted dwarfs.  She had retained her young beauty, though it appeared to be tainted by a cold evil cast.    The poem has a word count of 134 and used the Prompt One picture.
poetryaccident Jan 2020
The towers are centuries tall
built by hand, block by block
perch on the cliffs equally deep
ready for wayward miscreants

more than souls are there enclosed
also power sits on the throne
ruling masses with a hand
ready with the whip to lash

this status-quo is nearly spent
when multitudes leap to deaths
leaving for the netherrealms
away from dogma's weary quest

holding supplicants in crumbling cells
with doors wide open to prisoners
those who seek to escape
will leave the towers in their wake.

© 2020. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20200108.
The poem “The Towers” was inspired by thoughts about people leaving organizations.  To outsiders, the discrepancies and dogmatic contradictions are enough to push anybody out.   The reasons to stay seem to out weigh these nudges.   Still, some seek the exits when the fabric of belief fails.
poetryaccident Nov 2017
The truth waits to be unearthed
buried deep beneath for sanity
if only this were the case
put to rest but not at peace
headstone with familiar names
put there by the family

a thousand million separate screams
anoint the time that passed between
trespass taken by their kin
deviants hidden in plain sight
spawned from house, across the land
looking normal to common man

now all are deaf by shame’s decree
the broken walk alone as aftermath
while the world turns away
how to put behind just bars
blood of self, so many souls
remove immoral from the home

a generation stripped from the world
this would be the outcome
if the tombs were unearthed
no longer resting, still not at peace
atrocities revealed at long last
if only this were the case.

© 2017. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20171118.
A 2013 article by The Atlantic stated that “One in three-to-four girls, and one in five-to-seven boys are sexually abused before they turn 18, an overwhelming incidence of which happens within the family. These statistics are well known among industry professionals, who are often quick to add, "and this is a notoriously under-reported crime."”  My poem “The Truth Waits” is about this crippling, evil injustice.
poetryaccident May 2018
I see the shelter as a trap
with my sanctity as the price
when umbrellas aspire to claim
the victim seeking safety’s arms
the canopy dangles high above
beyond my reach yet always there
leading me to step away
into the realms of compromise

I stand outside in the downpour
drenched to the bone through suffering
wanting something to stop the pain
give relief from shower’s bite
I may flee to arid dreams
still the dampness is always there
the shelter asks for everything
that I vow to bend my knees

promising much in a trade
if I only cross the line
protection would be draped
upon my frame in recompense
with a small toll that I must give
splay my body as offering
to be dry becomes the goal
as shadows crawl from fabric’s dome

assuming the position in reverence
ready for violations I can’t forgive
trespass granted for safety’s sake
no longer feeling rain’s cold drops
the umbrellas are raised above
preventing moisture from my life
instead the water flows
from the tears that drown my soul.

© 2018. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20180528.
A poetic friend wrote a poem that started with the lines “Reigns of / hypocrisy puts / teeth on edge” and ended with the lines “Under their / umbrella of / protection”.   I commented “I see the dynamics of resistance and acceptance.  Both are present in the offerings of the group”.   The poem “The Umbrellas” was inspired by this interchange.
poetryaccident Aug 2019
When the ties dissolve at last
dreams put aside with full intent
to seek the dreams of vacancy
beyond the dross of everyday

the pressures sought to transform
coal to diamonds as a result
instead fine powder fills the air
blinding those who seek the sky

ash from urns not yet interned
contribute to the pressing mood
as the thoughts turn inward
disregarding where life finds charm

the magical falling short
and then forgotten in retrospect
the mystic ****** before the fall
as the unbound dissolves the world.

© 2019. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20190821.
The poem “The Unbound” is about desires to step away and the dissolving ties that bind.
poetryaccident Apr 2019
The unearned becomes a trap
blessings stacked all too high
vanishing as the bridge collapsed
or toppled down to cruelly smash
reliance becomes the drug of choice
supporting making of the bucks
but consider the side-affects
sanity lost as the sad result

look to privilege as the beast
waiting to attack with savage glee
those who step outside of bounds
no longer favored as in the past
what was given may be lost
when the monsters decide to fight
against the one that has betrayed
the vaunted rules that none convey

reliance upon that edge
cutting holes once abused
imbued by a knife that's now dread
as the edges slice the flesh
benefits blessed by circumstance
stoke the fires that now burn
destruction from the coal of warmth
consuming all the group distrusts

the past acquaintance is abhorred
by the prisoners of power’s game
they still exist in the heights
condemning those who dwell below
crisis stoked at the end
condemning those who stepped away
now the trenches are the home
to the lost no longer found.

© 2019. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20190412.
The poem “The Unearned” is about leaving a place of privilege when an identity, not congruent with the past experience, is embraced.
poetryaccident Mar 2019
I'll take the uniform from the shelf
an image for the common crowd
one of many in the ranks
the same raiment is procured
from the closet in which I dwell
keeping step with the contracts

still the fit will suffice
if my true role is falsified
stating purpose with due resolve
with apparel on the frame
a disguise that few see through
when the pretense is pursued

this masquerade is portrayed
the desired set for the eye
spun from threads of fairy wings
just as real as mythic dreams
to lull the masses with the lie
keeping peace in rank and file.

© 2019. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20190318.
The poem “The Uniform” is about the appearances kept for the world.
poetryaccident Jun 2019
I'll take the uniform from the shelf
an image for the common crowd
one of many in the ranks
keeping step with the contracts
the same raiment is procured
from the closet in which I dwell

still the fit will suffice
if my true role is falsified
stating purpose with due resolve
with apparel on the frame
a disguise that few see through
when the pretense is pursued

this masquerade is portrayed
the desired set for the eye
spun from threads of fairy wings
just as real as mythic dreams
to lull the masses with the lie
keeping peace in rank and file.

© 2019. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20190318.
The poem “The Uniform” is about the appearances kept for the world.
poetryaccident Feb 2018
I could describe the walls
condemning the one kept within
from these bars a world's revealed
both the beautiful and the ill
contrasting what could be done
edifice built by the years
as jail in which I rot
or tomb of the deceased

this barrier stops life's joy
happiness seen from afar
echoes of my past life
now the bane of misery
this happiness found outside me
example of normality
flickering on the stone wall
projection of what should be

the most cruel jest is this
a fallen state is lived by men
corruption of what God gave
is seen in all its shame
more abundant from my view
all the sinners come to play
exclaiming loudly as they go
with agendas spawned in Hell

against this backdrop stand my feats
cast to winds blowing hot
dust to dust is the end
promised by the Holy Book
the glory given is not heard
when the sight is obscured
by stack of bones of the past
giants gone and now condemned

escape is found in despair
for all the reasons I've stated here
each alone would be enough
now combined to ***** a life
there is one way to ease the pain
a rain of tears will soon follow
the wall then viewed as Satan's joy
a last reminder of illness cursed.

© 2018. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20180227.
The bane of depression is threefold.  It mutes life’s joys, accentuates the negative aspects of life, and belittles accomplishments.  “The Walls” is a poem about this phenomenon.
poetryaccident Nov 2018
The week has passed without respite
the hole made large by encounter’s lack
until at last the moment came
to once again step away
this rendezvous outside the lines
drawn on the map to console
uncaring souls who would condemn
congregating to dance anew

to these ends the time has comes
assignation to soothe the hearts
loneliness swept aside
as two gather to strut as one
a glance confirms the mutual
dual intents matched to meet a lack
no longer will the craving burn
when it’s fed for a song

the crowd of hundreds melts away
no longer present in the room
pushed by passion of the dalliance
to the realms beyond desire
stepping between the here and there
a tryst completed without remorse
what’s now sated will find repose
until the same time comes again.

© 2018. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20181107.
The poem “The Week” was prompted by the request to write a poem about a rendezvous, meeting, tryst, encounter, or hideout.   The secret midnight assignation is made public by the poet’s hand.  I turned to the world of social dancing to document such an encounter.
poetryaccident Mar 2020
Please identify the whole ones
constructed of the sterner stuff
embodying allegiance with the truth
and sanity also to boot
these special souls could run the show
stand watch while the inmates shout
provide the guidance many need
lock up the ones that are enemies

perhaps you identify as these paragons
these seraph of legend's lore
step up to heed the call
lead the masses with your song
the notes carry abundant hope
fully rooted in fertile soil
until the chords become distraught
by the poisons that fill the heart

an alchemy of hatred based
on the differences between flocks
this consumes the righteous soul
now unable to find resolve
between the madness of the crowd
and the noise of inner doubts
what was plainly sourced from above
now descends to the lower world

now we're tied to the left hand
source of the ills they meant to fix
pretending to speak for the right
while contributing to the plight
perhaps there are no whole ones
unless they live on mountain sides
far from the stain of humanity
this struggle of calamity.
The poem “The Whole Ones” is about dangers of seeking to be masters of righteousness and purity.  These exist only in a vacuum.  In time, exposure to the world corrupts all.
poetryaccident Jun 2019
Consider lovers
the wicked and divine
reflections of the flesh
shown without reserve
heights attain in pure joy
sinners before the fall
until another comes
their place now assured

emotions spun to remove
concealment the heart
disregard the normative
diversion is the goal
endings sought for relief
before desire is resolved
in the end lovers fall
the wicked and divine.

© 2019. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20190607.
The poem “The Wicked and Divine” was inspired by the lyrical line, “You trick your lovers / That you're wicked and divine” from the song “Undisclosed Desires” by Muse.
poetryaccident Jun 2019
Consider lovers
the wicked and divine
reflections of the flesh
shown without reserve
heights attain in pure joy
sinners before the fall
until another comes
their place now assured

emotions spun to remove
concealment the heart
disregard the normative
diversion is the goal
endings sought for relief
before desire is resolved
in the end lovers fall
the wicked and divine.

© 2019. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20190607.
The poem “The Wicked and Divine” was inspired by the lyrical line, “You trick your lovers / That you're wicked and divine” from the song “Undisclosed Desires” by Muse.
poetryaccident Feb 2019
Turn the words to
state the mind
mold them to
explain the heart
without regard
for eloquence
except to state
the obvious

don't hide the light
from the world
the bushel basket
will not complain
when it shares
the truest parts
a soul brave enough
to expose itself.

© 2019. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20190207.
The poem “Turn the Words” is about the forwardness of the writer.
poetryaccident Feb 2019
They called me **** in response
to the choices made for my self
in the garments I choose to wear
or perhaps not, if I dared
makeup put onto the face
tattoos plastered on the skin
these reflect the innerscape
felt within without regret

***** is heard when I react
to the partners that fill my needs
across the realm of bodies grasped
spectrums searched for the balm
the hunger calls from within
with proximity as a response
accountability is close behind
still the critics will decry

sinner is the sum basket
an old dig that burns the most
lumping all that came before
into damning of the soul
what came before was trivial
pettiness below the fold
when eternity is held above
the heads of those outside the tribe

I'll reject this as the last lie
with the poison it supplies
when what's at stake is nothing more
than egos trying to destroy
the true measure denies their claims
puts to rest the crying game
because the tears are best spent
on what’s important before the grave.

2019. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20190220.
The poem “They Called Me ****” was inspired by a comment of a friend.  It is one of two poems I intend to write on the subject.  This one examines the focus of attacks.
poetryaccident Sep 2018
The person says they don't believe
when the view is alien
without the proof to testify
to a bent their mind denies
the sure bet is clearly laid
an accident of consequence
if not in name, than by intent
without a reference to mend the rift

the definitions do not match
stating lies across the gulf
stating nonsense at the start
without an inch to walk the mile
to degrade the other side
empowers egos to deny
some small measure that combines
one to the other against the tide

when black and white become a gray
disagreement is soon displayed
battle lines are drawn in words
exempting knowledge as a tool
weaponized at all costs
the only path to winning all
even as a mortal soul
is destroyed by the resolve

disregard is the proclaim
abominations are disgraced
put aside as broken tools
for explanations that confuse
no proof is possible to explain
wickedness beyond the pale
of understanding in the mind
closed to spanning the divide.

© 2018. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20180831.
The poem "They Don't Believe" was inspired by a person's statement that one of the LGBQTIA identities was not real because it couldn't be tested.  This hit me hard.  Intellectually I understand that they may have been coming from a "scientific" perspective. There was no malice implied in their inability to relate to the specific letter of the acronym.  This, however, rang hollow as the other letters don't require the same level of rigorous proofing. Legitimately being bisexual does not require signed affidavits, peer-reviewed studies, doctor's findings, and video evidence.  With that said, some aspects of the alphabet soup are easier for the larger public to understand than others.
poetryaccident Mar 2019
I maintained that they had passed
by the virtue of time elapsed
with no reason tasked to explain
why the deceased was no more
six feet down or cast to winds
each is the same in the end
no longer present when I’m asked
where the bodies may reside

the angels cry in response
still my eyes are desert suns
never showing the slightest tear
when one expects from my loss
this is the word mourners use
instead I welcome truancy
twin orbs burn without remorse
for the sadness the void may bring

if only the photos would comply
with the need to be blind
to existence beyond this space
of the ones I state are gone
the departed are no more
passed away without regard
without admittance in my heart
of their love I’ve put aside.

© 2019. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20190323
The poem “They Had Passed” is a sad affair about the forced removal of people from life.
poetryaccident Oct 2018
Perhaps they linger to resolve
the pain received while alive
wishing vengeance the mortal shirk
by equal measure plus much more
perfection sought where there was none
sorrow begs for Devil’s course

holy orders have no defense
when revenants ask for their due
demand revenge in return
no dis-allowance of their rage
retaliation behooves revenge
as the living join their ranks

now the few are the ******
huddled in the fading light
knowing fate will be a curse
escaping peace of the grave
the invitation is a gift
walking dead will persist

don’t despair if you’re the last
the pound of flesh will be withdrawn
before the coming of the dawn
the once-reviled become the norm
long enduring are deceased
this land without a living soul.

© 2018. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20181020.
The poem “They Linger” was written for the prompt, “give me scary and creepyminimum.”  The end result is about the zombie apocalypse.
poetryaccident Mar 2019
This is the youngest I’ll ever be
going forward in this day
with gifts that I’ve received
along with all the miseries

unframed years beckon on
without a promise of the count
marked against where I am
in the spotlight of the now

there is no turning back
except to forgive and then forget
put aside the chains of angst
to move forward without regret

time is a measure without regard
beyond the present winding down
at this mark of youth’s demise
pushing forward to my desires.

© 2019. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20190316.
The poem “The Youngest” was prompted by a 1970 picture of Michael Caine.   I would have been five at the time.  He was in this prime as a maturing actor.  This melded with my reinventing myself at a point that is far from my prime.  Still, the present day is the best time to begin, as it is the only day you can truly begin.
poetryaccident Nov 2017
Things left unsaid fill the space
with accompaniment by a soundtrack
chords too heavy to be expressed
demented notes best not plucked

never echoes in my head
longest ever with no refrain
known to exist in the void
where the source will be found

by lack of will or faint of heart
silence is my last resort
alternative to calm's consort
raving screams to rent the air

these are implied if you look
to the verse that's come before
tappings on the frigid walls
lost to time in sunlight's fall

this dearth of sound does not mean
my mind is empty of all thought
quite the opposite would be found
if all my groans could be heard

instead look to the furtive eyes
darting round to find escape
hoping you'll drop your guard
allow escape to the beyond

whimpers press hard to this page
this allowed lest I betray
sanity slipped from its leash
replaced by lunacy in its place

bound to a collar with aching chains
trapping who I really am
within this awful tomb of flesh
with only madness to be played.

© 2017. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20171102.
Darkness does have a place in creation. There is a tremendous power stored in the shadow. In the early 2000s I was told that I should be writing. At that time I struggled mightily with dark thoughts. I told myself, "I cannot write of what I know. Who wants to hear about madness?". Now I do write. My own shadow is still there. Now the darkness informs my writing, adding wisdom and insight. There are artists who's works are simultaneously very dark, even as they peers into the depths of the human experience. Sometimes it is difficult to look, read or listen to these creations. This is OK. The artist is creating for themselves and for those who are capable of sharing the vision. Deep down, the darkest of works are created with the mantra of "somebody will see this, somebody will recognize this". The shadow is crucial part of creation. Without the darkness, there cannot be light.

"In the beginning God created heaven and earth." So says Genesis 1:1. I say that God is still creating the heaven and the earth. We stare into the same void. We maintain our sanity and soul by seeing the void as a place of potential. What are we to do on this earth? What is our purpose? Merely create the best you can. On the sixth day, you too will say, "behold, it was very good".

The title of the poem “Things Left Unsaid” was inspired by the Pink Floyd album “Things Left Unsaid”.
poetryaccident Oct 2018
Things left unsaid fill the space
with accompaniment by a soundtrack
chords too heavy to be expressed
demented notes best not plucked

never echoes in my head
longest ever with no refrain
known to exist in the void
where the source will be found

by lack of will or faint of heart
silence is my last resort
alternative to calm's consort
raving screams to rent the air

these are implied if you look
to the verse that's come before
tappings on the frigid walls
lost to time in sunlight's fall

this dearth of sound does not mean
my mind is empty of all thought
quite the opposite would be found
if all my groans could be heard

instead look to the furtive eyes
darting round to find escape
hoping you'll drop your guard
allow escape to the beyond

whimpers press hard to this page
this allowed lest I betray
sanity slipped from its leash
replaced by lunacy in its place

bound to a collar with aching chains
trapping who I really am
within this awful tomb of flesh
with only madness to be played.

© 2017. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20171102.
Darkness does have a place in creation. There is a tremendous power stored in the shadow. In the early 2000s I was told that I should be writing. At that time I struggled mightily with dark thoughts. I told myself, "I cannot write of what I know. Who wants to hear about madness?". Now I do write. My own shadow is still there. Now the darkness informs my writing, adding wisdom and insight. There are artists who's works are simultaneously very dark, even as they peers into the depths of the human experience. Sometimes it is difficult to look, read or listen to these creations. This is OK. The artist is creating for themselves and for those who are capable of sharing the vision. Deep down, the darkest of works are created with the mantra of "somebody will see this, somebody will recognize this". The shadow is crucial part of creation. Without the darkness, there cannot be light.

"In the beginning God created heaven and earth." So says Genesis 1:1. I say that God is still creating the heaven and the earth. We stare into the same void. We maintain our sanity and soul by seeing the void as a place of potential. What are we to do on this earth? What is our purpose? Merely create the best you can. On the sixth day, you too will say, "behold, it was very good".

The poem “Things Left Unsaid” was inspired by the title of the Pink Floyd album “Things Left Unsaid”.
poetryaccident Sep 2018
The question springs to mind
is today the time to take my life?
look to the certain, it will arrive
the tick-tocks drifts on by

this surety comes with dread
that outcome none should indulge
even if this fated path
is the one that’s close to mind

anger feeds the fixed focus
co-conspirator with stalking fear
with no escape but to flee
into routes that are one-way

that plan kept in close reserve
safety chute with crossbones doors
don’t let the icon spoil the mood
the smile is there to reassure

no flowers last from kind delights
another waits to sprout instead
that poison seed in dank earth
blooming where the other fails

caring is the saddest jest
illusion smiling without hope
the curtain hiding nothing more
than the ugliness of mankind

the certitude is always there
remedy near at hand
if only life could be pursued
with the promise death ensures.

© 2018. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20180910.
The poem “This Surety” is about the pain of ideation.
poetryaccident Sep 2019
Replacement is a mark of worth
gauged by those who hear the voice
of a world that seems to care
for dollar’s sake and dogma’s bane

one dictates a bottom line
measured by where profits lie
with the spreadsheet all shall know
who shall come and who shall go

the other measures in degrees
already stated by piety
with no room to deviate
from the bane of belief’s state

one or the other will decide
what’s of value and what’s denied
leaving those of failed worth
to wonder why the world has turned.

© 2019. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20190908.
The poem “Those of Failed Worth” is about the measures of worth based on efforts outside the mainstream.
poetryaccident Dec 2019
Roles are played to ease the pain
of actors and supporting cast
each with a role on the stage
wondering if it’s meant to last

just one scene and then the next
days extend beyond hindsight
wisdom lost where comfort dwells
decisions made to avoid a fight

the most close extend control
in the form of life deplored
seeking only to keep the hearts
enclosed in cages safe from harm

ascend to state the obvious
soliloquies cast to the crowd
this cast of thousands trapped within
those roles played to ease the pain.

© 2019. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20191203.
The poem “Those Roles” was inspired by a Tumblr posting that included the lines, “She was asked why she wouldn’t let him in…  the people closest to you, they expect you to star in that role for the rest of your life. ”
poetryaccident Sep 2018
Those three words still left mute
in the face of other truths
that sentiment now replaced
by the breadth of other ways
consider patience in three steps
each important in itself
leading love to be found
in the links between all

first the instance of the blush
put to cheeks in response
to the warmth springing forth
that promise made on a whim
echoing fondness in heart
for another equally blessed
mirrored in color’s bloom
rose to mark the rising sun

followed by the seeking grasp
tentative in caution’s stead
contact fragile as the snow
hands desiring ardour’s prize
mutually seeking more than less
that promise made in face of fear
when the fire must be seized
before chapter changes page

the final phrases are obscured
by a lingering that transcends
time shared that’s routine
walking paths to share space
then three words are disclosed
no longer held on the tongue
when the way has been cleared
for ‘I love you’ to be exclaimed.

© 2018. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20180921.
The poem “Those Three Words” was inspired by a series of memes featuring Peter and Lara Jean.  The topic of the memes was, “saying ‘I love you’ without actually saying it”.  I believe these sentiments exist beyond the realm of romantic love.
poetryaccident Aug 2017
Many live in their own way
mocking those who cannot
assume a mantle most embrace
this is my struggle every day
feeling normal in my skin
waking at the sunrise time
without putting on masks
chosen from the wall with care

play pretend like a child
with the stakes all too high
when the others could find out
they would then end my life
the garments I’d like to wear
draw the looks of despair
judgment cast upon the one
with desire to fully live

tuck or bind is requisite
to match the image in my head
asking for the extra measure
other folks take for granted
health is pushed to compensate
for the measures I must take
holding in what others don’t
because there’s no room I can go

remedies for the castaway
without tribe that understands
island seeking identity
another child of God’s pure light
these are my cross I must bear
on my body, not on the wall
this is the difference between two groups
those who struggle and those who curse.

© 2017. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20170819.
“Those Who Struggle” is about the ******* experience.   Gender identity, separate from ****** preference or romantic preference, is pursued for the integrity of an individual.   The struggle is real, often invisible, and very urgent for wholeness attained.
poetryaccident Apr 2019
A thousand lies
and sometimes more
are seen as fact
when monsters stalk
refusing truth
obscured from sight

as myth embraced
in past times
only harm is possible
as self-care is dismissed
fallen angels stand above
asking nothing less

whispered shadows
the voice is mine
if only echoes
did not respond
bouncing round
now only screams
may be heard
destroying dreams.

© 2019. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20190402.
The poem “Thousand Lies” was inspired by the untruths I tell myself on a daily basis.
poetryaccident Dec 2019
Threads connect beyond the shade
the domain where memories fade
lost as a price for the chance
to bind what will forever last

one lifetime is not enough
to explore the high and low
when the bonds justify
exchange of wrong and right

to find the linkage to explain
somewhere past the present day
look to the Moirai that allot
the varied spans from birth to death

from the spindle to the slash
friends and enemies have a place
the end result is a tapestry
the weave of destiny still unseen.

© 2019. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20191227.
The poem "Threads"  was inspired by thoughts about the connections between people.
poetryaccident May 2018
Three by three becomes my world
the precipice to the beyond
has a step to stop pain
another square that calls my name

always there within my sight
siren to wounded soul
with the taunt of cold relief
in two tons moving past

this narrow place of sanity
sorrow reigns in spaces left
cognizance is betrayed
by the tears then exclaimed

all the spectrums become one
celebration has been squashed
by the fool that stands outside
on the last stop I'd like to take

a single step off from the nine
the ending place for my world
with no turning back against the push
three by three I should have stayed.

© 2018. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20180509.
The poem “Three By There” is about a section of concrete.
poetryaccident Aug 2017
In waking life I have a dream
of three slugs put to skull
this is a fantasy I'll admit
because only one would do the trick

in my dreams I find escape
calm is found with visitors
transients blurred by shifting scenes
seeming normal in nightly realms

then I wake from torpid bliss
find myself within the chains
ternary dreads await the soul
that drifts among the lucky ones

the sleeping hours ignore this theme
the trilogies are heavenly
with no taint of deepest angst
asking balm by three times fired.

© 2017. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20170731.
“Three Slugs” is a very dark poem contrasting the struggle of waking life with that of calming sleep.
poetryaccident Oct 2017
There are three words that form the gap
four syllables that separate
one from another in this life
forbidding aid when doom calls

the first states the self exclaimed
outside myself, part of my life
raising stakes because they care
or they should in other times

the second is the harshest slap
not because it’s from malice
instead a statement of denial
ability to commit to a cause

a third is the most ******
it closes doors to moving forward
a denial of truth’s touch
with ignorance as the cause

now we’ve reached the summation
put together to mark the guilty
velvet glove tossed to earth
I’ve no response to challenge ******

here’s the chant I’ve alluded
“I don’t understand” kills discourse
breach of trust when voids threaten
comprehending is the blockage.

© 2017. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20171009.
“Three Words” is about a roadblock to communication that occurs when a person wants to talk about a topic.   The topic is avoided because in the past the other party has stated not understanding about the condition that the communication would be about.  Why?  The communication is about a topic that isn’t open to debate or the originator “changing their mind”.  It is more about sharing, and perhaps, a request for support.   This is stopped when already a person has heard the words, “I don’t understand”.   The most cruel aspect of this is that the inability to communicate can lead to other events, these guaranteeing the very sad statement, “I don’t understand”.
poetryaccident Aug 2019
Blessed are curses as a path
to the riches in aftermath
before the bell tones at last
denying more while giving less

embraced by fools counting sins
there aren’t enough to contend
when the darkness felt within
consumes fair judgment for all men

the only saints that remain
are disguised in full regret
for the beasts that contrive
to enslave their lesser kind

animals that only know
troubles delivered by the gods
damnation sourced in mercy’s place
blessings lost on tilted scales.

© 2019. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20190820.
The poem “Tilted Scales” was inspired by a series of Tumblr postings, culminating in a work about outcomes of power.
poetryaccident Jun 2018
The lever stretched into realms
beyond the timid mortal coil
asking due for traveled steps
without umbrella in shelter’s place

karma twists against the chains
now released by my acts
still I wonder if I’m pure
standing lone outside the storm

this is the story I declare
while decrying what will be
once the threads of been drawn
checked against the ruler’s edge

ignorance no longer serves
the conscience left to survive
against the knot that’s realized
to serve as net or hangman’s noose

my actions stated what would come
even if I’m just a breeze
all too small in moment’s time
a hurricane may manifest

clouds descend to drop their load
prompting tilt up or down
be that climbing heaven’s steps
or descending down to hell.

© 2018. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20180601.
I watched a YouTube video that featured Jordan Peterson and two other commentators.   The discussion was ostensibly about free speech.  Jordan couldn’t resist talking about morality and its outcomes.  His comments about morality inspired me to write “Tilt Up or Down”.
poetryaccident Jan 2019
The time for punishment has arrived
line up the guilty for their trial
where the judgment is assumed
none shall refuse the stated sins
their lot is cast by consequence
all shall abide by the decree
the penalty shall match the crime
begin the grouping of the contrite

put the partisans in their groups
one on each side away from foes
with the worst in the front
holding weapons that drew blood
these hooligans will lead the pack
declaring statements all must condone
the brush is tarred to organize
one from another in their tribes

now put the shameful in their place
then state ‘mercy will be denied’
when the cries are exclaimed
to the gods now deaf by shame
the blood will flow in cleansing streams
evoking strength in witnesses
all shall declare that justice asked
for the censure of faithless ones

a final twist is now exposed
the sentence ****** just one trait
neutrality from the warring bands
no side selected among the crowds
this disinterest was their end
when only followers are held right
the unbiased are dubious
not holding creed with dogma's blight

once the lukewarm has been spat
from the mouth of pious folk
the hot and cold may battle on
with the assurance of sacred scripts
none will cry in the end
while the pundits lead their charge
all doubt is vanquished with the fall
of those who doubt conviction's charm.

© 2019. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20190130.
The poem “Time For Punishment” is a wry look at who is ultimately punished for the ongoing “culture wars”.
poetryaccident Jan 2019
Times change and I miss your face
now fixed in my memory
a dream conspiring with the wheel
to turn around and taunt again

events conspire to separate
one from another without reprieve
with no rhyme on who should leave
or stay behind to mark the days

all may grieve in their way
even as necessity
demands this price for some to grow
in distant lands beyond the fold

no evil entity is to blame
instead the cause is so mundane
the ebb and flow of lives
just enough to get by

shifting winds blow the leaves
to the west and to the east
times change and still I miss
your face lodged in memory.

© 2019. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20190123.
The poem “Times Change” is a short poetic attempt to describe that life may separate people, for reasons that cannot be condemned, and there will still be an element of loss.
poetryaccident Jul 2017
I was not born this way
so say the judges who critique
the ways of right and wrong alike
not knowing why I am myself

perhaps they’re right in their speech
with all these masks I present
reckoning substance from intent
when shall I strive to show myself?

this path has timing I’ll present
to make straight the twisted ways
unwind the riddle that I present
by living here in your midst

far too early would be brash
not understand by the rest
when the paint is still fresh
comes the leader with none to follow

the muse asks the out reach
to be the moment it was meant
insight given to consider
mediating what must come

we were born to find our way
asked to drop the masks still worn
I’ll do my part with timing’s cure
evoking insight to those still lost.

© 2017. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20170716.
People act as examples to each others.  These examples can give assurances that others are not unique.  Perceived shortcomings are in fact part of a larger plan.
poetryaccident Nov 2019
If I could know the title given
to the life that would follow
forewarned by script’s hand
this prophecy yet to pass

chapters made of shifting pages
some pristine and others tattered
with many more yet to turn
if the fates feel it’s deserved

precepted by a declaration
only gods know the heading
stating future’s hidden winding
perfect in the rearview mirror

still a warning would be nice
six foot tall against the sky
this dream will fail in the future
portents lost in lettered scribbles.

© 2019. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20191114.
The poem “Title Given” is a consideration of what a life would be titled and how useful this would be to know beforehand.
poetryaccident Dec 2019
Silence amidst cacophony
those pauses from disharmony
introduce realms beyond the blare
an invitation to those who dare

beauty without soliloquy
the statement made in bless harmony
with a world none shall explain
when the essence is made plain

the smallest of all things
and the largest of consequence
stand outside the dialogue
of words bent to account

look to the heavens filled with stars
or the splendor of a cat’s paw
these breaks from a troubled world
each only asks to be observed.

© 2019. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20191228.
The poem “To Be Observed” was inspired a meme that featured a night sky, filled with stars, and the caption “admidst silence”.
poetryaccident Apr 2018
First proclaimed in the year
Madonna reached half century
another day to celebrate
what’s made evident to be blessed
26th of April’s breadth
visibility on the breeze
what was covert is now made plain
a healthy wind that still blows

It’s the day to be seen
out of closets into day
for the fair that love the same
walking tall without shame
by the singles or the pairs
it’s still pure no matter what
beauty found and then proclaimed
fealty to life’s desire.

Relationships bloom from love’s loam
too long buried in plain sight
what was hid is now
bearing fruit for future’s gain
what’s once kindled none should forsake
no longer should the door be closed
celebrating the joy of self
shared with others in love’s embrace.

© 2018. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20180426.
Visibility is a struggle for all people in the LGBQTIA+ community.  There are days dedicated to all those who identify with one or more of the letters.  Lesbian Visibility Day is celebrated April 26.    The day showcases women-loving-women, providing a platform for lesbian role models to speak out on the issues facing female ****** minorities.   The origins of the day remain mysterious, but is has been running since 2008. Having initially started in the US, Lesbian Visibility Day – thanks to the wonders of the worldwide web – is now celebrated internationally.
poetryaccident Mar 2018
I'll invoke the rule of threes
first the beginning and then the end
connected by the spirit’s breath
speaking words birthed from truth

reflections found in fairy tales
once upon to journey’s course
shamrocks whisper what could be
in the fields now forgotten

these triangles spoke of power
too much fortune is a curse
certain lack begets great wealth
to be lost when once it’s found

by the fall the crone remembers
who they were before the mother
innocence in distant past
a maiden asks to live again

rebirth is found in ritual’s breadth
what was born must coexist
with the life that leads to death
spirit passing to dwell again

© 2018. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20180301.
A Tumblr blog asked readers to post lists of three.  This inspired me to write the poem “To Dwell Again”.
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