The Wonderful Cipher

author’s note:

Continuing a theme.


THE WONDERFUL CIPHER

When he saw her at the dance party
my friend nudged me in the ribs
and said with a laugh
Would you look at her!

So I turned my eyes
to the woman across the room:

Obviously anxious.  Shy.  Vulnerable, she was.
Perhaps embarrassed
by how her ears stuck out from her hair
or how
those two front teeth stuck out from her mouth.

But I choose to believe
all humans hold the magic of nightfall
(though we often hide the mystery well)
so I studied her until
I again felt the reality of that belief:

She’s a wonderful cipher
I then told my friend.

When he realized I was serious
he focused his beams
and after he saw what I had seen
he swallowed a deep breath
and strolled over to her—

moving carefully—
the way one approaches a deer
or a space alien.

I say:
the power and blessing of this belief
comes from how it asks us
to open our eyes
and see for ourselves.

mythsteps · the wonderful cipher

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The Silhouette

author’s note:

Who among us is not mysterious?


THE SILHOUETTE

At the new year’s party
the host dimmed the lights
just before midnight
so when my friend turned
he saw only a silhouette
at the other end of the hallway—

a shadow stepping his way.

Then when the lights came back on
he found a plain open face
peering into his plain open face.

That face soon became part of his days.
A good face
because it belongs to a good woman.

But when seen every day
the good can begin to seem ordinary.

So in time my friend lost sight
of what he first saw
when he first saw her that night.

But fortunately for both of them
he soon woke up again—
brought back, I believe
by the god that steers from within:

While mowing the lawn
late one afternoon
that good man turned without thinking
and found her shadow
standing at the window.

In that instant
he remembered that midnight silhouette
and his eyes opened again.

I’m happy to report
he has not forgotten the truth since then.

mythsteps · The Silhouette

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© 2025, Michael R. Patton

A Shout

author’s note:

Yes, I shout.  But I don’t scream.  Screaming…that’s much more serious.


A SHOUT

For many years
I held the shout down in my heart

until I finally realized the obvious:
if I didn’t release it
the fire of that feeling might destroy me.

Yes, I could have shouted with a crowd
inside an arena or in a big stadium.
But my shout felt very personal.
The feeling belonged solely to me.

I tried to write it out
but words could not express
the gnarl of feeling I felt.

So I went deep into the woods
and in the shadows I shouted.
No words, just sound.
I shouted my hot noise out.

Shouted until my throat felt scorched.
Shouted until exhausted.
Then lay down in the leaves.
At rest.
Quite cool inside I was.

Until I returned
to the human world.

Having heard my shout aloud
I could now hear its echo
in the fevered shouts of others.
All over this planet.

Our gnarl of disturbance
had disturbed me before
but now it disturbed me much more.
And so I fell from my perch—
I lost my equanimity
and again felt the fire of frustration
rise in my heart.
And again felt the need to shout.

But that complicated feeling
of desire and confusion and hurt
was no longer so personal.
So I wrote a poem to the whole human race—
again I tried to express the inexpressible
and again I failed
but accepted my failure now
because this way I could at least convey
some sense of that feeling
and maybe people would realize
they sorta felt the same way.
So my imperfect verses would also be their shout.

Yes—I would shout those words to the world.

Maybe the world wouldn’t listen
but no matter:
I needed to get that shout out of my heart.

Years later
and I’m still shouting—
sometimes when I start I won’t stop
until my fire burns out.
That way I can rest for a moment in the ashes.

As long as I can get that brief reprieve
occasionally
I’ll gladly do what I must do
to live as a human being on this planet.

mythsteps · A Shout

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The Crystal Goddess

author’s note:

Another flawed vessel.


THE CRYSTAL GODDESS

I wanted to create a crystal goddess.
I would

transform a glob of molten glass
into a vessel so glorious
a mere glance would cast a spell
over the innocent pilgrim
and awaken deep aspirational desires
in their psyche.

Then maybe they would again sense
the divine flame
held within their meat and bones.

But my labor
though intense and loving
produced instead
the abomination of a blob body
with a knob for a head
and little round pegs
for breasts and legs.

Those tiny air bubbles
permanently trapped
in the bloated belly
reminded me of gas.

No goddess would have gas!

But though embarrassed
I could not discard my failure
because it had been born
from a wish to give more.

So I put the inflated figurine
on my backroom windowsill
for only me to see.

Then forgot about it
until the power outage in December.

As I sat in the dark
I thought I heard a mousetrap snap shut
so I fumbled my way to the back
by the light of a Christmas candle.

Then stopped still—

what I saw was so real
it seemed unreal:

the black oil of midnight
had filled the vessel of the crystal woman
and there, within her bosom
the reflection of my candle flame shone—
a suspended drop of liquid gold.

Enchanted I was—entranced

until the overhead bulb
abruptly brightened the room
a few minutes later

or maybe I’d stood there an hour.

Now, whenever my night becomes dim
I visit the goddess by candlelight
to remind myself of the divine flame
held within the crystal glass
of our meat and bones.

mythsteps · crystal goddess

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© 2025, Michael R. Patton