Wild at Magnetic North

author’s note:

I’ve found friendship to be a house of mirrors.


MOUNTAIN WAVE

Your rising wave is a mountain
you keep building.

At birth, you found
your first giggle in the splash fount
buoying you up to the sun

so you didn’t know
that the silent urge
of the undertow
bided its time

--when you crested
you actually felt safe
at such a height

--peaceful in a suspended moment--

until you looked up to find
the compass spinning--
wild at magnetic north

then as you began the inevitable slide
you realized you were riding
something that wouldn’t listen
to plea bargaining.

And that was only the beginning--
it’s been up and down ever since.

Who would ever guess
you have such a wave
inside you?

You still look like a baby
and all your jumbled mumbles
mostly muffle the hiss and crashing,
the thrashing
of the jagged wave tail.

I once knew a cat that
had been teased to distraction
as a kitten.

I could only pet that cat
for a minute or two
before it would snap.

Temperamental, yes,
but tough.

You, on the other hand,
barely cover that hole
with your arm

so someone can distract you
then reach right in
and take something out
without much effort or even thought.

But such lack of defense
can lead to strength.

I feel privileged to know you.

As for that poor thief...

he will never realize
he’s missed your wave rising.

© 2009, Michael R. Patton
earnest audio
new steps

Free Will

author’s note:

I wanted to honor this day, our Independence Day, by re-posting this poem.

I first wrote the poem two years ago.  I am still working toward my freedom.


DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE

I have not yet
abolished terror, but
I plan to accomplish that goal
within this life span.

Don’t tell me I can’t--tell me
many things--that I can’t be
a gourmet chef or a mathematician--
that I can’t master the two-step--
that I can accept

but don’t tell me
I won’t conquer
terror--because

I refuse, refuse
to be terrorized--
by anyone

including myself

including those
who I fault because
they too closely resemble
my mirror.

I will awake--
awake
to the vermin
in my stew,
awake
to the fractures
in my math--

awake to all that is broken--
awake to see how all is round
and can never be broken.

So if you try
to terrorize me
you will only
terrorize yourself.

If you bombard me
I will dance.  That dance
will be my revenge.

But I choose
not
to criticize you.

Any fear I stew
will be reserved
for my own
dining pleasure.

© 2009, Michael R. Patton
new steps

Point of No Return

author’s note:

“This hour I tell things in confidence,
  I might not tell everybody but I will tell you.”
                --  Walt Whitman


POINT

The tree dares me
at the same time
that it inspires me

to climb--coaxing me up--
assuring me of the safety
of its arms.  Seeming to speak
of a home hidden
within its umbrella.

A point of sunlight
through the leaves
encourages me
as I grapple my way
from limb to limb
--my clouded desire
   ever more urgent
   as my fear ascends.

But all the while
--silently, secretly--
the tree continues to grow:
its movement as deceptive
as the slow hand
of a clock

but then...

the top leaves lift their hands
to join with the hands of a cloud

and the branches become a bell
rung by the wind

--the sound: a flock
spreading in all directions--
         singing of the splash sweetness
         of birth release--

but with the undertow of a moan so low
one can only feel this sound
inside the belly.  The moan so low

the earth shifts
in its depths.  Something in the earth
expands, pushes--pulls--
its way upward.  A fire energy
coming for me--yes--the earth always
wants us back.

But though I realize
the earth fire will meet
the white sky at the focal point
of this climber,
I can’t stop,
I can’t go back,
I can’t

imagine what will happen
when the two collide
within me

...however...
I do believe I now know
why I was fool enough
to sink my fingertips into
this bark
and work and strain
when there seemed to be
little real advantage
in such effort:

I have no point
unless I test myself
by trusting
an invisible net
that offers
an overwhelming
--terrifying--
promise of security.

© 2009, Michael R. Patton
earnest audio
new steps

Sown

author’s note:

I did not realize last week was National Pollinator Week until too late.


WONDER

Went out in the sun today--the rays
like strings
drew me up
over the water.  I am a bucket, I am a well.
I coalesce for a moment
of wonder.

Then I disappear.

But even without me
the trees will still rustle green,
naiads will still flow
          around the stones
of the stream

--ores will still pulse
within the mountain temple.

Somewhere another child
will play with a ring...and swing
a cup up
to the clouds.

Maybe that child will breathe
some of the same air
that once brought a cry from my lungs--
            then as the child lifts its voice
            again a windstorm
            will carry that cry
            aloft

--dispersed, sown
    over the world--

same new song.

© 2009, Michael R. Patton
earnest audio
new steps