Thursday, June 03, 2010


author’s note:

author’s note:

Ironically, as I re-work this poem, I’ve come to one of those infrequent physical lulls that slow me down just when I wish to go faster.

I must remember what Dr. Laurence Peter said: “Only a mediocre person is always at his best.”


I’ve learned about “ebb”--
the beach may resemble
a lost battlefield
but such a strip is fertile--

so much once hidden now uncovered.

I’ve accepted ebb,
but I still don’t know how
to accommodate fullness,
the fullness that comes
with the cavalry roar of a rushing surge,
with bells of rising hills of water--
          the burls, bustles, barrels
          of rolling pile waves pound--

breaking, smashing
in a whirl horse wild socking splash

only to end
with a drop curtain
sizzling down the sand--

the ocean taking a quick breath
before the next festive flash
reclaims even more land.

Yes, I can sense fullness
but acceptance is another matter--

still, I must, I must
open to absorb
this other half
so that it may join
with the half I already know--
I must, I must
make my half life whole.

To maintain any split injures the world.

No more east and west.
No more north and south.
No more other and other.
Not later--now.
and never ceasing to work
toward more later.

© 2010, Michael R. Patton

dream steps blog

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