Sunday, January 13, 2008


author’s note:

“It’s important that the words in your poems be those you could speak to your friends.”
                           --  Robert Bly

If that is so, I either need to change my poems or start talking differently to my friends.


The dog barked outside
my window last night


my heart erupted
in a long railroad howl

--a howl I’d not heard in years--

that travelled clean down the valleys

then--inspired by the moon sky--

across oceanic mountains
across mountainous seas
through millions
of nautical stars--

to visit the open dreams
of children sleeping under
cracked lanterns.  Lanterns
leaking luminous whale oil
into the hungry black soil.

I could see again--for one night, anyway.

I could see how old tears join
with old rivers--rivers filled
with lost blood.  Our stone wheel
waits, weeps in the dark barn--

continues to wait

for our broken bodies--half-repaired--
to rise, to return to the mill, to return
to the old rivers.

© 2008, Michael R. Patton

searching for the new mythology

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Blogger Rob Kistner said...

Well written!

Writer’s Island… come visit.

1:34 AM  

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