Wednesday, February 04, 2009


author’s note:

I’m learning--albeit, slowly--to listen.  But I still have a hard time believing what I hear.


What if you had
another head
inside your head--
     a better head
     but hidden.

A head that would call
to you...though hard to hear
with your big head talking
all the time, unaware
of that muted voice
trying to get you
to listen.

Unless--as can sometimes happen--
one day you tilt, tumble, hang upside

then the lid on your big head
flops open

and what comes out
in that shocking moment
is an opera

sung by ravens and lions.


by startled reflex
you shove that lid back down
with a firm hand:
ravens and lions are scary, but
even scarier when
they sing


you’ll keep the lid securely in place...

as can sometimes happen...

one day, while I’m distracted
by the mountain clouds,
waiting for the sun to touch
the highest peak...

that lid on my big head
--quietly, secretly--
floats up

floats away.

And this time
as the ravens and lions
raise their choir,
I accept the music

because the singing feels
just like something
that’s supposed to happen
whenever I witness abundance.

During such moments
of unlidness
I feel as if
I am beginning to be
the way I was always
meant to be.

© 2009, Michael R. Patton
new steps

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Blogger Goldenrod said...

"unlidness" -- rrvit! Open like a child is open. Scary stuff, sometimes, because it's so real, altho I did chuckle a time or two while reading this poem, as well. Just read it again, and I got just a huge smile on my face as I realized that you were describing "joy". Simply and well put, Michael!

5:43 PM  

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