I Will Howl

author’s note:

“Deep calleth unto deep.”
          --  Psalms 42:7


I WILL HOWL

The year began in a spring
and ended in the ocean

ended so as to begin again.

The year began when
a seal climbed from the bay
onto a wet black rock
and started to bark.

I could feel its swagbelly sound
echo in that deep place
--you know the place--so deep:
no matter how far back
you go
that place goes back
even farther.

Yet I kept going.

The most joyful work holds the pain of incompletion.

The year of which I speak
did not tear a calendar page.
That year was 360 days
of becoming something
only hinted at previously.

When imagining what might be
I can never imagine
how I will feel
    as what once was unreal
    becomes as commonplace
    as the relentless waves

    as what was once real
    becomes the occasional breeze
    that carries nostalgia.

Standing on the threshold shore,
I aid and abet
the theft of what
I once was.
At times,
aiding unknowingly.
At other times,
knowingly abetting.

I hope the memories will
explain themselves
when I’m atop the hill

the hill rising from the ocean.

But for tonight, I’ll have to make do
with howling at the moon.

Who knows--
maybe the slippery seal will answer
if I howl all the way to the ocean horizon,
to the clouds backlit by moon glow.

With each howl
I’ll remember how
the strings all broke
--one by one--
as they were plucked.

But now I’m solaced to know
they needed to snap
so that the negative end
and the positive end
could search for one another.

When all the strings
have mended, I will hold
an instrument made strong
through all the searching.

Yes, the break
--even when bonded--
will still be felt
but in feeling, I will celebrate--
I will dance,
I will play,
I will howl.


© 2009, Michael R. Patton
earnest audio
new steps

Generous Monster

author’s note:

“We have met the enemy and he is us.”
          --  from Pogo, by Walt Kelly


GENEROUS MONSTER

Be prepared:
the Friendly Monster
              can be
              as big as an empire,
              or the size
              of a piranha

--and if the Friendly Monster seems strong
that may be because
you feel so weak, so very weak.

So I say again: be prepared--

you may hear a knock
             on your door,
                       one day

and a thunder-rumble of a voice will declare,
“I will help you, I will!
 Please let me in!
 You must let me in!”

Actually, you do feel you need some help--
you’ve had trouble standing up
and lately
the situation has only worsened--

so at that crucial moment,
you think your prayers
may have been answered,
as you say,“Oh...okay.”

Thus, the monster goes about helping you
fend off invaders--real and imagined--then
fixes your pipes, stocks your store room,
impregnates your daughter, piles a load on
your horse, scalds your cat, siphons gas
from your rattle-trap car--

and once the monster has done all that
--and more--
you realize he now owns your house--
he’s the infection that tells you
“I have healed you.”

Thus, you feel even weaker--
so weak that you don’t think
before you squeak,
“Would you please leave?”

Though the monster
is a monster, the monster
has feelings--for itself--
and so, will begin to sob,
rubbing its iron fists into
those tiny reptilian eyes.

Then you’ll spend
all day apologizing.
Because you now know
the monster well enough
to realize
that once the tears have dried
its wrath will rain down.

Even if the Friendly Monster does go away...

it will go in a huff.
It’ll poke its fang teeth
through your roof, grab a rafter
in its jaws and crunch--shake
the entire house all the way down
to the foundation. The walls will
fissure like parched ground; the plumbing
will pop and spew poisons,
the electric outlets will shoot out
sawtooth fire--

as you tremble and plead--

when the monster stomps boards into splinters
with its spur feet, pounds plaster
into white dust--

until your shelter is reduced
to a pile of gutter rubble.

Then the Friendly Monster
will stalk off, nose in the air,
still acting hurt.

“But at least I got rid
 of that monster,” you sigh,
 looking for the bright side.

Until--

lo and behold!--

the next day,
the Friendly Monster
will oh-so-casually wander by
and,
smiling sweetly,
say,
“Okay, I will forgive you--

“–as long as you let me help.”

But now you feel so much stronger--
through some strange alchemy
that ordeal has actually made you
stronger--

which, I suppose,
is the true value
of all such monsters.

© 2009, Michael R. Patton
earnest audio
new steps

Water Project

author’s note:

In the movie, The Swimmer, starring Burt Lancaster, the main character attempts to return to his suburban home by swimming there--by going from one backyard pool to the next.

An interesting concept.  But I was disappointed when I finally caught the movie on DVD.  Though the swimmer did reach his intended destination, he was not healed by the experience.


WATER PROJECT

They never dipped me
in the water--I
dipped myself--
I did the job
only I could do--

through blind steps
I baptized myself
on many occasions.
For instance:
crossing the street
I sometimes
tripped into
a rain pothole.  Once,
all the way up
to my ears.

And as I stood there
with my eyes at water level
a violinist with the likeness of an angel
stopped and said, “I see you’re doing well.”

I caught the pun--well--but she gave me
more than heavenly word play:
from her I recognized the benefit
that arrives under the guise
of catastrophe.

All my work
had not
gone for naught.

After her high assessment
I felt especially special--
a diamond among ice cubes...

...until I looked around the room
and saw all those other people all
dripping wet...having baptized themselves
again and again...

...saw all our waters
on the floor, pooling together
--continually accumulating--
rising higher and higher
as we sit and play hearts and clubs
--few noticing the lifting tide
from our own baptismal waters...

...though maybe we can sense it
creeping up, can sense
its energy building in our bones--
or else when we sleep
we can hear its ocean roar
and feel how the whole town rolls
on a wave, guided by a current
that seems to be growing
out of control.

I will be baptized many times more.

But now when I find a pit
of brackish, cave water in my way,
I don’t try to avoid the inevitable--
I dive right in:
crocodile infested, home to sharks,
playground for piranhas--no matter.

I just hope the pit
has a spring
at the bottom--

but yes,
the pit always has a spring
when I’ve reached the end.

I prefer the sweet, clean artesian.  The splash prism.
Or else dark waters as calm as a frog pond.
I prefer your waters, to feel your waters
blanketed around me.
But I will swim where I need to swim.
To reach the depth I need to reach.
To be purified in the wash that erodes
old skin--

whatever river
will carry me
to the bridge.

© 2009, Michael R. Patton
earnest audio
new steps