Monday, October 25, 2010

Deep Rising

author's note:

As I said when I posted the first version of this poem: it's not written to anyone I know.



I can not assure you of what
we might make happen

because human beings really are
sensuous underwater carnivals
of multitudinous levels--
growing greater the deeper down
we go.

Sometimes--as if by chance--
I've slipped down to what
feels to be very far

but too rarely
so I still don't know how
to get us down there--but I believe
we can together because I can see
we both want what lives deep within us,
deep yet detectable on the surface:
I can see the recessive star glow in your dark eyes--
and when I see that glow I feel that same glow
burning in my eyes.

But even desire doesn't seem to be enough
to draw us there, even being together
in harmony, in sincerity
isn't enough.

I believe we help ourselves
by seeing the possibility
of what we can achieve--
though the possibility
raises my anxiety--

when I see the gains
can be so great
the potential loss
seems even more drastic--

thus, my elevating anxiety
actually increases the pull, the push
to dive ever deeper--
I feel my desire heighten--
ever more urgent.

As I burn, intensified
I see the glow in your dark eyes
brighten--I see that you know
we must somehow
--together--find our way there.

© 2010, Michael R. Patton
I'm one of a 100

Labels: , , , , , , , , ,

Thursday, October 21, 2010


author's note:

I often find that the best way to start work on a rewrite is to cut out my favorite lines.  Here is some of what I cut from the first draft of the poem below:

"We’ve killed our children
 trying to keep them fed."

"If we’re afraid to die
 we’re done for."


Though we may seem to receive many reprieves
her fury builds--she lurks in the gasping night:
a panther of fire waiting to strike

her fangs in the swollen throat
that has gorged itself on her best work.

All our angels and devils have left us
to our own resources.
So our choices now are her
and our punishment
when we go against her.

We make jokes, act cool, sneer
yet built graveyards in her honor--

time and again, we've seen
the drumming of her feet
transform strong fortresses
into archaeological sites.
So, our casualness comes from fear.

But even if flippant carelessness
causes our edifices to crumble
the graveyards can then again grow wild grass
and the children stumbling shocked
in the aftermath will revive
in their reverential grazing.

If you ask me if we belong to her
the best answer I can give you is:
I think she belongs to us.

© 2010, Michael R. Patton
I'm one of a 100

Labels: , , , , , , , , ,