Wednesday, October 29, 2014

Diamond Reflection

author's note:

I didn't have a Halloween poem ready to post.  But at least, this poem contains the word "haunted"...

It reminds me: we can also be haunted by positive forces.


The North Star lasered me
with its high-pitch frequency
late last evening

until I finally put aside
my lower coyote needs
and sprang from bed
and climbed out the window
to the high roof top--

there to answer
that maddening transmission
with my pure howling heart:

we're designed to love those jewels
that beckon us to ascend

but when I try to pierce
through the stratosphere
a rope yanks me back down
to my home ground.

I can feel that star eye
following me all the next day--

I'm haunted...but also given hope:

though the light seems so distant
in its shine, I find my deep reflection--
I feel a great potential:

if I can ever grind
the worst of the rough
off my charred diamond
I could beacon
like that true beam...

© 2014, Michael R. Patton
myth steps: the blog

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Sunday, October 26, 2014

As the Duck Crosses My Path

author's note:

I gain so much from those surprising moments of synchronicity.


At first, I'm impatient
because I must pause

then I'm distracted
by the comical waddling--

the little head held aloft
in an aristocratic manner

while the eyes seem so blank, so dumb.

But as a moment becomes a minute
I take time to appreciate
the delicate durable neck feathers:
   miniatures woven together
   to form a dense overlay
   with a flashing green sheen

ringed by a sharp white neck-band.

But my spell breaks
as the duck begins to quack--

I then hear an echo
of my own reedy voice

and perceive a deeper reason
for the crossing of our paths:

blinded by grand and fanciful ideas
I'm usually able to forget
just how ordinary my life is

but in the process, I lose sight
© 2014, Michael R. Patton
Common Courage: the book

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Wednesday, October 22, 2014

Relentless Bullfrog Song

author's note:

“I have sounded the very bass-line of humility.”
         -- Shakespeare, Henry IV, Part I


Now I know why
the bullfrog immerses itself
in the cold dark water beneath the willow
all through the night:

baptisms are not done in a moment--
long solitary work is required
to raise the soul from the depths.

Such resurrections
resurrect deep feelings--

the frog feels compelled to sing

but has not yet reached
the high sweet notes...

its relentless coarse croaking
tells us of the drive within all frogs
to heal and heal and heal
and heal the wound...

© 2014, Michael R. Patton
dream steps: the blog

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Wednesday, October 15, 2014

Confessions of a Stranger

author's note:

As a child, I was lucky enough to learn: these woods are so strange.


I wanted to lay claim to the land

so I ignored what this land told me:

you are a stranger here--

a transient...a mote

passing through...on a breeze.

But finally one idle day
this ignorance ended
when I was suddenly caught
by the active stillness
of a sunray

and began to listen--
and began to feel.

I realized then
the land contained a presence
I could not fathom:

something quite monolithic:

so much more than what I am--

how could I claim this land as mine?--

I am indeed a passenger here.

So by rights,
this land can put a claim on me
for the time of my journey.

Thus, I continue to listen
for further instruction...

but as a mote
I sometimes feel
quite insignificant

and so, may attempt
to inflate myself
by rebelling against
the demands of this land

but in fighting the reality
I squander my strength
and only regain my power
when I again surrender--

when I again become
an honest man.

© 2014, Michael R. Patton
listening to silence: poems of meditation

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Wednesday, October 01, 2014

Your Voice

author's note:

Not written to anyone in particular...

...written to any artist who's ever caused me say, "Damn, I wish I could do that."


When you were a girl
your sweet instrument
poured forth butterflies
and bubbles

but apparently
a piccolo can also
work as a shovel:

as you continued to sing
you began to delve--
with each song
with each note
just a little deeper

driven by a higher instinct at first
then slowly awakening to the reality
of something buried below--
something with the echo of gold--

something that always seems
just within reach

yet remains just out of reach:

this drive gives you pain
then heals the wound
as you release secrets
you didn't know you knew--

secrets I also release
as I hear your voice--
gold I also mine
as I awaken to your song

as I awaken to pain
as I awaken to wounds
I continue the healing:

I listen to myself

by listening to you...

© 2014, Michael R. Patton
listening to silence: poems of meditation

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