a taste of green sky

author’s note:

To all the giraffes out there.

I think you know who you are.


A TASTE OF GREEN SKY

As I struggled
up the tree trunk--
  seeking without knowing
  what I sought--

a giraffe lowered its neck
and let me ride
all the way
to the leaves at the top

so I could feed as it fed

on that green nectar:
the dark mineral of earth
combined with the lightness of sky.
I grew giddy and dizzy with delight
and surely would have fallen

if the giraffe had not bent back down.

My host then shook me free and moved on.

At the time, I thought: quite rude!

But now as I grapple
with these thorny branches
I thank the giraffe
for granting me that taste

so that I might realize
what I truly sought
then fight my way upward--
accepting the cost.

© 2020, Michael R. Patton
what I learned while alone: poetry ebook

Listening, Finally

author’s note:

I’m listening, yes…but sometimes still hard of hearing.


LISTENING, FINALLY

Not until I listened
did I feel

how empty I felt

and then I realized:
the desire to fill that emptiness
had long driven my life.

But in blind desperation
I’d sought sources
that could only sate me
for the length of a blink.

And so I kept running

until finally, exhausted
I stopped
and instead of seeking, sat

then, in stillness
felt how empty I felt.

But as my listening deepened
down into the depths
those waters started to rise.

© 2020, Michael R. Patton
Poet, Heal Thyself: poetry ebook

Story of the Woman Who Grew

author's note:

A poem of resurrection for Easter.


STORY OF THE WOMAN WHO GREW

Allow me to tell you
the story of the woman
who escaped a trap
by chewing off her arm.

For years afterward, she hid the wound—
she didn’t want anyone to pity her

especially those men
who wished to lend a hand.
She gave them all her foot
because instinctively, she knew:

she could never find her power
in the arms of another.
Deep within
she understood:

by dealing with her deficit
she’d become stronger
as she worked her way
through this world.

And so she dealt.
And in the process
learned so much.
She learned:

you must grieve
but not too much—too much
and you’ll be too weak
to deal with the loss.

She learned
you must shrink small things
so you can carry the large.

She learned
how to look into the mirror.

And so, in time, she saw
that she’d grown a new arm!—

as long and as strong
as her other arm
which had grown
longer and stronger
during her education.

She saw:
she could now reach all the way up
and squeeze sweet rainwater
from that dark ripe cloud.

And when she put her hands together
and formed a circle with her arms
what a circumference!—
what a big embrace!

But she’s not done yet, no—
now, she wonders:

could my span grow even more?

© 2020, Michael R. Patton
poet, heal thyself: poetry ebook