A Question in the Forest

author’s note:

I like asking myself questions.

Even when I don’t find any answers.


A QUESTION IN THE FOREST

Afternoon sunlight
touches a thread a spider made
and suddenly I see
a thin prism gleaming
between two tree limbs.

But in the next moment
that rainbow disappears.
I shift about, trying to catch
the image again.
But straining only frustrates.

So I return
to the dreams in my head
and continue my woods walk
in comfortable blindness

until another beauty
shocks me awake:

a gold Maple leaf curled on the path:

what fires the eye fires the heart.

But soon a shadow dims the sight--
looking up, I find
an orange Autumn cloud.

This odd question then comes to me:

“Am I alone?”

Answered by a feeling that says:

Yes, you are

but no, you’re really not.

What I Learned While Alone: poetry ebook
© 2021, Michael R. Patton

Luminous Living Things

LUMINOUS LIVING THINGS

I tried to satisfy my hunger
by finding Zeus in the clouds.

But apparently the sky god
had abandoned his throne.

Finally, in sad frustration
I looked down.

Only then did I begin to notice
all those luminous living things
on the ground:

things that want to be seen--
things that need to be seen--
things that can feed me

including this stream
with its myriad slivers of sun
dazzling--
silver ribbons twisting
yet remaining in place
as the waters slide on--
rippling with gentle excitement.

If I’m patient
sight and sound then become
a feeling:
too much for my chest
but my heart wants more.

At such moments
I feel blessed
to live in a world
abandoned by Zeus.

What I Learned While Alone: poetry ebook
© 2021, Michael R. Patton

Relentless Bullfrog Song

author's note:

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


RELENTLESS BULLFROG SONG

Recently a nature show on TV
tried to explain why
the bullfrog thrums all night

but I already knew
how steeping yourself
in the cold dark water
can resurrect deep feelings:

though he has no sweet notes
the frog still feels compelled to sing.

As I listen to the pain
in that plodding repetitive croakingv I also hear a relentless drive
to heal the wound down inside.

Can bluebirds sing
with such gravitas?

I don’t know.  Maybe some.
But at night I listen
to the bullfrog.

Poet, Heal Thyself: poetry ebook
© 2021, Michael R. Patton

A Deep Drop

author’s note:

You’re just as much a paradox as I am.


A DEEP DROP

Before I fell asleep in the field
I recalled the waterdrop seen
on that dark-purple flower petal

and felt: I’m just a drop.

But as consciousness
slowly evaporated
into darkness
I felt myself
deepening down.

Then when I awoke
after an hour
or maybe a month
I remembered feeling
so small.
I remembered feeling
so deep.

I felt our truth again.

So easy to forget.

Listening to Silence: poetry ebook
© 2021, Michael R. Patton

Here

author's note:

I may not be Mother Nature’s son…

But maybe she appreciates the way I respect her.


HERE

Here
I’m sheltered by the forest trees
yet feel vulnerable because
here
I’m a stranger alone:

vulnerable as a child--
is nature my mother?
No

the connection broke long ago:
those trees offer no comfort--
all they do is watch me
from a distance
I can not bridge.

But in uncertainty, I open
to the feeling of mystery
to the quiet dark grandeur here.
I feel myself grow small--
I’m no more important
than that stone.

Maybe even less.

Yet experience myself
as a special individual
because I feel
so strangely alone.

But lifted by wonder
I also experience the stone
as a special individual…
the waterdrop on that leaf...

the tree frog.

Listening to Silence: poetry ebook
© 2021, Michael R. Patton

The North Star

author’s note:

When I see that twinkle in your eye, I know you’re star.


THE NORTH STAR

Have you ever felt like howling
at the North Star?--
perhaps spurred by
the natural desire
to reach what seems
beyond reach?

Years ago
with my mind spiraling
I acted on impulse
and climbed out the upstairs window
to sit on the roof and answer
that star with my heart.

Tantalized--!--I maintained
my hound dog moan
until yanked down
to the ground
by the dawn.

I felt rough and burnt
all that morning
but tried to comfort myself
with this thought:
the star had seemed closer
than ever before
in its shift of clouds.

But alas. I couldn’t ignore
how that diamond refused
to lower more
despite my pleading.

Then at noon
a strange thought struck me:
what if I looked down one day
and found that star in my heart?

At that moment, I finally realized
the truth behind
the desire that has me spiraling.

myth steps blog
© 2021, Michael R. Patton

Your Mining Song

author’s side:

What singer prompted me to write this poem?

Any singer who ever made me say, "Damn, I wish I could do that."


YOUR SONG

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

but in time
that piccolo became a shovel:

when you sang you became aware
of riches buried below—
up from the depths
came an echo of gold.

With each song
you dug a bit more—
you went a bit deeper
with each held note.

Now, years later
your richer gold seems
just within reach
yet still seems
to escape your grasp.

So you continue to sing
and continue to deepen
and continue bring up feelings
of shocking intensity—
you cut yourself with song
but create resurrection.

Your song cuts me
by waking my buried wounds

but if I then deepen down
to tend to the healing
in my depths, I discover
small pieces of gold.

I thank you for waking us
with your mining song of love.

Poet, Heal Thyself: poetry ebook
© 2021, Michael R. Patton

Strange Beauty

author's note:

This poem wasn’t written to anyone in particular...

So maybe it was written to everyone in general.


STRANGE BEAUTY

That first long look
down into your eyes
told me
there was more there
than I could ever possibly see

but I keep trying
because
where there's more
than can ever be seen
there is mystery--

there is beauty.

l want to witness your mystery
so I can remember
how beautifully strange
this life is--
feel again
the deep strangeness
of my own life.

Once I saw the face
of a stunned alien
reflected in your dark pools

only to realize
those big hungry peepers
belonged to me.

We both seemed like aliens then.

How beautifully strange.

Dancing to Raven’s Song: a novel
© 2021, Michael R. Patton