Stolen by the Moon

author’s note:

Since my house
burned down, I now own
a better view
of the rising moon
      -- Masahide (trans. Beilenson/Behn)


STOLEN BY THE MOON

I crept down
the echoing street tonight:
stalked by a low Moon--

feeling helpless against its powers:
what a heartbeat thrill.

Perhaps cat burglars
seek that Moon feeling
when they take jewels
from bedroom safes.

But all over this world
good citizens like you and me
rummage in the darkness
looking for jewels--
not realizing what we really want--
we want to be stolen
by The Moon.

The Moon once stole me
as I watched a night spider
pick its way gingerly
toward the center of a silver web

Such lapses of forgetting
frighten me a bit
yet also provide a sense of relief--
I need those brief vacations from myself.

So in my dimness
I keep trying to find ways
that will lead me
through the shadows
to that glowing center
of the web.

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

Beauty in Commotion

author’s note:

It’s a little ironic to me…

...hearing “Silent Night” play over the speakers of a store at Christmastime.


BEAUTY IN COMMOTION

Yesterday I tried to calm myself
by sitting down beside a calm lake

but perfect serenity only exists in poems:

for a long moment
the air would hold its breath

then a gust of wind would sweep
the tranquility away
and ruffles would whiten into waves.

And when that sparkling green
had again idled down to a smooth sheen
a flashing fish would leap up
then splash back in silver spray

or mysterious bubbles
would rise to the surface and pop
pop...pop:
maybe an otter...but maybe a monster.

Meanwhile
in response to all these happenings
the birds in trees
squawked
and cawed
and whistled.

At the end of the day
as the sun began to set
I said to myself:
I may never achieve
the peace I seek
but by trying to quiet down
I’ll find beauty in commotion.

finding Beauty: poetry ebook
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© 2021, Michael R. Patton

Cannonball Blues

author’s note:

What a loss...what a life:

Robert Bly, 1926-2021.


CANNONBALL BLUES

Years ago, I read:

if you want to know who you are
then listen to yourself.

But when I did, I began
to hear a cannonball
rolling around my cargo hold:

rumbling from one side to the other--
banging hard
against the walls of my hull.

Even on a gentle sea
I can hear that heavy ball
bump...

bump...

bump...against the oak boards.

Sometimes I lose patience
and descend
and after some effort
manage to catch the ball

but the stubborn bull can break
the bars of any cage I make.

That cast-iron orb ignores my prayers--
mocks my earnest meditation!
I try not to listen to it
but you can’t close
the ears you’ve opened.
Now I hear what I hear.

But at least I know
I sail a sturdy ship:
that ball can’t crack my wood
even when the waves grow rough.

But I want to do more than endure:

though I don’t expect to ever bust
the cannonball
maybe someday I’ll be strong enough
to laugh when I hear
that bump bump bump--

to have a little laugh
at the irascible one I am

and then laugh big
at a world that keeps on
rocking my ship.

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

Spinning Top

author's note:

If we’re all spinning, every single one of us is constantly experiencing a revolution.


SPINNING TOP

As the wise ones
and physicists tell us:
we’re all spinning tops.

A lovely motion, perhaps
but one stormy thought
can wobble me:
so much energy spent
trying to keep myself upright.

Sometimes, I wonder if I should just...

let myself fall
and enjoy the roll.

But as a child I was told:
stay strong!

So to concede to gravity now
would seem a shameful failure
especially since no one but me
controls what happens within me.

Nonetheless, I continually
tilt too far this way or that.
But maybe I enjoy the drama:
as he falters, this dancer
believes he’ll be a hero
if he strives ever harder
to stay on his toes.

Even so, I might still succumb
to doubt and fatigue
if I didn’t experience
those rare splendid moments
of pure human grace.

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

Tenuous Peace

author’s note:

Self-portrait.  But don’t worry--he’s not that high up.


TENUOUS PEACE

I’m watching my steps today--worried
one little slip could wreck
my peaceful state of mind

yet at same time
I try not to be too cautious
because then I begin to feel weak.

A balance this tenuous
would hardly seem to qualify as “peace”.

Why even bother?  Why fret?
Maybe I’d feel better
if I told myself:
don’t try for a perfection
that can not last
in a human being that seems to be
innately imperfect.

But no--
during those “just right” moments
I feel I’m closer to being the one I truly am
and I enjoy that person much more
than the one I usually am.

But oh--
when the fall happens
I experience such loss

and I always fall too soon--so suddenly too.

How do I live
with this sense of continual defeat?
Well, in my humility, I tell myself
I should feel proud of the amount
of honest effort spent.

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

Walking with the Bear

author’s note:

Someone once told me:

Some days the bear eats you.  And some days, you eat the bear.

Yes, some days the bear does eat you.  But you never eat the bear.


WALKING WITH THE BEAR

When the bear starts to devour me
I can retreat into the shelter of the cave:

then, if I remain still
the growling will disperse
over the night lake softly lapping my shores.

But though I keep working for deeper calm
these respites still seem so shallow.
Nonetheless
when I return to the world outside
I again feel my gentle strength.

Yet I know
whatever peace I’ve achieved
is relative.
I know
some small accident
will soon stir the bear up
and once more, I’ll be forced to contend
with the claws sprouting from its paws.

At such moments
I often don’t have the time
to return to the shelter of the cave

but occasionally
I’ll remember the wisdom
I’ve found through long experience--
how to contain without repressing--
how to walk with the bear
slowly...carefully
while allowing myself
to enjoy how its power
feels within my frame.

floor show journey: slow tv
Poet, Heal Thyself: poetry ebook
© 2021, Michael R. Patton

Feeling Better: a quest

author's note:

So easy to lose touch these days.


FEELING BETTER: a quest

A plague of malaise had crept in
and as a result
our senses had dimmed.
Thus, we could not see

the obvious:
our senses had dimmed.

I myself did not realize
until I stepped on that rake:

the bop between my eyes
cleared my dimness just a bit--enough
for me to see how dim I was

and how frustrated my people were:

dimly aware of the problem
we tried all sorts of ways to reawaken.
But in our blindness
often only dimmed ourselves more.

I wanted to help
but knew I couldn’t go around
bopping folk between the eyes
with a rake.
However, I could undertake
a quest for a cure.
Why a quest?  I suppose
I wanted adventure

or maybe
I just wished to get away from our mess.

In any case
I did not dawdle but set out
across the dark unknown plain to the north.
And oh--
the darkness only deepened
the deeper I traveled
into that alien land.

By the time I’d gone too far to turn back
the black fog had grown so dense
I couldn’t see my feet or even my hands.
I bumbled and stumbled

until finally, in frustration
I sat down on the bare ground--
hoping to gather together
what remained of my wits.

To prop my weary self up, I put
my blind fingertips to the earth

and in so doing, touched a little bump--
some rough object—I wasn’t sure what--
maybe a rock but maybe not--
I couldn’t recall the last time
I’d held a rock.

Then in curiosity
I got down on my hands and knees

and began to feel around.
In that way, I slowly found
many peculiar textures
belonging to many mysterious things:

some were crinkly
some were smooth
some were razor sharp.

A few were furry to the touch.

Occasionally I'd encounter
something slimy and slithering
and feel the impulse to retreat.

But courage feels better than cowardice
so to still myself, I declared:
I won't allow my fear to rule me!

Nonetheless, I see wisdom in being careful
and besides--
cautiousness increases attentiveness
and attentiveness heightens sense of touch.

And the more I feel, the better I see--
my vision clears…so do my ears
albeit slowly, oh-so-slowly--but
as I proceed, I find I’m losing
this malaise.

However
I still can’t see my way home.

So perhaps you'll arrive before I do--
even so, I won’t follow you--
I must find my own path back--
after all, I’m on a quest.
In any case
could you please tell the people:
in time, I will return
I will when I can see us all
in a light much brighter.

Then I’ll speak
to tell them what I truly feel
and what I truly see.

Soultime: a novel
you tube channel
© 2021, Michael R. Patton

The Wise Mountain Lake

author’s note:

Is it any wonder Bigfoot doesn’t want to deal with us?


THE WISE MOUNTAIN LAKE

This watchful lake tells me:

“long ago
  the deity we call 'Heaven Mountain'
  opened its heart to catch the rain
  so that I could be the cup I am
  and comfort people
  when they surrendered
  and begged for my help on bended knee.”

Yes, the lake and I both know
impersonal geological forces create lakes

but the lake and I also know
why I’ve returned to its shore.

And so
I lower to my knees, as before
and the lake begins to heal me.

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

Bag of Monkeys

author’s note:

Buddhist teaching tells us that the mind is a monkey chained to a post.

I keep trying to add links.  But carefully, carefully.


BAG OF MONKEYS

At birth, I was given
a bag of monkeys to carry.

A blessing and a burden:
a carnival to enjoy
but a task of management--
how to control without killing
the playful hijinks.

Fortunately, I now allow myself
to escape this struggle
by retreating to the high countryside
where I can open that bag
and let the monkeys dance
as I exhale in release.

But though I can occasionally feel at peace
I know I’m not yet a man of peace
and would never become one
if I remained on that mountain.

No matter what I accomplish
I’ll never feel myself a success unless
I can walk with that bag
balanced on my head
through our rowdy simian carnival.

33 1/3 New Fables & Myth: ebook
© 2021, Michael R. Patton

The Bee Machine Responds to the Demands of its Spirit

author's note:

Buzz!  Buzz!
          -- Shakespeare, Taming of the Shrew


THE BEE MACHINE RESPONDS TO THE DEMANDS OF ITS SPIRIT

In deep quiet I find
someone much more peaceful
than the one I usually am

and yet
I don’t linger down too long--
though I sometimes try
I can’t ignore the desire to rise

but maybe erupt is the better word--

to go a thousand different ways
until overladen with all I’ve taken in
like the bee weighted with pollen.

then I’ll feel the need
to cleanse myself again

in a deep solitary pool of quiet:

striving for a supreme silence
I can never completely reach
because in short time I’ll feel compelled
to leap back up once more.

Some would judge this pattern of behavior
as programmed mechanical action.
In other words:
I’m not just like a bee, I am a bee.

To that idea
I say what my silence has told me:
I’m a bee responding to the demands
of an energy beyond my understanding.

you tube channel
© 2021, Michael R. Patton

Grand Life

author’s note:

Some say we never learn the lessons of history.

Well, I don’t know about you, but I’ve learned much from mine.


GRAND LIFE

Maybe the key ingredient in alchemy
is time.  Consider:

though this moment seems rather leaden
it may shine like gold years in retrospect.

On the other hand
time can also diminish.
Consider:

an event that once pumped me up
may appear quite empty
when I look back.

But is the revised view always true?

Maybe I shouldn’t ponder the past
and instead, relax
and enjoy every fresh moment
as the masters instruct.

But I do see each moment as precious--
that’s why
I want to know I haven’t wasted
so many of those moments gifted to me.
What is the truth--the value
of what I’ve done with my time?

Well, this much I can say for certain:
when I stop trying to judge
and allow myself to feel--to feel it all--
all of it all at once:
the past, the present--
even the future

what floods me then
becomes much too much
for me to express.

With that in mind, I’ve surmised:
we must be living something grand.

floor show journey: slow tv
© 2021, Michael R. Patton

Missteps of Perfection

author’s note:

The path is under your feet at
All times.
          -- Tao Te Ching (Cloud Hands Edition)


MISSTEPS OF PERFECTION

Though I know
I acted in the innocence of ignorance
I still can’t quite forgive myself
for all those missteps.

However, I'm hoping
I’ll feel the relief of a reprieve
if I can ever find
a grand design within
that mess of tracks in the dust.

But though I’ve tried hard
to clear the fog
my vision remains too dim.
However
sometimes when I close my eyes
and linger down in the dark
a sense of perfection
reassures my heart.

Experience has taught me:
surface feelings may lie
but deep feelings speak the truth.

And so
I’ll keep working to see
the reality of what I sense
so deeply.

Soultime: a novel
© 2021, Michael R. Patton