The Dragon Frog

author’s note:

Our dreams show us the many creatures we are.


THE DRAGON FROG

As a child I heard a story
about a diamond honed by fire
in the belly of a dragon
living in a lake underground.

But when I asked my teacher
How can I get down there?
She smiled wisely and explained:
the tale was symbolic--

the dragon actually slept within me

and when I became a adult
that glorious golden creature
would rise to the surface.

Yes, I thought, it’ll roar
And the world will witness
a diamond blazing
on the flame of its tongue.

So with great hope, I waited
and when I thought the time had come
I proudly strode out
and opened my mouth
believing my oration would dazzle.
Yes--like a fiery diamond.

Well, I wasn’t a total fizzle--
occasionally I thought I saw
some crystalline sparks drifting up

but even then
the world did not respond
and in depression I doubted
I would ever be the fire-dragon
of my imagination.

What I experienced instead
was my inner bullfrog
mired down in the muck.

But as any wise swamp-guide will tell you:
deep frogs feel compelled to sing about
this muddy life of ours

and I swear
when I listen closely I can detect
promising glints of diamond light
in my belching eruptions.

And from what I’ve seen I’ve learned
dragons must often live
as subterranean amphibians
before they can birth gems.

But I’m honest enough to admit
I might remain as I am: a lump
stuck in the mud of a swamp.

In any case
I won’t ignore the impulse to croak--
I tried before and died.
Each year, the clocks ticks louder
and the desire to live shouts louder.

Who knows?--
under such pressure this dragon frog
could finally cough up a few jewels.

mythsteps · A Dragon Frog

33 1/3 New Fables & Myths
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The Caterpillar's Message

author’s note:

Caterpillars have been around much longer than we have.  No wonder they’re smarter.


THE CATERPILLAR’S MESSAGE

The caterpillar knows
in due time it’ll be a butterfly.

As for myself
I often worry I won’t ever
metamorphize.
Spurred by anxiety
I may then try
to hurry the process

and as a result, stumble
and land hard.

The caterpillar knows:
you must go slow.

Each time I fall
I again recall
its message:
learn to crawl, learn to crawl, learn to crawl.

mythsteps · The Caterpillar's Message

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Why We Search for the Abominable Snowman

author’s note:

In my youth, before we knew about Bigfoot, there was the Abominable Snowman.


WHY WE SEARCH FOR THE ABOMINABLE SNOWMAN

We fill the empty hours of winter
by searching for an unseen creature
who likes to tease us
by occasionally leaving
a solitary unclear footprint
in the snow dust.

No, we never find him.
Yet when our tired feet trudge down
from the mountains in spring
my companions and I glow like those
who’ve satisfied a higher desire.

And gladly accept the reigns
of the plow horse waiting at the gate.

Sometimes on a summer’s evening
I swear I can hear the bellow of the snowman
echoing softly in the white peaks
that tower behind our lonely village.

In response
a subtle yet distinct “yes”
sounds silently in my obscure depths.

My sense of mystery awakens then.
I am lifted up.

Some will likely say
the creature we seek
actually lives within us.

Don’t get me wrong--
I’m all for self-knowledge
but this way
we can feel strong
by braving the merciless cold

while at the same time
regaining a sense of humility
as we weave our little ant trail
under the knowing eyes
of those godlike mountains.

mythsteps · Why We Search for the Abominable Snowman

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Old Song of Youth

author’s note:

Do not resist the rose
lest you burn in its fire.
        -- Gabriela Mistral (trans. L. Hughes)


OLD SONG OF YOUTH

The poets of old were right:
spring does indeed sing
in the zesty blood of youth.

I remember a spring day years ago--
oh how I tried to ignore
that playful song
and focus on my schoolwork.

But then the rhapsody raised its pitch--
crying of sex, yes, but something more than sex.
So I stopped to listen
and began to feel
the bright green of spring
singing in my blood.

But though my spirit begged for expression
I fastened my mind and body down--
down!

Sitting here, decades later
I chide that starved student in my head--
telling him
he should’ve surrendered
and run through the blazing green fields.

But I’m cut short
as a breeze gushes
through the window--
in the rush
I swear I hear that dizzy kid whisper:
I’m still in your heart.

Suddenly
I feel the wild green song
move in my blood again--
no, not as fresh now
but with age comes a richer shade.

Today unlike yesterday
I’ll sing along--
I will go out into the spring field.

No, I can’t gallop as I once did
but the confinement of slower steps
will give me the time needed
to feel and to sing a deeper song.

mythsteps · Old Song of Youth

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