Little Giants

author’s note:

There were giants in the earth in those days…
                  -- Genesis 6:4


LITTLE GIANTS

Yes, there were giants
in the land in those days--

like suns they shone

but small people felt threatened
and swarmed to attack them.

Worried for their survival
the titans then shrank themselves down
to an acceptable height--
they hid their light

and over time, forgot
their true size.

However
they’ve maintained their higher perspective
to this very day.

So they’re wise enough to know
they don’t know everything--
you won’t see them adopting titles
such as "guru" or "master".

But like anyone who stays low
they may occasionally feel low
yet even then, they reject the low impulse
to pump themselves up in public.

I respect that, however
their anonymity needs to end soon.

Consider the lonely streetlamp:

few notice that plain pole
in the glare and rush of the day.
But when twilight
deepens into night
we seek its illumination.

I believe
as our world grows darker
we’ll look for untapped sources of light

then our giants will realize
for the survival of all
they must stand and shine bright

even as swarms
attack from the shadows.

mythsteps · Little Giants

Common Courage: poetry book
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© 2023, Michael R. Patton

Immeasurable

author’s note:

The eyes are the window to your soul.
          -- William Shakespeare


IMMEASURABLE

A group of scientists has shown:
our bodies both smolder and glow.

However
they made clear:
their tests merely measured the effects
of chemical reactions occurring within the subjects.

So are we nothing more
than combustion machines?
I like to think I’m also spirit.

No, I can’t say for certain
that the cars we are have soul--
when I looked into your eyes
hoping they might actually be a window
what I found did little more
than confirm the findings
of those scientists:

you do indeed possess fire and light.

Electrodes could surely have detected
my physical response in that moment
however
what I felt was immeasurable.

So who can honestly say
I lack spirit?

mythsteps · Immeasurable

finding Beauty: poetry book
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© 2023, Michael R. Patton

Talking to the Baby

author’s note:

A lot of waves of memory lately.


TALKING TO THE BABY

Emerging from the warm womb
into the harsh raw air of this world
I cried
“Why!  Oh why!  Oh why oh why!”

Since then
I’ve heard many answers--

some I’ve actually found to be of benefit.
For instance:

to accept that we’re here to grow
helps me to accept my growing pains.

Well yes, but
when an old painful memory
suddenly rises like a wave to douse me
even the wisest wisdom
can not buoy my spirits.

At such times I may switch
from philosopher to mother saint
and speak to the saturated heart
as if comforting a squalling babe.

But I need to believe
the world needs me
to do more than just be here
so in short time I’ll shift to the father--
knowing he’ll say:

“Enough honey for now, baby--
 show some courage--dive on in.”

mythsteps · Talking to the Baby

Common Courage: poetry book
dream steps blog
myth steps blog
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© 2023, Michael R. Patton

Crypt & Crib

author’s note:

Soil music.


CRYPT & CRIB

Sensing I might’ve lost
something valuable
in the dusty shadows below
I decided to descend.

So began years of tedious searching—
of gathering back together
the many parts I’d discarded.

Knowing the difficulty
I now want to help others
who also struggle in the dark.
But the little I’ve learned for certain
they probably already understand

which is:

today, we have no suitable rituals
to help us navigate the passageways
of our subterranean life:

we must be our own undertaker
we must be our own light
we must be our own midwife.

A dream showed me a baby
in the tunnel of a crypt:

a glowing grub-bug it was—
shifting through the dust
as it crawled along—
finding lots of odd bits:
chips of flint stone
and skeleton bone
as well as a few jewels.

All of it provided nourishment
for the infant

so the child kept expanding—
filling the tomb

until finally, up above
the earth of a fallow farm field broke open
and my dazed head sprouted from the womb.

But the next morning
I awoke to the same barred crib.

Yes
this old baby must gestate a while longer.
Must grow more.
Must devour those jewels
and the better side
of everything else I discover
in my dark depths.

At least I know I’m not alone:
witness the many perennials at labor—
determined to be reborn.

mythsteps · Crypt & Crib

Glorious Tedious Transformation: poetry book
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© 2023, Michael R. Patton