In the Garden of Dead Leaves

author’s note:

Some of my favorite gardens are junkyards.


IN THE GARDEN OF DEAD LEAVES

While walking in the garden of dead leaves
I learned:

the black pool may seem stagnant
but beneath the surface
ripe pods burst into festive green streamers.

I learned:

moist decay in the shadows
can birth
circles and circles
of small pink umbrellas.

I learned:

despite the darkness of the scene
where I was
was where I needed to be.

mythsteps · In The Garden of Dead Leaves

Listening to Silence: poetry ebook
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© 2024, Michael R. Patton

The Higher Mountain

author’s note:

I say: we’re all taking the same walk.


THE HIGHER MOUNTAIN

When I first glimpsed
that mountain peak
through the clouds
I instantly experienced
an expansion of spirit—

suddenly I saw the purpose
of this grinding walk
up a long incline.

And so
I started to push harder—
I begin to step with intent.

Even so
easy to forget my higher goal
because this life asks me to tend to
so many details.

But when I remember
to look up from my work
I’ll see the peak through the trees and fog
and again feel that lift.

However
all these years later
that white spire still seems so distant.

But I dare not sit on my aspiration—
my spirit would deflate.

So when the naysayer in my head says
maybe you’re creating an illusion—
clinging to a delusion
I answer:

consider this benefit:
these difficult steps I take
not only improve my state
but also the state
of the whole human race
(a little bit, at least).

Yes, my steps help us
as we struggle, struggle
to take a massive step up.

mythsteps · The Higher Mountain

Searching for my best beliefs: poetry book
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© 2024, Michael R. Patton

Any Wise Snail Will Tell You

author’s note:

Oh snail
climb Mount Fuji,
but slowly, slowly!
          — Issa (trans. R. H. Blyth)


ANY WISE SNAIL WILL TELL YOU

Years ago, I was told:
if I could get past
certain obstacles in my path
I would arrive at a place of peace.

So of course I tried to hurry
but by rushing, often stumbled—
and sometimes tumbled
and fell on my knees.

Finally I realized
what any wise snail will tell you:

real progress occurs at a crawl.

But oh—
this slow pace can fatigue the spirit!

Fortunately, I’ve learned
the dangers of frustration.
So before I start to act out
I’ll force myself to stop and sit
down under a tree—
sit

until I again sense
the mysterious music hidden within
the menagerie
of creature, place, and thing
which is this planet

and then
if I can deepen my listening
I'll find my own strange harmony within.

But I can’t keep
what I haven’t yet earned—

at present
I can only stay in that heaven
for a few moments.

However afterwards
I don’t slump with the loss
no
I feel energized—ready
to continue this incredible crawl—

hoping one day to finally clear
all the trash, all the walls
that keep me from rooting down
in that glorious place of peace—

maybe then I can become
one of those human trees
that provide sheltering shade
for tired snails who need
to pause the crawl
and once again feel that harmony
they hold deep within their shells.

mythsteps · Any Wise Snail Will Tell You

Glorious Tedious Transformation: poetry book
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© 2024, Michael R. Patton

Catching Fog

author's note:

As they say in the movies: based on a true story.


CATCHING FOG

While walking to school
one childhood morning
I thought I could lose myself
in a fog cloud hovering
on the other side of the field.

But though I ran hard
I arrived to find
that thick cloud had fled
and when I turned, I saw
the mysterious vapor waiting
over there where I’d started.

So I raced back
but again that fog tricked me.
Hooked by my fantasy
I ran again—I ran

until
I finally had to stop
to get
my wind
back.

Only then did I feel
the burn of those wet wisps
deep inside my chest.

Satisfied that I’d caught some fog
I lifted my head and walked on
as the sun began to clear the cloud.

That childhood folly
later became a useful metaphor
when I needed to accept
what appeared to be the folly
of my adult life.
Consider the story:

for years
I raced here and there
and back again.
But no matter where I went
the imaginary heaven I sought
was never where I was.

Finally forced to stop
I felt I’d lost
until
I discovered I burned hot
with all that I had taken in.

After that realization
I lifted my head again
and saw that the fog had begun to thin
cleared by insight—
or
in the words of this metaphor-maker:
sharp rays of the morning’s sunlight.

mythsteps · Catching Fog

Searching for my best beliefs: poetry book
dream steps blog
myth steps blog
you tube channel
© 2024, Michael R. Patton