The Leaping Deer Sings Like a Howling Dog

author’s note:

“I praise what is truly alive,
 what longs to be burned to death.”
               – Goethe


THE LEAPING DEER SINGS LIKE A HOWLING DOG

When I was young I ran
hoping to lose that menacing shadow
nipping at my heels.

But one day a wise man told me:
you can only save yourself
by taking a long look
at what you’re running from.

So I took a long thoughtful look
and saw:
what a waste to try to escape myself.

Nonetheless
I kept on running
because

the blur of movement
felt so exhilarating
and my fire burned hotter the harder
I ran
and the heat felt the way I thought
life was supposed to feel.

However, in time
the flame died from exhaustion
and I had to lie down in the soft ashes.

But used the time to take
another long look—

because by then I realized:
once seen
a demon can be flipped
onto its angel side.

But as soon as my fire revived
I began to run again.
I ran I ran I ran
in mind, body, and spirit.

Years later
I’m still running.
Yes, the pace has slowed
but with age
I value each leaping step more

and so my exhilaration
has deepened into joy.

I’ve also learned to lie down
before I’m forced
and in those moments of stillness
I not only look down into that deep shadow
I also listen—
I listen, because I can’t always see.

And when I rise
I do what humans do
after they’ve heard the dark river:
I give words to the melody.

With those words
I sing our song as I run along.
And because the child in me
thrives on delight
I imagine I’m a leaping deer singing—
singing like a moon-eyed howling dog.

How Can I Live In This World?: poetry book
dream steps blog
myth steps blog
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© 2025, Michael R. Patton

My Irrefutable Analogy

author’s note:

I use that last line on myself all the time.


MY IRREFUTABLE ANALOGY

Recently, a friend complained
his little life seemed so pale.

So I told him
what I sometimes tell myself
when I’m feeling
bland and inconsequential:

“Inside this tent lives a circus.

“In the center ring
  I stand as a lion tamer
  marshalling
  roaring forces within.

“At the same time
  I swing back and forth
  —back and forth—
  while hanging upside down.

“And though this motion blurs my vision
  through strength of mind I manage
  to transform what I see into solid pictures.

“What’s more—
  I walk a tightrope thin as barb wire.
  And before you accuse me of hyperbole
  remember how often I’ve fallen.

“Yes, a net has always caught me in the past
  but what about the future?
  What about the next step?

“Stressful, yes, nonetheless
  this painted smile stays on my face.

“I tell you I am a circus!

“And when you consider
  all your inner activities
  I think you’ll agree:
  you are a circus as well.”

I could see
my irrefutable analogy
had awakened my friend
to the amazing life within his life.

But in that moment
he also became acutely aware
of the precariousness
of his existence.

So to embolden him
I then said:

“Think of all the people
  who live each day knowing full well
  a sudden slip
  could mean death
  yet they still step forth.

“If they can, we can, can’t we?”

Common Courage: poetry book
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© 2025, Michael R. Patton

Occasionally I Become an Island

author’s note:

So did I actually endure such a night?

Yes—many times in my life.  In many different places.


OCCASIONALLY I BECOME AN ISLAND

I’d heard
at low tide a narrow land bridge
would appear above the waves.

You could then walk
from the shoreline
to that little island of rock—
that ragged gray pyramid
bare beneath the open sky.

However, you could only stay an hour
—two at the most—
before the waters covered the bridge again.

But alone in the purity of that fresh world
I felt my spirit elevate
and so I decided to ignore the time
and continued stepping from stone to stone
until I’d reached the plateau on top.

By then, the waves had swallowed
the narrow passage below.

But I merely laughed and danced like a goat.
Ecstatic as I watched the sun descend.

Later, as I hunkered and shivered
under the cold stars of evening
I blessed my tuna sandwich for its sacrifice
and thanked the scrawny trees
for slaking my thirst
with the dew they gathered on their small leaves.

I also said “thanks”
to the dark gray islands of cloud sliding above.
Yes, I thanked them
because they told me again and again and again:
remember your higher aspiration.

At the same time, I thanked the waves
for telling me again and again and again:
this life is deeper than you can imagine.
Yes, I thanked them
because I then tried to imagine.

In that way, I expanded
until morning came
and the bay lowered again.

Since then
I’ve endured more teeth-chattering nights
on that pyramid of rock.
I’ve even created my own little alcove
near the summit.

And when friends ask
Are you trying to punish yourself?
I answer:
I don’t go there
for enjoyment—
I go there for joy.

What I Learned While Alone: poetry book
dream steps blog
myth steps blog
you tube channel
© 2025, Michael R. Patton