A Clear Glass of Air on New Year's Eve

author's note:

At the end of another year, I revisit this poem.

Those aren’t just fancy words below--I can indeed feel the clarity of my soul.

No, not very often.  But still...


A CLEAR GLASS OF AIR ON NEW YEAR'S EVE

At the end of another year--
alone

and blank
at my hardwood table
under a bare light bulb.

Devoid of sensation--
I could be dead...

but no--
that clear glass of air on the table
tells me:

you only seem empty--
in reality
you are filled with spirit.

Yes--
prompted by that thought
I suddenly sense the purity within.
I can feel the clarity of my soul.

But this bliss
only lasts for the moment of a breath

with the next
the mad mix
of muddy past and foggy future
floods my glass again.

Again I am as I usually am:
a human being
of deep flaws and minor foibles.

But refreshed
after feeling the pure spirit again.

By returning to my truth
I return to our truth:
  though we seem quite muddled
  we’re actually as clear
  as that glass of spirit.

Suddenly now
a rumbling jumble of bells
choruses midnight
through the clouds

and in honor of our spirit
I hoist my full glass to the light.

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© 2022, 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.

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© 2021, Michael R. Patton

Buddha Belly

author's note:

Full disclosure: I am not a Buddhist...

Or maybe I am and don't know it.


BUDDHA BELLY

As I bathe in the belly
of the Buddha
I can feel the temple bell
ringing--

rrrrrrrrraaaaaaaaa
iiinnnnnnnnnnnggggggggggg
ing--
rrrrrrrrraaaaaaaaa
iiinnnnnnnnnnnggggggggggg
ing

and can feel the hills
echoing the bell--
echooooooooooooooooo
ing--
echooooooooooooooooo
ing--

in response the goats
              jump step
from stone
    to stone--
their hooves percussing--

percusssssssssss
singggg--
percusssssssssss
singggg

and in response, a prayer wheel
turns inside my heart
and suddenly I see how
we’re like those prayer flags
on the line:

waving our colors to the world
while pulled by a wind
beyond our control:
         dashed--
         stretched--
         lashed!

In fear of my weakness
I hold tightly to that strong line

and in my grip, I find
the strength of these two hands.

© 2020, Michael R. Patton
Poet, Heal Thyself: poetry ebook