You Never Know What You'll Find

author’s note:

Happy Halloween!


YOU NEVER KNOW WHAT YOU’LL FIND

When a stranger
takes one quick scan
and believes he knows
who I am...

I feel the impulse
to shock him awake
by pulling something up
from my dark depths
--but stop

not only because I fear
how he might react
but because I realize
I might also scare myself.

I’ve delved and dredged
for many years
yet continue to be surprised
by the spirits I discover inside.

Soultime: a novel
dream steps blog
myth steps blog
you tube channel
© 2022, Michael R. Patton

The Silent Voice

author’s note:

“I learn by going where I have to go.”
             -- Theodore Roethke


THE SILENT VOICE

Sometimes, when I quiet down
to ponder a decision...

I detect a voice

deep within...alien, it seems:

a voice without language
or even sound.
Nonetheless, it talks:

sometimes it tells me yes
sometimes it tells me no--
often giving me an answer
different from the one
I’d wished for.

But I've learned not to argue--
from experience I know
the walls, the falls, the knots
that result when I go against it.

However, to obey--to follow--
often doesn’t bring clear benefits--
often
I can’t see the purpose
for going here instead of there
and doing this instead of that
even years after the act.

To deal with my perplexity
I’ve decided to trust
that that little voice knows
the way to "home"--
knows what needs to unfold
through work and time--knows
where I need to go in order to
eventually get to
where I need
to eventually be.

A bold notion--I’m fearful
as I struggle to believe
and yet, I’m also encouraged:
I find hope in that belief.

dream steps blog
© 2021, Michael R. Patton

The Pleasure of Mystery on Halloween

author's note:

There's bad scary and then there's good scary.

Have a good scary Halloween!


THE PLEASURE OF MYSTERY ON HALLOWEEN

Voices mixed with footsteps
from some revelers in silhouette
echo from the cross street
a block from my house--

the words unclear--distorted.
Maybe those shadows are alien beings.

Well, that’s alright--
I don't want to feel safe tonight.

Those echoes ring within me
as I sit here on the porch--
I’m being invaded--
a chill thrills my belly

and that’s just what I want
tonight.

But then the party-goers go on--
the alien echoes die.
I sigh

then listen to the silence
--the emptiness--
both outside and in...

Suddenly the world is perfect:

I'm as deep and as dark and as bright
as that witching-hour sky.

And I realize:
I’m an alien in an alien universe

and you, you’re an alien too!

But that’s alright
I don’t want to feel safe tonight.

© 2020, Michael R. Patton

The Monkey King

author’s note:

Written at time when people could still monkey around.


THE MONKEY KING

Wishing to express
his secret self on Halloween
the man of aspiration planned
to go to the party
dressed as a warrior
or a king
or
a warrior-king

but the sales clerk told him:
“Sorry, but it seems
  this year everyone wants to be
  either some type of warrior
  or
  some type of royalty.
  All we have left on the rack
  is this monkey outfit.”

“But I don’t want to be a monkey,”
  the man whined.

“Think about it,” the clerk replied.
“Can an armored knight
  scale one hundred foot of jungle vine
  in a mere minute?
  Can a king swing from tree to tree?”

Though not quite persuaded
the man of aspiration acquiesced.

At least, I'll be unique, he thought.

But no!--
he arrived at the party house
to find
half the celebrants dressed
in the same monkey costume
he’d bought:
the shop had unloaded a truckload
purchased at discount.

That clerk made a monkey out of me
our man sighed as he deflated.

But in his humility
he shrugged what the hell
and lowered himself down
to join that crowd
in their monkeyshines.

And what a freedom of fun!--
those pretend-simians
flailed and hopped
in a dizzy giddy dance--
they filled the room
with their gibber-jabber--
occasionally bursting into
high-pitched hollers
that made the roof shingles shiver.

Some swung from the balustrade.
Some kept putting banana peels
under the heels
of those with upturned noses.

But then
towards the end of the evening
that barrel of monkeys
calmed a bit
and paired off to pick
imaginary bugs from synthetic hair.

In this way, our man met
a woman who, like him
dreamed of wearing
both sword and crown.

A good match
aided, I believe, by its low-brow
beginning--
consider:

better I first see you as monkey
before knowing you as royalty
otherwise
I may feel disillusioned
when I discover my highness
sometimes slides
all the way down to the ground
on a grapevine.

© 2020, Michael R. Patton
40 New Fables: ebook

The Great Obsession of the Hotel Ghost

author's note:

I’m not a ghost…but I have been mistaken for one.


THE GREAT OBSESSION OF THE HOTEL GHOST

Our tour guide says:
the woman walks the same path
night after lonely night--
sometimes, guests
can hear her soft steps
on the hallway carpet
just outside their door.

A forlorn lady, yes--but
I see her fixation as positive:
I believe some ghosts relive
the same tragedy relentlessly
because
they’re trying to see
a higher reason--
they ask:
can a life that seems so damned
have a grand plan?--
they want the wisdom
that will set them free.

Maybe at first
the ghost expects this wisdom to come
in a sudden blazing beam of light from above

but in time, realizes
the light must slowly be raised
from depths within.

Then, as she delves down
maybe she’ll find a design
of cause and effect
but based on my own experience
I’d guess:
intellectual insight
won’t be enough to free her--
no

she needs to delve until she feels
the truth of what
she’d always been taught:
“all is as it should be”--

what I’ve sometimes felt
in a sudden moment--
a moment too soon gone
because
I’m still too dim to hold on to
that great sense of perfection.

However, I believe
if we keep delving and lifting
eventually that sense
will remain with us
then we’ll finally shed
our old dark chains.

But as the tour guide says:
though ghosts will abandon their haunts
they do so only gradually--
slowly fading over years--
decades.

Yes, decades--but
I can see how
with each delve, I lift
just a bit more light
than on the previous night.

© 2019, Michael R. Patton
what I learned while alone: poetry ebook