Glass House

author’s note:

I’ve often heard: those in glass houses shouldn’t throw rocks.

I say: no one should throw rocks, because we all live in glass houses.

But some houses are clearer than others.


GLASS HOUSE

I can still see the light
beaming out
from the many windows
of your glass house.

That tough structure rests now
on gentle waters
while faraway
I fight to find my way
through cloudy nights
on heavy seas
that sink and heave.

Though some believed
your insight and brightness
was a natural gift
you let me know
how you’d struggled
to clear those panes.

I think you wanted me to see
the value of hard labor done.

But even now, many years later
I still have much work left to do--
I’m not half as bright
as the guide I knew.

Fortunately
I can look to your glass house
now and then
for encouragement

and for a little extra light
to help me navigate
on these dim nights.

you tube channel
Dancing to Raven’s Song: a novel
© 2022, Michael R. Patton

Thoughts from a Crawler

author's note:

“Kids, be concerned when they call you America’s most valuable natural resource.  Have you seen what they’ve done to the other natural resources?”
           -- Utah Phillips


THOUGHTS FROM A CRAWLER

Children must often play strong defense
in order to survive

but I believe
the battle we face as adults
may require even more courage

because as kids we work in our sleep
but to thrive as adults, we must awake
and work hard to break
the bindings of the cocoons we’ve built--
we must convince the child
still struggling to survive
the break will allow the child to live.

As I crawl along, I leave
a trail of shells behind me--
yes, I’ve must shed more
before I’m free
but what I’m leaving behind
shows this way can lead to success.

Dancing to Raven’s Song: a novel
Glorious Tedious Transformation: poetry ebook
© 2021, Michael R. Patton

On Easter

author's note:

An Easter poem from my early days.

Am I a better poet now?  I don't know, but at least I can spell "flowers".

Interesting...I see how I've carried forward a motif: being cleansed and renewed by the waters of life that fall from above.

SOULTIME in paperback
© 2021, Michael R. Patton

Growing Motions

author’s note:

I’m not finished zinging.


GROWING MOTIONS

When I look back at my path…

I see much exuberant energy spent
spinning in a dizzy frenzy
as I zinged in zigs and zags

with little measurable gain
to prove the value of those motions.

So to ease self-doubt
I keep repeating to myself:

because of that chaos
I can write about
the pain of being tangled and lost--
I can provide
an empathic mirror
to those confused by a road
that goes here and there
without seeming to lead anywhere.

Well, okay, but
I want to do more
than tell them of a problem
they already know--

how can I offer hope?

Maybe my insight will eventually
sharpen enough
for me to perceive the designs hidden
in lives with wild lines.
But for now
I can only talk of what I’ve seen

and that is:
many many old vines
with torturous twists
and switchbacks--
quite a gnarly mess, they seem
and yet, those vines grew strong
because they struggled to climb.

How dare we condemn ourselves
for spinning in a dizzy frenzy
and zigging and zagging as we zinged
if while making those mad motions
we kept on striving to grow.

© 2020, Michael R. Patton
youtube channel

Two Types of Emptiness

author's note:

Please excuse the "primitive" recording of this poem (at the bottom of this post)...

I try to make up in sincerity what I lack in technology.


TWO TYPES OF EMPTINESS

I have experienced
two types of emptiness--

blank exhaustion
with all its dead air

and the blankness of clarity
with its wide-open freshness--

so different the pair
and yet the first
can sometimes lead
to the second:

after fighting with myself
to release an old argument
held in the fist of a grip
I'll surrender in exhaustion--

so blank...so mute...so empty.

But at such times
though I feel so weak
the smoke may die
and in the break, I will see
the brilliant blue sky of peace

before the ground fog gathers again.

These brief respites
both lift me with hope
and heighten my frustration:

as a result, afterwards
I'm even more motivated
to work my way out--

to keep on battling
to give up
that which I so stubbornly
work to protect.


© 2014, Michael R. Patton
myth steps

In a Flash

author's note:

Maybe I'm under the influence of the wonderful anthology From the Country of Eight Islands, edited/translated by Hiroaki Sato and Burton Watson.

I hope I am.


IN A FLASH

A child's footprint in the sand

washed away in the flash of a wave...


© 2014, Michael R. Patton
MythSteps

Extreme Enjoyment

author's note:

Once again, while working on a poem, I asked myself, "Is this really how it is?"

My conclusion?  To borrow from poet Mary Oliver: "these aren't just words talking".


EXTREME ENJOYMENT

I've tried and tried
yet still can't quite describe
"consciousness"

but with each attempt
I consider my experience
and in that way, reconnect
with what I feel:

how the flood of this world, this life
rushes at me from all four sides

rushes within me, as well--

rushes from me--I spill

out into the world
even as the world roars into me...

no wonder I work so hard to distract myself:

we sit at the table, sipping our sodas
and speak of that broken kitchen pipe

all the while ignoring
how consciousness overwhelms us.

Though I often wish I could turn down the tap...

I also know a stronger desire:
to open myself to ever-increasing
amounts of water

and I will open, I will
as I learn, ever-so-slowly
to enjoy the threat--

to surrender myself
to the steady magnificence
of the amount I can, at present
just barely accept.


© 2013, Michael R. Patton
SOULTIME

Dark Jar

author's note:

May your Halloween be dark and scary!


DARK JAR

We need one volunteer
to stick a hand down
into this vast vase--
into this earthenware vessel
because

it's so densely dark within--
we can’t see past the edge
and so, we're burning to know
what might be at the bottom.

Though someone heard
the faint rattling of a snake
I believe it's the luscious lucky sound
of gold striking gold
echoing up from the depths--

a finer coin than any we've ever known:
those tones lift our hearts
with their soft breezy hands--!--

so please, reach down deep, for all our sakes--

if you don’t have arm enough, then dive in
and we'll send you our blessings

though what harm could possibly come--?--
after all, it's just a large jar
and anyway, someone must descend
because we’re so damn curious--

thus, we beg of you: go--go!--
that must be reason you came here.

Otherwise, why would we ask you?

How can you refuse
such a reasonable request--?--
especially since you now know
you might be the one chosen...


© 2013, Michael R. Patton
these poems are open all night

High Humble

author's note:

Dedicated to all the tippity-tops out there--please accept it.

　
HIGH HUMBLE

I said: you've
traveled far
to reach St. Louie

but having come
such a long way,
in your wisdom
you said:
we all get there
sooner or later.

So then I told you:
you're the tippity-top
of the tip top

but having climbed
so many mountains
on the way,
in your wisdom
you said:
we're all possessed
of such high spirits.

What could I say then--?--

you'd crawled through
so many valleys
on your way to the tip top
on your way to St. Louie--
no compliment of mine could surmount
your wise humility.

© 2012, Michael R. Patton
searching for the new mythology

Prometheus of the East

author's note:

Usually, it irritates me when a poet references an ancient god--when a poet uses an ancient god to deliver his message.

But Prometheus, that's different...

Prometheus hardly seems ancient.  Prometheus seems so close to us...Anyway, he's close to me.


PROMETHEUS OF THE EAST

Bound
to this cliff rock
I curse
an unseen god

yet at this waterfall
I also praise all
the drops of god
I see.

© 2011, Michael R. Patton
searching for the new mythology

Summer's Afternoon Dream

author's note:

If nothing else, New Orleans taught me two very basic, and complementary lessons: from decay comes life...

...what appears stagnant actually teems with activity.


SUMMER'S AFTERNOON DREAM

Shuttered fronts on a quiet street:
those ordinary houses
in a New Orleans unknown
to the tourist trade...

the cracked somnolent clapboards--
mundane, yet mysterious.

All around the block
oak roots break sidewalk
so dandelions can breathe.
Beneath the eaves
wet heat slowly smothers life
to a dark brown pulp

where leaves rest in their skeletal forms.

Sad obsequious stalks
hold happy white flowers.
Trees that droop with antipathy
give comforting shade.

The hose faucet leaks
like a ticking clock
as a three-legged dog
twitches in its sleep--

a summer dream deep...
opaque.

© 2011, Michael R. Patton
searching for the new mythology

The Truth of You

author's note:

Years ago, a friend told me, "There's no such thing as a simple human being."

Those words have served me well.


THE TRUTH OF YOU

When I see you

standing there
as if simple--

displayed succinctly
from head to foot--

smiling
as if you're plain...

the possibilities
seem endless.

© 2011, Michael R. Patton
dream steps

Lady Kasa and Me

author's note:

Lady Kasa lived in mid-8th century Japan.  Little else is known of her life.

She is remembered for the poems of love and sorrow she wrote to the poet and government official, Otomo no Yakamochi.


LADY KASA & ME

I made a poem
this morning

unlike those
Lady Kasa wrote
centuries ago--

because hers usually told
of love and tears--

often bemoaning both

whereas I bemoan
this mountain
that I just can't
stop climbing.

This mountain I love.

Tears spotted her precious parchment

and yes, I must admit
tears have, at times, wrinkled
my cheap notebook pages.

Her long sleeves dragged
over a quiet royal courtyard
during those solitary strolls
filled with love's longing

and yes, I admit, my own
long sleeves often sag as
I walk this lonely dirt path.

Wherever I go, whatever I do
I'm always led back to myself

as was Lady Kasa.

I made a poem
this morning

not unlike those
Lady Kasa wrote
centuries ago.

© 2011, Michael R. Patton

(Lady Kasa's tanka poems can be found in the excellent anthology, From the Country of Eight Islands, edited by Hiroaki Sato and Burton Watson).

One and One

author’s note:

A simple dream image is rarely simple.


ONE KNOWN

I had a dream of
the numeral
                 One.

In the dream
a big “1"
just stood there
daring me
to confuse myself
with interpretation--

knowing I could not resist
the temptation to ask myself:
What is "1"?

The number shoots up,
the number signals us

to form phalanxes,
to build foundations,
to summon our ambition--

"1" pushes the stalk
from the earth,
"1" points the spear
and spire--

to lift us to our vision before
we whistle back down the pole
to live the day’s plain struggle.

One stands alone.
Lonely as a telescope.
The number is original,
individual--yet includes all.
For all are one.  So I’m told.
But I’m trying to see--

what One asks me to see:
what I already sense
beneath the ten thousand
glances and motions--

Unity.

To feel is to see:
I am too many fractions
and yet I feel
I remain one
beneath all the fractures.

But sometimes
when I’m filled with the strength
of my individual self
I begin to fear:
am I all I have--Uno?

However,
when I try to work my will
I can not ignore
I am not in control:
I am property.

One has me.

Yet I can know that One
through myself--

but also
through all those other Ones--
including stones,
including clouds,
including waves,
including you--

including all
the shadows
of all those things.

Like all previous
dreams of "1"
this One dream only asked
the question--

it’s always up to me
to painfully bless myself
with one or more
answers.

© 2010, Michael R. Patton

dream steps
audacious audio