Two Nervous People Comfort Each Other

author’s note:

I was trying to come up with something for Valentine’s Day.


TWO NERVOUS PEOPLE COMFORT EACH OTHER

As gray clouds gather
we find ourselves without shelter
in a bare open field.

And so, desperate for comfort
I embrace you and you embrace me.

And as we hold each other I discover
you tremble just as I tremble.

So I try to ease you down
with calming words—
the same words you use
as you try to calm me.

But
my words can’t convince you
and your words can’t convince me
not to worry about our safety.

And so, we continue to tremble.

But at least now
we don’t shake quite as much.

Ironic, I guess:
despite our nervousness
we’re still able to comfort each other a bit.

No, we can’t convince our bodies
not to fear for their survival
as we stand beneath this threatening sky.

But as I hold your body next to mine
I can feel your spirit
just as you can feel my spirit
as you hold my body next to yours.

And so in this moment
we both realize:
even if our bodies fall
you and I, we will survive.

How Can I Live In This World?: poetry book
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© 2026, Michael R. Patton

Loving All I See

author’s note:

Even if we’re not with someone this Valentine’s Day, we can still express our love.


LOVING ALL I SEE

Some whispering people believe
I’ve fallen in love with myself
because I keep staring into the stream.

But no—
I want to see the reflection
of the limbs and leaves
with the wide blue sky beyond
where a lone bird drifts.

Yes, I could see the same
if I raised my head
but this way
I also see the shadow fish
darting beneath the surface
and a bed of stones worn smooth
where a crawfish scuttles backwards.

I love the leaves and sky and gliding bird
and the water and fish and those smooth stones.
And especially the scuttling crawfish.

And when I see my rippling face among them
I remember:
I am part of the nature I love.
So I should be fair
and love the lover as well.

mythsteps · Loving All I See

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© 2025, Michael R. Patton

The Quest

author’s note:

Happy Valentine’s Day.


THE QUEST

The young man told the wise man:
when I saw that silver palace
I felt overwhelmed
by an ecstasy of love.

So I now feel compelled
to search faraway lands
until reality matches my dream.

To that, the old man said:
no need to hunt--
you can find your love ecstasy
merely by appreciating
the simple beauty
of this earth.

Though disappointed by his master’s reply
our hero did indeed try:
he set himself down
in a field of wildflowers
and observed the world
as twilight darkened into night
and fireflies began to blink.

Soon entranced
by the quiet beauty
of those gold flashes
he felt a stir of warmth
within his chest.

Nice, yes, but not enough for him:
he yearned for a greater ecstasy.

But even more than that:
he wanted to heighten his life
by enduring the hardship and pain
of traversing that grand mountain chain
in pursuit of a divine ideal.

So the lad stood up,
aimed himself toward the rising sun
and began his quest--

a journey
which led him into
many deep valleys
where he shook with the fear
of being lost in dark shadow.

But he also knew the glory
of standing on a mountaintop
and watching golden-red dawn
flare up on the far horizon.

He walked miles and miles
of dry flat land
and found achievement
in the monotonous grind.

He fought the undertow
during many river crossings--
emerging shivering wet, yet
victorious.

But despite the sincerity of his work
the dream palace remained elusive.

Eventually, his divine desire
could not surmount
the reasonable demands
of body and mind.

His disappointment
made the hard ground
feel even harder when he hit:
he wept like a child
who’s lost his wish--

wept until his tears
emptied him--
leaving our man openly innocent:
open enough to find his love again
by finding beauty
in firefly flashes of gold
at twilight.

But the warm stir in his chest
stirred him up--
soon, he wanted more.

So he rose once again
to continue his quest.

How does this story end? you ask.

I hoped you might tell me.

But no matter--
I’d rather discover
for myself.

© 2020, Michael R. Patton
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The Archaeologist

dear reader:

An appropriate poem for Valentine's Day, I think.


THE ARCHAEOLOGIST

Every morning before work
as he sits in his stifling tent
he says her name:

the name of the one once worshipped
at these ancient temple ruins--Her.

With knees lowered
and his head bowed
he feels that name within:

a presence greater
a presence foreign

and yet
there it is:
a part of him.

From the strength of that feeling
he believes he follows a higher calling
and so, every day, he's able to endure
the dust--
the tedious shifting through dirt
the sweating madness of the desert--

he can even calm the fights
under that merciless sun.

But sometimes at night
while lying on his stiff cot in the dark
after another day of grinding labor
with little gain
that name--the goddess name
may not feel so meaningful

and so, for solace and inspiration
he instead whispers that other name

by contrast, a rather plain name

but like that ancient goddess
the woman of the plain name
also holds a cup to the sun:

no, not a cup of sanctified water--
maybe just a cup of strong coffee
or maybe a cup of stone-cut oats

but aren't such things also holy?--

this woman, not a goddess
but not wholly unlike one.

© 2018, Michael R. Patton
finding Beauty: poetry ebook