King Kong Dances on the Winter Grass

author’s note:

I write prescriptions for myself.


KING KONG DANCES ON THE WINTER GRASS

As I walk over this expanse of stubby brown grass
I’m inspired by the morning sound
of ice crystals crackling under my boot heels
and for a few moments I become
King Kong—

I dance with my big hairy feet—
pulverizing the cruel ice.
Crunch crunch crunch.

King Kong lets his inner child play
and in so doing, frees the winter grass.

But after only a few minutes
Kong has started to huff and puff
and when I sit down on the ground, I know
I’m just as mad
and just as sad
as I was before my big ape dance.

Yet cleared by increasing my heartrate.
And satisfied aesthetically now:
Yes, I live in a brutal world
but I can still breathe deep
the cool watery smell of this melting ice
and the sharp mineral scent of the awakened soil.

I am a child.  I am King Kong.
I am a lover of the natural elegance of this planet.
And when I release those aspects
I may become a dancing fool

which helps to clear my head
and also helps clear a patch
of yellow-brown winter grass.

Listening to Silence: poetry book
dream steps blog
myth steps blog
you tube channel
© 2026, Michael R. Patton

Bless the Starlings

author’s note:

I don’t think they like me either.


BLESS THE STARLINGS

Yesterday I woke at dawn
with a sense of disturbance.
Looking out the window
I then saw the cause:

a hundred starlings loitered in my yard.

A foul fowl in my opinion:
traveling in herds, they shove out all the other birds.
Arrogant.  Ignorant.  Belligerent.
Their voices always full of complaint.

So I waved my arms
and shooed those devils away.

But they merely circled round
and settled back down on my lawn.

So again I waved and shouted.

Only to see the flock return moments later
with dozens more in its defiant chorus.

After two more tries
I finally said with a sigh:
“Okay you feathered fiends, you win.”

Then went inside.

But I could still hear
the racket of that flock—
the fidgety fluttering, the raspy chattering.

But what could I do?

I saw no other option
but to fall back on my bed
and try to accept what I’d rejected.
Maybe I could become accustomed
to the torture.
Then my anger might unclench its fist
and I would know calm within.

And indeed—
as I endured patiently
I felt the ruckus slowly settle down
to a dull innocuous murmuring.
Yes, I achieved a relative peace.

Then suddenly all grew still
both inside and out.

I realized the starlings had fled.
By surrendering, I’d won.

But that vacuum was soon filled
as my inner monologue began again—
amplified now by the quiet.

That spiel spills out
with hardly a pause
during my waking hours.
Sometimes the words come from
an elevated place.
But more often the words come
from a place lower down.
That’s not what I want to hear from myself.
But I haven’t found a way
to shut that base voice down.

Sometimes I’ll stop
and shoo that noise away.
But too soon the disturbance returns.

Yeah—
just like those starlings on my lawn yesterday.

My opinion of the species
remains pretty much the same
and yet, I bless them now—

through those birds perhaps I’ve learned
a way to come to terms
with that lowdown being inside of me
fighting for survival.

Listening to Silence: poetry book
dream steps blog
myth steps blog
you tube channel
© 2025, Michael R. Patton

Defiant Plant Ritual Dance

author’s note:

I also dance just to be silly.


DEFIANT PLANT RITUAL DANCE

Though I doubted the value of prayer
I decided: why not at least try?

So I begged the sky god of fire
to show mercy and end this drought.

But though I didn’t really believe
I still felt hurt
when my petition went unanswered—
I began to curse that fiery eye—
yes, I raged

until I finally exhausted my little flame.

But then in abject defeat I found
the cool relief of humility.

Nonetheless
we still had to live in drought—
so many innocents
had already suffered so much.

Thinking about the unfairness
stirred my ire again
and so my fire stirred again
and slowly rose from the ashes.

I then realized:
yes, that fire was my life
but
such flare ups would devour me
unless I found a way to make peace
with our predicament.

At first I tried logic
but even my best reasoning
failed to satisfy me.

So then in desperation I decided
to try to channel my small fire
into a daring act of celebration.
Yes, I designed my own ritual—

it began with a silly dance:
I flashed my leaves
and sashayed
while thundering my emotion
in a song addressed to the sky god.

Some claim I spouted blasphemy.
But how can a lyric so positive be sinful?
Consider these lines:

“I may be weak
 but I am not powerless:

“No matter what you do
 I will not curse you.
 Nor will I praise.
 I will do my best to remain
 ndifferent.

“My emotions are my own—
 no one else controls them.
 No one else controls my thoughts.
 So though I depend on you
 I remain staunchly independent.”

I stirred myself with those strong verses
then kept stirring by repeating the words—
soon I started to spin
then spun faster
then faster
and faster
as I spiraled toward the night heaven
on a thin wobbly stem steadily elongating

until my top leaves finally reached
and touched
and held
a cloud quite purple and plump.

What a saturation of joy in that moment—
I’ve performed this ritual many times since then

especially when
I feel the urge to curse that god above.

Yeah this drought may kill me
but I will die with a defiant smile.
Why shouldn’t I feel pleased?
I’ve discovered a way to thrive
in a hostile environment—
I have found victory in defeat.

mythsteps · Defiant Plant Ritual Dance

Survival: poetry book
dream steps blog
myth steps blog
you tube channel
© 2024, Michael R. Patton

How Aunt Maggie Got So Bright

author’s note:

I don’t claim to be bright.  But I’m not as dim as I once was.


HOW AUNT MAGGIE GOT SO BRIGHT

I have a theory about why
Aunt Maggie wasn’t wearing her usual frown
when you saw her late last night:

I believe
a period of forced reflection
follows death
and I know when I stop to reflect
I often find my truth—
like the time I asked myself
this question:

Why I do I groan, why do I grumble
over a little cookie that crumbled?
After all, by now I know
every day, some cookie will surely crumble.

Then
after waiting silently...patiently
for an answer
I begin to feel what I truly felt
deep within
and realized my whining
merely echoed the cry
of an old buried wound

then wept with empathy
for the person I am.

So now, when hear someone grousing
over some small thing
I know
the true depth of their suffering.

In such voices I hear Aunt Maggie—

who I believe does indeed “rest in peace”
because in death
she had to stop to reflect
and feel what she really felt
in the life just lived

and so, she’s finally grieved the grief
hidden beneath her many grievances.

Aware of her own pain now
she’s become aware of yours—
that’s why she gazes down at you
with such bright tenderness
as you try to rest in peace
in the deep darkness of your room.

Butterfly Soul: poetry book
dream steps blog
myth steps blog
you tube channel
© 2022, Michael R. Patton

An Important Belief

author's note:

To the woman who tried to teach me the rules of grammar in high school:

“Mrs. Creighton, wherever you are, please excuse the redundancy in verse three.”


AN IMPORTANT BELIEF

How could I accept the death
of someone who seemed

too soon gone from us--
her good work unfinished?

Maybe the answer I found sounds cliché
but years later
I still think it’s a good belief:
we die when our time is done.

Yes--
for reasons we can not know
the beacon needed to die when he did
though his light was so desperately needed.

And that man possessed
needed to take his final step
though his glorious bridge
was only halfway across.

And the group needed
to fly away from here
though in leaving, they left
so much creative passion
unexpressed.

Yes--
apparently, the scientist
needed to exit
on that exact day
though she was only weeks away
from a discovery
that would have saved lives.

To those who want to argue
with my idea, I simply reply:

I believe it’s a good belief
because it says:
don’t try to make sense
of what seems senseless.
Just accept and grieve
without feeling angry.

But maybe this belief
serves an even better purpose:

when I remember what I believe
I again realize
I’d better get going--
no matter how important
my plans seem
Death may not wait.

And with that thought
the present moment
suddenly becomes
monumentally important.

Yeah, I believe I have
some important plans...

Nonetheless
if I fell down dead tonight
I think I'd rest in peace
comforted by the belief
I’d reached my expiration date--
I had reached my due date.

dream steps blog
myth steps blog
picturing metaphor
you tube channel
© 2022, Michael R. Patton

Surrender to the Ice Cube

author’s note:

“Be cool, baby”
          -- anonymous


SURRENDER TO THE ICE CUBE

When the heat of conflict builds within…

I can prevent explosion
by rubbing an ice cube
across my forehead--
moving it in slow circles
right to left
then left to right.

Yes, an ordinary cube can soothe me
mentally and emotionally.

Yet I often forget
to apply this medicine
when it's most needed.

Why is that?

Maybe as a baby
I became aggrieved
at our unjust world
and that angry baby
still cries in pain
and occasionally tries
to seize control
and make its deep wound known.

But after I flare
the adult I am
feels remorse--
embarrassed.
Small.
Even when I win, I lose.

So I’m determined to become
the type of person who always
stops to apply
the tonic of the ice cube
before the moment combusts.

That’s why I keep
listening down deep--
I need to hear
so I can heal
the old newborn wailing
somewhere under all those ashes.

myth steps blog
dream steps blog
you tube channel
33 1/3 New Fables & Myths
© 2022, Michael R. Patton

Mad Monkey

author’s note:

I tried to shadow box and got knocked out.


MAD MONKEY

Though rarely shown in public
that little demon shouts its rage
throughout the day
in the shadows of my mind--
urging me to retaliate
against a donkey world.

I’ve tried to quiet that bastard
by shutting him up in a box
but though small, he’s quite mighty
and rebels against such tyranny
by breaking every lock I devise.

So now I’m trying to learn
how to use that fierce obstinate energy
in the service of good.

He hates obstacles--he hates “no”.
So maybe he can help pull me
up this mountain--

if I can ease that mad monkey
into the harness
he could become a fire horse.

If I can’t
he’ll just keep on running
ragged circles in my mind--
devouring the best of my thought.

myth steps blog
dream steps blog
you tube channel
© 2022, Michael R. Patton

Listening to Myself

author’s note:

I’d like to add: it’s also good to see a therapist besides yourself.


LISTENING TO MYSELF

I’ve finally learned:

when the chest begins to tighten
I must stop and become
the therapist--
the one who doesn’t judge
or even try to resolve the conflict
tying up my head at that moment.

When this wise one hears my anger
it hears the old pain hidden beneath
the conflict.

It hears the old grief.

Sometimes someone just needs
someone to acknowledge their pain.
Since no one knows me better
than my own self
I can be my best listener--
but only if I stop criticizing
and open my empathy instead.

When I do, I emerge
from the brief listening session
feeling the fresh strength of release
and perhaps then I can dance
rather than wrestle with
the conflict of the moment.

Poet, Heal Thyself: poetry ebook
© 2021, Michael R. Patton

Anchor Stone

author’s note:

“These aren’t just words talking.”
          -- Mary Oliver


ANCHOR STONE

I hesitate to explore my anger

because I know a flood
of grief and doubt awaits
beneath my foggy roil.

But still I dive down

because the fighter within
wants to battle my fear
of drowning and learn
how to swim

and because
this intrepid scholar
desires to discover
what lurks beneath

and also because
my beleaguered self
sometimes finds relief--

if I go deep enough
into those murky waters
sometimes
below all the hubbub
I’ll again touch
the anchor stone:

a wisdom within me
and yet, not from me:

beyond reason
yet, solidly reassuring--
wordlessly whispering
what I’m still too dim to see:

all is as it needs to be.

An idea I’m able to accept
when I resurface
by telling myself:

if this life had been other
than what it was and is
I might never have known
that core anchor stone.

© 2019, Michael R. Patton
Listening to Silence: poetry ebook

Dreaming the Truth

author's note:

Heart attacks often occur in the morning hours during the last phase of REM (dream) sleep.


DREAMING THE TRUTH

The truth must actually be important:

otherwise why would my dreams
ruin a soft nourishing sleep
by revealing the true chaos
of my waking life?--

ruin, by revealing
my relentless distress

then add to that distress
by revealing
I’m not yet over the sorrow
I thought I’d put to rest
years ago

and then
at the end of night
stun me one more time
by revealing the love
behind my dislike
and the anger raging under
what I thought
was calm acceptance.

No wonder our hearts often burst
while we're asleep...

but maybe my dreams will be
a little easier on me
if I can wake myself
to more of the truth
amid the chaos of these days.

© 2018, Michael R. Patton
my war for peace: poetry ebook