My Festive Song and Dance

author’s note:

My dancing feet refuse to learn dance steps.  I think they just want to be free.


MY FESTIVE SONG AND DANCE

I told the wise one:

“The love I feel in my heart
  seems inadequate for the task of life—
  I’ve tried but can not lose
  that quietly persistent sense of lack.”

And in reply the wise one said:

“Yes, you love the rain
  but you hate
  when rainwater floods your lot.
  And yes, you love the sun
  but you hate
  when those fiery rays scorch your crops.”

Aided by her insight I then saw the obvious:

If I saved my love for those parts of life I liked
my love would never fully develop—
I also needed to love the hardships I dreaded.

So I tried to love the times of pain:
I danced when merciless storms came
and sang a song of love
when the sun seemed so uncaring.

But despite my festive efforts
I still could not quite love
the fire and the flood.
However
since I loved to dance and sing
I did feel some love in my heart
during weather that seemed unfair.

But still not enough, not enough.

So I continue to try
to learn to love the deluge that ruins
as well as the sun’s cruel nonchalance.
Not easy work to be sure, but made easier
by my stubborn song and dance of love.

How Can I Live In This World?: poetry book
dream steps blog
myth steps blog
you tube channel
© 2026, Michael R. Patton

A Paradox of Size

author’s note:

Still shrinking.


A PARADOX OF SIZE

One day I told a wise tree:
“I sense I’m being driven from within
  but I can’t see what
  I am trying to accomplish.”

With a sigh, the tree then said:
“You can’t see because
  your deepest desire is buried so deep.

“Look down deep and you will see:

“That you want to cross over a threshold
  so you live in a mansion open to the sky.
  There, you can rise to your full height
  and squeeze rainwater from the clouds.

“But before you can cross
  you must first shrink yourself down
  because the door is small and low to the ground.”

“You mean, I must become less than I am?” I cried.

“No, you just need to realize
  your actual size.
  Like everyone else
  you’re really quite little.”

“But if that’s so
  how can I possibly reach the sky?”
  I whined.

“Because of a paradox,”
  the tree replied.
“As you deflate, you grow.
  Just like everybody else.

“A slow painful process, yes
  but without humility
  height and weight can be dangerous.
  You’ll be helping the whole world.”

As I left the tree then
I felt so foolish
but at least I’d shrunk a bit more.

How Can I Live In This World?: poetry book
dream steps blog
myth steps blog
you tube channel
© 2026, Michael R. Patton

In a Field of Clover

author’s note:

If you can’t find a four-leaf clover, I say: just use a little tape.


IN A FIELD OF CLOVER

“Your body is a green field of clover.”

When I found that line recently
I cringed with embarrassment—
what a silly besotted troubadour!

But then I remembered
the meadow of clover
where we’d once laid down
to rest.

And then I wanted to unremember
and when I couldn’t
I decided to return to that clover field—
desperate for a way to resolve
the conflict in my head.

So Sunday morning I drove
along that isolated dirt road
until I found the field.
Then I stopped and wandered out to the spot
and laid down on my back.

Again I felt
the cushiony springs of green beneath me.
Again I felt
the bright fleecy clouds breezing above me.

And to my surprise
in short time
all the commotion inside died—
my head felt delightfully light.

But then suddenly
a tree branch at field’s edge
splintered the sun’s rays
and a prism fell right into my eye
and I began to cry.

But not like a child, no—
I wept like someone
who’s lived long enough
to have learned well enough
the value of the complicated relationships
we endure and enjoy
with the complicated people
who leap or creep into our lives
for reasons too complicated
to ever fully comprehend.

Yes, I’d often told myself about the value
but I’d never actually felt gratitude
until I put thought to rest
and allowed emotion to rule
in the naked quiet
of a meadow filled
with soft clover love
and love from a Sunday morning sun.

How Can I Live In This World?: poetry book
dream steps blog
myth steps blog
you tube channel
© 2026, Michael R. Patton

The Goddess Blesses Me with Rain

author’s note:

For those who ask, “What’s her name?”

I say: use whatever name you wish.


THE GODDESS BLESSES ME WITH RAIN

The gifts of spring come naturally
because Earth tilts on its axis.

And yet I thank a goddess
for bringing the raindrops
that awaken my gray head—

in this moment
I feel I’m being blessed
by one who understands
the struggle of my winter.

With the breeze she tells me:
You needed Winter’s darkness.
But now’s the time to break the seed.
Open yourself to green glorious Spring.

Yes, I know about the tilt.
But I’d surely be a fool
to reject such a loving goddess.

How Can I Live In This World?: poetry book
dream steps blog
myth steps blog
you tube channel
© 2026, Michael R. Patton

Common Adventure

author’s note:

We’re all on the same team.  But right now, it looks like we're losing.


COMMON ADVENTURE

I wanted adventure
and though my resume
may seem rather tame
adventure I have had—
I’ve endured many rocky seas
while walking on dry land.

Every day I work hard
to calm my waters down—
a challenge compounded
by the turbulence
I see and hear and feel
all around—

everywhere
I see people struggling
to stay on their feet
as the waves grow wilder.
And the waves grow wilder
because we shake with fear
as the waves grow wilder.

Our dragon breathes beneath the surface.

Yes, quite an adventure!

But what could be the purpose of this trip?

Based my own experience
I now believe:
We come into this world to build our strength.

How Can I Live In This World?: poetry book
dream steps blog
myth steps blog
you tube channel
© 2026, Michael R. Patton

The Invisible Butterfly

author’s note:

Butterflies may seem to be on a frolic, but the truth is: they’re working their butts off the whole time.


THE INVISIBLE BUTTERFLY

This morning, when I saw the child
running in the sun—
her arms outstretched
her feet in too much of a rush—
I wrote:

Though she seems to be following
an invisible butterfly
the truth is:
she’s driven by a butterfly within.

I imagined that girl moving into adulthood
years from now—
still racing erratically through the tall grass
as if ruled by a mindless whimsy.

Those who watch her then
will wonder what she’s after
but her answers will only be evasions
because she’ll be as confounded as they are.
All she’ll know is:
her life seems to be captive
to a mysterious force
that destroys practical plans.

She’ll flitter and flutter here and there—

perhaps resting for a brief while
in a cool field smelling of honeydew melon.
Or perhaps she’ll pause for a season
on the shore of a brown lake
smelling of oil.

Though she will find satisfaction
in some of those places
in time, her peace will become
stagnation.
And then that drive will begin to stir deep within.
And the message will be: “move on”.

Sometimes she’ll try to ignore the instruction
but eventually she will learn:
she must obey an inborn aspiration
stronger than her conscious will.

Thinking about that child
and the woman she’d become
I again felt those wings rustling within.

So I whispered “bless you”
and moved on
led by my own inner butterfly.

After years of following
I can hear it now
as it silently says:
so much to be done
in so many places
before you can rest.

But I don’t bother to ask
“What’s it all for?”
because by now I know
the invisible butterfly
will not answer.

How Can I Live In This World?: poetry book
dream steps blog
myth steps blog
you tube channel
© 2025, Michael R. Patton

Our Dream of Fog and Sun

author’s note:

Is this poem based on an actual dream?

Its truth is based on many many dreams.


OUR DREAM OF FOG AND SUN

At the beginning of the dream
I saw
the golden tip of a rising sun

but suddenly fog swarmed in
and I began to struggle
to find a way through
that messy mass of cloud—
hoping for another shot of brightness.

Twice, the gray fabric thinned
and I glimpsed the brilliant circle
of the sun god through the gauze

but soon—too soon—the clouds crowded in again.

When I awoke
the message seemed obvious:

At birth my clear eyes
could see the sun
but the fog of this world
quickly dimmed my sight.

And though I’ve struggled hard
to defog my head
the haze remains quite thick

except for those blessed moments
when I’m able to part the clouds long enough
to see the sun again.

Those splendid breaks
help keep me strong in the battle.

I now realize:
though I may never achieve
clear victory
as long as I continue to fight
I will never be defeated.

I say:
my dream expresses a predicament
faced by anyone born human.

Maybe we can never regain
what we lost at birth
but if we struggle
to cut through the fog
we’ll occasionally realize our truth.

And the light we find then
will stay with us
all the way to the end.

How Can I Live In This World?: poetry book
dream steps blog
myth steps blog
you tube channel
© 2025, Michael R. Patton

Going Somewhere

author’s note:

Use of the word “nowhere” has spiked in recent years.

I wonder what that says about us.


GOING SOMEWHERE

I’m often disturbed
by how we use the word
“Nowhere”.

Just the other day
I overheard someone say:
The road went nowhere—
the dirt tracks disappeared
as soon as we reached the trees.

How very wrong he was:
any road that leads you to a forest
goes somewhere—goes to a forest.

And even if the road had ended
before reaching the tree line
it would still have gone somewhere
because every place on Earth is a place.

A fact I find encouraging
as I approach a new road:

I know
no matter how it ends
my efforts will definitely lead somewhere

and each step along the way
will take me to
a new place—another place
to be explored.

mythsteps · going somewhere

Myth Steps: poetry book
dream steps blog
myth steps blog
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© 2025, Michael R. Patton

How She Keeps Her Beam Bright

author’s note:

Now is that a light in the sky or just a spark in my heart?
       -- Graham Parker, “Waiting for the UFOs”


HOW SHE KEEPS HER BEAM BRIGHT

She told her friends
she was going to camp
at the lake that weekend
because she needed to be
alone with the stars again.

But secretly she hoped
if she sat down on the shore
and let the breeze blow away
all that fluff stuffed in her head
and let the night sky speak to her spirit
then her little light might brighten
and so, attract the attention
of the space beings flying above.

And they’d respond
by beaming her aboard.

Yes, what followed then
would probably be harrowing
but
she’d return as someone transformed.

Call her a fool if you want
but after struggling for so long
to disperse that dull gray cloud
she’d become desperate
for a drastic change of mind and heart.

But alas
after sitting on the bank for hours
searching the thousands of stars
she began to feel the dumb dry emptiness
of one who admits with regret
their sincere wish
is mere childish fantasy.

But then around midnight she glimpsed
a shooting star above the silhouette of a ridge
followed few moments later
by three blinks of blue light
from the trees on the other side of the lake.

When she next opened her eyes
she was stunned to find
time had jumped forward two hours.

She then realized:
the beings could’ve used those blue blinks
to put her into a trance
then lifted her up to their craft—
which she’d seen as a meteor.

Yes—
and once inside the ship
they had put her under a special ray
and healed all the damage done
over the years
to her spectral body.

Then, before lowering her back down
they’d erased the entire event from her memory.

Yes, must be so
because she did indeed feel different now—
all the next day a special sparkle
pervaded her body and being.

But to her chagrin
that sensation quickly faded
when she returned home to the city.

However, she’s now discovered this trick:

when that gray cloud begins to creep in again
she only needs to stop and sit
and close her eyes
and see in her mind the lights
of that blessed night
and then the feeling returns.

Yes, just for a few minutes
but those few minutes
are enough to keep her beam bright.

mythsteps · how she keeps her beam bright

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

The Good Little Boat Grows Brighter

author’s note:

Do I sometimes exaggerate for effect?  Well, yeah.

But not this time.


THE GOOD LITTLE BOAT GROWS BRIGHTER

Psychopathic pirates now rule the seas.
Cutthroats who feel no guilt.

But instead of defending ourselves
against those bloody Blackbeards
we honor them for their gall
and get drunk on their grog
after being blatantly robbed.

I would fight
those big flashy swords
but I fear the inevitable losses
would begin to darken my heart.

So for now
I’ll just keep feeding my little light
and share what I’ve got
as its flame slowly grows brighter.

And keep repeating
a hope I believe to be based in reality

and that is:

despite appearances
the age of Blackbeard has nearly
burnt itself out.
Millions of good boats
now roam the seas—
navigating—
lighting the way
toward a future
that may not be that bright
but at least, won’t be as bleak
as our present dark passage.

mythsteps · good little boat grows brighter

I’m Responsible: a book
dream steps blog
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© 2025, Michael R. Patton

Why the Rose Keeps Blooming

author’s note:

The proof of what I say is you.


WHY THE ROSE KEEPS BLOOMING

Some believe
the rose struggles to break free from the bud
because it wants to be lovely
but no—
it’s possessed by a mad desire to live.

However
after opening its eyes
the flower may discover
it resides inside a little cage.

The rose may then sink into self-pity
but soon enough
that willful plant will rise up
to protest the injustice
and as the flower finds its strength
a new bloom will come from the old one.

The bars of the cage
will then surrender to its power
and fall down to the ground
like the dead shards of a husk.

But alas!—
beyond the parameters of fallen cell
the rose will find another cell.
So though our hero enjoys
the extra space it’s earned
it still feels caged.

And so, as before
the rose will rebel
and by struggling, grow some more
and so
the bloom will bloom once more.

But just as before
after the cage breaks open
a new cage will emerge from the shadows.

In this way, that stubborn perennial
will move through a succession of cages.
The irony is:
because it expands with each new blooming
no cell ever feels big enough for that plant.
And so, the rose continues to grow
to the very end.

Maybe like me
you look at your petals
and see brown blotches
and ragged edges—
our blooms reveal our battle wounds—
yes, in this fight for life we’re scarred.

So I will try to solace you now
by telling you what I tell myself:
a flower with a blemished blossom
always speaks lovelier
than one still stuck in a spotless bud.

mythsteps · why the rose keeps blooming

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

The Spiral Staircase

author’s note:

A stairway with no end.


THE SPIRAL STAIRWAY

I may seem to be going in circles
over a path worn down to dusty ruts
but I believe:

I’m actually going up
a spiral stairway—
rising higher with every step—
with every step rising higher—
higher:

where the soul wants the heart to go.

To those who insist that’s nonsense
I say
Consider how this belief benefits me:

Because I believe our dizzy life
has a grand purpose
I’m willing to endure the vertigo.

And this belief encourages me
to keep on trying
to lift myself up—
high enough
for me to take
the next big step on this stairway.

And that helps everyone, doesn’t it?

I can see
why someone would think
we are only going in circles.
But whatever the reality may be
shouldn’t we try to find beliefs
that will motivate us
to keep on lifting ourselves up?—
to keep on lifting our world up?

High enough
for us to take
the next big step on this spiral stairway.

Searching for my best beliefs: poetry book
dream steps blog
myth steps blog
you tube channel
© 2025, Michael R. Patton

Empathy at the End of Winter

author’s note:

Full disclosure: I have used “sashaying trees” in a poem before.

But if you steal from yourself, is it really stealing?


EMPATHY AT THE END OF WINTER

On that morning
I couldn’t express the heavy feelings I felt.
But when I looked out the window
what I saw expressed how I felt.

I knew that black skeletal tree
felt so weak beneath
the gray sky hovering just overhead.
But its desire for life kept it upright.

And when I saw the brown leaves
still stuck on the pale-yellow grass
I could feel those dead leaves
clinging to my skin
and knew
the grass desperately wanted
a loving spring breeze to rise
and whisk those leaves away—
all of them—away—
so its pale blades could green again.

With such empathy swelling my chest
I could barely tolerate
what I saw outside.
But I did not look away
because I now saw
the power of my desire—
because I now saw
the strength of my endurance.

But then I did step away from the window
because suddenly I knew
how I could express what I felt
at the end of the winter
and knew

I needed to open my chest
and release those winter feelings
and try to resurrect
a bright spring inside

so I could love
when spring resurrected itself outside—
so I could feel the glory
of those towers of white cloud
and feel the abundance
to be found in my own little patch
of sashaying trees and sparkling green grass.

What I Learned While Alone: poetry book
dream steps blog
myth steps blog
you tube channel
© 2025, Michael R. Patton

Blessed Affliction

author’s note:

When I found the above cartoon recently, I wondered why I’d made that drawing years ago.

So I wrote a poem and discovered why.


BLESSED AFFLICTION

She didn’t see the cause
of her problems
until she dreamt that dream

in which she tried to rise
but fell over sideways
and then watched her long blue wing
flap helplessly against the ground
in puffs of dust.

When she awoke
our heroine could then see
her invisible reality:

on one side
she had a wing instead of an arm.
And on the other, no wing, just the arm.

No wonder she kept falling
when she tried to ascend.
No wonder the boxes
she tried to lift
often fell to the ground.

Now she knew why
some people fall into the dust
time after time after time
and struggle so much
when they try to carry boxes.

With such folk she’s now found a home.

Under that roof
they gather to grieve their plight.
But also encourage themselves
by sharing stories
of afflicted individuals
who never stopped trying to fly—
who never stopped trying
to lift boxes.
And so they continued to grow
until they grew
not only another wing
but another arm too.

Those stories have shown our heroine
the blessing inherent in her affliction:

if she didn’t have that one wing
she wouldn’t feel such a strong desire to fly
and if she had two arms, instead of just one
she wouldn’t want to lift boxes so badly.

Driven to lift
and driven to fly
she may eventually earn
another wing and another arm
and then carry boxes while in flight.

mythsteps · blessed affliction

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

A Real Boat

author’s note:

I’ve learned the hard way: you don’t tell the river what to do, the river tells you.


A REAL BOAT

When I found a rowboat by the bank
the wise one within gave me this whim:
why not step
into that little wooden boat
and shove off down the river?

Yes, I use metaphor
but I really am in a rowboat.
Oh yeah—
when rough waters
began to pummel the hull
I could barely walk down the street
as I rocked and reeled
from the turbulence I felt.

But I didn’t consider jumping
until I reached the shoals
because then I was forced
to go slow, so very slow.

In frustration
I pulled harder on the oars—
I pulled…I pulled…I pulled—
oh how I struggled!

To little effect, yes, but
as a result
I did not fall asleep
but instead
built strength.

Then by handling the madness
of all those twisted turns
I found I could handle more
than I ever believed possible.

Yes, I could’ve educated myself
with a long walk along the bank.
And if I’d taken a steamer
I would’ve traveled much farther
down this river.
But I would not have learned
how to push and how to pull
how to steer and how to follow.

I will now use a pun:
I keep enrolling in this river class
because the course continues to change
and so I continue to learn
how to pilot this boat
I once chose on a whim
guided by the wisdom within.

mythsteps · a real boat

What I Learned While Alone: poetry book
dream steps blog
myth steps blog
you tube channel
© 2024, Michael R. Patton

New River

author’s note:

“Well, I love that dirty water”
        — from “Dirty Water”, by The Standells


NEW RIVER

“Today I surveyed
 the new river that recently
 cut through our desert town

“and realized the obvious:
 it’s just that old river I once swam in
 making a sharp turn now
 after slamming into a mountain.

“I’m disturbed by its abrupt change—
 now, the mix seems even muddier.
 Wilder too.
 But I know better than to try to talk sense
 to river water—
 I’ve learned you can never win.

“Nonetheless
 I can still protest
 refusing to jump back in.”

So I wrote by candlelight last night.
But then as I lay down my pen
I heard the wise one say:

you know that mud bath
will force you to struggle
to find your truth within.

Well okay, wise one, I said
but just look at all that turbulence—
such anger in those waters!

The wise one told me then:
you know how that chaos
will force you to create better balance
as you spin within.

Well okay, wise one, I said
but
I can still find my truth
I can still create balance
if I stay on the bank—
as long I dance
as I move through my day
and meditate at sunset.
And read lots of books
during these long quiet nights—
especially those
that are smarter than I am.

The wise one remained silent then
because now I suddenly felt the truth:

When I first arrived
at this slow dry town
I needed a rest
in order to survive.
But now to live
I must dive
back into that mad river water.

mythsteps · New River

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

In the Garden of Dead Leaves

author’s note:

Some of my favorite gardens are junkyards.


IN THE GARDEN OF DEAD LEAVES

While walking in the garden of dead leaves
I learned:

the black pool may seem stagnant
but beneath the surface
ripe pods burst into festive green streamers.

I learned:

moist decay in the shadows
can birth
circles and circles
of small pink umbrellas.

I learned:

despite the darkness of the scene
where I was
was where I needed to be.

mythsteps · In The Garden of Dead Leaves

Listening to Silence: poetry ebook
dream steps blog
myth steps blog
you tube channel
© 2024, Michael R. Patton

Any Wise Snail Will Tell You

author’s note:

Oh snail
climb Mount Fuji,
but slowly, slowly!
          — Issa (trans. R. H. Blyth)


ANY WISE SNAIL WILL TELL YOU

Years ago, I was told:
if I could get past
certain obstacles in my path
I would arrive at a place of peace.

So of course I tried to hurry
but by rushing, often stumbled—
and sometimes tumbled
and fell on my knees.

Finally I realized
what any wise snail will tell you:

real progress occurs at a crawl.

But oh—
this slow pace can fatigue the spirit!

Fortunately, I’ve learned
the dangers of frustration.
So before I start to act out
I’ll force myself to stop and sit
down under a tree—
sit

until I again sense
the mysterious music hidden within
the menagerie
of creature, place, and thing
which is this planet

and then
if I can deepen my listening
I'll find my own strange harmony within.

But I can’t keep
what I haven’t yet earned—

at present
I can only stay in that heaven
for a few moments.

However afterwards
I don’t slump with the loss
no
I feel energized—ready
to continue this incredible crawl—

hoping one day to finally clear
all the trash, all the walls
that keep me from rooting down
in that glorious place of peace—

maybe then I can become
one of those human trees
that provide sheltering shade
for tired snails who need
to pause the crawl
and once again feel that harmony
they hold deep within their shells.

mythsteps · Any Wise Snail Will Tell You

Glorious Tedious Transformation: poetry book
dream steps blog
myth steps blog
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© 2024, Michael R. Patton

Fable of the Clam Who Opened

author’s note:

Planning a vacation?


FABLE OF THE CLAM WHO OPENED

She left a note
for the old woman upstairs
saying:
don’t worry—
just wanted to realize the dream
of escaping to
a tropical island.

But as often happens to human clams
as she lay on the beach
the tide crept up and pulled her down—
down through the shallows
until she fell from the shelf
into that roiling murky bay bottom.

Frightened by the depth
she closed even more
which only increased the pressure—
the pressure that comes
when a clam clamps down on itself
and tries not to feel what it’s feeling.

No longer able to ignore the pressure
she realized she’d soon explode
if she didn’t let go.
And so she finally opened:

an action that brought her back to the beach—
she awoke shaken but stronger.

Many have shared their own version of this fable:
when we try to escape change
the better one within
may pull us down into an ordeal
that will only end when we end
our resistance.

Good to remember that moral.
But let’s also inscribe on our minds
the second part of the story:

In the following years
many in distress
crossed the path of our heroine
and when they sensed her openness
often responded
by opening to her

and as they gave themselves up
they released the pressure building within
and so, did not explode
but defused with a peaceful song:

wave upon wave of notes—
high and low, low and high.

mythsteps · Fable of the Clam Who Opened

33 1/3 New Fables & Myths
dream steps blog
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© 2024, Michael R. Patton

Between a Lion & a Worm

author's note:

"Red wigglers…the Cadillac of worms!”
            -- from the TV series WKRP in Cincinnati


BETWEEN A LION & A WORM

The phenomenon known
as shape shifting
is a common occurrence.
Consider:

I've seen lions become worms
and hide under stones
after accepting the lie told to them.
But that need not be a tragedy—
a big cat can benefit
from living subterranean

because as a worm
it can feed upon
the rich life to be found
in the loam below the surface.

But as that grubber expands
its safe space
will began to feel
suffocating.

The crawler must then decide:
will I die as a worm
or emerge

and live as a lion?

I predict:
when we look back
on our worm-life
we will reject all regrets

because then
we’ll be able to see
all we learned
in our life as a worm.

mythsteps · Between a Lion and a Worm

© 2024, Michael R. Patton
glorious tedious transformation: a poetry book