The Symbolic Tree

author’s note:

Inspired by a photo of the 900-year old Camel Thorn trees at Namib-Naukluft National Park in Namibia.


THE SYMBOLIC TREE

The stark beauty of that desert plain
was enhanced by the presence
of a single tree.
Dead for hundreds of years
but well-preserved by the dry conditions
and the chemical composition
of those grains of sand.

Like a hand
that tree reached up from the golden land—
its bare black branches
beseeched the sky perpetually.

But finally
atmospheric forces won
when a record sandstorm
shattered that skeleton
with one big blow
and all the pieces
flew away on the whirling wind.

With the loss
that stretch of desert no longer matched
the photo the tourist bureau
had posted on the web.
Without that dramatic symbol
the plain now seemed so empty.

Realizing the need for a replacement
the government then planted
a monument on that very spot—
the black steel mirrored the tree in every detail:
same height, same girth, same desperate gesture.

Some statues die from neglect once erected.
But this one lives on.
Tourists come from all over the world
to visit that desert park.
And a recent study shows:
ninety percent take photos
of themselves beside
that symbolic tree.

Their grins can seem so silly
juxtaposed
against those naked steel branches.
But much goes on beneath a clown face.

I believe
people respond to that monument
because its severity expresses a secret truth.
A deep desire I again feel
now, as I revisit that picture.

Once again
I’m spurred to work
to cure the pain
of that blessed yearning.

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

Forest Church

author’s note:

Maybe church attendance isn’t actually falling.


FOREST CHURCH

I stop
and watch the trees reach for the sky

and then as before
feel the higher desire
hidden in the deepest part of my heart.

Knowing that pain again
I vow to work harder to heal the breach.

Did I go to church today?
Yes, of course, most definitely.

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

The Leaping Deer Sings Like a Howling Dog

author’s note:

“I praise what is truly alive,
 what longs to be burned to death.”
               – Goethe


THE LEAPING DEER SINGS LIKE A HOWLING DOG

When I was young I ran
hoping to lose that menacing shadow
nipping at my heels.

But one day a wise man told me:
you can only save yourself
by taking a long look
at what you’re running from.

So I took a long thoughtful look
and saw:
what a waste to try to escape myself.

Nonetheless
I kept on running
because

the blur of movement
felt so exhilarating
and my fire burned hotter the harder
I ran
and the heat felt the way I thought
life was supposed to feel.

However, in time
the flame died from exhaustion
and I had to lie down in the soft ashes.

But used the time to take
another long look—

because by then I realized:
once seen
a demon can be flipped
onto its angel side.

But as soon as my fire revived
I began to run again.
I ran I ran I ran
in mind, body, and spirit.

Years later
I’m still running.
Yes, the pace has slowed
but with age
I value each leaping step more

and so my exhilaration
has deepened into joy.

I’ve also learned to lie down
before I’m forced
and in those moments of stillness
I not only look down into that deep shadow
I also listen—
I listen, because I can’t always see.

And when I rise
I do what humans do
after they’ve heard the dark river:
I give words to the melody.

With those words
I sing our song as I run along.
And because the child in me
thrives on delight
I imagine I’m a leaping deer singing—
singing like a moon-eyed howling dog.

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

The Grand Temple

author’s note:

Does a comet realize it’s bright?


THE GRAND TEMPLE

Years ago, I visited a temple
prompted by my cat-like curiosity

and the light I found inside dazzled me.

Nonetheless, I did not stay—
I wanted to see what
the next temple might bring.

And to my delight
in the next I also found
the light of many jewels—
the same light just arrayed differently.

But no, I did not stay—
I wanted to know
if I could find more.

I traveled that path for a year—
finding jewels of light in so many temples
and some of what I found
stayed with me
after I moved on.

And so, I gradually grew brighter.

Then one day an old monk
told me of a temple
grander than all the others.

“Where?” I begged to know.
Despite all the light I’d found
I felt a driving need to find more.

“I can not show you,”
  the monk replied.
“But if you keep going
  you’ll eventually discover
  the temple I speak of.”

So of course, I kept going.

But as the days added up to months
and I did not find what I hoped to find
I despaired
of ever finding what I sought.

And so
though I stayed on the road
I felt lost

until the night I stopped
at the small adobe home
of a quiet peasant woman.

When I asked her if she knew
of the grand temple of my search
she did not speak
but led me to the backroom

then blew out the candle.

In the sudden darkness
I found myself surrounded
by a dazzle of diamond light—
so many facets flashing illumination—

moving, swirling around me
like a school of incandescent fish
in water deep black.

Quickly dizzy
from the unexpected spectacle
I nearly swooned.

“Where did you find all this light?”
  I whispered with my heart in my throat.

“I went to the temple within,”
  she said.
“Every day, every night
  I go to the temple within.”

After that evening, I ended my search
and returned home
carrying with me all the jewels
I’d gathered on my harvest trek—
including the fishes gifted to me
by that gifted woman.

All this brilliance helps guide my way
as I try to bring forth
those diamonds of light
hidden in the shadows of that backroom.

mythsteps · grand temple

33 1/3 New Fables & Myths
dream steps blog
myth steps blog
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© 2025, Michael R. Patton

Why I Love the Penguin

author’s note:

To all the penguins out there.


WHY I LOVE THE PENGUIN

Why did I respond so strongly
to that penguin video?

Why did I nearly cry
when I saw that little fellow waddle
over the white Antarctic ice?

And why did I sigh
when the bird plonked
into the chop of the sea
then glided
in intelligent undulations
down and down
through deeper shades of blue?
It flew through the water
on wings that before seemed useless.

Maybe in that waddler
I saw how I usually am in the world.
And maybe in that sleek swimmer
I saw my secret desire.

When I go below the surface
I feel the grace within.
A quiet intensity that defies expression
so for the purposes of this poem
I will call it “soul”

knowing that those who read poets
will understand
what I mean when I say:
I feel more grace, more soul
the deeper I go.

But I’ve never been able
to go deep enough
to know pure grace, pure soul.

Like the penguin
I’m only able to stay under a short time
then I must emerge
to waddle around on the ice once more.

I enjoyed the penguin before—
it looked so cute in its tuxedo.
But now I love the penguin
having witnessed
its deep desire for soul.

mythsteps · why I love the penguin

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
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© 2024, Michael R. Patton

What the Sled Dog Found

author's note:

When one dog barks, one hundred dogs bark.
               — old Chinese proverb


WHAT THE SLED DOG FOUND

The sled dog
woke in the starry arctic night
with the strange sense
that somewhere out there in the darkness
a secret world waited to be discovered—
a reality as yet unknown.

So while her minders slept
she wandered away from the team
knowing she’d never return.

Searching for a fantasy, perhaps
but
considering the stress and rush
of her daily routine
perhaps not such a foolish act.

A season has passed since then
and she still hasn’t found
the trail to that mystery world.
And so her ache has only grown:

a pain of desire—
a desire she has tracked
down
and down
to new depths in the heart.

The feeling demands expression.
So every evening she sits down
and begins to howl
from deep deep down.

Recently, on a new moon night
a mad wind carried her howl
to a snow dog faraway
stirring him from his slumbers.

The feeling in the sound roused
a feeling deep within him
and so he also begin to howl
from deep deep down.

The start of a chain reaction, it seems:

since then one dog after another
has been perked by some version of the howl
and by responding
each has discovered a truth
deep deep down—
the desire for a life greater, grander
than the one they know now.

The sled dog may never find
that new world.  But
what she uncovers in her search
will awaken new life
in this old dog world.

mythsteps · What the Sled Dog Found

Get the Message: a short guide for understanding dreams
dream steps blog
myth steps blog
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© 2024, Michael R. Patton

Singing the Words of Little Heavens

author’s note:

“He words me, girls, he words me!”
         -- Shakespeare, from Antony & Cleopatra


SINGING THE WORDS OF LITTLE HEAVENS

I once went to heaven in a dream

then labored to write of the experience
hoping to create an incantation
that would transport
all those trying to rise to the sky.

But I could not find words so divine--
any description seemed at best
a pale imitation of bliss.

Yet I continue
to attempt the impossible
and each time
I again feel what I lost
and as desire reawakens
I reach up

and again suffer
that old frustration and strain.

But I’ll go numb
if I just sit around--
occasionally I need to stretch
and besides

though I never touch
the heaven of my dreams
by trying, I lift myself
(at least a bit)
and while I’m up
I sing the words of little heavens.

mythsteps · Singing the Words of Little Heavens

Common Courage: poetry book
myth steps blog
dream steps blog
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© 2023, Michael R. Patton

The New Sisyphus

author’s note:

I believe this new version of the Sisyphus myth to be more accurate than the one from Ancient Greece.


THE NEW SISYPHUS

An inner drive of mysterious origin
goads this goat
to climb a mountain
every blessed day.

Dizzy with these heights
I try to create some stability
by seeing my world clearly--
I try to take it all in

and as I digest
I am well nourished.

So I don’t feel discouraged
in the morning when I wake to find
one more peak to climb.

Yes, I must start at the bottom
but that base rises from the summit
of the mountain I just surmounted.
Thus, I’m making progress.

Howeverv sometimes I feel so tired.
In frustration, I may then announce:
I just might stop right here right now.

Not merely a wish--
I know the gods would allow me.
I do have free will.

But I also know:
if left unfed
this drive would try to satisfy its hunger
by devouring the one
who sat down in defiance
and said
“I have seen enough.”

Glorious Tedious Transformation: poetry book
dream steps blog
myth steps blog
you tube channel
© 2023, Michael R. Patton

The Bridge

author’s note:

When I discovered the Golden Gate bridge wasn’t actually painted gold, I felt disappointed.

But later, I realized: regardless of the color, it’s golden.


THE BRIDGE

In the dream I saw a bridge
arc across the sky

only to fade too soon as rainbows do.

So as I woke
I felt both hope
and disappointment:

again I knew a drive that often irritates--
the desire to bridge a divide within
and end this war with myself.

“You can’t even maintain
 that bridge in your dreams!”

sighed the adult
who, for years, has felt
the tiresome frustration
of continually struggling
to create a peace
that, once made, soon evaporates
like a fantasy.

But then the bright child I sometimes am
countered with this claim:
though you can’t yet hold that bridge up
under the pressures of this world
its truth always lives within you.

But before the two could argue
the wise one rose up from down deep
to tell me:

this dream came because
you needed to remember
that the pain of desire unfulfilled
feels worse than the pain of fatigue.

Now you’ll keep working
to strengthen your golden bridge.

The Truth of the Dream: poetry book
dream steps blog
myth steps blog
you tube channel
© 2023, Michael R. Patton

The Bee Machine Responds to the Demands of its Spirit

author's note:

Buzz!  Buzz!
          -- Shakespeare, Taming of the Shrew


THE BEE MACHINE RESPONDS TO THE DEMANDS OF ITS SPIRIT

In deep quiet I find
someone much more peaceful
than the one I usually am

and yet
I don’t linger down too long--
though I sometimes try
I can’t ignore the desire to rise

but maybe erupt is the better word--

to go a thousand different ways
until overladen with all I’ve taken in
like the bee weighted with pollen.

then I’ll feel the need
to cleanse myself again

in a deep solitary pool of quiet:

striving for a supreme silence
I can never completely reach
because in short time I’ll feel compelled
to leap back up once more.

Some would judge this pattern of behavior
as programmed mechanical action.
In other words:
I’m not just like a bee, I am a bee.

To that idea
I say what my silence has told me:
I’m a bee responding to the demands
of an energy beyond my understanding.

you tube channel
© 2021, Michael R. Patton

The Flame in My Silence

author’s note:

Up from the bottom
    of an old pond,
    that duckling
has seen something strange.
      -- Joso (Beilenson/Behn trans.)


THE FLAME IN MY SILENCE

I found silence

while casually exploring
a deep water cave
dating back to the stone age.

In that silence, I felt at peace
despite the depth
and in the clarity of my calm
I saw a single flame
faraway in the dark--

not extinguished by the water, but fed.

I did not understand
why I wanted that flame
but I did understand
I could draw that steady fire to me
by remaining silent

but impatient desire
soon ended my silence
and the flame vanished.

At that point, I realized
the fire might be unattainable.
So, of course, I vowed to make it mine.

In that way
I began a quest of years
and though I still can’t stay
in silent calm for long
I seem to bring the fire flame
just a little bit closer
with every descent.

If “seem” seems to be
a soft ambiguous word
consider this sentence:

Whenever I go to that depth
I seem to travel back
to the age of stone
when humans first dove
into the deep waters
and there, in silence
discovered their fire.

floating leaf video
© 2021, Michael R. Patton

The Fable of the Delusional Bird

author’s note:

While doing research for this poem, I discovered that use of the word “delusional” has sharply increased in recent years.

Just thought I’d throw that out there.


THE FABLE OF THE DELUSIONAL BIRD

Why was the bird so madly ambitious?

We don’t know we only know
from a young age, the bird
wanted to create a song
that would endure after its death:

a song to be sung
down through the generations--
the beat would become part
of the heartbeat of this planet.

Though at first its tune
sounded quite puny
the little bird sang on

believing its sincerity

would one day transform the ditty
into a symphony worthy
of sophisticated orchestras.

A silly notion, yes
but one that encouraged the bird
to keep singing

through all those years
when its song of life
only had enough life
to shake the leaves.

The bird kept singing
even as its frustration
grew from a mild irritation
into a torment
and then a torture.

The bird continued then because
it could hear how that heartrending pain
actually helped to strengthen the song

and could feel how
its voice now sounded all the way down
through the trunk to the roots of the tree.

This development continues to develop
and so, the bird still believes
its song will eventually
deliver listeners into ecstasy.

If no wandering composer
offers to score the notes
the bird plans to fly from its tree
when the song finally feels
ripe to the point of bursting

then that avian will sow the seeds
of its complex melodies
all over the world
so that choirs everywhere can chorus
the wondrous composition.

A grand ambition, but
that bird is obviously suffering
from a delusion.
I shudder to imagine
what might happen
to the poor creature
if it ever wakes up to reality.

But to be honest,
behind my pity
there lurks a bit of envy.

40 New Fables
© 2021, Michael R. Patton

Touching the Moon

author’s note:

From watching the moon
       I turned
       and my friend old
shadow led me home
       -- Shiki (trans. Beilenson/Behn)


TOUCHING THE MOON

I hate the moon tonight because
my stunted arms can’t grant
the wish of my starved hands
to touch the moon I love:
I love

the deep feelings
that orb provokes.

So despite the torture
I continue to gaze
into its inscrutable face

until my desire
finally seems unbearable.
Then I turn away

and weave my way
back through
this midnight wood.

But the moon follows me--
paints milk on leaves
beside the trail--
the shadows deepen in response
to this illumination.

I lay my hand on a stone
softened by moonglow
and touch the moon by touching that stone.

And again I realize:
though our gods and goddesses
seem so distant
we can still feel them
through all those things
that shine with their light.

What I Learned While Alone: poetry ebook
© 2021, Michael R. Patton

The North Star

author’s note:

When I see that twinkle in your eye, I know you’re star.


THE NORTH STAR

Have you ever felt like howling
at the North Star?--
perhaps spurred by
the natural desire
to reach what seems
beyond reach?

Years ago
with my mind spiraling
I acted on impulse
and climbed out the upstairs window
to sit on the roof and answer
that star with my heart.

Tantalized--!--I maintained
my hound dog moan
until yanked down
to the ground
by the dawn.

I felt rough and burnt
all that morning
but tried to comfort myself
with this thought:
the star had seemed closer
than ever before
in its shift of clouds.

But alas. I couldn’t ignore
how that diamond refused
to lower more
despite my pleading.

Then at noon
I remembered the dream
in which I looked down
and found a star in my heart.

At that moment, I realized
the truth behind
the desire that has me spiraling.

myth steps blog
© 2021, Michael R. Patton

Freedom Fighter

author’s note:

I believe my battles are battles fought by the whole human race.


FREEDOM FIGHTER

I built these walls
because I desired security

but once inside, I discovered
my strong desire for freedom.

Hoping to stave off starvation
I stocked this larder with a lot of stuff

but after stuffing myself with so much
I discovered greater hungers.

I now see how I secretly set myself up
for a liberation victory:
   driven by higher desires
   I’ll struggle to subdue my fear
   and in that way
   spring myself from this jail.

© 2021, Michael R. Patton
Soultime: a novel

Listening to a Meadowlark (or maybe a Starling)

author's note:

Skylark
have you anythng to say to me?
          -- Skylark, by Hoagy Carmichael


Listening to a Meadowlark (or maybe a Starling)

Our ancient ancestors believed
the souls of the departed
inhabited the bodies of birds

but maybe they got it backwards:

long ago on a quiet evening
I detected down in my heart
a restless rustling
of ghostly feathers and wings--

a meadowlark, I hoped
(but I could accept a starling).
In any case,
I then understood

why
I lift my arms to the open sky--
I want that union again.
I want the paradox
of being free while obeying
currents above the mundane.

Aren’t we all birds?

Maybe some will say: not me.
But if you feel those rustlings too
I’ll tell you what I do:

knowing I must wait before
I can return to my lark life
I ease the pain of desire
by quieting myself down
occasionally
so I can hear that bird sing
and then remember:
a bird on the ground
is still a bird.

Though I realize
I can’t recreate such song
I still try
because sometimes then
I meet the sky

at least, for a short time.

© 2021, Michael R. Patton
Dancing to Raven's Song: a novel

Mysterious Groundhog Life

author's mote:

Every day should be Groundhog Day.


MYSTERIOUS GROUNDHOG LIFE

When I saw the groundhog
waddling along--
grubbing just to survive--
I saw myself
and suddenly my dream
of being an eagle in high flight
felt like a lie:

a fantasy I use
to distract myself
from the plain truth
of my groundhog life

with its daily routine of mundane chores
made worse by incessant small frustrations.

But then
as I continued to watch
that humble creature work
I began to marvel
at the force in its frame--
does the fodder
of wildgrass and grubs
provide all that energy?--

maybe the body also draws
from some higher source.

Whatever the case may be
in that moment, I witnessed

the mystery of life
in a life quite common

and felt again
the mystery of my own life--
the mystery of our groundhog life.

My wonder then lifted me
high above this flat ground.

So maybe the sages were right
when they told us:
you must first embrace
this lowly earth
before you can realize
your dream of flight.

40 New Fables: ebook
myth steps blog © 2020, 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

a taste of green sky

author’s note:

To all the giraffes out there.

I think you know who you are.


A TASTE OF GREEN SKY

As I struggled
up the tree trunk--
  seeking without knowing
  what I sought--

a giraffe lowered its neck
and let me ride
all the way
to the leaves at the top

so I could feed as it fed

on that green nectar:
the dark mineral of earth
combined with the lightness of sky.
I grew giddy and dizzy with delight
and surely would have fallen

if the giraffe had not bent back down.

My host then shook me free and moved on.

At the time, I thought: quite rude!

But now as I grapple
with these thorny branches
I thank the giraffe
for granting me that taste

so that I might realize
what I truly sought
then fight my way upward--
accepting the cost.

© 2020, Michael R. Patton
what I learned while alone: poetry ebook