The Dragon Frog

author’s note:

Our dreams show us the many creatures we are.


THE DRAGON FROG

As a child I heard a story
about a diamond honed by fire
in the belly of a dragon
living in a lake underground.

But when I asked my teacher
How can I get down there?
She smiled wisely and explained:
the tale was symbolic--

the dragon actually slept within me

and when I became a adult
that glorious golden creature
would rise to the surface.

Yes, I thought, it’ll roar
And the world will witness
a diamond blazing
on the flame of its tongue.

So with great hope, I waited
and when I thought the time had come
I proudly strode out
and opened my mouth
believing my oration would dazzle.
Yes--like a fiery diamond.

Well, I wasn’t a total fizzle--
occasionally I thought I saw
some crystalline sparks drifting up

but even then
the world did not respond
and in depression I doubted
I would ever be the fire-dragon
of my imagination.

What I experienced instead
was my inner bullfrog
mired down in the muck.

But as any wise swamp-guide will tell you:
deep frogs feel compelled to sing about
this muddy life of ours

and I swear
when I listen closely I can detect
promising glints of diamond light
in my belching eruptions.

And from what I’ve seen I’ve learned
dragons must often live
as subterranean amphibians
before they can birth gems.

But I’m honest enough to admit
I might remain as I am: a lump
stuck in the mud of a swamp.

In any case
I won’t ignore the impulse to croak--
I tried before and died.
Each year, the clocks ticks louder
and the desire to live shouts louder.

Who knows?--
under such pressure this dragon frog
could finally cough up a few jewels.

33 1/3 New Fables & Myths
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© 2023, Michael R. Patton

The Diamond Kite

author’s note:

This hour I tell things in confidence,
I might not tell everybody but I will tell you.
            -- Walt Whitman


THE DIAMOND KITE

Yesterday, when I saw the kite
I saw myself

sleeping in a park clearing
--no tail, no string--
just thin orange paper breathing
in a flimsy wooden frame

until woken abruptly by a gust--
twirled straight up--
up above the maple trees

then held--suspended:
burning golden in the sun
for an operatic moment.

But soon the magic went "poof"
and the kite spiraled down
to land softly on the lawn--

the diamond eagle: a ground bird
once again.

I know how it feels

to be suddenly lifted
by some invisible hand--
held aloft

only to be set down
in the next breath.

A short vacation
yet long enough
for me to know the wonder
of being a diamond kite

and so, ever since
I've wanted that height
as a permanent residence

and have worked to build
string and tail.

But after so many years
and so much effort, I fear
my kite dream may only be
a pipe dream.

Nevertheless...

when I saw that kite aloft
I could not deny my desire
to lift myself up
to my diamond height.

© 2018, Michael R. Patton
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