The Woman of Gold

author’s note:

Continuing a continuing theme.


THE WOMAN OF GOLD

My friend, the comic
said he sought a woman of gold
but so far in his search
he’d found only lead.

I then mentioned a woman
he knew and I’d recently met.

But to that idea, he replied:

"What about those big ears
  and those big bug eyes
  and that big butt
  that wobbles from side to side
  when she walks up the stairs?"

I scolded him then, saying
“Consider the possibilities:

“Perhaps ears so big are made to detect
  the sound of gold hidden in this world of lead.
  And when that woman hears that gold
  that gold becomes
  part of who she is.

“And maybe eyes so big and buggy
  are well-designed to see the gold
  hidden in this world of lead.
  And when that woman sees that gold
  that gold becomes
  part of who she is.

“And to me, that wobble expresses
  the continual interaction
  of life’s yin and yang.
  That big butt bears witness
  To the universal creative energies within her.

“That’s not lead, my friend, that’s gold.”

Startled by my own response
I decided to let that obtuse man
find his way alone
then hurried home to phone
that glorious woman of gold.

mythsteps · the woman of gold

finding Beauty: poetry book
dream steps blog
myth steps blog
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© 2025, Michael R. Patton

Golden Belief

author’s note:

Wishing you a golden new year.


GOLDEN BELIEF

When I learned about leprechauns
as I child
I decided:
Noah found a pot of gold
when his ark reached the rainbow
after 40 days and 40 nights of storm.

Then whenever I saw a rainbow arc
I’d think to myself:
if I could somehow find a way over there
I’d carry home
a kettle filled with coin
and begin a sunny new life.

Of course, in time, I realized
no ’bow ever touched down.
No end to be found--no gold.

And yet even now
if I happen to glimpse
just a shred of a prism
hanging in the air
I’ll again feel that hope
and imagine finally arriving
at the end of the rainbow
where my gold shines like a sun.

Of course, as an adult I understand
the gold I seek is not a tangible metal
but a wisdom earned
by finding ways to navigate
days and nights of storm.

Am I a fool to think
I can ever own so much gold?
Maybe.
But I’ll keep believing
because if I ever stop struggling
I’ll be deadened
by the feeling of defeat.

Dancing to Raven’s Song: a novel novel
dream steps blog
myth steps blog
you tube channel
© 2022, Michael R. Patton

My Quest for Gold

author’s note:

If a quest didn’t present us with one frustration after another…

…would the quest really be worth our time and effort?


MY QUEST FOR GOLD

Years ago
someone said:
look--
can you see the gold
in this piece?

Well, yes--
when I stopped, I could--
though only dimly at first

yet enough to wake in me
the desire to see
the gold of this world

because when I saw, I felt
the gold within me

then saw more clearly
then felt more.

Such pursuits qualify as quests.

But alas
to search for the ideal
creates frustration:

what I was told was gold
often didn’t touch me

and what had once touched me
might later feel like silver
or sometimes even lead
when I returned
hoping for a repeat
of the first feeling.

But then someone said:
if you open your eyes more fully--
focus yourself completely--
you can find gold
in any ordinary thing.

What a joy to realize
the truth of that beautiful sentiment
(even if the vision lasted
  for only a few touching moments).

Following that discovery
I could have led
the blissful existence of the aesthete.
But no

I felt driven to respond
to all the gold I found
by trying to create
some gold of my own.

A quest with even more frustration.

My hope is:
maybe occasionally my failures
will come close enough
to the sublime reality
to touch a memory
and in that way, help you locate
some gold you’ve misplaced.

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

Your Mining Song

author’s side:

What singer prompted me to write this poem?

Any singer who ever made me say, "Damn, I wish I could do that."


YOUR SONG

When you were a girl
your sweet instrument
poured forth butterflies
and lovely bubbles

but in time
that piccolo became a shovel:

when you sang you became aware
of riches buried below—
up from the depths
came an echo of gold.

With each song
you dug a bit more—
you went a bit deeper
with each held note.

Now, years later
your richer gold seems
just within reach
yet still seems
to escape your grasp.

So you continue to sing
and continue to deepen
and continue bring up feelings
of shocking intensity—
you cut yourself with song
but create resurrection.

Your song cuts me
by waking my buried wounds

but if I then deepen down
to tend to the healing
in my depths, I discover
small pieces of gold.

I thank you for waking us
with your mining song of love.

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

Growth

author’s note:

A poem of encouragement for these dire times…

…but not a poem of false hope.


GROWTH

Years ago in a dream
I collapsed by a creek
and in the sliding water saw
squiggles of my gray hair
drifting away

leaving me
with a bald pink scalp

which suddenly sprouted
a cover of baby fuzz.

Shocked, I awoke--
afraid for myself

but then I realized
I’d witnessed a rebirth!

Thus encouraged
I continued my work of change
with renewed enthusiasm.

But though I’ve toiled for years since
I see little gain--
I’m still so far from
the one I hope to become:
the calm wise lion
with flowing golden mane--

no,
I’m still too much the cub
spun by sudden storms of emotion.

However
I was heartened recently
by another dream:
a woman on the path
lowered her bucket so I could see
a watery reflection:

above my blank confused face
a standing field of wild hair
shimmied in the wind--
the stalks pale-yellow, but
I did detect a richer shade
peeking out at the roots.

So apparently
despite my flaws
I’m able to grow gold.

But of course--

look at all the gold
spun by our flawed world.

© 2020, Michael R. Patton
poet, heal thyself: ebook

Glorious Servants

author's note:

I don't believe a deep state exists, but I do believe in the existence of a deep self.


GLORIOUS SERVANTS

In the dream
I'm hanging in the sky like a kite
while far below a man digs down
into the earth--

his head bowed and shadowed
his bent back gleaming with sweat:

persistent sincere work has its glory.

Despite the height, I felt small
compared to him

and smaller still
as my vision broadened
to reveal a desert filled
with rows of little square pits--
each with a single occupant:
men and women obedient to the task--
what a cacophony of shovels and picks!

Maybe they mined...maybe for gold.

Such ferocity!--as if going for the core.

But maybe driven by mad delusion--
maybe only raising chimeras--
were they unwittingly digging their own graves?

Or maybe
they labored simply to build strength
--I did indeed see muscle

but also the wear of time and frustration.

I woke with no answers
only the certainty of what I felt:
the strain of their desire.

I recognized that strain as mine--

yes
like those other miners
I'm servant to a deep self
that demands I pursue work
of uncertain worth.

But though I dig alone, at least now I know
I'm not alone in this digging--

a solace made sweeter
when I remember
just how glorious we are.

© 2019, Michael R. Patton
the truth of the dream: poetry ebook

Golden Growth

GOLDEN GROWTH

When the Inquisitor appeared
in a dream years ago...

I realized I was trying
to speed my growth
by stretching myself
on a torture rack

so I then began to use gentler tactics

and accepted the tedium
of gradual change.

A wise way, yes--but
by the time I'd finally
washed off enough dross
to shine a bit...

my youth was gone--
its golden possibilities lost:

in a dream, I saw
gold dust fall down
to disappear into the cracks
between worn floorboards.

I woke in grief
and remained in grief

until an old crone
(impatient with my self-pity)
turned my mind by asking:
does anything ever really die?

then opened the door
to a subterranean cache--
a garden flourishing
with spires of golden grain
and yellow orchids
dripping honey from the lip.

© 2018, Michael R. Patton
searching for my best beliefs: poetry ebook

Dark Jar

author's note:

May your Halloween be dark and scary!


DARK JAR

We need one volunteer
to stick a hand down
into this vast vase--
into this earthenware vessel
because

it's so densely dark within--
we can’t see past the edge
and so, we're burning to know
what might be at the bottom.

Though someone heard
the faint rattling of a snake
I believe it's the luscious lucky sound
of gold striking gold
echoing up from the depths--

a finer coin than any we've ever known:
those tones lift our hearts
with their soft breezy hands--!--

so please, reach down deep, for all our sakes--

if you don’t have arm enough, then dive in
and we'll send you our blessings

though what harm could possibly come--?--
after all, it's just a large jar
and anyway, someone must descend
because we’re so damn curious--

thus, we beg of you: go--go!--
that must be reason you came here.

Otherwise, why would we ask you?

How can you refuse
such a reasonable request--?--
especially since you now know
you might be the one chosen...


© 2013, Michael R. Patton
these poems are open all night