Standing in the Storm

author’s note:

We need more nervous heroes in our movies and TV shows.


STANDING IN THE STORM

Apocalyptic movies reveal:

how we thrill to imagine
some mad cataclysmic event
that sends the planet's populace running
willy-nilly--arms flailing--
through streets rocking wildly
from the rush of that panic.

But of course
those movies also reveal
our wish to be
the hero and heroine
who face the burl of fire and storm
and refuse to waver.

At story’s end
having saved the metropolis--
the nation--the world
we stand with them
in the ashes of the aftermath
and lift our eyes to the hope
of a golden dawn.

However
that big dream only lasts two hours
and when we exit
the mundane life on the street
seems so uninspiring in contrast.

But why should it?--
every day
we feel the heat increasing--
I see people fleeing
a monstrous inferno--
every day
those fiery tentacles destroy
homes, cities, farms, forests, oceans.

We have birthed the apocalypse!

Occasionally I’ll feel out of breath
and realize I’ve been running.
Then standing amid the fire and ash
I’ll know again how weak I really feel.

At such times, I begin to fear
my anxiety will soon overwhelm me.

And so, in desperation, I’ll force myself
to find the strength to remain still--
to deal with the firestorm
instead of giving oxygen to those flames
with the wind of my retreat.

Sometimes then the sun will shine
through those dark shifting clouds
and again I’ll see
how we’ve given ourselves
an opportunity to be
the better version of who we are.
The hero and the heroine.

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© 2022, Michael R. Patton

Hail, The Lowly Hero

author’s note:

Thanks to Marie-Louise von Franz, Robert A. Johnson, Marion Woodman, and Robert Bly for showing me how those stories told my story.


HAIL, THE LOWLY HERO

Influenced by legends and fairy tales
I decided as a child
I should be a hero--

after all
I wanted the best for myself.

But where were the dragons
that needed subduing?
Where were the fair maidens
that needed rescuing?

Without bold extraordinary adventure
how could I realize my high ambition?

Then I remembered:
often in those stories
the grand opportunity of a quest
arrived unexpectedly
at the door of a peasant.

With that in mind,
I would hope and wait

and fill the time by doing
whatever chores I saw
needed to be done:

I planted seeds.  I pulled weeds.
I stirred a wild stew
made from what I’d grown.

That and much more, I did
as well as I possibly could

yet felt embarrassed:
should a knight errant be doing
such low mundane work?

But even as I deflated
I could feel my hands
slowly growing strong.

And didn’t those books say:
heroes must be strong?

And as I worked and waited
was I not making peace
with that dragon I felt
coiling, uncoiling, coiling
restlessly in my heart?

And by trying to save
the better me abandoned
behind the tower wall
was I not actually
trying to save us all?

Yes, I still wait
for the grand opportunity
but now I work joyfully--
imagining myself to be
a hero learning through servitude

but just one among a multitude
growing beautifully
in unseen gardens
all over this world.

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© 2022, Michael R. Patton

Heroic Birds

author’s note:

For all the heroic birds out there.


HEROIC BIRDS

Such fierce resiliency--
witness
how those wrens hold out
in the awning of a gas station

or peck at the fallen fries
on a greasy fast-food drive-thru lane.

Why would they choose this mess
instead of the open sky?

Maybe those peasants understand
how survival in a shabby wasteland
elevates them to heroic status.

One summer day I marveled
at the easy glide of two eagles
circling high over a valley

but I see as much beauty
in the way those wrens flurry
their little brown wings.

© 2021, Michael R. Patton

How to Sing in Public

author's note:

A pet peeve, but I not a petty peeve, I believe.


HOW TO SING IN PUBLIC

Another loud personality
proudly displays
her stitched wounds in public:
telling us how
life knocked her out

then gave her
many more blows before
she finally woke up

to begin the work of mending.

I truly admire such strength
but

while touting her own courage
the teller of that familiar tale
seems to ignore the bravery
of so many others.

If I’m ever asked publicly
about injuries from early days
I won’t shy away--
no, I’ll sing of my pain--
because someone
might hear her own hurt
in the sounds coming from my wounds.

Yes, I will sing
but not too loud, nor too long--
I don’t wish to diminish
your painful saga
by pretending that I’m
a stitched hero, sublime.

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

A Better Fool

author's note:

Just once, I would've liked to have seen Wile E. Coyote ring Road Runner's neck.


A BETTER FOOL

As a child, I admired
the heroic defeat--

for instance:

the weary warrior rising to defend
poor children cowering in shadow corners--
she struggles--relentless--
though she knows her sacrifice
will not end the grief

or
the fallen explorer--
as he slowly fades, he raises his arms
toward the white sparkling peak--
just out of reach.

Such stories told me:
you need not win
in order to ascend to glory--
by remaining strong in abject loss
you can earn a place
in the hall of the brave.

Obsession
could actually lift me to grace.

But wait--
what about those cartoons
of the desert coyote obsessively pursuing
that empty-headed ground-dwelling bird?--

no grandeur when
the bomb explodes in his hand--
toasting his foolish head
to a burnt-black crisp

or when
the chase leads him off a cliff--
his bewildered eyes looking at us
for a mid-air moment of stillness--

saying:
"oh no!--but oh well--
 another hard landing."

The folly of the coyote
woke me to this risk:

by fighting ever onward
despite repeated failure
I could become rabidly absurd

but no--not if I went for bigger game:

if I elevated my goals
I might still be a fool
but I wouldn't be a silly fool--

by always reaching higher
I'd feel fulfilled even if I failed--

even if I suffered a million losses
I would not lose.

© 2019, Michael R. Patton
40 New Fables: ebook

Sharing the Price of Fire

author's note:

To be clear: the returning hero could just as well have been a heroine.


SHARING THE PRICE OF FIRE
(aka FABLE OF THE HERO'S RETURN)

Yes, I was the one
who brought fire down:

I lay myself open
on the mountain top
and waited until
the thunder god blasted me
with a lightning bolt.

Yes, I paid a great price
so the people would have fire.

But when I returned home
brandishing the torch
the one waiting at the door
saw how charred and scarred I was--
and said:

Blasted empty--
now I’m partner to a tremoring shadow.

“The world and you
  will soon bless my offering,”
  I countered.

“The truth is:
  you did it for yourself--
  now sit down
  and let me apply the salve.”

No, I didn't receive
the praise I believe
a true hero deserves

but I realized this blessing:
she actually understands me

and not only accepts my foibles
but loves me enough to help me deal
with whatever demons may plague me
after this horrific triumph.

40 New Fables
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© 2018, Michael R. Patton