Buckets & Ladders

author’s note:

I’m so desperate for good news, I’m trying to make a little myself.


BUCKETS & LADDERS

The candidate says he can save us.

But no—
he couldn’t even if he tried.
As the wise one once said:

You are the only one
who can lower your bucket
down into the well.
You are the only one
who can climb your ladder.

When the candidate proclaims:
“I’m so tall, I’m so deep!”
he sounds so short, so shallow.
Yet many believe that snake-oil salesman
because they’re searching for hope.

Well, I’ve found hope in another belief
because I see
it slowly becoming a reality:

Tired of being less than we actually are
we will reclaim our power
by rejecting our idols
and lowering our buckets down
deep into the moon in the well
while climbing up our ladders—
climbing, trying to reach the sun.

mythsteps · buckets and ladders

I’m Responsible: a book
dream 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

The Sun in My Future

author’s note:

I believe our greatest accomplishments often go unnoticed.  We don't even see them ourselves.


THE SUN IN MY FUTURE

A week ago, I woke with this image
in the darkness of my aching head:

A tear
dangling from the tip
of an eyelash.
The drop beamed like a small sun.

I’d seen that teardrop before—
years ago
so I already understood the message:

By releasing grief
I will cleanse my eye
and then see the world in light.

But apparently that clarity
is still far away—
as before, I saw the drop
through the lens of a telescope.

Naturally, I felt disappointed
and began to wonder
if I’d ever reach that sunny place.

So to strengthen my resolve
I wrote this poem—
knowing
I’d rewrite it many times
and each time
I would see that sundrop.
And as a result
the image would anchor in my mind.

So maybe now
I won’t slip
and forget
my deep desire
as I often have in the past.
No, I won’t lapse
and slack in the task
of clearing those clouds from my eye.

mythsteps · the sun in my future

The Truth of the Dream: poetry book
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© 2025, Michael R. Patton

The Higher Mountain

author’s note:

I say: we’re all taking the same walk.


THE HIGHER MOUNTAIN

When I first glimpsed
that mountain peak
through the clouds
I instantly experienced
an expansion of spirit—

suddenly I saw the purpose
of this grinding walk
up a long incline.

And so
I started to push harder—
I begin to step with intent.

Even so
easy to forget my higher goal
because this life asks me to tend to
so many details.

But when I remember
to look up from my work
I’ll see the peak through the trees and fog
and again feel that lift.

However
all these years later
that white spire still seems so distant.

But I dare not sit on my aspiration—
my spirit would deflate.

So when the naysayer in my head says
maybe you’re creating an illusion—
clinging to a delusion
I answer:

consider this benefit:
these difficult steps I take
not only improve my state
but also the state
of the whole human race
(a little bit, at least).

Yes, my steps help us
as we struggle, struggle
to take a massive step up.

mythsteps · The Higher Mountain

Searching for my best beliefs: poetry book
dream steps blog
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© 2024, Michael R. Patton

The Sun-Fire Pool

author’s note:

Did I actually see that sun pool?

Well, no, not literally.  But yeah, I did.


THE SUN-FIRE POOL

Years ago, I woke to see
a whirling circle of sun-fire
emerging from a fog cloud
hovering right above me—

concentric bands
of razzling orange-gold energy.

But with a peaceful pool
in the center—
its aqua-blue surface
deepening down into cobalt blue.

I felt that well draw me in
and shut my eyes in fright

but then in a fright, realized
I might’ve lost my chance
to know a greater mystery.

So I popped my lids back open.

But of course
the fog and fire and pool
had vanished.

I knew then
every morning I’d hope to find
that whirling sun-fire above me
when I opened my eyes.
And likely be disappointed
every morning.

Yes—years have passed
and I haven’t yet received
a second invitation.
But my feeling sense tells me:
the mystery still lurks
on the other side of the curtain.

So I remain tantalized.
No, I have not given up.

But I’m not merely waiting
I’m working—
every day when I rise
I repeat this message to myself:

I will earn the return
by becoming strong enough
to overcome the natural fear
of jumping into the fiery hoop—
the fear
of descending up through
the deep cobalt blue.

mythsteps · THE SUN-FIRE POOL

Listening to Silence: poetry book
dream steps blog
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© 2024, Michael R. Patton

Rediscovery

author's note:

At a time of many disasters, I'm working not to become a disaster myself.


REDISCOVERY

Though I don't pray
sometimes I do
lower to my knees
then lower my head
and join right palm to left

because this pause
and position
somehow quiets thought
and allows me to deepen down
and find that place of peace
where I can hear
the wordless wisdom
of what seems to be
my own god within.

In the humility of lowering
I again realize
my higher potential
and so
once again feel hope.

mythsteps · Rediscovery

Listening to Silence: poetry book
dream steps blog
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© 2024, Michael R. Patton

Hope for the Fallen

author’s note:

I’ve met two people who were once knocked unconscious.

Both felt they benefited from the experience.


HOPE FOR THE FALLEN

A wise one once said:
the fire that flares up
soon burns out.

Was she talking about my nation?

Maybe she was talking about the two of us.

That wise one also said:
those who don’t stop to look
to see where they’re going
soon fall and hit their heads.

Was she talking about the two of us?

Maybe she was talking about our nation.

Or maybe
she was talking about the other day
when I tripped
and landed hard on the hard ground.

But as I regained my senses
I suddenly remembered
the night I feared I’d freeze

but then found a small ember
in a big pile of ashes
and built a fire that lasted ’til morning.

I may still be a fool
but at least now I know
not to give up hope.

mythsteps · Hope for the Fallen

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

The Light of December at Midnight

author's note:

Posting this poem each year has become Christmas tradition with me.


THE LIGHT OF DECEMBER AT MIDNIGHT

Night feels darker in December

and as I open to
the strange deep quiet
of Solstice
I stop my walk

to re-examine
the outdoor nativity scene
that before seemed so kitsch.
But now
I suddenly see

the pink plastic baby
lying in tinsel straw
is the new life
hidden in my heart--

a slow gestation,
the birth, not guaranteed.

Then I see
that glittery styrofoam star
is the wise one within--
the one who often sighs with sadness
at the sight of my rough antics.

Then--alas!--I see
that plywood cow beside the manger
is the domestic animal I usually am--
the unenlightened me.

Yes, this bovine is quite dim
but I can see my vision has improved--
consider this:
I’m seeing light I missed last year.

So this hope remains:
to eventually grow
into a wise old child
who can gaze into the mundane
and realize
the glory of its light.

Listening to Silence: poetry book
dream steps blog
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© 2022, Michael R. Patton

Healing Cough

author’s note:

To all those in the coughing chorus.


HEALING COUGH

As a child I took in
so much toxic stuff.

For decades now
I’ve struggled to cough out
all that suffocating dust.
But

I do not lament.
No—
I write to celebrate
this chest work I’m doing
and to show I'm fighting--
fighting for my life.
I am coming back to life.
I hack with pain
but also with joy.

I want to bellow this song!

But alas
at this time
I can only cough.

mythsteps · Healing Cough

Poet, Heal Thyself: poetry book
myth steps blog
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© 2023, Michael R. Patton

Story from a NIght Stranger

author’s note:

Based on a true story?

Kinda.


STORY FROM A NIGHT STRANGER

Consider this humble tale
told to me by a stranger:

while living alone in the country
she opened her door one night
to a silent explosion of light.

By instinctive response
she kicked the door shut
then in an instant realized:
she’d lost her chance.

At what?--she wasn’t sure--
but something more
than she’d ever known before.

So she flung the door back open

but of course
saw only darkness
deepening into the trees.

Though she knows
the opportunity will probably never return
she’s also seen
what can happen
when you give up hope
so

every day
she works to be ready--
she works to build strength
by constantly trying to find
the truth hidden within
the cloud of noise in her brain.
She works to build strength
by delving deeper
and deeper
into the well of her mirror.

She shares with others
the light she finds
in her foggy head
in her dark depths.

But I wanted my own light
so I asked her
how can I delve down?
Teach me how to work.

But she turned then
and returned to the shadows.

Her soft smile of parting
said:
I’ve learned the blessing of loss.
The sharp gleam in her eye told me:
I know
you will find your own way.

Yes--
I now know how to build strength.
So maybe I’ll be ready
should I ever open my door
to a silent explosion of light.

mythsteps · Story from a Night Stranger

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

Prometheus, Revisited

author’s note:

Maybe the Greek gods were real after all.  That would explain the capriciousness of life.


PROMETHEUS, REVISITED

The myth of Prometheus
would seem to be a warning
to those who’d try to bring fire
down from the mountaintop.

As they did with him
the gods might wrap you in chains
and send an eagle down to devour
your liver every damn day.

Nonetheless I accepted the risk—
hoping to satisfy my creative impulse
(and my ego as well, of course).

But with that choice
I put myself in the chains
of ambition

then later refused
to set myself loose
when my sparks only made
small flames
that dwindled and died.

Though my ego died a bit
with each pathetic death
I actually pulled the chains tighter
because

those flickering promises
kept my aspiration burning

and by then I’d realized:
if I let that mad dream die
life would lack meaning
and so
my life would lack life.

Maybe I stoke my inner fire
with delusion
but hey—
sometimes in that way
fools make blazes
bright enough
to rouse the jealousy
of those who try to play god.

mythsteps · Prometheus, Revisited

40 New Fables
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© 2023, Michael R. Patton

Crypt & Crib

author’s note:

Soil music.


CRYPT & CRIB

Sensing I might’ve lost
something valuable
in the dusty shadows below
I decided to descend.

So began years of tedious searching—
of gathering back together
the many parts I’d discarded.

Knowing the difficulty
I now want to help others
who also struggle in the dark.
But the little I’ve learned for certain
they probably already understand

which is:

today, we have no suitable rituals
to help us navigate the passageways
of our subterranean life:

we must be our own undertaker
we must be our own light
we must be our own midwife.

A dream showed me a baby
in the tunnel of a crypt:

a glowing grub-bug it was—
shifting through the dust
as it crawled along—
finding lots of odd bits:
chips of flint stone
and skeleton bone
as well as a few jewels.

All of it provided nourishment
for the infant

so the child kept expanding—
filling the tomb

until finally, up above
the earth of a fallow farm field broke open
and my dazed head sprouted from the womb.

But the next morning
I awoke to the same barred crib.

Yes
this old baby must gestate a while longer.
Must grow more.
Must devour those jewels
and the better side
of everything else I discover
in my dark depths.

At least I know I’m not alone:
witness the many perennials at labor—
determined to be reborn.

mythsteps · Crypt & Crib

Glorious Tedious Transformation: poetry book
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© 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
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© 2023, Michael R. Patton

While Working in the Sock Department of a Major Chain Store

author's note:

In memory of a friend who often said: "it's an outer manifestation of an inner reality".


WHILE WORKING IN THE SOCK DEPARTMENT OF A MAJOR CHAIN STORE

Recently, I’ve noticed
many people passing over
those socks with the polka dots
and choosing the ones
with that plaid design
instead.

I view this trend
not as a mere fad
but as a message
from the human psyche:

I believe
that plaid represents
work those folk are doing
on an inner level--

bringing opposing forces together--
    joining left with right
    and up with down--
to create a stable structure.

Seeing the strength that results
from their labor
more will then dedicate themselves
to this job of creating a union within.
They too
will realize their inner plaidness.

And when they do
their actions will reveal
a deeper human truth.

Maybe you’ll scoff at my belief
but consider how it helps me:

now when I see
someone choosing
a plaid pair of socks
my hope for the human race lifts

and I become
even more determined
to unify all my parts
and rid myself
of this weak feeling--
this feeling of being
just odd assortment of dots.

When I’m more together
I can join with those others--
I want to be part
of that grand plaid design.

Poet, Heal Thyself: poetry book
dream steps blog
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© 2022, Michael R. Patton

Jump

author’s note:

“Might as well jump”
         -- Van Halen


JUMP

What should you do
if an inner voice tells you
to “jump”?

Fortunately
I knew enough to know
the message was a metaphor.

However
a metaphorical jump
off a metaphorical cliff
can feel as scary as a literal leap.

So though my deep self assured me
this step into the unknown
would bring more life
I rejected the order at first:
I argued in defense
of good common sense--

what if I fell into an abyss?--!

However
from experience I knew
if I didn’t move
I’d probably be pushed
and if I wasn’t, I’d wither.

I also know from experience
I may still doubt the decision
after I see where I’ve landed.
But if so, I’ll just tell myself
that where I am
is where I need to be.

I find strength in that belief--
strength enough
to lift myself up
should my hopes collapse.

Common Courage: poetry book
dream steps blog
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© 2022, Michael R. Patton

Armadillo Mirror

author’s note:

Another mirror.


ARMADILLO MIRROR

I try so hard to see
but seem to make little progress

except when some sight jolts
my eyes open
to another obvious secret.

As on that night
when I stood
gazing at a half-moon
while lamenting
my lack of accomplishment

until a rustling sound
suddenly pulled me out of the clouds--

down on the lawn
I found an armadillo
rummaging through the leaves.

Fascinated
I watched that little armored grubber
trundling along on its bitty legs:
a dwarf clawing for its life
in the medieval dark.

Such resolve!
An irrepressible spirit!
Thriving despite all the hardships--
an accomplishment, to be sure.

As that creature is, so are you--
I whispered this secret to myself
as if channeling a deep soul.

But before my pride
could rise too high
I was struck again
by another realization:

yes, it’s found a way to survive
but eventually, shells limit us--
as any bird chick will tell you.

Can I ever convince myself
I’m strong enough
to live free from this cell?

Will we ever convince ourselves
we’re strong enough?

finding Beauty: poetry book
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© 2022, Michael R. Patton

Hoping for a Second Childhood

author’s note:

“It’s never too late to have a happy childhood.”
                   -- Tom Robbins


HOPING FOR A SECOND CHILDHOOD

Parental salesmen continue to tell us:
“don’t worry--
  just get in the back seat
  and let me drive”

and we continue to oblige
because as children we were told
to never lose hope
in the magical power of heroes.

When I see all the wrecks
caused by those we believed
would deliver us
I rage on the surface
but down deep I grieve.

The child who believed
we’d build a better world
began to die when I began
to open my eyes
to the world we’d accepted.

But this adult feels the loss of life
so now I’m trying to revive my hope
by opening more--
by expanding my vision

trusting I’ll come to see
the present moment
as part of a process
that can lead to that world
of greater understanding
we imagined as children.

I want so badly
to shed this sadness--
to help reverse our loss.
At the end can I be
a wise child who sees?--
who builds up...who drives?

I’m Responsible: a book
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© 2022, Michael R. Patton

Two Types of Happiness

author’s note:

“Prosperity is just around the corner.”
            – Herbert Hoover


TWO TYPES OF HAPPINESS

These days, I tell myself:

don't squander your time
seeking the type of happiness
ruled by the whimsy
of a mad god called “Fortune”--
he will turn his smile into a frown
without warning.

These days, I tell myself:

find the type of happiness found
by those who have gone through darkness
and now beam the beatific smile.

For too long, I believed
I’d find Fortune smiling at me
just around the next corner

and so I worked to turn
corner after corner after corner.

Some may say
I “took a few bad turns”.
To that I’d answer:
I was always spiraling upward.

In fact I now believe
I was actually following
a grand plan made for me:

in the darkness of disappointment
I finally saw what I truly needed
and stopped praying to the erratic god--
now I work to create
a light strong enough to survive
whatever twists of fate await.

Yeah I know
I’m still kinda dim
but I haven’t lost hope--
by continuing this upward course
I hope
to one day be among those
who beam that beatific smile.

My War for Peace: poetry ebook—new and improved!
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© 2022, Michael R. Patton

Returning to Earth

author’s note:

“I am a child in these hills.”
            -- Jackson Browne


RETURNING TO EARTH

When I see those clouds around the mountain peak
I feel inspired--I dream

of a life I can not live
until I’ve elevated myself
through slow steady climbing.
Up there: a life of peace.

But I dream too often--
I cloud my eyes
and as a result
sometimes trip
and hit
the ground--

sometimes hard.

Then as I lie there on my belly
putting head and body together
the dirt and stone and grass under me
begin to speak--silently saying:
welcome back.

Yes, I know them.
But I often forget to visit.
However, like a loving mother
they forgive the child for being foolish.
Home is any place
where I feel small and humble
yet secure.

I do need to dream.
However
I must keep at least one eye clear
and looking down
so I won’t trip and land hard--
down, so I’ll remember
to return softly to the earth
where I can feast and fortify
for the slow heavy climb.

Listening to Silence: poetry ebook
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© 2022, Michael R. Patton

Listening to the Stormy Beast

author’s note:

Try again.  Fail again.  Fail better.
               -- Samuel Beckett


LISTENING TO THE STORMY BEAST

Though I don’t
strike out at the world
sometimes in frustration
I do strike at myself

especially when
I try again and fail again
to resolve
some grievance I’ve carried too long.
Then I’ll wonder if
I can ever become
the better me I wish to be.

But at such times, sometimes
I will sit and listen down deep
and beneath my growling I will hear
the grief of a wounded beast

then in empathy
I will surrender
the lightning bolt
I’ve aimed at myself.

Painful listening, yes
but the lightning strike
would feel worse.

I say:
if someone in such conflict
can manage to pacify
their rumbling beastly storm
we’ve good reason to feel hope
for our squalling human world.

Listening to Silence: poetry ebook
myth steps blog
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© 2022, Michael R. Patton