That Wise Woman on Guitar

author’s note:

I don’t have the ability to play music.  But I do have the ability to listen to music.


THAT WISE WOMAN ON GUITAR

On a twilight evening
in a foreign town
the fog crept in so thick
I could not see
where to point my feet
as I walked a deserted bridge.

So when I heard
a deep piercing melody
coming from a guitar
I decided I should follow
its thread through the gray drift—
maybe the player could direct me.

And soon I found
a small clear space
walled all around with cloud—
a sheltering bower
a sanctuary.

In the center, stood
a white-haired woman
in a burlap gown.
Her feet in sandals on cobblestone.

With eyes closed
she made those perfect notes
with fingers both gentle and strong.

Though I hated to interrupt
in my desperation, I said a clumsy:
“Hello, can you help me?”

Without opening her eyes
or pausing her playing
she then answered in a weathered voice:
Close your eyes and listen
and you will find your way.

The watchdog in me suspected a trick.
But I’m also a hopeful fool
and in my need
I ignored the protest of reason:
I shuttered my eyes
I stood still
I listened

and as doubt and impatience
slowly relaxed
I began to feel
all those soft confident sounds
move down into my depths

until they found
the higher spirit
hidden in the shadow.

I remained in that peace
for a timeless time
before the hunter in me said:
now, go forward.

So I opened my eyes.
And in an instant, the music ended.
The woman had vanished.
But hey—so had the fog.

Now whenever I feel lost
I close my eyes and listen
until once again I hear
that wise woman on guitar.

mythsteps · that wise woman on guitar

Listening to Silence: poetry book
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© 2025, Michael R. Patton

Cannonball Blues

author’s note:

What a loss...what a life:

Robert Bly, 1926-2021.


CANNONBALL BLUES

Years ago, I read:

if you want to know who you are
then listen to yourself.

But when I did, I began
to hear a cannonball
rolling around my cargo hold:

rumbling from one side to the other--
banging hard
against the walls of my hull.

Even on a gentle sea
I can hear that heavy ball
bump...

bump...

bump...against the oak boards.

Sometimes I lose patience
and descend
and after some effort
manage to catch the ball

but the stubborn bull can break
the bars of any cage I make.

That cast-iron orb ignores my prayers--
mocks my earnest meditation!
I try not to listen to it
but you can’t close
the ears you’ve opened.
Now I hear what I hear.

But at least I know
I sail a sturdy ship:
that ball can’t crack my wood
even when the waves grow rough.

But I want to do more than endure:

though I don’t expect to ever bust
the cannonball
maybe someday I’ll be strong enough
to laugh when I hear
that bump bump bump--

to have a little laugh
at the irascible one I am

and then laugh big
at a world that keeps on
rocking my ship.

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