Pep Talk

author’s note:

“Good to the last drop”
           -- Maxwell House coffee slogan


PEP TALK

Have you ever felt the saggy feeling
of playing for a team
that loses game after game?

You may enter each match
with hope
with determination
but after so many losses
you can’t quite shake the feeling
your efforts will end in defeat
no matter how hard you fight.

You may then try
to soothe your wounds
by saying:
At least, we made them earn their win.
But deep into the season
the harsh gray sound of cynicism
can be heard beneath that positive statement.

At that point
you merely wish to hang in
’til the last minute of the last game—
you want to show courage
you want to show strength
as you sit in the locker room
with blood sweating down your face.

At such low times
I force myself to stand
then force my legs to dance—
then force my voice to sing
a song that says:

“I build power in my heart
  as I stare into the abyss
  of another painful loss.
  In this way, I could one day become
  a saint who eases suffering—
  the patron saint of perpetual losers.

“So I must keep playing.
  No time to retire.
  I’ll retire when I die.
  And maybe not even then.”

Road to Somewhere: poetry book
dream steps blog
myth steps blog
you tube channel
© 2026, Michael R. Patton

Not Evanescent

author’s note:

Another drop.


NOT EVANESCENT

Lao Tzu said
the Ancient Sages
were as evanescent
as icicles.

How can that be?—
according to the dictionary
“evanescent” means:
here one moment and gone the next.
But ages have passed
and the words of the sages still live.

I can’t expect the same good fortune
so as my icicle dwindles down
drop...by drop...by drop...by drop
I’m trying to come to terms with the loss
by repeating these lines to myself:

after I'm gone
whatever I’ve given
(whatever that may be)
will remain in our well—
perhaps hidden underground
but there, nonetheless.

mythsteps · Not Evanescent

Get the Message: a short guide for understanding dreams
dream steps blog
myth steps blog
you tube channel
© 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
dream steps blog
myth steps blog
you tube channel
© 2024, Michael R. Patton

The Soul in Corwin's Eye

author’s note:

This poem was indeed “ripped from the headlines”.


THE SOUL IN CORWIN’S EYE

The headline read:
"No Win for Corwin".

and below, a photo showed the pitcher
sitting at the end of a hardwood bench
his head lowered
his shoulders slumped
his tears
hidden in the darkness
of a baseball glove.

The article said
young Corwin had struck out
thirteen batters

but his good work had all been for naught--
spoiled
by one bad pitch
he’d made way back
in the first inning.

Rough, yes
but maybe that loss
will help prepare Corwin
for an adult life
that often contradicts
what so many stories tell us
which is:

if we try for redemption
we’ll be rewarded at the end
with a victory celebration.

Because we accept that belief
early on
life can seem so unjust
later on.

But I don’t want
that sense of defeat
so I’ve adopted a different belief
which is:

our greatest victories
are usually only known
by angels and gods--

they can see the unseen
they can see the soul.

But sometimes
we humans also see the soul--
the soul shows itself in subtle ways.
For instance:

if I focus
I may detect
a clearer light
coming from your eye--
a beam that says
this soul has definitely grown.

Common Courage: poetry book
dream steps blog
myth steps blog
you tube channel
© 2022, Michael R. Patton

On the Continent of Love Lost

author’s note:

Someone once asked if I ever wrote love poems...

They’re all love poems!

Happy Thanksgiving.


ON THE CONTINENT OF LOVE LOST

She said
her heart had exiled her writing
to the island of love lost.

But I told her
that island can be a continent.
Here’s the difference:

on the island
when we write of love lost
we write of the garden lost

but on the continent
we realize
we must leave our gardens
in order to grow.

On the island, we write of how
we long for the return
of the one lost

but on the continent
we write of delving down
to find ourselves again.

On the island
we write of wounds still open

but on the continent
we write of mending those wounds
and in the process
healing old deep wounds.

On the island
we're afraid of losing--
of losing again

and on the continent
we're afraid of the same--
afraid of a love
we can not escape
at its beginning--

a love we can not hold
at its end.

But on the continent
we don’t try to escape
when we know we can’t
and don’t try to hold
when we know we can’t.

All this I wrote to her
but then admitted:

I don't always live
the “continent way”

but when I do, I'm able to lay
a wreath of gratitude
on gardens lost
while I celebrate
a present-time blessed
by the education gained
through the losses
of my past.

Poet, Heal Thyself: poetry book
dream steps blog
myth steps blog
you tube channel
© 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 pitchmen 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
dream steps blog
myth steps blog
you tube channel
© 2022, Michael R. Patton

An Important Belief

author's note:

To the woman who tried to teach me the rules of grammar in high school:

“Mrs. Creighton, wherever you are, please excuse the redundancy in verse three.”


AN IMPORTANT BELIEF

How could I accept the death
of someone who seemed

too soon gone from us--
her good work unfinished?

Maybe the answer I found sounds cliché
but years later
I still think it’s a good belief:
we die when our time is done.

Yes--
for reasons we can not know
the beacon needed to die when he did
though his light was so desperately needed.

And that man possessed
needed to take his final step
though his glorious bridge
was only halfway across.

And the group needed
to fly away from here
though in leaving, they left
so much creative passion
unexpressed.

Yes--
apparently, the scientist
needed to exit
on that exact day
though she was only weeks away
from a discovery
that would have saved lives.

To those who want to argue
with my idea, I simply reply:

I believe it’s a good belief
because it says:
don’t try to make sense
of what seems senseless.
Just accept and grieve
without feeling angry.

But maybe this belief
serves an even better purpose:

when I remember what I believe
I again realize
I’d better get going--
no matter how important
my plans seem
Death may not wait.

And with that thought
the present moment
suddenly becomes
monumentally important.

Yeah, I believe I have
some important plans...

Nonetheless
if I fell down dead tonight
I think I'd rest in peace
comforted by the belief
I’d reached my expiration date--
I had reached my due date.

dream steps blog
myth steps blog
picturing metaphor
you tube channel
© 2022, Michael R. Patton

Winter Sun

author’s note:

An appropriate poem, I believe, as we prepare to leap into Spring.


WINTER SUN

Winter’s a good time for this grief

because the sting
of the merciless wind
can shock me out of a stupor
induced by this drag of emotion

and then, as I open out
I will see the sun
on the bare tree limbs
and look up
at endless blue heaven.
I don’t feel dead when I enter
such a glorious world.

And as I watch the intense gentle snowfall
of a gray day
I’m lulled into the subtler senses
and again know the soft nurturing fire
steady in my heart.

The long nights around Solstice
urged me to go deep.
And though I dreaded the work. I delved down
because I’ve learned
I can find light in the dark.

Yet despite these blessings
yesterday, I began to worry
this season would never end.
But today
as I walked through that sleeping forest,
the cold drops falling from the trees
awoke my dream
of a new life blossoming in Spring.

you tube channel
finding Beauty: poetry ebook
© 2022, Michael R. Patton

When I Return

author’s note:

What can I do at a time when so many are grieving?

I can post this poem about grieving.


WHEN I RETURN

Seeking solace
I return to this hillside--

return to
those small blue wildflowers...
the gray stones...
the flowing grasses...
that know me so well:

these friends feel my grief--
they empathize.

Secure in their care
I lay myself down in the sun
and allow my tears to rise.

Release : relief.
Those waters spend their surplus
then sink back down
into a hidden reservoir:

a reservoir I usually ignore
to keep from being overwhelmed
while I do my daily chores.

But eventually
those neglected waters
will again rise up in rebellion

then I’ll return once again
to this green hill

to my friends--
the flowers, stones,
the flowing grasses.

And when I lay myself down
those waters will rise as before--
once more
the release will lift me
towards the sun.

I rise a little higher
a little higher
each time I return.

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

Ocean Song

author's note:

Is there a human mouth that
doesn’t give out soul-sound?
         -- Rumi (trans. Barks)


OCEAN SONG

The day after a death
I feel the shock
of final loss
yet also the joy
of knowing that life--

I’m overwhelmed and tossed about
by capricious waters--
suddenly
lifted from my sadness
by a surge of loving gratitude

then in the next moment
yanked down again
by the undercurrent of grief.

Struggling mightily in this chaotic mix
I feel the power of my emotion
and realize myself to be
someone greater
than the one who does those daily chores.

But as my chest continues to tighten
I fear I’ll die if I don’t let loose.

So though I dread the work
I try…I try…I try
to express the inexpressible:

again and again and again
I aspire upward
riding a geyser of words

only to fall short
and slap down on the ground

in an overheated sprawling spill
again and again and again.

But I guess these messes
still reflect the blue sky above.

In any case
as a human being
you’re probably well-acquainted
with the blessed curse of feeling
so maybe you’ll tolerate
(or even appreciate)
a pipe who spouts lines
like these:

drowning in feeling
we try, in desperation
to empty our hearts
by shouting out
an ocean song.

© 2022, Michael R. Patton
Soultime: a novel

Grand Life

author’s note:

Some say we never learn the lessons of history.

Well, I don’t know about you, but I’ve learned much from mine.


GRAND LIFE

Maybe the key ingredient in alchemy
is time.  Consider:

though this moment seems rather leaden
it may shine like gold years in retrospect.

On the other hand
time can also diminish.
Consider:

an event that once pumped me up
may appear quite empty
when I look back.

But is the revised view always true?

Maybe I shouldn’t ponder the past
and instead, relax
and enjoy every fresh moment
as the masters instruct.

But I do see each moment as precious--
that’s why
I want to know I haven’t wasted
so many of those moments gifted to me.
What is the truth--the value
of what I’ve done with my time?

Well, this much I can say for certain:
when I stop trying to judge
and allow myself to feel--to feel it all--
all of it all at once:
the past, the present--
even the future

what floods me then
becomes much too much
for me to express.

With that in mind, I’ve surmised:
we must be living something grand.

floor show journey: slow tv
© 2021, Michael R. Patton

Digging Up Her Arms

author’s note:

As stated in the poem, I did indeed dig by a stump as a boy...

During one of these excavations, I found a small diamond.  Naturally, that clear stone slipped from my hands.  Though I searched and searched, I could not find it.  But because I could not find it, that diamond has remained a diamond.


DIGGING UP HER ARMS

As a boy when I saw
that naked statute in the book
I wished to be a hero
and return those arms to her--

I dreamt she’d repay me
by stroking my hair
with the hands I’d found.
She’d touch my lips.

How I wanted
her nurturing arms!

What I sought then
I still seek now
but I no longer dig in the dirt
by the stump with a stick.

No--
after digging many
people, places, things
I finally found ways
to mine my own self--

ways to recover what I’d lost.

I no longer look for
one big bonanza strike--
as an archaeologist, I must uncover
the hands, the arms
piece by small piece.

A tedious excavation.
However, I grow stronger
with the labor required

and I wouldn’t want
the child to lose hope
that one day
the wounded woman
will again be whole.

Glorious Tedious Transformation: poetry ebook
© 2021, Michael R. Patton

A Cure for Nostalgia

author’s note:

If I hear myself saying, “When I was a child”, I bite my tongue.

It’s nearly pulp now.


A CURE FOR NOSTALGIA

With this growth
I feel I’m losing myself.
Sometimes I become nostalgic
thinking of the one I’ve been.
The new person
coming into being
often feels alien to me--
I’m reminded of movies
where aliens take control
of human bodies.
I do indeed feel a small pod
down inside and rising up--
slowly opening
as the petals peel apart
in the dark.

Recently
I again felt the impulse
to impede its progress
but then I happened to hear
the familiar refrain:

“when I was a child...”

which according to the speaker
was a better time--
a better way of life.

Well, maybe for him
I said to myself
but not for me.

As I then recalled
the beleaguered child I’d been
my sigh blew the dust
of nostalgia away
and again I clearly saw
the beleaguered adult
that child became.

So once again, I told the pod:
hurry up, hurry up.

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

Maternal Tenacles

author's note:

The fossilized skeleton we call “Lucy”, is known in Ethiopia as “Dinkinesh”, which can be translated as “you are marvelous”.


MATERNAL TENTACLES

A year ago I saw a show
about an ancient ancestor

found under earth and rock
in dry savanna gorge--
they named her “Lucy”.

I immediately fell in love
with the poor innocent
and that night I dreamt
her tiny skeleton slept beneath
a blanket of my own ancient dust.

Yes, dreams tell incredible truths--
apparently the white man I am
carries this humble stone mother spirit
deep in his innards:

we hold more
than we’ll ever know
but
it’s good to know
as much as you can
about what you hold
because

I now feel the loss--
I now grieve the death
of this simple loving nature.
Now I will nurture
that maternal engine
back to life.

As I feel empathy for myself
I feel empathy for the world:
I can see this loss all over the world.
Men lactate in their own way--
a buried reservoir awakens.
I could stop the flow, but dare not--
for too long I’ve known
the pain of being dry.

Nonetheless, I’m tentative
as this milk spills over--spreads--extends
its tentacles
beyond the borders
of my domain‑‑
these feelers want to feel
but remain afraid:
    they’ve encountered
    blunt objects before
    and been blunted.

But with this fledgling spreading
the gray beneath Lucy's fingertips
slowly bleeds back to pink
and pink desert flowers bloom:

the prickly desert slowly transforms
into a desert garden.  Oh so slowly.
But slow change endures.

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

Message to Our Tent City Kids

author’s note:

“I’m fixing a hole where the rain gets in”
         -– “Fixing a Hole”, Lennon/McCartney


MESSAGE TO OUR TENT CITY KIDS

Dear Kids:

No, I’ve never lived
in an shaky tent
but I have known the pain
of insecurity

and often felt anxiety
as another rising wind threatens me
with yet another storm--
many nights I still
wrestle with
my worried head.

In those chaotic battles
I sometimes feel so weak
but in desperation, hold fast
until I find my strength:

often we must be diminished
before we realize
how tall we actually are.

Kids,
maybe you feel embarrassed
by the circumstances of your life.
Well, I say: be proud
of your accomplishment

(which is what I tell myself
 when I begin to judge
 my ragged patchwork past
 by the criteria
 of a critical society).

Tent city kids
don’t misunderstand me--
I wish you could sleep cozy
under a roof that won’t tear--
I pray someday you will.
But I must warn you:
no roof is rock solid.

Even a king in a castle
trembles at night--

maybe even more than you do.

I say:
we can all become wise kings
by rising to the challenge
of those unavoidable storms
that threaten to destroy
our human roofs.

© 2021, Michael R. Patton
Soultime: e-novel
searching for the new mythology

Ocean Education

author’s note:

“I have sounded the very bass-line of humility.”
                 -- Shakespeare, Henry IV, Part I


OCEAN EDUCATION

After thrashing the water
with my fierce swimming
all day--all night
I finally gave up arguing
with the ocean--

for the time being
I would stop searching
for a current to carry me
to a new horizon

and instead
let the waves roll me ashore.

Now in exhaustion, I slop
against this beach stone
with its silent Buddha smile:

the stone knows how the ocean ignored
my stubbornly-held well-calculated plans--
ignored
my screeching, my beseeching--

knows how
the ocean knocked
the bellow from me
(not just once or twice
 but repeatedly)
until I finally completed
another lesson in humility.

The stone tells me,
"You teach yourself well--
  consider this:

"by weakening
  your body and spirit
  you’ve given yourself the opportunity
  to find strength within--
  the opportunity
  to lift yourself back up againv   after another defeat
  and in that way, win."


© 2020, Michael R. Patton
Poet, Heal Thyself: poetry ebook

Despite Appearances

author's note:

The video above is window-dressing.  The real reason for this post is the poem below.


DESPITE APPEARANCES

When I look back
the losses seem to outweigh the wins.

But I must've gained
as I lost
because I would not want
to begin again
if I had to start
as the one I was
when I first began
this adult life.

So, no, I’m not a minus--
I’m a plus.
I have not
wasted this field.
I have grown.

Though I still can’t see
the total equation
I realize the truth of my math
when I sit down in the dark
and deepen into my depths
because then I can sense the strength--
the steady increase.

But I believe
we all grow--
  if not a meter more
  then at least a millimeter--
no one can avoid learning a little.

Maybe we humans will eventually
--collectively--
learn enough through loss
to see how much
our species has actually gained
during its brief play
on the green field of this planet.

© 2020, Michael R. Patton
Poet, Heal Thyself: ebook

Honoring the Ashes

author’s note:

Are we in the ashes now?

Yes.

Will we rise?

Of course.


HONORING THE ASHES

I identify with
that solitary tribe in the desert--

the book says:
when done with life in one place
they arise in the fresh morning chill
and burn their village
and burn their clothes.

Then, having cleansed
they follow the wind
to their next destination.

But the story didn’t tell
how they know when they’re done.

Well, in my experience
the “knowing when”
begins as a feeling that then
becomes a thought.  My best decisions
are the feelings I can not ignore.

But unlike the tribe
I carry my ashes with me

and often stop to dump the urn
and shift through the gray dust
that’s dead yet still lives--

maybe I contemplate
the shard of a busted jar
or a ring twisted
into a figure “8”.

Some say:
“don’t waste the present
  looking back on the past”.

But I feel the need to find meaning

especially when
the present moment seems
so trivial and low.

At such times, I sometimes
remember to remember
all the people, places, and things
I’ve known
and thank the whole menagerie
for helping me
as I struggle to learn
about this life and myself.

In that way
I elevate the moment
and see my past
as a glorious panorama.

© 2020, Michael R. Patton
Butterfly Soul: poems of death, grief, joy

Found

author's note:

"I'm a lost man gettin' found."
          -- Woody Guthrie


FOUND

Falling down
I found my humility.

Standing up
I found my strength.

Telling you
I found my honesty.

Listening to you
I found my mirror.

Looking down
into my mirror
I found my grief

then looking up
to clear my tears
I found and found and found
my empathy.

© 2019, Michael R. Patton
myth steps blog

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