That House

author’s note:

The house in the photo above is that house.  We never thought to take pictures of our own house, I regret to say.


THAT HOUSE

In a recent dream
I returned to my childhood home.

The belly of the whale—
the cacophonous womb
where I danced and wailed.

For years I’ve looked back
so that I might know that house
so that I could move on.

I’ve gone through those rooms so many times.
I’ve shifted through their closets and drawers.
I’ve searched deep, then deeper still.
I’ve catalogued and studied even the smallest finds.
I should be done with that mad house by now, shouldn’t I?

But no, I’m not.  Nor will I ever be.

Because that house keeps changing.
In this recent dream, I opened a new door
and discovered a hallway
that connects the sunny front
with the shadowy back.
That house continues to evolve with each new visit.
That house continues to evolve as I do.
I evolve as I work to change my perspective.

As part of the process
I try to find more sun now
when I look back at that house.
Here’s my idea, my hope:

My present reflects my past.  So
if I can find more sun in my early years
then today will be sunnier too.

The dream tells me:
Our education is never complete.
Always more to be known.
Walk down those dark hallways.
Even a little house is a mansion of doors.

How Can I Live In This World?: poetry book
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© 2026, Michael R. Patton

Net of Memories

author’s note:

Why did I choose the beach?

I wanted to make my hair wavy.


NET OF MEMORIES

Fatigued by certain persistent memories
that afternoon I laid down on the ocean beach
hoping to find some peace.

And as I dozed between two worlds
a wave came up and sloshed my head.
Then receded—
dragging all the bric-a-brac in my brain away—
away into the gently-breathing bay.

Soon another wave
would bring it all back
but for a few moments
my collection of memories spread
through those soothing blue waters—
each one was a living cell
connected to several others
by fibers strong as violin strings.
Taken all together
they formed a complex web.

I realized then:
if my wish was granted
and I could cut away any cells I didn’t want
each extraction would leave
a hole in that net.

Ever since that nap on the beach
I’ve embrace all my memories—
even those that spark powerful pain.
I need the net intact in order to feed this brain.

How Can I Live In This World?: poetry book
dream steps blog
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© 2026, Michael R. Patton

In a Field of Clover

author’s note:

If you can’t find a four-leaf clover, I say: just use a little tape.


IN A FIELD OF CLOVER

“Your body is a green field of clover.”

When I found that line recently
I cringed with embarrassment—
what a silly besotted troubadour!

But then I remembered
the meadow of clover
where we’d once laid down
to rest.

And then I wanted to unremember
and when I couldn’t
I decided to return to that clover field—
desperate for a way to resolve
the conflict in my head.

So Sunday morning I drove
along that isolated dirt road
until I found the field.
Then I stopped and wandered out to the spot
and laid down on my back.

Again I felt
the cushiony springs of green beneath me.
Again I felt
the bright fleecy clouds breezing above me.

And to my surprise
in short time
all the commotion inside died—
my head felt delightfully light.

But then suddenly
a tree branch at field’s edge
splintered the sun’s rays
and a prism fell right into my eye
and I began to cry.

But not like a child, no—
I wept like someone
who’s lived long enough
to have learned well enough
the value of the complicated relationships
we endure and enjoy
with the complicated people
who leap or creep into our lives
for reasons too complicated
to ever fully comprehend.

Yes, I’d often told myself about the value
but I’d never actually felt gratitude
until I put thought to rest
and allowed emotion to rule
in the naked quiet
of a meadow filled
with soft clover love
and love from a Sunday morning sun.

How Can I Live In This World?: poetry book
dream steps blog
myth steps blog
you tube channel
© 2026, Michael R. Patton

The Power of Metaphor

author’s note:

But when I do drown, I’m always able to resuscitate myself.


THE POWER OF METAPHOR

Occasionally a submerged memory
will leap up in a sudden wave

and as the breaking crest topples down
onto my head
the undertow
will begin to pull me under.

But I’ve learned
at such times I can save myself

by calmly repeating this instruction:
don’t try to resist—open yourself
open up your arms—open up
the cage of your chest:
surrender
and feel the full force of the feeling.

And if I then do as told
I will rise up
from the deepening darkness
to the sun
spangling golden
on those light blue waters

and a rolling wave of peace
will carry me home to the sandy shore.

Yes, by using metaphor in this way
I can stop myself from drowning.

But so easy to forget
when a sudden wave rises
and my head gets pounded once again.

mythsteps · power of metaphor

Survival: poetry book
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© 2025, Michael R. Patton

A Plume from a Whale

author’s note:

I’m a menagerie.  But who isn’t?


A PLUME FROM A WHALE

Today’s dark rain reminds me
of the day I almost drown.

And with the memory
I struggle once more
not to drown in the dark.

At such times I sometimes
get a lift
by telling myself I’m a whale.

And like any other whale
I have great capacity
nonetheless
I must rise to surface occasionally

to shoot my geyser of steam
up at the sun—
a glittering white plume.
But a painful release, that offering.

Some say my fountain
is just a bit of spit.
Maybe so
but that brief blow allows this whale
to take another breath
before returning
to the dark blue life
that feeds us so well.

Today, I offer these lines
to all you other leviathans
because we need to remember:

even the strongest creature
must sometimes surrender
and rise to spout the deep water out
so we won’t drown in the dark.

What I Learned While Alone: poetry book
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© 2024, Michael R. Patton

Talking to the Baby

author’s note:

A lot of waves of memory lately.


TALKING TO THE BABY

Emerging from the warm womb
into the harsh raw air of this world
I cried
“Why!  Oh why!  Oh why oh why!”

Since then
I’ve heard many answers--

some I’ve actually found to be of benefit.
For instance:

to accept that we’re here to grow
helps me to accept my growing pains.

Well yes, but
when an old painful memory
suddenly rises like a wave to douse me
even the wisest wisdom
can not buoy my spirits.

At such times I may switch
from philosopher to mother saint
and speak to the saturated heart
as if comforting a squalling babe.

But I need to believe
the world needs me
to do more than just be here
so in short time I’ll shift to the father--
knowing he’ll say:

“Enough honey for now, baby--
 show some courage--dive on in.”

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

The Devil Frog

author’s note:

"My life needs editing."
               -- Mort Sahl

THE DEVIL FROG

One night
as I walked through the park
reflecting again on events of the past
I suddenly heard
a little raspy voice whisper:

“I can answer your wish--
 I’ll erase from your memory
 whatever you’d like to forget!”

Turning quickly, I spied
a tree frog perched on a low limb.
Without thinking, I replied:

“Frog, if you’re not playing a trick
 I’ll gladly accept!--
 as long as I can keep
 what I’ve learned
 from looking back.”

“What you’ve already learned
 you’ve earned,”
 the frog croaked back.

What a relief! I sighed.
I’ve tried so hard to understand.
Now I can finally rest--
I’ll no longer feel pressed
to resolve those old conflicted feelings.

With that thought, a bubble popped
and I began to run

fleeing from that devil frog--
afraid that I might succumb
to a temptation
that would deliver me
to a sweet Eden
if I gave up this bigger wish:

to one day finally graduate--
having achieved
the higher degree of peace I seek.

33 1/3 New Fables & Myths
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© 2023, Michael R. Patton

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

The Great Obsession of the Hotel Ghost

author's note:

I’m not a ghost…but I have been mistaken for one.


THE GREAT OBSESSION OF THE HOTEL GHOST

Our tour guide says:
the woman walks the same path
night after lonely night--
sometimes, guests
can hear her soft steps
on the hallway carpet
just outside their door.

A forlorn lady, yes--but
I see her fixation as positive:
I believe some ghosts relive
the same tragedy relentlessly
because
they’re trying to see
a higher reason--
they ask:
can a life that seems so damned
have a grand plan?--
they want the wisdom
that will set them free.

Maybe at first
the ghost expects this wisdom to come
in a sudden blazing beam of light from above

but in time, realizes
the light must slowly be raised
from depths within.

Then, as she delves down
maybe she’ll find a design
of cause and effect
but based on my own experience
I’d guess:
intellectual insight
won’t be enough to free her--
no

she needs to delve until she feels
the truth of what
she’d always been taught:
“all is as it should be”--

what I’ve sometimes felt
in a sudden moment--
a moment too soon gone
because
I’m still too dim to hold on to
that great sense of perfection.

However, I believe
if we keep delving and lifting
eventually that sense
will remain with us
then we’ll finally shed
our old dark chains.

But as the tour guide says:
though ghosts will abandon their haunts
they do so only gradually--
slowly fading over years--
decades.

Yes, decades--but
I can see how
with each delve, I lift
just a bit more light
than on the previous night.

© 2019, Michael R. Patton
what I learned while alone: poetry ebook

A Beer / A Bee

author's note:

Instead of teaching our children about "the birds and the bees"...

...we should teach them about their bears and their bees.


A BEAR / A BEE

When I saw the news photo
of that man laid out on the ground
after an encounter with a bear...

once again, I felt
that invisible paw press
down hard on my chest--

once again, those memories
swarmed my mind--
the bittersweet times
of my history of love.

However
I've learned through honesty:
I'm the one who claws my heart
and stings my head--
not anyone from the past.

But I just can't stop myself
from stirring the swarm
from poking the wound--

driven by a deep desire for resolution.

But though I analyze
and attack from various angles
I'm repeatedly defeated
in this fight for peace--
so frustrated now, so fatigued.

Solitude can only be temporary solace
when the real war is with yourself
so I might as well surrender my hermitage
and offer myself up--
wounded, troubled, flawed, unresolved
though I be--

once again, I'll be
a honey bear among honey bears--
a honey bee among honey bees!

I will slowly push against
the rusty hinges
until the gate of this cage
breaks.

I must create
new memories for myself--
sweet, bitter, bittersweet--whatever
will add some flavor
to this stale history.

© 2019, Michael R. Patton
what I learned while alone: poetry ebook

In a Flash

author's note:

Maybe I'm under the influence of the wonderful anthology From the Country of Eight Islands, edited/translated by Hiroaki Sato and Burton Watson.

I hope I am.


IN A FLASH

A child's footprint in the sand

washed away in the flash of a wave...


© 2014, Michael R. Patton
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