What the Sled Dog Found

author's note:

When one dog barks, one hundred dogs bark.
               — old Chinese proverb


WHAT THE SLED DOG FOUND

The sled dog
woke in the starry arctic night
with the strange sense
that somewhere out there in the darkness
a secret world waited to be discovered—
a reality as yet unknown.

So while her minders slept
she wandered away from the team
knowing she’d never return.

Searching for a fantasy, perhaps
but
considering the stress and rush
of her daily routine
perhaps not such a foolish act.

A season has passed since then
and she still hasn’t found
the trail to that mystery world.
And so her ache has only grown:

a pain of desire—
a desire she has tracked
down
and down
to new depths in the heart.

The feeling demands expression.
So every evening she sits down
and begins to howl
from deep deep down.

Recently, on a new moon night
a mad wind carried her howl
to a snow dog faraway
stirring him from his slumbers.

The feeling in the sound roused
a feeling deep within him
and so he also begin to howl
from deep deep down.

The start of a chain reaction, it seems:

since then one dog after another
has been perked by some version of the howl
and by responding
each has discovered a truth
deep deep down—
the desire for a life greater, grander
than the one they know now.

The sled dog may never find
that new world.  But
what she uncovers in her search
will awaken new life
in this old dog world.

mythsteps · What the Sled Dog Found

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
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© 2022, Michael R. Patton

Wound Furrow

Dear Reader:

We're often told: support those who serve.

I say: we all serve.


WOUND FURROW

On my long trek home from war
I stopped to watch a farmer turn
an old meadow into a fresh field

but when I saw how
the plow blade broke the earth open
I felt my raging shame once more--

once more felt
the sharp wound of defeat--
a cut I'd tried so hard to ignore

but as the child
followed with handfuls of seed
I realized
such destruction creates furrows--

as the wise one said
old life must be torn
so new life can be born

but oh
I did not want to labor!
no--
I wanted to laze:

war had tested my strength
thus, in the aftermath
I felt quite weak

however

I'd already learned
from such conflict
that if I didn't fight my inertia
I'd suffer an even worse defeat.

© 2017, Michael R. Patton
what I learned while alone: poetry ebook

Summer's Afternoon Dream

author's note:

If nothing else, New Orleans taught me two very basic, and complementary lessons: from decay comes life...

...what appears stagnant actually teems with activity.


SUMMER'S AFTERNOON DREAM

Shuttered fronts on a quiet street:
those ordinary houses
in a New Orleans unknown
to the tourist trade...

the cracked somnolent clapboards--
mundane, yet mysterious.

All around the block
oak roots break sidewalk
so dandelions can breathe.
Beneath the eaves
wet heat slowly smothers life
to a dark brown pulp

where leaves rest in their skeletal forms.

Sad obsequious stalks
hold happy white flowers.
Trees that droop with antipathy
give comforting shade.

The hose faucet leaks
like a ticking clock
as a three-legged dog
twitches in its sleep--

a summer dream deep...
opaque.

© 2011, Michael R. Patton
searching for the new mythology