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 realize again
the promise of a potential
and so
once more feel hope.

mythsteps · Rediscovery

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

The Walking Metaphor

author’s note:

Based on an actual event.


THE WALKING METAPHOR

Sometimes a metaphor stuns me.

Like the one I saw this morning:

a woman walking
backwards
on the sidewalk by the park.

Soon
the trees hid her from view
and I recovered enough
to decipher my response:

I can see the past--
I can see I’m on a path
but
I can’t see for certain
where I’m stepping.

With that realization
I remembered
a dream from the night before:
I saw the tracks I’d made
as well as the tracks
I would make
shining on a dirt track.

That dream told me:
you must learn to trust your deep luminous eye.

That woman in the park
steps with confidence
--why?--
because she trusts
her deep luminous eye.

I can see her now
and feel inspired.
However
when someone walks backwards
you naturally worry they’ll fall.

I suppose I could pray
for her safe passage
but wouldn’t that show a lack of faith
in her inner strength--
in her spirit?

But I can still pray--
I will pray a way that honors her:

every day
in my heart I will thank her
for being
a walking metaphor
for all to witness.

mythsteps · The Walking Metaphor

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

A Prayer after Death

author's note:

I want to die with my boots on.

But I’m not buying any boots right now.


A PRAYER AFTER DEATH

I didn’t believe any prayer of mine
would help him
in his last hours
of suffering.

But I could give him
my empathy:
I could sit by his bed
and try to gain some sense
of his innner struggle.

So I matched my breath
to his ragged breath
and winced
whenever his eyelids crinkled in pain.

Nonetheless
he still seemed so distant.

To entertain my impatience
I counted time as his blind hand
ticked against the bedsheet

In that way, I fell into a timeless trance

until with a startle
I felt my heart clunk clumsily
once...twice

then my chest slumped
with a release of tension
and as I sighed, I saw him
collapse inside
with a silent heave of exhaustion.

Suddenly a subtle brightness seemed
to intensify the room--
or maybe I just imagined
the faint glittery mist
that hovered for a moment, midair
then vanished with a quick fade.

I can only say for certain what I felt:
the reality seemed so unreal.  Elevated.

But in the next moment
I nearly laughed:
a process so crushingly tedious
had ended with nothing more
than a quick simple breath.

I felt relieved

but only for a minute

then the grieving began.

Yet even as the sadness rose
I felt the impulse to compose a prayer--
I wanted to give humble thanks
to whatever force might have placed
that blessed event in my path.

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Dancing to Raven’s Song: a novel
© 2022, Michael R. Patton

Master Boulder

author’s note:

Many years ago, I heard we should “commune with nature”.

But some time passed before I learned the wisdom of that advice.


MASTER BOULDER

Though I'm intimidated
by its monolithic presence
I often return to that boulder
at the bottom of the hollow

and then
despite my resistance
obey
its command to listen
to what can not be spoken
only felt:

the profundity of its heavy silence.

In that way, I’m humbled
even as I begin to feel
that same power
echoing up from my dark depths.

I’ve finally discovered
the value of ritual.
I now know how to pray.

you tube channel
© 2021, Michael R. Patton

Still Working to Reach the Angel

author’s note:

When a man hears angels singing
he hears angels singing.
              -- Mary Oliver


STILL WORKING TO REACH THE ANGEL

Having lived among us for so long
angels have lowered their expectations.

Thus
they no longer feel angry at us--
they feel pity

for creatures so weak, so low.

One day
a winged shadow on the lawn
startled me out of the storm
in my mind.
Up above, I spied
an angel flying away--
tired of hearing me thunder.

At once I saw I was losing
the spirit that could save me
from my thunderstorm.

In desperation
I raised my arms
opened my hands
and began to beseech with a song.

I’d hoped to let flow
the lovely notes of a dove.
Instead, my voice cut the air
like the sharp dry caw of a crow.

But to an angel
any cry of humility sounds beautiful
because the supplicant openly admits
the painful truth.

And so, in response to my plea
the cherub circled round
to perch in an elm tree near me

as if to say:
since you now see my value
I will stay

but if you want me
you must reach me.

Fortunately, angels know
how slow we humans grow
and so
they’ll wait patiently--
as long as we keep trying.

33 1/3 New Fables & Myth: ebook
© 2021, Michael R. Patton

A Man with a Plan & a Prayer

author’s note:

No, I’m not the man of this poem. For that matter, I don’t pray.

And yet sometimes when I reach the end of the poem, I get a little choked up.


A MAN WITH A PLAN & A PRAYER

A little man in a small room
prayed late at night every night
asking his god to heal
the community

but when he seemed to receive no response
our man realized his heavenly benefactor
might not bother to intercede
unless he himself showed good faith
by coming up with a few ideas
about what he could do to help.

Then after hitting on
what seemed a good idea
the man asked himself:
how can I make that idea a reality?

So next
he took on the onerous task
of developing a strategy
which then led him tov a job of true courage--v he acted on his plan:

he worked with earnest diligence
for forty days and forty nights
(which could be forty months
 or even forty long years).

And each night
after his hard labor
our pilgrim paused
for a few moments of prayer
at the table
in his small room

but during this ritual
he didn’t ask his god
to help speed progress--
to remove any of the many barriers
he encountered
on the path of his plan:

a path of so much frustration--
so much doubt.
A miracle, it seems
that man managed to keep going
until he realized his dream
(at least to some degree).

Afterwards
our crusader never claimed
his victory was a blessing from God--
the fool he’d been had been lost
in the school of his long journey--
what a bruising battle he’d fought!--
so many tough opponents.

Looking back, he again felt
the hurt he’d endured--
the disappointment.

Some days his only solace
was that quiet midnight prayer
when he went within
asking for strength
and emerged just minutes later
feeling strong again.

As that memory lifted him
our man said:
what would I have done
without my god?

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

Buddha Belly

author's note:

Full disclosure: I am not a Buddhist...

Or maybe I am and don't know it.


BUDDHA BELLY

As I bathe in the belly
of the Buddha
I can feel the temple bell
ringing--

rrrrrrrrraaaaaaaaa
iiinnnnnnnnnnnggggggggggg
ing--
rrrrrrrrraaaaaaaaa
iiinnnnnnnnnnnggggggggggg
ing

and can feel the hills
echoing the bell--
echooooooooooooooooo
ing--
echooooooooooooooooo
ing--

in response the goats
              jump step
from stone
    to stone--
their hooves percussing--

percusssssssssss
singggg--
percusssssssssss
singggg

and in response, a prayer wheel
turns inside my heart
and suddenly I see how
we’re like those prayer flags
on the line:

waving our colors to the world
while pulled by a wind
beyond our control:
         dashed--
         stretched--
         lashed!

In fear of my weakness
I hold tightly to that strong line

and in my grip, I find
the strength of these two hands.

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