The Wind Strums My Strings

author’s note:

“Strumming my pain with his fingers”
             — from a poem by Lori Lieberman


THE WIND STRUMS MY STRINGS

One twilight evening
I heard a gust of wind strum
the out of tune strings of a cheap guitar
abandoned in a trash bin.

Then another gust
rang the guitar
then a third banged the strings.

Though discordant
those chords made a spark
in the depths of my heart.
A feeling beyond adjectives.

I then asked myself
how such sounds could create
that feeling within me

and arrived at this answer:

As the wind sweeps over the earth
our excess emotion gets whisked up
and rides the many currents like dust.

We can feel some of that feeling
by listening to the wind strum
such things as wheatfields
and lakes and trees and bridges
and electrical towers and guitars.

After that realization, I decided
to join along—
to open myself up
and let the wind strum
my poorly-tuned strings.
Who knows?—
my notes, though rough
might spark a light in the hearts of others
the way my own heart was sparked
by the raw sound of that cheap guitar.

But I’d failed to anticipate
the amount of pain in the wind—
pain from the wounds
suffered by human minds.
Pain from all the creatures
struggling to survive.
Pain from the wounded land and water.

All that pain awakened
pain dormant within me.
The hurt rose up
and from my mouth
came a crazed cacophony
that included:

the whimpering pleas of a puppy

and long coyote howls

and low ghostly groans

as well as the bellows of a fallen bull.

No, my sound didn’t stir many
but at least I experienced some relief
by giving voice to buried feelings.

Since then
I’ve found much more besides pain in the wind
and so, I’ve been able
to expand my repertory a bit.
But the message remains
basically the same.
And that message is:

I hold more than I know.
Which means:

We’re all hold more
than we can possibly imagine.

And to those who say
No, we hold less!
I suggest:
trying opening yourself to the wind.

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

What I Tell Myself while Dangling in the Dark

author’s note:

Hang in there.


WHAT I TELL MYSELF WHILE DANGLING IN THE DARK

Moonlight whitens a spider
bobbing up, then down
amid the shadow leaves.

The sight elicits a visceral response—
I identify with that daredevil:
we’re both dangling in the dark—
hanging in mid-air.

However
the metaphor isn’t perfect:
the spider knows his own string well
unlike me—
I don’t know what holds me.
So I worry

then worry about the amount I worry:
doubt could pull me down
into a night without moonlight.

So every day I try to lift myself
with these thoughts:

“I am but a puppet
   moved by higher forces.
   And those gods will not let me fall.
   Because I serve them.

“Yes, they keep me suspended in suspense
   but only because I must learn to trust.

“Yes, it’s good for me to be here:
   this instability forces me
   to find the strength needed
   to deal with our uncertainty.”

To be honest
these ideas don’t ease my anxiety much
and yet
I repeat them often
because
the story they tell
gives this precarious life meaning
and without that significance
I might just say:
I have had enough.
I give up.

mythsteps · What I Tell Myself while Dangling in the Dark

Searching for my best beliefs: poetry book
myth steps blog
dream steps blog
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© 2024, Michael R. Patton

The Center of the World

author's note:

At the age of nine, Black Elk experienced a vision in which he stood at the center of the world--Harney Peak, South Dakota.

But in the same moment, he understood that every place on Earth is also the center.


THE CENTER OF THE WORLD

When I was small
I often felt quite small

so I'd climb a nearby hill

and at the top
I'd survey all below me
and imagine I was standing
at The Center of the World.

At such moments
I’d vow to myself:
one day I’ll be at the top
and all those people
will look up at me
and finally see my light.

Alas, as an adult
I’ve failed to realize
that dizzy ambition.
But though my ego is finally willing
to accept defeat
forces within keep driving me.

So I still feel frustrated.

But I’ve found a way to find relief:
I return to that hill of my childhood.

However, now
when I climb to the top
I don’t wish to inflate—
no, I go for perspective

because when I gaze down
at our human life below
the game called “success”
can seem so small.

But if I then begin
to feel above it all
I’ll tell myself:
yeah, you’re at
The Center of the World

but so is everyone else on this planet.

mythsteps · The Center of the World

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

The Little Farmer Feels Grand

author’s note:

I have met the space alien and he is me.


THE LITTLE FARMER FEELS GRAND

I claimed this land

then built a house and fence
that could withstand
the ferocity of the seasons

and under a sky, deep and wide
sowed a crop.

So I felt quite satisfied with myself
when I sat down to rest
but then

I began to sense a presence
pervading this broad valley.

Later that night I woke in the dark
to hear this message whispered:

you own nothing here—

you are a visitor, a stranger

allowed to take for a moment

then whisked away like a speck.

Though my ego felt wounded
I realized the truth of those words.
I was not mighty; I was a mite
supping on an indomitable creature.

I’d seen this farm as a monument
to my courage and endurance.
But after my passing
the elements would soon
erase all I’d done.

But I also knew:
if I stopped work—
if I abandoned this dot of earth
I would feel
even smaller than I felt now.

So I decided on this strategy:
during the long day
I would focus on the task at hand
and not let my eyes wander
toward those distant mountains—

not gaze across the sweep of this valley
to the horizon

and if I began to sense
that all-knowing presence
I’d shut down my awareness.

As a result of this tactic
my daily labor still seems meaningful.

But at twilight
when I’m done with chores
I sit down once more
and allow my perspective to stretch—
allow myself to again
feel the living presence.

Allow myself to remember
I’m nothing but wee alien visitor here.

An odd thought—a little disturbing
but at such moments
I regain my sense of wonder.

I never felt so grand
until I became
just a bit of airborne dust
living for a breath in a kingdom
of heaven and earth.

mythsteps · The Little Farmer Feels Grand

Get the Message: a short guide for understanding dreams
dream steps blog
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© 2023, Michael R. Patton

Luminous Living Things

LUMINOUS LIVING THINGS

I tried to satisfy my hunger
by finding Zeus in the clouds.

But apparently the sky god
had abandoned his throne.

Finally, in sad frustration
I looked down.

Only then did I begin to notice
all those luminous living things
on the ground:

things that want to be seen--
things that need to be seen--
things that can feed me

including this stream
with its myriad slivers of sun
dazzling--
silver ribbons twisting
yet remaining in place
as the waters slide on--
rippling with gentle excitement.

If I’m patient
sight and sound then become
a feeling:
too much for my chest
but my heart wants more.

At such moments
I feel blessed
to live in a world
abandoned by Zeus.

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

Pedro

author’s note:

I’m a pessimistic optimist.  But maybe that's obvious.


PEDRO

Yes, Pedro and I
still find ways to beam joy
during these spinning days
of confusion and blood.

While I sing
that child grins his cracked teeth, rings
his tambourine--
I pan for gold
with my banjo.

Yesterday, I took him to Congress
so we could sit in the balcony
and laugh at the show
but

I kept on seeing us
down below.
So

I brought Pedro back out
to bask in the sun’s rays
and witness the smiles
of the many wounded. &nbps;I say:
no one ever loses his soul‑‑
it only gets misplaced.

Many claim
that many children now
grow up
with their souls
outside their bodies.
But Pedro and I, we both agree:
it's always been that way.

Still, we’re hopeful fools.
Pedro says

if enough get mended
the balance might tip
then keep on tipping.

To that end
we spindle personal projects--
turning cranks inside our own mines,
hoisting up buckets of ash--
all the while searching for
the occasional
jitterbug diamond.

Satisfying yet also frustrating:
our hands seem so small.

Yes, reports from a thousand battlefronts
tell us we’re not working alone.
But losses seem to outpace gains--
a monster
on the opposite side of the wall
jacks the odds against us.

But maybe the wall is illusion.
So maybe we can bargain.

In any case, Pedro and I remain
determined
to task happy:
my banjo is banjoy
and Pedro’s tambourine
sings with ringing--sparkles
like the bright folk
who hold this world aloft.

Maybe no one hears us
but at least this way
our eyes don’t bruise
when the tears begin to sting.

Soultime: a novel
© 2021, Michael R. Patton

Star Inside

author's note:

An appropriate poem for a time when a comet draws our eyes to the sky.


STAR INSIDE

The ancients believed
the gods lived above
in a world of ideal form:

our life below
was merely a pale shadow
compared to their gold.

I think I know why
they held that idea:
maybe like me, those folk often felt
shadowy pale

but brightened
whenever they stopped to wonder
at the mystery of the stars
of a world so distant.

At such still moments
I can feel the gold of this life.

A richness I also know
sometimes when I’m quiet
and descend into myself
descend until I experience
a moment of sparkling perfection

which I can not hold.
Nonetheless, when I rise
I’ll still feel the afterglow.

So whenever my life seems
pathetically pale
I reach down again--reach
until I find the star inside.

My plan is:
to raise that star
slowly...slowly...slowly
until finally the feeling
never completely leaves me.

Then, no matter what falls
I won’t forget our basic truth:

within this pale shadow
lives an ideal world
of sacred perfection

and though we often feel poor
we’re always much more
than we appear to be.

With that constant awareness
how could I ever lose my love?

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

The Water of Many Rivers

author's note:

When I first heard “go with the flow“, I believed the flow to be out there.

It is out there.  But now I know it’s also in here.


THE WATER OF MANY RIVERS

I sat down in solitude at the river
to meditate upon this question:

What are we?

My mind wanted to struggle
so only after much time
and confusion
did I realize the obvious:

we are the water of many rivers.

Consider the evidence:

as with the waters of a river
sometimes we must switchback
in order to go forward.

We carve new channels--
change is part of our nature:

even when we appear stationary
there are undercurrents;
even in our stagnant pools, we brew.

I've finally learned
if I try to contain myself
I will overflow!

I've finally learned
I can't fight the current and win...

still, it's hard not to argue
especially when
I'm headed towards the rapids
or when I must go slow…
down to a crawl.

At such times, I reassure myself
with this knowledge:

water, instinctively, finds it own level,
water, instinctively, finds its way home...

© 2020, Michael R. Patton
finding Beauty: poetry ebook

The Quest

author’s note:

Happy Valentine’s Day.


THE QUEST

The young man told the wise man:
when I saw that silver palace
I felt overwhelmed
by an ecstasy of love.

So I now feel compelled
to search faraway lands
until reality matches my dream.

To that, the old man said:
no need to hunt--
you can find your love ecstasy
merely by appreciating
the simple beauty
of this earth.

Though disappointed by his master’s reply
our hero did indeed try:
he set himself down
in a field of wildflowers
and observed the world
as twilight darkened into night
and fireflies began to blink.

Soon entranced
by the quiet beauty
of those gold flashes
he felt a stir of warmth
within his chest.

Nice, yes, but not enough for him:
he yearned for a greater ecstasy.

But even more than that:
he wanted to heighten his life
by enduring the hardship and pain
of traversing that grand mountain chain
in pursuit of a divine ideal.

So the lad stood up,
aimed himself toward the rising sun
and began his quest--

a journey
which led him into
many deep valleys
where he shook with the fear
of being lost in dark shadow.

But he also knew the glory
of standing on a mountaintop
and watching golden-red dawn
flare up on the far horizon.

He walked miles and miles
of dry flat land
and found achievement
in the monotonous grind.

He fought the undertow
during many river crossings--
emerging shivering wet, yet
victorious.

But despite the sincerity of his work
the dream palace remained elusive.

Eventually, his divine desire
could not surmount
the reasonable demands
of body and mind.

His disappointment
made the hard ground
feel even harder when he hit:
he wept like a child
who’s lost his wish--

wept until his tears
emptied him--
leaving our man openly innocent:
open enough to find his love again
by finding beauty
in firefly flashes of gold
at twilight.

But the warm stir in his chest
stirred him up--
soon, he wanted more.

So he rose once again
to continue his quest.

How does this story end? you ask.

I hoped you might tell me.

But no matter--
I’d rather discover
for myself.

© 2020, Michael R. Patton
40 New Fables: ebook

Talk Sing Walk Dance

author's note:

"I think of myself more as a song and dance man, y'know."
                -- Bob Dylan


TALK SING WALK DANCE

In the experiment of human life
I have realized this paradox:

the common activity
of walking and talking
quickly exhausts me
whereas
the exertion
of song and dance
gives me new breath.

So I've decided to see
every step as a dance move
and hear every word as a song note--

yeah, I say:
we dance and sing and dance
as we talk and walk and talk.

As a result of enacting this mindset
my sails fill out full
even when I'm doing the mundane stuff
such as filing files or talking to a robot.

Nevertheless
my lazy head often forgets this tactic

but then remembers
when I begin to huff again
and my legs grow leaden.

© 2019, Michael R. Patton
searching for my best beliefs: 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

The Diamond Kite

author’s note:

This hour I tell things in confidence,
I might not tell everybody but I will tell you.
            -- Walt Whitman


THE DIAMOND KITE

Yesterday, when I saw the kite
I saw myself

sleeping in a park clearing
--no tail, no string--
just thin orange paper breathing
in a flimsy wooden frame

until woken abruptly by a gust--
twirled straight up--
up above the maple trees

then held--suspended:
burning golden in the sun
for an operatic moment.

But soon the magic went "poof"
and the kite spiraled down
to land softly on the lawn--

the diamond eagle: a ground bird
once again.

I know how it feels

to be suddenly lifted
by some invisible hand--
held aloft

only to be set down
in the next breath.

A short vacation
yet long enough
for me to know the wonder
of being a diamond kite

and so, ever since
I've wanted that height
as a permanent residence

and have worked to build
string and tail.

But after so many years
and so much effort, I fear
my kite dream may only be
a pipe dream.

Nevertheless...

when I saw that kite aloft
I could not deny my desire
to lift myself up
to my diamond height.

© 2018, Michael R. Patton
what I learned while alone: poetry ebook