Occasionally I Become an Island

author’s note:

So did I actually endure such a night?

Yes—many times in my life.  In many different places.


OCCASIONALLY I BECOME AN ISLAND

I’d heard
at low tide a narrow land bridge
would appear above the waves.

You could then walk
from the shoreline
to that little island of rock—
that ragged gray pyramid
bare beneath the open sky.

However, you could only stay an hour
—two at the most—
before the waters covered the bridge again.

But alone in the purity of that fresh world
I felt my spirit elevate
and so I decided to ignore the time
and continued stepping from stone to stone
until I’d reached the plateau on top.

By then, the waves had swallowed
the narrow passage below.

But I merely laughed and danced like a goat.
Ecstatic as I watched the sun descend.

Later, as I hunkered and shivered
under the cold stars of evening
I blessed my tuna sandwich for its sacrifice
and thanked the scrawny trees
for slaking my thirst
with the dew they gathered on their small leaves.

I also said “thanks”
to the dark gray islands of cloud sliding above.
Yes, I thanked them
because they told me again and again and again:
remember your higher aspiration.

At the same time, I thanked the waves
for telling me again and again and again:
this life is deeper than you can imagine.
Yes, I thanked them
because I then tried to imagine.

In that way, I expanded
until morning came
and the bay lowered again.

Since then
I’ve endured more teeth-chattering nights
on that pyramid of rock.
I’ve even created my own little alcove
near the summit.

And when friends ask
Are you trying to punish yourself?
I answer:
I don’t go there
for enjoyment—
I go there for joy.

What I Learned While Alone: poetry book
dream steps blog
myth steps blog
you tube channel
© 2025, 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
dream steps blog
myth steps blog
you tube channel
© 2022, Michael R. Patton

A Clear Glass of Air on New Year's Eve

author's note:

At the end of another year, I revisit this poem.

Those aren’t just fancy words below--I can indeed feel the clarity of my soul.

No, not very often.  But still...


A CLEAR GLASS OF AIR ON NEW YEAR'S EVE

At the end of another year--
alone

and blank
at my hardwood table
under a bare light bulb.

Devoid of sensation--
I could be dead...

but no--
that clear glass of air on the table
tells me:

you only seem empty--
in reality
you are filled with spirit.

Yes--
prompted by that thought
I suddenly sense the purity within.
I can feel the clarity of my soul.

But this bliss
only lasts for the moment of a breath

with the next
the mad mix
of muddy past and foggy future
floods my glass again.

Again I am as I usually am:
a human being
of deep flaws and minor foibles.

But refreshed
after feeling the pure spirit again.

By returning to my truth
I return to our truth:
  though we seem quite muddled
  we’re actually as clear
  as that glass of spirit.

Suddenly now
a rumbling jumble of bells
choruses midnight
through the clouds

and in honor of our spirit
I hoist my full glass to the light.

Soultime: a novel
dream steps blog
myth steps blog
you tube channel
© 2022, Michael R. Patton

Therapists in the Natural World

author's note:

The extraordinary patience of things!
            -- Robinson Jeffers


THERAPISTS IN THE NATURAL WORLD

I often return to this path in solitude
but I never feel alone--
I know I’m being watched.

See that monolithic boulder over there?--
see how it stares?

And this old dark oak tree
has all its eyes on me.

I sense they know my secrets.

Maybe I’m imagining
but wise ones have often noted
the intelligence of mountains
and rivers and stones.

How did those beings get so smart?

I believe:
in past lives they lived
as humans.
And through lessons learned
managed to elevate their souls.

That’s why this little stream
can understand my pain.
I find its empathy comforting.
Like the others
it listens without judging.

That’s not to say these friends
always agree with me--
they know when
I’m not being honest
with myself.

Nonetheless not one ever protests:
they know if they wait patiently
I’ll eventually lead myself around
to the truth I’ve avoided--
the soul truth.

This flowing green field
welcomes me down
to a bed of wild grass
so I can find my strength.

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

The Wise Mountain Lake

author’s note:

Is it any wonder Bigfoot doesn’t want to deal with us?


THE WISE MOUNTAIN LAKE

This watchful lake tells me:

“long ago
  the deity we call 'Heaven Mountain'
  opened its heart to catch the rain
  so that I could be the cup I am
  and comfort people
  when they surrendered
  and begged for my help on bended knee.”

Yes, the lake and I both know
impersonal geological forces create lakes

but the lake and I also know
why I’ve returned to its shore.

And so
I lower to my knees, as before
and the lake begins to heal me.

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

Wisdom Creek

WISDOM CREEK

All day long I’m a violin
dreaming a melodramatic melody.

But when I write poetry
I stop playing
and instead
whisper about how
I sat down in solitude
at the wisdom creek.

Truth is:
I often forget to visit
those healing waters
caught up, as I am
in my bars of music.

But strings in the head
eventually trip the feet

then I land down hard
on my back--back
at the wisdom creek.

But as I sit on its bank
in stunned silence
I may hear a deeper me

while watching my inflated violin
float away on the gentle waters.

But I’m cured only for the moment--
that overwrought music returns too soon:

apparently
the hungry boy in me
desires a grander life--
wants to feel heroic.

Maybe someday I’ll convince him
we can accomplish more
by feeling and following
our quiet strength.

you tube channel
© 2021, Michael R. Patton

The Pin

author’s note:

A long poem.  But I tried to be concise.


THE PIN

Early on, I was pushed
to put a pin in my heart
by those who believed
hearts should be pinned

and I obeyed--hoping
they’d then stop pushing.

Well, at first, I was able to ignore the pin.
But as the world continued to push me around
I began to wake and as I woke
I began to feel the pin stabbing my heart--
a stab with every step:

usually just the pin’s point
but

sometimes, that tippy tip tore a sore.

And as I continued to wake
I woke to the people passing--
I saw so many wincing in pain
just as I was:

good to know what people feel
but
I didn’t know how to help them--

I could hardly help myself.

In the distress of this confusion
and the burden of seeing and feeling
so much pain
I grew tired
and sought refuge in a winter’s cave.

But as I kindled myself
in the cold dark
I could feel the pin burn
even more intensely
in my heart.

So I pulled at it
with all my focused might.

And yet
I still couldn’t pry that spike loose

but continued because
to work felt better
than to rest in defeat

and I saw no greater challenge--
to succeed would be
a redeeming accomplishment.

I then realized I’d found
what I’d gone inside to find--
thus
I’d completed my stay in the cave

so I walked out
and around
and once again, saw people wincing--
I saw pain from heart pins
everywhere I went--

I felt that pain
and wanted to tell those folk
what I’d discovered underground
however
I knew I needed heal myself more
before I spoke--
I’d not yet earned the right.

Frustrated I was, but
I did find some comfort in this thought:
by trying to heal myself
(to the highest degree possible)
I would be doing at least a little
to heal the wound that began
at the birth of humankind

and furthermore:
if I opened my chest just a bit more
--a bit more--
some of the wounded in our wounded world
might notice me trembling
in the slow removal of the pin
and see their own struggle in mine
and know again:

despite the frustration of such tedious work
better we fight than lose hope--
what greater occupation
than to balm and bind
the wounds of this world?

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

My Better Eyes

author’s note:

Pollyanna gets a bad rap.


MY BETTER EYES

I

Hard for me to see
god in me

but often even harder
to see god in the other.

Nonetheless
I occasionally make the effort
to open my better eyes

especially when I feel the need
to feel the love
that opens up when I see god.

II

The idea of “god within”
can be useful when dealing with conflict
because
if I can see god in the other
the other may feel
the love coming from me
and then respond
by opening his own better eyes.

No, I can’t know for certain
where god lives
or even if god does
but I can see what best serves--
in other words:
I'm keeping that god concept
in my toolbox of beliefs.

III

But to be honest
that tool usually goes unused
when most needed--
too often I succumb
another belief
long accepted as fact:

you can avoid hurt
by seeing the demon.

But in the aftermath
of that bad choice
when I retreat to my solitude
I’ll again feel the need to feel the love
that opens up when I see god

and so
I’ll again make the effort
to open my better eyes

and by opening, again see
those painful truths--see
how I actually create more hurt
(for myself, for you, for all of us)
by keeping my better eyes shut.

At such times
I encourage myself
with these words:
if you’re strong enough to see
both your best and your worst
you’re strong enough to learn
how to keep your better eyes open.

© 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

A House of Tolerance

author's note:

I'd like to thank those who have been tolerant of my menagerie...


A HOUSE OF TOLERANCE

Last night, while dreaming of
my solitary house
I opened a broom closet
and a bundled body fell out...

one more mystery character to unwrap--
another

in a wide cast
that includes both commanders
and slaves,
mountebanks as well as monks--
a riotous mix.

So please excuse me if I hesitate
to invite you in--
though I may seem quite quiet
I'm actually a carousel
of commotion.

Yes, at first, you might enjoy
the entertainment
but in time, a circus
can become very overbearing--

I know because I live with me.

A struggle
but with its benefits:
by learning to be
more tolerant of myself
I’ve become
more tolerant of others.

Maybe you want to enter
this solitary house
because you're also trying to learn
tolerance...

well, in that case, okay.

Anyway
I think I'm tolerant enough now
to handle our inevitable
fits of exasperation.

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

Great Hermitage of Gray

author’s note:

I keep learning from old dreams.


GREAT HERMITAGE OF GRAY

Years ago in a dream
I saw the truth of my room:

the walls and floor, all dull gray--
even the light motes drifting
down from the ceiling:
dense gray.

Since that vision, I've worked
to escape my gray place
and maybe I have--because
though I still see
scary things in my dreams
I witness nothing so monotone.

But ever so often
in my waking hours
I revisit the room
because as a human being
I want to understand

and if I can raise myself
when I return
I'll again realize
the beauty and benefit
of that hermitage:

though gray, the sun rays
pour down from a skylight

and those high walls
create a great space--
an austere cathedral.

Oppressive, yes, but
power held in check
can build in strength
as our desire to break out
--to bloom--
grows in intensity.

I've still much to learn
but at least now I know why
I needed that gray room.

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