The Tree Speaks to the Tree Hugger

author’s note:

While you give to me and I give to you
True love, true love
          — “True Love”, Cole Porter


THE TREE SPEAKS TO THE TREE HUGGER

As a tree, I can see
you now fight the need
to release your abundant burden of love.
But please, surrender:
encircle me with your weary arms—
I am here to accept your offering.

As a tree, I know
you struggle because
after so much hurt
you dare not touch
anything at all.

You’re trying to escape—
you’ve numbed the pain
you’ve numbed the love.
Neither living nor dead—
you’re one more lost ghost.

But I trust your higher instinct—
I trust
your irrepressible desire for life
will eventually lift you above your fear.

Nonetheless
this separation pains me.
Yes, humans need trees
but trees also need humans—
I’m only complete when I can be
what I am meant to be:
I need to serve up comfort
to people who need
to serve up their love.

I give breath to you—
you give breath to me.
Not just the physical breath—
neither one of us can live long without
the spiritual breath of the heart.

mythsteps · The Tree Speaks to the Tree Hugger

finding Beauty: poetry book
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© 2023, Michael R. Patton

Feeling Better: a quest

author's note:

So easy to lose touch these days.


FEELING BETTER: a quest

A plague of malaise had crept in
and as a result
our senses had dimmed.
Thus, we could not see

the obvious:
our senses had dimmed.

I myself did not realize
until I stepped on that rake:

the bop between my eyes
cleared my dimness just a bit--enough
for me to see how dim I was

and how frustrated my people were:

dimly aware of the problem
we tried all sorts of ways to reawaken.
But in our blindness
often only dimmed ourselves more.

I wanted to help
but knew I couldn’t go around
bopping folk between the eyes
with a rake.
However, I could undertake
a quest for a cure.
Why a quest?  I suppose
I wanted adventure

or maybe
I just wished to get away from our mess.

In any case
I did not dawdle but set out
across the dark unknown plain to the north.
And oh--
the darkness only deepened
the deeper I traveled
into that alien land.

By the time I’d gone too far to turn back
the black fog had grown so dense
I couldn’t see my feet or even my hands.
I bumbled and stumbled

until finally, in frustration
I sat down on the bare ground--
hoping to gather together
what remained of my wits.

To prop my weary self up, I put
my blind fingertips to the earth

and in so doing, touched a little bump--
some rough object—I wasn’t sure what--
maybe a rock but maybe not--
I couldn’t recall the last time
I’d held a rock.

Then in curiosity
I got down on my hands and knees

and began to feel around.
In that way, I slowly found
many peculiar textures
belonging to many mysterious things:

some were crinkly
some were smooth
some were razor sharp.

A few were furry to the touch.

Occasionally I'd encounter
something slimy and slithering
and feel the impulse to retreat.

But courage feels better than cowardice
so to still myself, I declared:
I won't allow my fear to rule me!

Nonetheless, I see wisdom in being careful
and besides--
cautiousness increases attentiveness
and attentiveness heightens sense of touch.

And the more I feel, the better I see--
my vision clears…so do my ears
albeit slowly, oh-so-slowly--but
as I proceed, I find I’m losing
this malaise.

However
I still can’t see my way home.

So perhaps you'll arrive before I do--
even so, I won’t follow you--
I must find my own path back--
after all, I’m on a quest.
In any case
could you please tell the people:
in time, I will return
I will when I can see us all
in a light much brighter.

Then I’ll speak
to tell them what I truly feel
and what I truly see.

Soultime: a novel
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© 2021, Michael R. Patton

Freedom Feet

author’s note:

As I see it, there’s foolish risk and there's wise risk.


FREEDOM FEET

Hoping to wake myself
from a stupor induced by security
today
I set my feet free:

no socks, no shoes--open again

to many hazards--
such as shards of broken glass
lurking like sharks in the grass

but I could feel

the freshness
of that wet spring grass
and squeeze
luscious cool mud
between my pale toes.

The shock of touch
created bursts of interior fireworks.
My body saw the world once more.

Today
as my eyes felt
the flow of clouds
my soles listened to a river
coursing through the veins
of an underground cave.

Today
I resurrected myself
through a small act of courage.

Poet, Heal Thyself: poetry ebook
© 2021, Michael R. Patton

Gray Paper Heart

author's note:

I feel I'm learning a lot--though often I'm not aware of what I'm learning.

Looking back, I'll sometimes realize what I learned at a particular time.  But maybe not until long afterwards.


GRAY PAPER HEART

I once explored a stationery store
for an hour
in search of a sheet
from which I could cut
a gray paper heart

to match the one that’d vanished
when I reached down in a dream.

Somehow I knew
texture was even more important

than color in my choice.
So I traced my fingertips
across sheets of many grades and weaves--
each held its own particular pleasure.
Some felt almost right
which meant:
they were not the paper I sought.

Finally
like a magical moment in a fairy tale
I spied the one I knew was the one
at the end of the middle shelf:
a light-gray standard-size sheet, it was--
the fiber, somewhat coarse
but perfect in its imperfection.

I touched with trepidation
and in turn, was touched
by a material so quiet
yet so alive.

Something inside silently said:
I am that.
To which I replied:
“I don’t think I understand.”
And then no longer felt that something.

Not until the evening
when I began to work my scissors
tenderly into those fibers
did I remember
someone I once saw leaning
against the side of a stucco building
deep in shadow.

No, I didn’t see her face
just the back of her long plain gray dress.
I could hear her tears--
not dramatic, not bereft--
her sighing calm suggested
she didn’t want to but knew
she needed to cry.

I felt pained because
I desired to help her but could not.
So I soothed myself
with this understanding:
she didn’t need me.

Now, as I touch that cut heart
I feel the woman’s strength again.
Though quite human
she was also a vision.
Another lesson
in my education.

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

Touching the Moon

author’s note:

From watching the moon
       I turned
       and my friend old
shadow led me home
       -- Shiki (trans. Beilenson/Behn)


TOUCHING THE MOON

I hate the moon tonight because
my stunted arms can’t grant
the wish of my starved hands
to touch the moon I love:
I love

the deep feelings
that orb provokes.

So despite the torture
I continue to gaze
into its inscrutable face

until my desire
finally seems unbearable.
Then I turn away

and weave my way
back through
this midnight wood.

But the moon follows me--
paints milk on leaves
beside the trail--
the shadows deepen in response
to this illumination.

I lay my hand on a stone
softened by moonglow
and touch the moon by touching that stone.

And again I realize:
though our gods and goddesses
seem so distant
we can still feel them
through all those things
that shine with their light.

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

Intimacy Regained

author’s note:

I’m on intimate terms with this valley.
           -- from True West by Sam Shepard


INTIMACY REGAINED

In the days of our beginning
we didn’t need a word for intimacy

because we had not yet lost contact
with the sharp blades of grass
snipping at our legs as we walked--
we heard the hive hum of the earth
when we lay down to rest.
We talked to the stars directly.

In the days of our beginning
we needed to stay in contact
with all life
in order to survive on this planet
but now, we must disconnect
in order to function
in the world we have created
for ourselves.

Despite early resistance
I learned to function

but as a result
my own hand eventually
seemed foreign to me:

all that good functioning
nearly killed me.

Fortunately, I had enough sense left
to feel my lack of feeling
and so, in desperation, I began
to fight for more life--

a battle without end:

after the sapping
of another functional day
my body and mind
may seem to lack
the energy to engage--
to engage and regain
a sense of intimacy

but distressed by the loss
I’ll summon enough spunk to fight--
enough to resurrect
the god inside.

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

Light from a Dark Dream

author's note:

No such thing as a bad dream!


LIGHT FROM A DARK DREAM

As I struggled to navigate
the dark labyrinth
of that dream...

what a shock when
the thin guiding thread broke
and soon after that
my small lamp blew out

then in the smoky fog
I tried to find my way
with careful fingertips

but my sense of touch
had dulled.

What a blessing that dream!--
because...

when I awoke to its light
I began to see again.

© 2018, Michael R. Patton
my war for peace: poetry ebook