The Deciduous Human Being

author’s note:

That time of year thou mayst in me behold
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold...
           — Shakespeare, from “Sonnet 73”

To that I say: Wait and I'll be back.


THE DECIDUOUS HUMAN BEING

“Behold!  Behold!  Behold!”
The wise one told me:
“Look
 and you will feel

“the loving sacrifice
 made by that dark bed of dead leaves
 beneath the tree.

“Then look again
 and feel
 the little fist of green life
 struggling to break the shell of that acorn.

“Now look once more
 and feel—feel
 the branches straining upward
 as the tree strives to reach the sun.

“Behold!  Behold!  Behold!”

But when I tried to feel the life of the tree
as instructed
I felt my own life instead:

As I looked at those rotting leaves
I grieved for all sacrifices I’d made.
All those necessary deaths.

And as I examined that acorn
I again sensed the new life within me
struggling in labor to be born.

And when I saw
the top branches sighing for more
I felt my own desire
for a higher heaven.

Yes, the wise one wanted me to feel
the tremendous cycle of life
of those friends we call trees.
But I think she also hoped I’d find
that same life force inside
the deciduous human being I call “me”.

Listening to Silence: poetry book
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© 2026, Michael R. Patton

The Symbolic Tree

author’s note:

Inspired by a photo of the 900-year old Camel Thorn trees at Namib-Naukluft National Park in Namibia.


THE SYMBOLIC TREE

The stark beauty of that desert plain
was enhanced by the presence
of a single tree.
Dead for hundreds of years
but well-preserved by the dry conditions
and the chemical composition
of those grains of sand.

Like a hand
that tree reached up from the golden land—
its bare black branches
beseeched the sky perpetually.

But finally
atmospheric forces won
when a record sandstorm
shattered that skeleton
with one big blow
and all the pieces
flew away on the whirling wind.

With the loss
that stretch of desert no longer matched
the photo the tourist bureau
had posted on the web.
Without that dramatic symbol
the plain now seemed so empty.

Realizing the need for a replacement
the government then planted
a monument on that very spot—
the black steel mirrored the tree in every detail:
same height, same girth, same desperate gesture.

Some statues die from neglect once erected.
But this one lives on.
Tourists come from all over the world
to visit that desert park.
And a recent study shows:
ninety percent take photos
of themselves beside
that symbolic tree.

Their grins can seem so silly
juxtaposed
against those naked steel branches.
But much goes on beneath a clown face.

I believe
people respond to that monument
because its severity expresses a secret truth.
A deep desire I again feel
now, as I revisit that picture.

Once again
I’m spurred to work
to cure the pain
of that blessed yearning.

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

How Ego Saved My Tree

author's note:

"Poems are made by fools like me,
 But only God can make a tree."
            -- Joyce Kilmer

Maybe so, but we can damn well help.


HOW EGO SAVED MY TREE

Lost, I was—and tired
of searching for new life.

So when I found
a winter woman of deep roots
sitting cross-legged on the ground
behind a lonely gas station
I begged her for direction.

Without a word, she then pointed me
toward a gray hill covered with a stubble of stumps.

Yes, I said, she knows how much
that wounded land needs me—
needs
my merciful healing.

Now, after much uplifting labor
I have finally realized
the obvious:
I feel small when I feel
I’m not needed.

Maybe not the best way to be
but

apparently the ego
can sometimes serve the spirit:

as I battle to save this hill
I am green spring
and I am gold autumn.

mythsteps · How Ego Saved My Tree

Searching for my best beliefs: poetry book
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© 2023, Michael R. Patton

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

The Cliche Tree

author’s note:

I’ve heard we’re in a mental health crisis.

In response, I’m writing mental health poems.


THE CLICHE TREE

Because I felt so weak
I asked the tree at the end of the street:

how can you possibly
grow so green, so strong
in soil so poor
on water so trickly and stale
in sunlight so dingy and pale?

And the tree replied:
close your eyes
and feel your heart
tap down deep into the earth—

and feel your soul open
and rise
in surrender to the sky.

Cliches, I thought.
But in the desperation of need
I did as instructed.

And felt as lifeless as before.

But in the desperation of desire
I waited

and after a long short time
sensed a stirring—
an awakening
amazing to me:

my flat desert slowly grew giddy
with a saturation of rising artesian waters.
I felt as rich as the mole
diving deep in black loam.
My sacrificial kite
burned gleefully
in the fire of the midday sun.

I suppose we say “spirit” and “soul”
because attempts at accurate description
soon sound silly.

So I won’t go on
but finish with this embarrassment:

after a long short time
I began to fear
I might lose myself
so I lifted my lids

to found a street now abundant.

When I then asked “What happened?”
the tree only told me what I needed to know:

As long as you struggle
against weakness
you’ll grow stronger
but
you must stop occasionally
to realize what you truly feel
otherwise you’ll forget
the truth of our bountiful world.

mythsteps · The Cliche Tree

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

Fig Tree Communion

author’s note:

I don’t find my roots by looking back at ancestors I never knew.


FIG TREE COMMUNION

I take this fig onto my tongue
and as I savor its richness
I sense the spirit of the mother tree
spreading through my blood--

for a few blessed moments
I can feel her steady strength.

Then as the feeling fades
I begin to wonder:

can I ever be so strong?--can I

bend in the storm wind?--can I
keep my roots anchored down?

I doubt I can
but I’m inspired to try
when I see the power
of so many wise survivors
who now feed the world
with all those figs they’ve grown.

Glorious Tedious Transformation: poetry book
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© 2023, Michael R. Patton

Here

author's note:

I may not be Mother Nature’s son…

But maybe she appreciates the way I respect her.


HERE

Here
I’m sheltered by the forest trees
yet feel vulnerable because
here
I’m a stranger alone:

vulnerable as a child--
is nature my mother?
No

the connection broke long ago:
those trees offer no comfort--
all they do is watch me
from a distance
I can not bridge.

But in uncertainty, I open
to the feeling of mystery
to the quiet dark grandeur here.
I feel myself grow small--
I’m no more important
than that stone.

Maybe even less.

Yet experience myself
as a special individual
because I feel
so strangely alone.

And now, lifted by wonder
I also experience the stone
as a special individual…
the waterdrop on that leaf...

the tree frog.

Listening to Silence: poetry ebook
© 2021, Michael R. Patton

What the Tree Told Me

author’s note:

Recent books have told us that trees talk to each other.

I can imagine what they’re saying: you got to watch those people.


WHAT THE TREE TOLD ME

My top limbs keep reaching up
into that nurturing sky:

with this growth
I feel the excitement of joy
but with the increased height
also the excitement of fright--
good for me, actually
because

in search of security
my roots keep deepening down
into this nurturing earth.

mythsteps blog: trying to put it all together
© 2021, Michael R. Patton

A Small Tree at the Waterfall

author’s note:

I wasn’t trying to create alliteration in the poem below…

...but neither did I try to avoid it.
　

A SMALL TREE AT THE WATERFALL

leans forward with head bowed
on a ledge halfway down the wet cliff--
its roots grip
some shallow soil found
between slabs of brittle rock

as its scrawny trunk trembles
to the threatening roar
of the cascade constantly crashing
below.

Courageous--
I believe its strength
comes from more than mere survival instinct:
the tree hangs on because it loves
that fresh gossamer mist
and hears music
in the multi-layered cacophony
of water finding joy
even while obeying
the dictates of the river.

I know I don’t really know
what the tree feels and thinks
but this belief
encourages me to find beauty
so that I may endure
a world filled
with threatening roar.

© 2021, Michael R. Patton
Searching for My Best Beliefs: poetry ebook
searching for the new mythology

The Beauty of the Stubborn Tree

author’s note:

During these icy times, I’m warmed when I see so many beautiful trees.

To Sal de Mar, for her birthday.


THE BEAUTY OF THE STUBBORN TREE

I can feel the tree worrying
about the ice
weighing down its branches--
the tree never asked for the ice
to be added
to all its other duties

yet I’m comforted as I watch
the sun spark those falling drops--
that slow erosion will eventually
set the tree free.

Until then, it must strain
to maintain its black skeletal limbs
as the wind hits
with blast after blast--
a terrific crucifixion

that’ll end when the last icicle falls--
sticks in the saturated ground--
then the tree will breathe
a sigh of relief
and sing a song of joy in the breeze

even though it knows
the wind will eventually rise again--
will bring clouds, then ice again.

I often fail to notice
the magnificence of the tree
until an ice storm reveals
its glorious stubborn strength.

Now, today--
as I roam up and down
this mountainside
I see beauty in painful abundance.

Soultime: e-novel
© 2021, Michael R. Patton

How Beauty Came from Pain

author's note:

It is apparently more important to nature that one should have consciousness, understanding, than to avoid suffering.
            -- C.G. Jung


HOW BEAUTY CAME FROM PAIN

In the dream
beauty came from pain

as I watched you
embrace the tree--
a lover finding the lover
who knows her need:

to be healed
so she could heal others
in pain.

A symbiotic relationship
working by osmosis:

as you healed yourself
with the tree’s love
you fed the tree with your love

and so your eyes gleamed
on one of its emerald leaves

but many eyes appeared on the leaves above

next time
I hope to see mine

so I've renewed my vow
to open and embrace

despite the slow pain of surrender...

© 2018, Michael R. Patton
finding Beauty: poetry ebook