The Ticket Taker

author's note:

If I was angel, I wouldn't mind working with humans...

But I think I'd need long vacations.


THE TICKET TAKER

One night I dreamt
I was working Gate Eleven
but not as a man but as an angel
because the stadium was now heaven
though still located near the track.

But I didn’t want to let the first man in--
I didn’t like his fanged teeth.

I also rejected the woman behind him--
because of her necklace of skulls.

But then a tall archangel
touched my shoulder and said:
“Since they both have tickets
  you must allow them to enter.”

What--have we no standards?
I protested.

The higher one answered:
“Look into their faces--
  can you see the pain?
  That pain is the cost
  of living on Earth.
  Having paid in that way
  they’ve earned heaven’s bliss

“but only a small amount--
  soon they must return to life on Earth
  along with the rest of the crowd.”

Isn’t anyone ever allowed to stay?
I asked in bewilderment.

“Okay, here’s the process,"
  the patient master replied:

“Next time these beings awaken on Earth
  their minds will again switch
  to survival mode--
  blotting out the memory of heaven
  just as before.
  However
  the humans will sense the loss--
  feel the pain of loss--
  and as a result
  engage in various worldly pursuits
  in an effort to regain
  the feeling of bliss.

“But though they may create
  fine pleasure for themselves
  and experience the satisfaction
  of grand accomplishment
  their striving will not bring back
  the heaven they’ve lost.

“But through the frustration of their search
  they will learn and grow
  and so, eventually learn
  what they truly desire
  and then they will vow
  to work to grow
  until they reach real heaven.”

At that point, I awoke
wondering if my dream
actually proved anything
about an afterlife.
But whatever the case may be
that dream helped me
because afterward
I did my job with new eyes:

I saw the pain
of that snide man with canine teeth.
I saw the pain
of that woman devouring her own life.
And by seeing their pain, I felt
the pain of my own mistakes.
But comforted myself with this thought:
Yes, I might still be a long way
from permanent heaven
but at least now I know
what I truly desire.

33 1/3 New Fables & Myths: ebook
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© 2022, Michael R. Patton

Trying To Do the Impossible

author’s note:

I’m still a cave man.


TRYING TO DO THE IMPOSSIBLE

I still can’t see very well

though I strive every day
to improve my vision--

responding to a drive
I believe all humans share:
we want to understand

but often block that impulse
after realizing the obvious:
we’re confronting something so big
we can only see a little bit of it at best.

Nonetheless, I continue
to strain my eyes
because I like the high
that happens as
my poor primitive brain
struggles to expand.

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© 2022, 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

Sharing the Price of Fire

author's note:

To be clear: the returning hero could just as well have been a heroine.


SHARING THE PRICE OF FIRE
(aka FABLE OF THE HERO'S RETURN)

Yes, I was the one
who brought fire down:

I lay myself open
on the mountain top
and waited until
the thunder god blasted me
with a lightning bolt.

Yes, I paid a great price
so the people would have fire.

But when I returned home
brandishing the torch
the one waiting at the door
saw how charred and scarred I was--
and said:

Blasted empty--
now I’m partner to a tremoring shadow.

“The world and you
  will soon bless my offering,”
  I countered.

“The truth is:
  you did it for yourself--
  now sit down
  and let me apply the salve.”

No, I didn't receive
the praise I believe
a true hero deserves

but I realized this blessing:
she actually understands me

and not only accepts my foibles
but loves me enough to help me deal
with whatever demons may plague me
after this horrific triumph.

40 New Fables
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© 2018, Michael R. Patton

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

One and One

author’s note:

A simple dream image is rarely simple.


ONE KNOWN

I had a dream of
the numeral
                 One.

In the dream
a big “1"
just stood there
daring me
to confuse myself
with interpretation--

knowing I could not resist
the temptation to ask myself:
What is "1"?

The number shoots up,
the number signals us

to form phalanxes,
to build foundations,
to summon our ambition--

"1" pushes the stalk
from the earth,
"1" points the spear
and spire--

to lift us to our vision before
we whistle back down the pole
to live the day’s plain struggle.

One stands alone.
Lonely as a telescope.
The number is original,
individual--yet includes all.
For all are one.  So I’m told.
But I’m trying to see--

what One asks me to see:
what I already sense
beneath the ten thousand
glances and motions--

Unity.

To feel is to see:
I am too many fractions
and yet I feel
I remain one
beneath all the fractures.

But sometimes
when I’m filled with the strength
of my individual self
I begin to fear:
am I all I have--Uno?

However,
when I try to work my will
I can not ignore
I am not in control:
I am property.

One has me.

Yet I can know that One
through myself--

but also
through all those other Ones--
including stones,
including clouds,
including waves,
including you--

including all
the shadows
of all those things.

Like all previous
dreams of "1"
this One dream only asked
the question--

it’s always up to me
to painfully bless myself
with one or more
answers.

© 2010, Michael R. Patton

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Worm World Wisdom

author’s note:

“I am a part of all that I have met.”
             --  Alfred Lord Tennyson

“I learn by going where I have to go.”
               --  Theodore Roethke


WORM WORLD WISDOM

In all our explorations...

maybe we’ll find
a planet of highly intelligent worms--

worms that seem to imbibe information
from the ground through their skin--sliding over
the earth and into the soil
would be a means of absorbing
not only facts, but also knowledge
--which, through the progressive digestion
             of deep rumination,
             would eventually produce wisdom--yes,
crawling could be a means of
cracking consciousness open.

They learn in this way because,
after all, what is their experience
of life if not soil--?--if not earth--?--
thus, the ground beneath their skin
is their education,
their means of learning
while on that distant loamy world.

And so, I guess, the worms
would never want to pause
for even a moment

--you think?--

but no, I suppose
some would feel overwhelmed
and choose to go slow.

Maybe they would even end
their education
by stalling--stopping.

No--wouldn’t that be impossible?:
no matter what the worm did,
it would have to learn something--

after all, a worm can never
completely stop--it must attend
to basic needs–and so
          even to eat, to procreate, to find shelter
would bring growth

--even if
a worm only passed
through this life
for one heartbeat
that worm would gain
something.

However,
wouldn’t you need a life
after life
in order not to waste
all you had acquired?

But even if dust just returns to dust
your dust would go back
to that same place
from whence your knowledge came--

so all future generations
could absorb some of what
you picked up, some of what
you digested
in your own attempt
at understanding.

Every motion you ever made
--even a breath breathed
   while you were
   standing still--
would add its modicum
of push
to the future momentum
of that world.

However, I believe
you’d have an even bigger impact...

Why should your advances
be confined to a single planet--?--
--are we not one?--
--do we not share the wealth?--
I believe
some humongous
universal bank of intelligence
exists somewhere
for your deposit
of worm knowledge.

If so,
does worm wisdom combine
in that bank with our own
human learning?--

If so,
then what is true
for worm
would also be true
for a poet.

Yes, that must be the reality;
because I have gained so much
from all my crawling,
from all my slogging,
from all my stalling,
from all my delving,
from all my...

...my oh my--

from just being born.

© 2009, Michael R. Patton
earnest audio
new steps