The Bridge

author’s note:

When I discovered the Golden Gate bridge wasn’t actually painted gold, I felt disappointed.

But later, I realized: regardless of the color, it’s golden.


THE BRIDGE

In the dream I saw a bridge
arc across the sky

only to fade too soon as rainbows do.

So as I woke
I felt both hope
and disappointment:

again I knew a drive that often irritates--
the desire to bridge a divide within
and end this war with myself.

“You can’t even maintain
 that bridge in your dreams!”

sighed the adult
who, for years, has felt
the tiresome frustration
of continually struggling
to create a peace
that, once made, soon evaporates
like a fantasy.

But then the bright child I sometimes am
countered with this claim:
though you can’t yet hold that bridge up
under the pressures of this world
its truth always lives within you.

But before the two could argue
the wise one rose up from down deep
to tell me:

this dream came because
you needed to remember
that the pain of desire unfulfilled
feels worse than the pain of fatigue.

Now you’ll keep working
to strengthen your golden bridge.

The Truth of the Dream: poetry book
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© 2023, Michael R. Patton

Storm Ritual

author’s note:

“Splish splash!”
           –- Bobby Darin


STORM RITUAL

Why didn't I run
from those stallions of storm clouds
rushing toward me
over the grassland of the valley?

Obviously I felt compelled
to wake my sleepy head
but maybe I was also held
by this secret wish:

to stand naked
and let the god of lightning
blast apart the stubborn fist
that binds my heart—
a block resistant to my persistent pleas
for freedom.

And maybe I opened my arms
to the cold merciless rain
because my dreams keep telling me:
wash yourself clean.

Whatever the deeper reasons may be
I can say for certain
the silly child I still am
found joy in the splashing dance

and as sunlight followed storm
I instantly instinctively felt hope—
for a moment, quiet ecstasy freed my heart
as the rainbow arc
joined one mountain to the other mountain
across the valley.

Finally, a ritual has elicited
the heightened sense of reality I seek.
But I must find a safer way
to reconnect with my truth.

If I don’t
deep need may drive me
to again stand and say
come on
next time I see stallions of storm clouds
rushing to wash me down.

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© 2022, Michael R. Patton

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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