The Spiral Staircase

author’s note:

A stairway with no end.


THE SPIRAL STAIRWAY

I may seem to be going in circles
over a path worn down to dusty ruts
but I believe:

I’m actually going up
a spiral stairway—
rising higher with every step—
with every step rising higher—
higher:

where the soul wants the heart to go.

To those who insist that’s nonsense
I say
Consider how this belief benefits me:

Because I believe our dizzy life
has a grand purpose
I’m willing to endure the vertigo.

And this belief encourages me
to keep on trying
to lift myself up—
high enough
for me to take
the next big step on this stairway.

And that helps everyone, doesn’t it?

I can see
why someone would think
we are only going in circles.
But whatever the reality may be
shouldn’t we try to find beliefs
that will motivate us
to keep on lifting ourselves up?—
to keep on lifting our world up?

High enough
for us to take
the next big step on this spiral stairway.

Searching for my best beliefs: poetry book
dream steps blog
myth steps blog
you tube channel
© 2025, Michael R. Patton

Empathy at the End of Winter

author’s note:

Full disclosure: I have used “sashaying trees” in a poem before.

But if you steal from yourself, is it really stealing?


EMPATHY AT THE END OF WINTER

On that morning
I couldn’t express the heavy feelings I felt.
But when I looked out the window
what I saw expressed how I felt.

I knew that black skeletal tree
felt so weak beneath
the gray sky hovering just overhead.
But its desire for life kept it upright.

And when I saw the brown leaves
still stuck on the pale-yellow grass
I could feel those dead leaves
clinging to my skin
and knew
the grass desperately wanted
a loving spring breeze to rise
and whisk those leaves away—
all of them—away—
so its pale blades could green again.

With such empathy swelling my chest
I could barely tolerate
what I saw outside.
But I did not look away
because I now saw
the power of my desire—
because I now saw
the strength of my endurance.

But then I did step away from the window
because suddenly I knew
how I could express what I felt
at the end of the winter
and knew

I needed to open my chest
and release those winter feelings
and try to resurrect
a bright spring inside

so I could love
when spring resurrected itself outside—
so I could feel the glory
of those towers of white cloud
and feel the abundance
to be found in my own little patch
of sashaying trees and sparkling green grass.

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

Bless the Starlings

author’s note:

I don’t think they like me either.


BLESS THE STARLINGS

Yesterday I woke at dawn
with a sense of disturbance.
Looking out the window
I then saw the cause:

a hundred starlings loitered in my yard.

A foul fowl in my opinion:
traveling in herds, they shove out all the other birds.
Arrogant.  Ignorant.  Belligerent.
Their voices always full of complaint.

So I waved my arms
and shooed those devils away.

But they merely circled round
and settled back down on my lawn.

So again I waved and shouted.

Only to see the flock return moments later
with dozens more in its defiant chorus.

After two more tries
I finally said with a sigh:
“Okay you feathered fiends, you win.”

Then went inside.

But I could still hear
the racket of that flock—
the fidgety fluttering, the raspy chattering.

But what could I do?

I saw no other option
but to fall back on my bed
and try to accept what I’d rejected.
Maybe I could become accustomed
to the torture.
Then my anger might unclench its fist
and I would know calm within.

And indeed—
as I endured patiently
I felt the ruckus slowly settle down
to a dull innocuous murmuring.
Yes, I achieved a relative peace.

Then suddenly all grew still
both inside and out.

I realized the starlings had fled.
By surrendering, I’d won.

But that vacuum was soon filled
as my inner monologue began again—
amplified now by the quiet.

That spiel spills out
with hardly a pause
during my waking hours.
Sometimes the words come from
an elevated place.
But more often the words come
from a place lower down.
That’s not what I want to hear from myself.
But I haven’t found a way
to shut that base voice down.

Sometimes I’ll stop
and shoo that noise away.
But too soon the disturbance returns.

Yeah—
just like those starlings on my lawn yesterday.

My opinion of the species
remains pretty much the same
and yet, I bless them now—

through those birds perhaps I’ve learned
a way to come to terms
with that lowdown being inside of me
fighting for survival.

Listening to Silence: poetry book
dream steps blog
myth steps blog
you tube channel
© 2025, Michael R. Patton

Writing to a Friend Who Has Retired to a Beach Shanty

author’s note:

Any big structure is held together with a lot of little structures.


WRITING TO A FRIEND WHO HAS RETIRED TO A BEACH SHANTY

Yes, I’ll admit
your theory sounds plausible:

the careless behavior
of the human race
may indeed indicate
a secret wish to fall.

Not that we want to end our life, no—
but the higher we build
the greater our anxiety
so maybe we feel tempted
to just give up, give in
and let the structure tumble.

But because we want to calm our anxiety
we struggle to maintain our stability
and so, for now, we are still standing up.

Like you, I feel nervous
about the way we teeter and totter.
So yes, I’d like to retreat
to the peace of the beach
but no—I know
my rest wouldn’t be
true equanimity.

No artificial peace for me—
no sitting down—
I’ll work to maintain my balance
and in that way
do my small part
to keep our mad tower
pointed toward the clouds.

Get the Message: a short guide for understanding dreams
picturing metaphor
you tube channel
© 2023, Michael R. Patton

Spirit Lost and Found

author’s note:

I hope my computer doesn’t realize what I’m saying about it.


SPIRIT LOST AND FOUND

Often after hours of tapping
on this flat keyboard
these fingers will begin to malfunction.

But I can easily fix my digits
by going outside for a spell
to see…to breathe…to feel.

My spirit then wakes

wakes
as that high-spiraling vulture
lifts my eyes with its glide

wakes
as that all-knowing stone
says silently:
sit down and ease your doubt

wakes
as I share an embrace
with that oak tree merging heaven and earth.

My spirit wakes to their spirit.

As for this hypnotic mechanism…
maybe it lives, but without spirit.
As a result, while tapping
I often feel too much alone.

So when my hands say stop
the cause is not merely fatigue
but also the weight of alienation.

Lifted
when I escape to the elemental reality
of rock and roots and leaves and wings.

Yet I return
to the manufactured reality
after just a short recess
because

with this cool tool
I can grieve publicly
over spirit lost

and also share
the joy I experience
when I resurrect my spirit.

mythsteps · Spirit Lost and Found

Get the Message: a short guide for understanding dreams
dream steps blog
myth steps blog
you tube channel
© 2023, Michael R. Patton

Declaration of Independence

author's note:

This poem has become my Fourth of July tradition.

Happy birthday, America!--I love your mad beauty, despite the flaws.


DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE

I'll be damn if I'll be terrorized
by anyone

including the beast in my mirror.

If I can face that monster
why should I cower
before those who lack
the courage to look
into their own reflections?

When they bombard me
my legs may tremble
but I won't sit--
no, I'll pirouette
in a defiant dance of joy!

And if they curse me
with cutting words
I’ll answer with a song designed
to soothe the wounds
that are theirs and mine.

But my empathy still has limits:
I must heal myself more before
I have heart enough to love them.

So though I declare with sincerity
I can not yet say
I’m completely free.

Poet, Heal Thyself: poetry ebook
you tube channel
© 2022, Michael R. Patton

The Water of Many Rivers

author's note:

When I first heard “go with the flow“, I believed the flow to be out there.

It is out there.  But now I know it’s also in here.


THE WATER OF MANY RIVERS

I sat down in solitude at the river
to meditate upon this question:

What are we?

My mind wanted to struggle
so only after much time
and confusion
did I realize the obvious:

we are the water of many rivers.

Consider the evidence:

as with the waters of a river
sometimes we must switchback
in order to go forward.

We carve new channels--
change is part of our nature:

even when we appear stationary
there are undercurrents;
even in our stagnant pools, we brew.

I've finally learned
if I try to contain myself
I will overflow!

I've finally learned
I can't fight the current and win...

still, it's hard not to argue
especially when
I'm headed towards the rapids
or when I must go slow…
down to a crawl.

At such times, I reassure myself
with this knowledge:

water, instinctively, finds it own level,
water, instinctively, finds its way home...

© 2020, Michael R. Patton
finding Beauty: poetry ebook

The Star

THE STAR

Years ago, realizing
how dead I felt
I feared for my life and fought
that heavy grayness--
I searched

for ways to breathe
spirit back into my heart:

I changed my room.
I changed my shoes.
I learned a new dance.

I tried the trendy.
Did the old things differently.

I read a book
that promised to help
but the author didn’t know me.

Every day
I talked to three new people

and felt like a stranger.

Every day, I sat down
to meditate for twenty minutes
and afterwards did indeed feel fresh

but only for ten minutes.

Finally, late one night
I stopped in a field of snow
and declared aloud:

sincere though I am
I can’t seem to break this wall
so I’ll surrender now

but though I accept defeat
I refuse to be weak
I’ll still work to become
the better human being
I dream of being.

That resolution
seemed to suddenly wake me
to a star high overhead:
a solitary brilliance
in the overwhelming black of the sky:
a spirit stripped of the nonessential--
just pure glowing light.

I realized then:
if this life
can give me such moments
I am blessed even in death.

A week later
or maybe a month
I woke in the morning feeling
a deep breath expanding my heart
and instantly understood:
the change had finally come--

while I wasn’t watching
the dead husk had fallen away.

A natural miracle--
one cycle ends so slowly
you may not realize
when it’s done
and another has begun.

Since that time
I’ve suffered many more deaths.

I keep dying because
I’m not as pure
as that star.
No, I’ll never be
yet something within me
won’t stop trying.

And in the course of continual change
ever so often I slam against
another stubborn gray wall.
Guided by higher instinct
I fight to break another dry husk

and at times, find
strength for the battle
by standing in an open field
and lifting my arms
to that clear star.

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

A Short History of the Housecat

A SHORT HISTORY OF THE HOUSECAT

A short history of the housecat
would tell of lying on the sofa in the sun

which translated into “Cat”
would read:
pppaaaaaaaaaaaaa-uurrrrrrrrrrrrrr
pppaaaaaaaaaaaaa-uurrrrrrrrrrrrrr.

However...

our short history of the housecat
must also include
the tail being stepped upon

which translated into “Cat”
would read:
rrrryyeeeeeeeooooowwwwww!

Painful, yes.

But awakenings usually don’t happen softly.

© 2020, Michael R. Patton
40 New Fables: ebook

Despite Appearances

author's note:

The video above is window-dressing.  The real reason for this post is the poem below.


DESPITE APPEARANCES

When I look back
the losses seem to outweigh the wins.

But I must've gained
as I lost
because I would not want
to begin again
if I had to start
as the one I was
when I first began
this adult life.

So, no, I’m not a minus--
I’m a plus.
I have not
wasted this field.
I have grown.

Though I still can’t see
the total equation
I realize the truth of my math
when I sit down in the dark
and deepen into my depths
because then I can sense the strength--
the steady increase.

But I believe
we all grow--
  if not a meter more
  then at least a millimeter--
no one can avoid learning a little.

Maybe we humans will eventually
--collectively--
learn enough through loss
to see how much
our species has actually gained
during its brief play
on the green field of this planet.

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

Honoring the Ashes

author’s note:

Are we in the ashes now?

Yes.

Will we rise?

Of course.


HONORING THE ASHES

I identify with
that solitary tribe in the desert--

the book says:
when done with life in one place
they arise in the fresh morning chill
and burn their village
and burn their clothes.

Then, having cleansed
they follow the wind
to their next destination.

But the story didn’t tell
how they know when they’re done.

Well, in my experience
the “knowing when”
begins as a feeling that then
becomes a thought.  My best decisions
are the feelings I can not ignore.

But unlike the tribe
I carry my ashes with me

and often stop to dump the urn
and shift through the gray dust
that’s dead yet still lives--

maybe I contemplate
the shard of a busted jar
or a ring twisted
into a figure “8”.

Some say:
“don’t waste the present
  looking back on the past”.

But I feel the need to find meaning

especially when
the present moment seems
so trivial and low.

At such times, I sometimes
remember to remember
all the people, places, and things
I’ve known
and thank the whole menagerie
for helping me
as I struggle to learn
about this life and myself.

In that way
I elevate the moment
and see my past
as a glorious panorama.

© 2020, Michael R. Patton
Butterfly Soul: poems of death, grief, joy

a taste of green sky

author’s note:

To all the giraffes out there.

I think you know who you are.


A TASTE OF GREEN SKY

As I struggled
up the tree trunk--
  seeking without knowing
  what I sought--

a giraffe lowered its neck
and let me ride
all the way
to the leaves at the top

so I could feed as it fed

on that green nectar:
the dark mineral of earth
combined with the lightness of sky.
I grew giddy and dizzy with delight
and surely would have fallen

if the giraffe had not bent back down.

My host then shook me free and moved on.

At the time, I thought: quite rude!

But now as I grapple
with these thorny branches
I thank the giraffe
for granting me that taste

so that I might realize
what I truly sought
then fight my way upward--
accepting the cost.

© 2020, Michael R. Patton
what I learned while alone: poetry ebook