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

Last Image

author's note:

Where is the ordinary man, the ordinary woman I’ve heard people speak of?

I’ve never met such a person.


LAST IMAGE

In the dream
I walked with her
though she ascended a hill
many miles away from mine.

To my surprise
she reached her summit
while I still struggled to climb.

Her distant silhouette
stood at the peak for a moment
then a beam from the golden sunset
lit her small frame
and she became a candle flame--
flaring up
then sinking down, the next instant.
The scene, suddenly dark.

In the morning
someone I sort of know
told me she had died.

Now when I think of her
I remember that last image

and so
I no longer see her life
in shades of gray and beige.

dream steps blog
myth steps blog
The Truth of the Dream: poetry ebook
© 2022, Michael R. Patton

Missteps of Perfection

author’s note:

The path is under your feet at
All times.
          -- Tao Te Ching (Cloud Hands Edition)


MISSTEPS OF PERFECTION

Though I know
I acted in the innocence of ignorance
I still can’t quite forgive myself
for all those missteps.

However, I'm hoping
I’ll feel the relief of a reprieve
if I can ever find
a grand design within
that mess of tracks in the dust.

But though I’ve tried hard
to clear the fog
my vision remains too dim.
However
sometimes when I close my eyes
and linger down in the dark
a sense of perfection
reassures my heart.

Experience has taught me:
surface feelings may lie
but deep feelings speak the truth.

And so
I’ll keep working to see
the reality of what I sense
so deeply.

Soultime: a novel
© 2021, Michael R. Patton

My Quest for Gold

author’s note:

If a quest didn’t present us with one frustration after another…

…would the quest really be worth our time and effort?


MY QUEST FOR GOLD

Years ago
someone said:
look--
can you see the gold
in this piece?

Well, yes--
when I stopped, I could--
though only dimly at first

yet enough to wake in me
the desire to see
the gold of this world

because when I saw, I felt
the gold within me

then saw more clearly
then felt more.

Such pursuits qualify as quests.

But alas
to search for the ideal
creates frustration:

what I was told was gold
often didn’t touch me

and what had once touched me
might later feel like silver
or sometimes even lead
when I returned
hoping for a repeat
of the first feeling.

But then someone said:
if you open your eyes more fully--
focus yourself completely--
you can find gold
in any ordinary thing.

What a joy to realize
the truth of that beautiful sentiment
(even if the vision lasted
  for only a few touching moments).

Following that discovery
I could have led
the blissful existence of the aesthete.
But no

I felt driven to respond
to all the gold I found
by trying to create
some gold of my own.

A quest with even more frustration.

My hope is:
maybe occasionally my failures
will come close enough
to the sublime reality
to touch a memory
and in that way, help you locate
some gold you’ve misplaced.

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

Someday I'll Stay on My Feet

author's note:

Some argue over whether we evolved in the past...

To me, the more important question is: can we evolve in the future?


SOMEDAY I'LL STAY ON MY FEET

I usually crawl along

until
my desire to see more
overcomes
my instinct for safety

then I will stand

and walk until
I see more
than my little mind can handle

then I'll go blank
and trip once again
then once again awaken
as I land hard on my chin.

But the more I see
the more I want to see
so I believe
someday, I'll stay on my feet--
no, I won't fall asleep:

the desire to witness
will finally outweigh
the anxiety I feel at the sight
of such grand vistas of life.

© 2019, Michael R. Patton
what I learned while alone: poetry ebook

The Owl at Midnight

author's note:

It doesn't have to be an owl.


THE OWL AT MIDNIGHT

One blessed midnight...

I woke to find
my confused face reflected
on the translucent lens
of the owl's dark eyes.

As the wise one peered deep into me
from its perch on the window sill
I froze dumb, struck to the core--

I could feel its sharp vision scanning
through my assorted troubles--conflicts!--
not judging me nor feeling pity
merely calculating my progress
in our refining process.

Overwhelmed by the intense scrutiny
I soon shut down
but though I wished I'd stayed awake
I felt satisfied after that visit:

what I'd only vaguely sensed before
had been confirmed by experience:

our world does indeed have eyes--
yes, we're being monitored

and though our watchers
may seem distant and dispassionate
obviously, they must care--
otherwise they wouldn't track
our steps so intently.

I realize some may claim
the owl was but a dream...

but either way
I can still say:
this work I'm doing matters.

© 2018, Michael R. Patton
searching for my best beliefs: ebook

How Her Mundane Life Became Visionary

author’s note:

January 25 is Robert Burns night in Scotland.

To be honest, I don't know his work that well...

But I like the idea of honoring a poet with a special night.


HOW HER MUNDANE LIFE BECAME VISIONARY

In her dream, a door
swung open to reveal
a wild grass field--

all those stalks
with their luminous tips
darkening down to secret roots

while in the near distance
blue wildflowers circled
the stonewall of a well

then, on the horizon
a purple mountain rose above white mist--
a mysterious pyramid beckoning.

She woke believing this dream proved
a new door would soon open for her--
she’d step from the humdrum
into the visionary life she'd envisioned
for herself

but her patient waiting
didn’t persuade the door
nor did a fierce push

and so
hoping to avoid the pain of frustration
she accepted that job painting stock scenes
on handmade tea cups:

with a few deft strokes of her brushes
she'd create a warmhearted scenario
on the side of each cup--
for instance
a doe and her fawn watching
a rising sun wake
a mellow blue meadow.

As expected
this repetitive work
dulled mind and body
and so, her thoughts shifted from doors
to rummage instead
through the cluttered minutiae
of her mundane life

until...

near the end of one workday
her blank mind lost track
of the routine
and when she snapped her focus back
our painter suddenly saw the usual
with new eyes--

saw anew
the little ceramic cup
she held in her hand--
saw anew
the quiet scene
of a sleeping cottage
watched over by
a full vanilla moon:

the rendering, mediocre
but in its lack of affectation
so innocent...so pure...

what'd seemed so trite
then became the ideal.

Though the five o’clock bell
soon broke her spell
she remained receptive

and so
as our artist opened
the warehouse exit door
she saw anew

the big trash barrel

the gray parking lot
with its faded yellow stripes

and at its border
the beige stucco wall
of the building next door--

saw anew
and finally realized

those things were
her green field
her well
her blue flowers
her purple mountain

her dream.

From that time on
she found her dream
in so many places
in so many things:

as a result
her ordinary world
became an extraordinary world
and her mundane life
became visionary.

listening to silence: poetry ebook
© 2018, Michael R. Patton