A Wise One Tells Me How to Become a Wise One

author’s note:

A poem for our dusty, stormy times.


A WISE ONE TELLS ME HOW TO BECOME A WISE ONE

When I decided I’d like to someday be
one of the wise elders of our village
I asked one of the wisest of the wise
what I could do
to get from where I was
to where they were.

How were they able to stay so clear
when those mad winds blinded
the rest of us with dust?
How were they able to stay so buoyant
when that merciless storm flooded
our village homes and farms?

She answered me then
with the watery gray eyes of gentle age:

"Inside your head the dust swirls
 dimming the light of reason.
 Inside your heart a storm rages—
 your love may drown in the deluge."

The wise one then bowed to me
and said no more
because nothing more needed to be said.

I now saw how
those elders could manage so well
during windstorms and thunderstorms.
And knowing myself as I do
I doubted I could ever be as they are.

But I also I knew
I’d keep trying
because

I need to be a lot wiser
if I am to survive the dust and the flood.

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

An Education in the Cave

author’s note:

Though I’m still pretty dim, recent dreams show me attending college.

So, at least I've graduated from high school.


AN EDUCATION IN THE CAVE

The wise one told me:

when the first gods found the first humans
fumbling around in fog
they decided to brighten the sun.

But to see the truth so suddenly
shocked the humans—
they ran into a cave to hide

then got lost deep inside that dark maze.

A hard life—
stumbling around without light.
But in time, people adjusted.
Incredible as it may seem
eventually, humans forgot they couldn’t see.

But oh—
sometimes we remember
when we collide with a stalactite
or get bitten by a bat

or worse yet
fall into a pit.

Oh yeah, I told the wise one
I’ve known the pain
of the collision—
the toothy sting—
the hard landing.
After so many severe reminders
I’ve devoted my life
to the struggle to see.

Ah yes, the wise one replied:
calamity can awaken
our desire for clarity.

But wise one, I asked
if you’re so bright
why can’t you guide me
out of this dim cavern?

My teacher then gave me
this last insight:

Before I found my light
I felt the same doubt you feel now
so I do what I can to help.
But alas, that’s limited.
The final irony is:

the only one who can lead you
to your light
is that wise one within.

Get the Message: a short guide for understanding dreams
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© 2024, Michael R. Patton

The Light of December at Midnight

author's note:

Posting this poem each year has become Christmas tradition with me.


THE LIGHT OF DECEMBER AT MIDNIGHT

Night feels darker in December

and as I open to
the strange deep quiet
of Solstice
I stop my walk

to re-examine
the outdoor nativity scene
that before seemed so kitsch.
But now
I suddenly see

the pink plastic baby
lying in tinsel straw
is the new life
hidden in my heart--

a slow gestation,
the birth, not guaranteed.

Then I see
that glittery styrofoam star
is the wise one within--
the one who often sighs with sadness
at the sight of my rough antics.

Then--alas!--I see
that plywood cow beside the manger
is the domestic animal I usually am--
the unenlightened me.

Yes, this bovine is quite dim
but I can see my vision has improved--
consider this:
I’m seeing light I missed last year.

So this hope remains:
to eventually grow
into a wise old child
who can gaze into the mundane
and realize
the glory of its light.

Listening to Silence: poetry book
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© 2022, Michael R. Patton

Sunset Celebration

author’s note:

Yes, I truly believe there’s a big bank.


SUNSET CELEBRATION

At the end
as our little Earth
sails into the sunset
I hope those left on deck
will hoist their glasses
in celebration of our accomplishment.

After all, to survive that long
we had to rise above
the dictates of our reptilian brain.

A higher degree earned
after millennia of pain.

I reject the thought
all that good work will be lost
as this planet rides the waves into the sun.

No, I say:
such wisdom goes
into a big bank somewhere—
where?  Somewhere.
Souls all over this universe
make deposits.

I won’t be there at our end
but I will be there at my own
and on my death bed
I’ll hoist a glass if I can—
I’ll celebrate what I’ve learned
during my class time on Earth.
I’ll know:

my rough ride on these waves
has been worth the pain
of frequent seasickness
because the gain won’t be lost
but stored for purposes
this tiny mind can’t possibly imagine.

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

Little Giants

author’s note:

There were giants in the earth in those days…
                  -- Genesis 6:4


LITTLE GIANTS

Yes, there were giants
in the land in those days--

like suns they shone

but small people felt threatened
and swarmed to attack them.

Worried for their survival
the titans then shrank themselves down
to an acceptable height--
they hid their light

and over time, forgot
their true size.

However
they’ve maintained their higher perspective
to this very day.

So they’re wise enough to know
they don’t know everything--
you won’t see them adopting titles
such as "guru" or "master".

But like anyone who stays low
they may occasionally feel low
yet even then, they reject the low impulse
to pump themselves up in public.

I respect that, however
their anonymity needs to end soon.

Consider the lonely streetlamp:

few notice that plain pole
in the glare and rush of the day.
But when twilight
deepens into night
we seek its illumination.

I believe
as our world grows darker
we’ll look for untapped sources of light

then our giants will realize
for the survival of all
they must stand and shine bright

even as swarms
attack from the shadows.

Common Courage: poetry book
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© 2023, Michael R. Patton

The Caterpillar's Message

author’s note:

Caterpillars have been around much longer than we have.  No wonder they’re smarter.


THE CATERPILLAR’S MESSAGE

The caterpillar knows
in due time it’ll be a butterfly.

As for myself
I often worry I won’t ever
metamorphize.
Spurred by anxiety
I may then try
to hurry the process

and as a result, stumble
and land hard.

The caterpillar knows:
you must go slow.

Each time I fall
I again recall
its message:
learn to crawl, learn to crawl, learn to crawl.

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

Golden Belief

author’s note:

Wishing you a golden new year.


GOLDEN BELIEF

When I learned about leprechauns
as I child
I decided:
Noah found a pot of gold
when his ark reached the rainbow
after 40 days and 40 nights of storm.

Then whenever I saw a rainbow arc
I’d think to myself:
if I could somehow find a way over there
I’d carry home
a kettle filled with coin
and begin a sunny new life.

Of course, in time, I realized
no ’bow ever touched down.
No end to be found--no gold.

And yet even now
if I happen to glimpse
just a shred of a prism
hanging in the air
I’ll again feel that hope
and imagine finally arriving
at the end of the rainbow
where my gold shines like a sun.

Of course, as an adult I understand
the gold I seek is not a tangible metal
but a wisdom earned
by finding ways to navigate
days and nights of storm.

Am I a fool to think
I can ever own so much gold?
Maybe.
But I’ll keep believing
because if I ever stop struggling
I’ll be deadened
by the feeling of defeat.

Dancing to Raven’s Song: a novel novel
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© 2022, Michael R. Patton

Eroding into Beauty

author’s note:

I’ve returned to this simple poem again and again over the last nine years, trying to get it right.

I think it’s worth the effort.

So then, did I finally get it right?

Not yet.


ERODING INTO BEAUTY

The one who was once
the prosaic innocence
of a green hill
has, over the years, bared herself
to reveal a profile of sacred rock:

a sun‑drenched summit
still slowly eroding
down into the river.

But those deep lines of attrition
appear beautiful because they tell
of a spirit grown wise.

Now, just your presence is a gift:

whenever we look up at you
and see your strength
again we realize the gain
is worth the loss.

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© 2021, Michael R. Patton
finding Beauty: poetry ebook

After I Fell in the Forest

author’s note:

I hope I’ve remembered this quote accurately:

When told that a certain woman was very humble, Dorothy Parker replied, “She has a lot to be humble about.”


AFTER I FELL IN THE FOREST

I never felt the trees

until I fell in the forest

and as I lay face down, trying
to find the strength to stand again
I began to feel
the watchful quiet all around:
aliens communicating without sound.

I’ve listened intently
many times since
and though I still can’t
decipher their silent speech
I sense the trees pity my weakness.

Perhaps I return because
I want their empathy
after being beaten in battle.

Humility is a virtue--is honesty.
But I will only prostrate myself
before beings wise enough
to feel compassion for a fallen fool.

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© 2021, Michael R. Patton

How to Achieve Buoyancy

author's note:

Love yourself.  Then forget it.  Then, love the world.
                -- Mary Oliver


HOW TO ACHIEVE BUOYANCY

I've seen some who always seem so buoyant.

I ask myself:
even if they're not weighted
with personal conflict
how can they witness
the struggle and conflict
of our world
and not feel a burden
of incessant frustration?

I assume many are simply oblivious.

However
I believe a few
are born blessed with wisdom--
what they see up-close
they also view
from the mountain

and then maybe others
once felt as heavy as I do today
but gradually found courage enough
to open--to surrender

to the flood waters we hold
but try to hold back--
for fear of being overwhelmed
by our empathy for all humankind.

So now, instead of sinking
at the sight of so much pain
those brave people ascend--
lifted by the rising waters.

A possibility--or so I hope
as I struggle to cope
with all I witness
in this wounded world

which of course, includes
the wounded man
I often criticize--
the one who writes these lines.

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

The Fable of the Songbird & the Frog

author's note:

When a man hears angels singing
he hears angels singing.
            -- Mary Oliver


THE FABLE OF THE SONGBIRD & THE FROG

When the songbird told him
you're no match for me
the bullfrog countered:

by who's measure?--

yes, many have opened
their windows to your song

but the few who've opened to mine
recognize a beauty less obvious
so aren't they more refined?

Only a wise heart can find
the aria hidden within
my harsh slimy croaking.

© 2018, Michael R. Patton
what I learned while alone: poetry ebook