That Wise Woman on Guitar

author’s note:

I don’t have the ability to play music.  But I do have the ability to listen to music.


THAT WISE WOMAN ON GUITAR

On a twilight evening
in a foreign town
the fog crept in so thick
I could not see
where to point my feet
as I walked a deserted bridge.

So when I heard
a deep piercing melody
coming from a guitar
I decided I should follow
its thread through the gray drift—
maybe the player could direct me.

And soon I found
a small clear space
walled all around with cloud—
a sheltering bower
a sanctuary.

In the center, stood
a white-haired woman
in a burlap gown.
Her feet in sandals on cobblestone.

With eyes closed
she made those perfect notes
with fingers both gentle and strong.

Though I hated to interrupt
in my desperation, I said a clumsy:
“Hello, can you help me?”

Without opening her eyes
or pausing her playing
she then answered in a weathered voice:
Close your eyes and listen
and you will find your way.

The watchdog in me suspected a trick.
But I’m also a hopeful fool
and in my need
I ignored the protest of reason:
I shuttered my eyes
I stood still
I listened

and as doubt and impatience
slowly relaxed
I began to feel
all those soft confident sounds
move down into my depths

until they found
the higher spirit
hidden in the shadow.

I remained in that peace
for a timeless time
before the hunter in me said:
now, go forward.

So I opened my eyes.
And in an instant, the music ended.
The woman had vanished.
But hey—so had the fog.

Now whenever I feel lost
I close my eyes and listen
until once again I hear
that wise woman on guitar.

mythsteps · that wise woman on guitar

Listening to Silence: poetry book
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© 2025, Michael R. Patton

The Mystery Lurking in Our Lake

author’s note:

I say: if you’ve seen a lake monster, you’ve seen a lake monster.


THE MYSTERY LURKING IN OUR LAKE

Late that night
I parked by the lake
and unwrapped the monster costume
I’d bought to frighten some friends
who’d set up camp nearby.

But when the police cruised by
I tossed the outfit behind my back.
And as soon as it hit the lake
that costume sank.

An incident I decided not to mention
when those reports came in
the following week:

One said
a creature from the deep
had terrorized a fisherman.

Apparently
my suit of rubbery scales
had gotten caught for a moment
on a hook intended for catfish.

The other claim came
from two recreational canoers.

After hearing a tapping
on the bottom of their boat
they looked down to find
a big green reptile face glaring up at them—
just a glimpse before it slipped
back into the depths.

Apparently
their paddles had stirred
the water just enough
to lift the costume up.

So why didn’t I expose
those errors of perception?

Apparently, I’m a small man
who likes to hold secrets
because he then feels superior.

Nonetheless, I’m glad I kept my mouth shut:

Now people who want to believe
in the incredible
can look out over this lake
and imagine mystery lurking
beneath its sleepy surface.

I must admit I envied them at first:
I wanted to feel the same sense of wonder.

But then one night
I glimpsed a peculiar creature
lurking under my reflection.
Now in the evening I sometimes
peer into the mirror
to see what else might emerge
from my sleepy surface.

mythsteps · The Mystery Lurking in Our Lake

What I Learned While Alone: poetry book
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© 2024, Michael R. Patton

Why The Serpent Bites

author’s note:

You can’t see the marks, but I’ve been bitten plenty of times.

And yet, I’m still trying to wake up.


WHY THE SERPENT BITES

When the master of the garden told me
to tempt the woman
I replied:
I never harm without just cause.

But then the master said:
You wouldn’t be harming them
you’d be helping them—
helping those two do
what they truly want to do
and that is:
get out.

In their souls they know
they can’t grow
in this drowsy garden—
they need to be out
going all about
in rush of mad activity—
sweating with labor
sweating with the fight

as they swear at the fight
and struggle to return
to the garden they still feel in their hearts.

So as The Serpent
I did what I had to do.

But after they were cast out
the master then told me to follow them—
told me to bite them
again and again and again—
not just when they misbehaved
but also when they did good deeds.

But why? I asked.
Why do they need to be bitten so often?

See how groggy they are?
the master answered.
You need to strike them
again and again and again
in order to awaken them.

So, as The Serpent
I did what I had to do—
I bit
and continue to bite
innocent fools
to this day.

I can not stop.
Held by a higher purpose
I must sting human beings.
By design I have to help them.

So I offer no apology
and besides:
whenever I insert my fangs
I feel the same pain the recipient feels—
yes, I feel those fangs pierce my own heart.

And when I asked:
Why must I be punished
for simply doing my duty?
I was surprised to learn:

No one is ever fully awake—
no, not even you—not even The Serpent.

mythsteps · why the serpent bites

Myth Steps: poetry book
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© 2024, Michael R. Patton

The Goat Faun

author’s note:

Hope you’re enjoying the Solstice season.


THE GOAT FAUN

The child inside
has on occasion convinced me:
we can make our fantasy a reality.

Like the time, years ago
when this fool tried to create magic
by going to a forest clearing
and calling to the goat faun
hoping to draw it from the shadows.

I chose that mythic creature
because the faun combines earth and sky
in the way it plays mad melodies
to the moon above
while dancing with nimble skill
through wooded dale
and stream
and hill.

But though I pushed notes
from my reed pipe
for at least an hour
the goat faun did not respond
to my heartfelt summons.

So I added a dance
to enhance my song—
I pranced
and leapt
and did pirouettes
in the moonlight.

But still no goat faun.

In all the years since
the faun has never once
answered my call.
Yet I keep coming back
to the clearing
because
I can feel
just a bit of it in me
whenever I performed that ritual.
By that I mean:
I feel the joy of wild mischief
and experience
a sense of my own deep earth
a sense of my own full moon.

Yes, all I ever get
is just a little bit
but a little bit of magic
is better
than no magic at all.

mythsteps · goat faun

Myth Steps: poetry book
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© 2024, Michael R. Patton