The Good Little Boat Grows Brighter

author’s note:

Do I sometimes exaggerate for effect?  Well, yeah.

But not this time.


THE GOOD LITTLE BOAT GROWS BRIGHTER

Psychopathic pirates now rule the seas.
Cutthroats who feel no guilt.

But instead of defending ourselves
against those bloody Blackbeards
we honor them for their gall
and get drunk on their grog
after being blatantly robbed.

I would fight
those big flashy swords
but I fear the inevitable losses
would begin to darken my heart.

So for now
I’ll just keep feeding my little light
and share what I’ve got
as its flame slowly grows brighter.

And keep repeating
a hope I believe to be based in reality

and that is:

despite appearances
the age of Blackbeard has nearly
burnt itself out.
Millions of good boats
now roam the seas—
navigating—
lighting the way
toward a future
that may not be that bright
but at least, won’t be as bleak
as our present dark passage.

mythsteps · good little boat grows brighter

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© 2025, Michael R. Patton

The Power of Metaphor

author’s note:

But when I do drown, I’m always able to resuscitate myself.


THE POWER OF METAPHOR

Occasionally a submerged memory
will leap up in a sudden wave

and as the breaking crest topples down
onto my head
the undertow
will begin to pull me under.

But I’ve learned
at such times I can save myself

by calmly repeating this instruction:
don’t try to resist—open yourself
open up your arms—open up
the cage of your chest:
surrender
and feel the full force of the feeling.

And if I then do as told
I will rise up
from the deepening darkness
to the sun
spangling golden
on those light blue waters

and a rolling wave of peace
will carry me home to the sandy shore.

Yes, by using metaphor in this way
I can stop myself from drowning.

But so easy to forget
when a sudden wave rises
and my head gets pounded once again.

mythsteps · power of metaphor

Survival: poetry book
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Why I Listen for the Angel

author’s note:

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


WHY I LISTEN FOR THE ANGEL

Once as a child
I thought I heard an angel
singing wordlessly in a gentle upper octave.
A soft silvery sound.

And so, years later
during a turbulent time
I sat down in silence
hoping to detect
at least a trace of that song
and find the same solace.

But no—
I didn’t hear any angel.
However
as I recalled
that moment of pure peace
the love I’d once found within that sound
filled my heart again.

And then I sensed
what that child had sensed
long ago:
I was not alone.  I was known
by loving eyes in a world unseen.

But then I began to wonder:

if the angel felt such empathy
why didn’t it intercede
when it saw me stumbling—
when it saw me about to fall?

Then I realized
each time I land hard
I wake a bit more
and so, my eyes slowly open.

No, I don’t know
if I’m really watched over.  However
I can say for certain:

whenever I slip
I’m able to lift myself back up
by listening
for something I probably won’t hear:
the soft silvery song
of an angel.

mythsteps · why I listen for the angel

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

Living with Ghosts

author’s note:

A long time ago, I learned to make pain my friend.
              -- Kid USA, pro wrestler


LIVING WITH GHOSTS

I’ve learned:
I can’t get rid of a ghost by shouting
Leave me alone!
No—
curses and pleading
will not dislodge a ghost.

Nor can I outrun them.
For years, I sped like a bullet train
but when finally forced to stop
my ghosts shot out of the shadows.

Sometimes a ghost may seem
to disappear completely.
But then something I hear or see
will raise that wraith from the grave.

I’ve wrestled with my specters for years
and lost a million times or more.
So now I’m trying a new strategy:

whenever a ghost resurrects
and an old wound wounds me once more
I’ll try to remain calm
and say quite casually:
Well, hello my old companion—
stay if you want—leave when you wish.
No, I’m not finally at peace with you
but I waste so much energy
when I try to fight or flee.

However
I won’t sit
when your sadness
tries to leaden my heart—
No!
I’ll leap and skip in a golden dance.
Though I can’t deny you, I can defy you.

But maybe I should thank you.
Didn’t I learn through you?—
Didn’t I grow?
Yes, and now I’ll learn even more
by staring deep into your eyes
with all their shades of blue.

But though I say in my head:
You should embrace that ghost
my words I haven’t yet convinced my heart.
So until I grow some more
the best I can do is accept you
and dance dance dance—
dance ‘til the night becomes dawn.

mythsteps · living with ghosts

What I Learned While Alone: poetry book
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© 2025, Michael R. Patton