They Gather Again Beneath the Tree

author’s note:

Should I be protesting?

This poem is a protest.


THEY GATHER AGAIN BENEATH THE TREE

For many years
people gathered around
the ancient tree in the center of the town
at the end of every day
because
according to legend
the big tree would soon die
without that show of appreciation.

However, they performed no special ritual during that hour—
the townsfolk merely sat on benches
and conversed about their day—

using only gentle words of acceptance—
they believed they’d hurt the tree
by griping or growling or groaning.

But then after all the elders died
those who rose to take the yoke
did not want to waste their time
continuing some silly superstition.

Just look that tree!
they’d laugh.
Still strong—
though those old fogies are gone.

Yes, the legend was wrong—
the tree didn’t get strength from people—
people got strength from the tree.

Anyone who sat for a brief while
beneath its broad wings
received without knowing
an invisible mist of energy:
an infusion fortifying spirit and blood.
A gift of love.

A blessing lost
when people abandoned the tree
a blessing needed

as change began to spin
the whole town around
and dust devils dimmed
feeling and thought.

Even the simplest activity
became a struggle in that chaos.

Finally, some began to realize
they must stop amid the madness
and rest
and try to clear their heads.

And what better place
than beneath the ancient tree
in the center of town
and what better time
than at the end of each day.

But unlike those who’d come before
they did not soften their speech—no
that great tree now heard
a lot of griping
and growling
and groaning.

But the tree accepted the cacophony
with the wisdom of empathy
and continued to ease people’s wounds
with its secret blessing of love

just as it had in the past
when the townsfolk had tried to hide their pain
under gentle speech
while resting beneath
those strong broad wings.

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© 2025, Michael R. Patton

I Have Found A Lot While Lost

author’s note:

Continuing a theme.  Or maybe I’m just repeating myself.


I HAVE FOUND A LOT WHILE LOST

Often in this life
I’ve traveled a long way down a road
without finding what I hoped to find.

And when I’d finally give up
I would feel my efforts had all been for naught.

But later, looking back
I would see:

how I’d found so much
while trying to find
what I then realized
I didn’t really need.

mythsteps · I have found a lot while lost

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Going Somewhere

author’s note:

Use of the word “nowhere” has spiked in recent years.

I wonder what that says about us.


GOING SOMEWHERE

I’m often disturbed
by how we use the word
“Nowhere”.

Just the other day
I overheard someone say:
The road went nowhere—
the dirt tracks disappeared
as soon as we reached the trees.

How very wrong he was:
any road that leads you to a forest
goes somewhere—goes to a forest.

And even if the road had ended
before reaching the tree line
it would still have gone somewhere
because every place on Earth is a place.

A fact I find encouraging
as I approach a new road:

I know
no matter how it ends
my efforts will definitely lead somewhere

and each step along the way
will take me to
a new place—another place
to be explored.

mythsteps · going somewhere

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© 2025, Michael R. Patton

When the Drunken Actor Drank the Wave

author’s note:

In appreciation of the late poet Robert Bly, who told me how I’d numbed my feeling sense.


WHEN THE DRUNKEN ACTOR DRANK THE WAVE

Though dizzy from drink that evening
the actor could still feel
those dark silent faces watching him
through the glow of the footlights—
waiting
as the classic play approached
its tragic conclusion.

Once again, he felt
the grief building within the audience
and knew

as the tension rose in the drama
that wave of grief would also rise
and then at the end
break
and sweep over the stage

and once again
he would fight to keep from drowning
in the overwhelming siege of emotion.

He felt such dread.

Sometimes he swore he heard
silent whispers of sadness
in that cascade.
Last night, a woman sighed:
Why can’t I forgive myself

So in his drunkenness
our thespian now began to consider the unthinkable:

This story need not end so sadly
he said to himself.

He could turn back the tide tonight
if he dropped the knife.
Instead of repeating those words of death
his character could declare:
I must go on…I must go on.

In so doing, he could lift everyone
by showing them how resilient
a human being can be—
yes, he could give them hope.

But at the crucial moment
he found he could not loosen
his grip on the handle of the knife—
some unknown force within
had taken possession of him.

He struggled—he fought
until his whole body shook.

Feeling foolish
he quickly surrendered then
and once again
knelt down on the stage

then brought that rubber blade down
then down again, then down
for the final decisive stroke.

And as he crumpled down
he felt so weak in defeat, so weak
he decided:
Tonight I will not fight—
I will not try to block the flood—
if my heart succumbs, so be it.

In the next instant, the wave crashed down
and washed down over him
but this time, he did not resist—
no, he remained open
even as the pain surged
through his blood and being.

But the worst soon passed
and as he exhaled all he’d taken in
he felt such bright relief.

Later, backstage
the janitor asked him
why he both wept and smiled
as he took his bows
and the actor answered:

“I cried because tonight I fully felt
 the grief of the audience

“and I smiled with hope
 because I realized:

“despite the tragedy in their lives
 those folk somehow manage to remain standing.
 Tonight, I heard them say:
 We must go on…we must go on.”

mythsteps · when the drunken actor drank the wave

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