author’s note:

Another poem previously posted and recently tweaked.

“No more anger, no more hunger,
  I sit now in the shade of my own tree.”
            –  Sumangalamala (6 c B.C.E., trans. unknown)
 

SATIATION

I know why we feel thirsty–

with the well water so far down
the mountains seem to recede
and the stars remain
light years away.

The entire world
retreats from my reach.

I am so far removed from myself–
farther than the moon–

except at that odd
shadow hour–
when
by the innocence of accident–
I slip down beside myself
under the tree
by the creek
as sun
splashes on
the stones–

then I know
I’m always
right here–
no matter how thirsty
I seem,
no matter that
I can’t seem
to quench this thirst.

Yes–no matter
how much
the wells
and mountains
and
twirling stars
tantalize me–

I’m always–always–right here.

© 2008, Michael R. Patton
dreaming up some steps

author’s note:

I caught the movie Indestructible Man a few years ago at the New Orleans Worst Film Festival.

I’m sorry if I’ve ruined the ending for you.
 

INDESTRUCTIBLE

The title would seem to be
misleading…

because Indestructible Man
erupted into raging fire
at the end of the movie.

But was he really destroyed?

True, he would no longer
rampage the land–no longer
be ruled by an anger
born from the incessant bullwhip.

But was he really destroyed?

In a recurrent dream
I know I have to step
on a certain round green stone
in the road, though I know
the stone will explode me–

impaled on shearing points
of a merciless wind,
I’ll be broken to bits
in a mad wrathful rush–yes

but even worse:
I will not become
unconscious–I will not
receive that black relief–

to fully appreciate hell
I must remain aware.

I do not have to step on that stone
yet I must step on that round stone.

Sometimes you see a sledgehammer
and you know in an instant
that sledgehammer owns you
for the next fifty years–

other times, you don’t know
then realize decades later
that you did know.

Or you see someone draining
his blood into an irrigation ditch

and you know he will soak through you
over the next fifty years.

He will because
you are indestructible.

And when someone asks “why did you?”

my reasonable excuses feel like lies.

But modesty will not allow me
to say what I wish to say
–except in a poem:

“I am indestructible–
 my arm may bleed,
 my feet may curse,
 my head may burst

 but

 I stepped on that bomb,
 I picked up that sledgehammer,
 I carried that broken body

 because I am indestructible–

 and yet I need to be destroyed

 because I’m still a long way
 from the core–so I know
 I’ll jump on many more
 round green stones
 in this road–

 but I also realize
 that I am–in that brief ringing–
 a brilliant nova
 at the top of the tower.
 No longer a ghost
 but the streak of a comet–
 shedding light
 through my universal home.”

© 2008, Michael R. Patton
dream steps
earnest audio

author’s note:

Even if we disagree on whether or not we evolved in the past…

…we can still agree that we need to evolve in the present.
 

NEW EVOLUTION

We are many animals
and today I am
the rainbow trout–

prone to leap
into the air
where I know
I don’t belong

but when I see the sun spangling
on soft summer waters
a lightning impulse
propels me up
from my dark home–

to try to breathe what my lungs
can not yet process–
to taste a light so much richer
than the poor beams that filter
down from the surface.

When people see me
in that sudden moment
they exclaim: “Look–a rainbow!”

I’m so glad they’re glad:
I have little to offer now
but that glimpse of joy.

I believe these short leaps
prepare me for the big transition–

when I finally land on the bank
of a new evolution–maybe to die
in the sand, but even so, to be seen
as more than I have been–

I’m still waiting for the hook
to call me, to serve me up

so I can sing the song that strums me,
surrender to the aspiration that rachets me,
obey an in-born desire to be the happy sacrifice.

Until that time
I’ll strengthen myself
on the worms and flies
of good housekeeping.

© 2008, Michael R. Patton
bloneironic
honest audio

author’s note:

Another poem previously posted on another blog and recently revised.

In case someone’s tempted to look…

…the Ecuador and Peru of this poem have no geographical location.
 

SAFE

I’ve heard of a bowl
of water in Ecuador–
or maybe, it’s Peru–

anyway,
when immersed
you feel positively
warm-blooded, held

in the mother’s womb; you feel
solitary but not alone

as if a distant eye watches you,
an eye quiet as an opal,
an eye that won’t interfere–

yet somehow you know
you are safe, no matter
what happens–even if fists
of waves beat the bowl–

even if
tremendous pressure
transforms the comforting stone
into brittle glass.

No matter if your head
and stomach roll down
and your feet slip up–

even if
you’re thrown out
to bake on dry naked land–

the feeling remains: still safe.

Though your nose be stuffed
with blood–and coal chunks block
your ears, eyes–the speck of you:
absolutely safe.

And later, when joy song
                                  skips your rock down

                       a long desert beach

          and you reflect

pure sunlight–

you know beyond thought
beyond horizons, beyond high,
beyond low–

you will always be in safe-keeping.

© 2008, Michael R. Patton
dreaming up steps

author’s note:

“It must be a peace without victory.”
                  —  Woodrow Wilson
 

THE TRUCE

Half of
this humble poem
was written, originally,
in the language of the cat,
and half,
in the language of the dog.

So we assigned the translation
to a scholarly feline and canine.

But the cat had to work
at night, and the dog
during daylight–

to avoid conflict.

They both realized
they could not coexist
for the entire time required.
They knew they would
–sooner or later–
erupt into animal instinct.

And then
civilization would suffer
one more tragedy
in our battle for peace.

However, the dog and cat
did agree to be
photographed together
to celebrate completion
of the project.

And to their credit…

you could see restrained sadness
in their smiling eyes–
a bemused acceptance,
an awareness of shared grief
from centuries–centuries–
of dog and cat fights.

I can not help but feel hope
when I see such tortured hearts
struggle with all their history.

© 2008, Michael R. Patton
steps of dreams
difficult-listening poetry

author’s note:

When I see a shot of a climber scaling a vertical ascent, under a brutal sun, with only a pile of sharp boulders to break his fall…

…I often feel as if I’m slacking.

But I know that there are many ways to do the same thing.
 

AGREEMENT

Our exhalations breeze–
waving the flags of various translations–

When I say “spirit”, you may say
sun or horse or wind
but the horse says “hay”.

When I say “spirit”, the cook replies:
ingredients, heat, fragrance.
But the thief says: fat diamond
and you answer: divine light
dancing through a stone window.

I understand what the mountaineer feels
when he whispers “by my fingertips”–

though I don’t climb cliffs
I am instructed
to hang on, to twist as Houdini did:
upside down.

I am told there is a net
that must remain unseen–
otherwise, where would
my courage be?

I say spirit–and a voice shouts
Amen! from the darkness–
maybe someone in
an ancient congregation.
Or maybe someone
living a religion
no one else even knows.

I say “black and white”
someone else says
“white and black”–
and a bell tells us both: bend
and blend.

When I proclaim: I will open–
one bell says Cross.
Another bell says Tree.
Either way, they both ring.

A new-born baby screams “Blood!”–
and you say–we both say–
flowing all over the world.

I say 4 by 4 room–you say limitless.
And I agree.

Yes, we agree today.  And we will agree
tomorrow.  And in-between
our agreements, we agree
we will not allow
our disagreements
to destroy us.

© 2008, Michael R. Patton
bloneironic

author’s note:

A poem previously posted on my other blog, then revised and then revised some more.

“A man’s body buried in the snow will eventually come to light.”
                     –  old Chinese proverb
 

YOUR LIGHT

Your light remains
long after you
have left the room–

does that light
even belong to you?
Maybe you were
the carrier, the courier–

the vessel that spilled all
over the place–

who still helps me
spill all over this room–
now I can see

my colors brush the floor,
walls and ceiling.  Now I can see

my mosaic
piece back together–
                         a jumble wild
yet stitched in the seams.

I can no longer see you
except through your light.  Your travels
must have taken you everywhere–
           I can see you everywhere–

in here, as well as
out there–in all the hands, discarded skin,
all the trees, all the sawdust, all the stones, sand,
all phases of the moon–
                                 all those boats
                                 on the river–

yes,
in every step
I take.

I recognize you.

© 2008, Michael R. Patton

author’s note:

“My poetry isolated me
 and joined me to everyone.”
            –  Pablo Neruda (trans. William O’Daly)
 

SAME

Here I am
straining away–
trying to break open
feelings frozen–foraging
within myself

when I see–to my dismay–
10,000 people
marching in
the opposite way

to a store that sells
wispy fumes from dry ice–

nevertheless
we both study
the same course:
they have grief,
I have grief;
I build strength,
they build strength.

We both try to
understand what
we can not.  Maybe
I fail more often, maybe
I should ease up.

But I am trying to learn
the visions of 10,000
perspectives–

from big-sky miners,
from deep-sea astronomers–

from garden moles (just like myself)–

among other questions I ask:

What do windmills discover
from the wind, from the grain?

This job of mine
is full-time
and until I develop
enough heart, my mind
will feel exhausted.  So excuse me

if my bellowing
seems poor in oxygen–

I really would
like to give you
a fresh breath–

because we struggle
the same climb
toward peace.

We share the same grief.

© 2008, Michael R. Patton
dream steps
honest audio

author’s note:

I don’t know why I wrote this poem.  I’m not expecting any new arrivals.

I guess I’m expressing my hope.
 

CHRISTENING

The sun child
came from the dark
came from below ground
came from the secret circle
of our arms.

The sun child is also
the moon child, the child
that floated down the river
in a round wicker basket
that you wove.

A basket of moonlight–
that became a vehicle to hold
our love.  To carry
another desirous soul
into a world searching
for its peace.

With this child
the world grows
that much closer
to fulfilling
its destiny–

grows closer
to finding the light
that can heal
our innocent eyes.

© 2008, Michael R. Patton
dream steps
earnest audio

author’s note:

Another poem previously posted on another blog and recently revised.

During my lackluster high school football career, I heard only one half-time pep talk.  It really gave us a charge–for about five minutes.

Perhaps the coach should have told us…

…sometimes you just have to take a lickin’ while doing the best you can.
 

NAKED SECRET

I am not afraid
of depression
of this heavy eagle–
this shadow angel
with its blue flame eyes burning
in the dark mist.

I won’t run–
where would I go?
No, not there–
not anymore.

Now I bask under
a gray sky–
defiantly.  I am wet
in the water, feeling
the tug of war
of waves rocking; I’m washing
internal organs
so that they may process
all the dust I ingest,
so that they may be used
by countless others.

I compliment myself
on being such a complex being.
So monstrous.  So like igneous rock.  In contrast
to my lamb-like appearance.

I am the storm mountain.
I am the stone face the storm
cracks, erases–but who needs
a stone face?

I never knew I would be so strong.
I never knew I would have to be.

This depression crept in like smoke
to whisper a naked secret to me–
to tell me I can be
even stronger–to intimate

that I will be required.

© 2008, Michael R. Patton
hear these poems