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Poems from a Secular Religion
Monday, 31 July 2006
Sunday, 25 June 2006
Reading the Writing on the Wall
author’s note:
As they say in the movies: “The following was inspired by a true story.”
WALL-EYED
I couldn’t find
any other window table,
and I wanted
a window table--to see outside
the room--to expand
my vision
if only a little--so
I sat down where
a white wall stood
five feet from the glass.
But I’ve come to realize that
sometimes, when I look outside
I have to--
perhaps even need to--
look at a blank wall
instead of pleasurable
undulating
scenery.
I’ve also come to realize
that I should try to see
what’s before me--otherwise, I could be gazing
at a concrete wall
and think
I’m reading a newspaper.
I heard a billionaire praised recently.
Everyday, he read nine newspapers
on the way
to work--and--
his white shirts never
showed a crease.
So anyway, I gave that wall
as much of my attention
as I could possibly
pull together:
neither old nor especially new
that barrier. Stained by all the unseen particles
drifting through the air--the same way my lungs and veins
must be stained--the concrete an off-white not seen as off
because the stain was general.
This bland wall
made me think of
a concrete embankment
I walked upon
in a dream.
Though my feet were off the ground
I felt low, though I didn’t know why.
Fortunately,
a few dreams later, I traveled along an old, slow wall--
cracked, eaten by green vine, the red brick soft and
friable. A heart loosened by age.
But the concrete wall outside this window
was even worse than that dream embankment:
it didn’t bring up much feeling,
high or low.
So I had trouble accepting that wall
until I reminded myself
that the sand and rock
had once resided at the bottom of a riverbed.
So I took pity...
but when the chance presented itself
I moved over one table
where I could look, unimpeded, to the hills and forests
beyond.
© 2006, Michael R. Patton
dream steps blog
shameless self-promotion
artwork for poetry blog
email: michaelpatton@lycos.com
find The Raven’s Way at amazon.com
Posted by michaelpatton
at 8:49 AM CDT
Tuesday, 20 June 2006
Innocent Brilliance
author’s note:
In memory of Beatriz G. Prentice.
DIRECT SUNLIGHT
I knew a woman who once--
when the clouds broke--
caught a direct shot
of the sun
but
in something of a miracle--
did not explode.
She lived to tell of sun glory--
but also
of sun stroke. She made some
innocent mistakes--but
if you’re not
expecting the solar flare,
you’ll have trouble
interpreting
the spots. You’ll want to
run
--joyously--
through Sunday heaven
when you should walk.
I believe the experience
took years off her life.
So?--
A short rainbow,
but brilliant.
© 2006, Michael R. Patton
dream steps blog
shameless self-promotion
artwork for poetry blog
email: michaelpatton@lycos.com
find The Raven’s Way at amazon.com
Posted by michaelpatton
at 6:35 PM CDT
Updated: Wednesday, 21 June 2006 10:33 AM CDT
Sunday, 18 June 2006
No Waste
author’s note:
It just seems like such a waste to spend all eternity in heaven after I die.
WORM WORLD
In all our explorations--
you never know--
we may find
a planet of highly intelligent worms--
worms that imbibe information
through their skin--sliding over
the well-grounded ground and into
the mindful soil
would be a means of acquiring
not only information, but also knowledge--and
not only knowledge, but
through progressive digestion,
eventually wisdom--yes,
crawling would be a means of
cracking consciousness open.
The worms would hardly want
to pause, you think?
But no, I suppose
some would feel like going slow, but even so
would stalling--stopping--mean an end
to their education? No--
no matter what the worm did,
it would have to learn something--
even attending to basic needs--
to eat, to procreate, to find shelter--
would bring
expansion--
even if a worm only lived
one day--
that worm would still gain something.
Something.
But
wouldn’t you need a life
after life
in order not to waste
knowledge acquired?
Well, if nothing else,
perhaps your smarts
would return to the ground
along with your body--
into the very soil that other worms
slog over and into--
so that all future
generations could absorb
through their skin
what you had taken in,
what you had mixed together
to create your own special
understanding.
In that case,
you would indeed have a life after life--you
would be a portion of the loam, as well as
being a part of all those who followed you.
Or perhaps
some humongous
universal bank
of intelligence
does exist for your deposit
of worm knowledge.
If so,
does worm knowledge combine with our own
human learning?--
If so, I suppose
that what is true
for a worm
would also be
true for a poet.
Yes, I see that must be so--
because I have gained much
from all my mundane crawling,
from all my slogging,
from all my stalling,
from all my--...my oh my--
from just being born.
Yes--and
I have gained much
from going deep
into the black earth.
© 2006, Michael R. Patton
dream steps blog
shameless self-promotion
artwork for poetry blog
email: michaelpatton@lycos.com
find The Raven’s Way at amazon.com
Posted by michaelpatton
at 9:08 AM CDT
Wednesday, 14 June 2006
Sunday, 11 June 2006
The Trouble of Making Peace
author’s note:
Part of me seems to want trouble. Another part of me definitely wants peace.
I think I want the trouble of making peace.
KICKING
If we are all really one...
why can’t I kick that man
over there--that man kneeling
at the bookshelf?
Instead I sigh and suffice
with sticking my own ribs.
Our social training eliminates
so many possibilities.
I was going to make contact.
He was in my way and
I even believed
he knew he was
in my way
and wanted to assert himself
like a bee burly among
the flower petals.
Though I restrained myself,
I did consider various situational subterfuges:
I could have kicked him
--lightly–
in the shoe
then when he turned, I’d have said,
“Oh, excuse me. I didn’t mean to--
you okay?”
Yes, I would have made off
like a bandit rabbit.
Yes, I would have felt
transported.
We all remember
Billy the Kid
but not the lawman
that buried him.
But was Billy really
happy?
I need to understand
where the impulse to kick
comes from.
Well, for one thing,
this world is just too small.
Too physically confining--
no matter where
you are.
Too much is in my way--
too many buildings, computers,
rivers, forests, briars,
too many
streets,
boulders, stones,
grains of sand.
I want to arrive on the other side
of such things.
Yes, I know it all makes music--
those electrons whirring.
The pent-up energy of all those atoms--
a spinning symphony fit to bust.
But how can I find
peace among waves
that never know
complete quiet?
That know quiet only at their deepest
darkest
deadest level?
I’ve known that quiet, but
how can I possibly maintain
such a deep, dead level state
without dying? I seem to want
lively pressure, but
under such pressure
I too often become a babe
kicking in its crib--
at times,
bound to a cliff rock, I curse
an unseen god--
but then later, under the same pressure,
I sit at this waterfall
and praise all the gods that I see.
Though I felt bound to the cliff rock
in that moment,
I didn’t really want to kick him--that man,
who could have been Jesus or Buddha or Mother Mary
or any one of us. As I said: the impulse
was only a symptom
of a much larger frustration.
And once that impulse passed, the counter impulse
was to celebrate him. To sing of how he knelt
at the bookcase, in holy submission to even
the dreariest of tomes.
But
just as the first impulse
must be contained,
the counter-impulse must be stifled as well.
Too often, the fence of social convention lacks a gate.
I said a polite “excuse me” and walked around
his feet.
I guess I will just have to
make do
with honoring myself.
Though that will be even harder
than giving myself
a well-thought-out kick.
© 2006, Michael R. Patton
dream steps blog
shameless self-promotion
artwork for poetry blog
email: michaelpatton@lycos.com
find The Raven’s Way at amazon.com
Posted by michaelpatton
at 8:59 AM CDT
Sunday, 28 May 2006
Asleep in My Day, Awake in My Sleep
author's note:
Though I wish I could stay awake 24 hours a day...
I know my life would be so much poorer without my dreams.
IN SLEEP & BEFORE BIRTH
My nightly sleep is
the old caretaker that insists
I give up the day--
give up
the struggle to suck
the marrow from
my own bones--
after trying to add
one more stone,
after trying to
polish the stone
down to gold.
Sleep
paints gold.
When at rest, I’m as
smart as I was
the day before
my birth:
Knowing you
before I saw you.
Knowing these shoes
before
I found them.
Knowing this gold dust
before it fell on me
as if
by accident.
Knowing this web
before
I felt
its connections.
Knowing my life
before I knew
its restriction, before I know
its release.
Then comes the light
and I go dumb again.
© 2006, Michael R. Patton
dream steps blog
shameless self-promotion
artwork for poetry blog
email: michaelpatton@lycos.com
find The Raven’s Way at amazon.com
Posted by michaelpatton
at 9:06 AM CDT
Updated: Sunday, 28 May 2006 9:07 AM CDT
Sunday, 21 May 2006
Healthy Thoughts
author’s note:
I believe that what the human race does in the 21st century will determine whether we make it or not.
Perhaps I’m wrong. However, to believe any other way just doesn’t seem healthy.
EMPIRES
“Empire” is not an evil word--
just a word.
Just as “small” is.
An amoeba can’t keep itself
from spreading.
Nor can a germ.
Dogs still hunt even when
they’re well-fed--
that’s just how
they’re made.
Would you ask
wind and water
to stop
remaking the earth
in their own image?
But I believe we can change--
we don’t have to be dogs, we don’t have to be germs.
We can channel the wind, we can channel the water.
I know change is possible--
if change wasn’t possible, I could not
possibly change.
No, I don’t exclude myself
from this business--
I too am a creative act.
That’s why
I won’t live forever.
That’s why
I can never completely
die.
I have learned to gather rocks.
Now I’m starting to see how
in my sleep
I’ve already laid
the stone foundation.
© 2006, Michael R. Patton
dream steps blog
shameless self-promotion
artwork for poetry blog
email: michaelpatton@lycos.com
find The Raven’s Way at amazon.com
Posted by michaelpatton
at 8:49 AM CDT
Wednesday, 17 May 2006
Flapping
author’s note:
There's a word that is thrown around very loosely these days: "artist". The word has nearly become meaningless.
But it is still a special word to me. I do not, at this time, use it in reference to myself.
THE HEAVINESS OF THE SHELL
I’m flapping my arms
the way a crane
flaps its wings
when trying to ascend
from the lake.
I’m flapping my wings
because I can hear Bird
scat on his saxophone
and I too want to ascend
into a newly created
heaven, a heaven discovered
through stone work and
the whimsy of
creation.
I’m flapping my arms
but I’m not
lifting from the ground.
My feet still wear worn-out
shoes covered with old
flakes of paint.
I am not the crane.
I am not the Bird.
I am not scatting across the water.
But even the crane once
resided in an egg.
As did the Bird.
As did the saxophone petals
in their bud.
I can feel the heaviness
of the shell
on my shoulders and back
and I’m hoping
that if I can uncover
with my attrition,
dine on
my disappointment,
unravel in
my revolution,
and eventually,
after all my attack--
arrive at the wisdom
of surrender
then maybe--maybe--the crust
will crack.
© 2006, Michael R. Patton
dream steps blog
shameless self-promotion
artwork for poetry blog
email: michaelpatton@lycos.com
find The Raven’s Way at amazon.com
Posted by michaelpatton
at 8:59 AM CDT
Sunday, 14 May 2006
No Choice in Our Choice
author’s note:
Human beings may often appear quite ordinary. But I believe just to be here is a heroic act.
SECRET CHOICE
I’m talking of the spheres
and you’re talking of
today’s groceries.
But you don’t realize that
in your language the secret
is revealed. The secret of
your secret knowledge. Your
knowledge of the door’s arch. Of the light
that can never be
seen straight on because
that light belongs to the Gods
that watch over us with
dispassionate passion.
And nudge us a little
when we’re about to step
on the wrong square.
A nudge that feels
like a lightening bolt
all the way to the core.
Anyway--
back to your story about
the groceries--
I can hear that
you know what we both know:
that we both carry the
ring. That what we carry
in our hearts will force us
up the most fearsome--
and tiresome--
mountain. The mountain
that you and I have chosen.
The mountain about which
we had no choice
© 2006, Michael R. Patton
dream steps blog
shameless self-promotion
artwork for poetry blog
email: michaelpatton@lycos.com
find The Raven’s Way at amazon.com
Posted by michaelpatton
at 8:54 AM CDT
Updated: Sunday, 14 May 2006 9:21 AM CDT
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