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author’s note:
My dancing feet refuse to learn dance steps. I think they just want to be free.
MY FESTIVE SONG AND DANCE
I told the wise one:
“The love I feel in my heart
seems inadequate for the task of life—
I’ve tried but can not lose
that quietly persistent sense of lack.”
And in reply the wise one said:
“Yes, you love the rain
but you hate
when rainwater floods your lot.
And yes, you love the sun
but you hate
when those fiery rays scorch your crops.”
Aided by her insight I then saw the obvious:
If I saved my love for those parts of life I liked
my love would never fully develop—
I also needed to love the hardships I dreaded.
So I tried to love the times of pain:
I danced when merciless storms came
and sang a song of love
when the sun seemed so uncaring.
But despite my festive efforts
I still could not quite love
the fire and the flood.
However
since I love to dance and sing
I did feel some love in my heart
during weather that seemed unfair.
But still not enough, not enough.
So I continue to try
to learn to love the deluge that ruins
as well as the sun’s cruel nonchalance.
Not easy work to be sure, but made easier
by my stubborn song and dance of love.
How Can I Live In This World?: poetry book
dream steps blog
myth steps blog
you tube channel
© 2026, Michael R. Patton

author’s note:
“What a feeling!”
— Irene Cara, “Flashdance…What a feeling”
WHEN I WENT FOR MY WATERFALL BLESSING, I FOUND A DIVINE DOG
PART I
Today I went to visit the waterfall
as I do whenever
the mud and dust
of my life in this world
just seems too much.
When I stand beneath
the water rushing down
I imagine a blessing descending
on my bowed head—
cleansing me.
So when I emerge
I feel clear again
and for a moment
again feel the purity of my spirit.
But I believe we’re all
pure in spirit.
I need that belief
in order to accept
all the mud and dust
of our life in this world.
PART II
But when I arrived
at the end of the forest trail
I found a dog playing in the pool
beneath the waterfall.
Possessed by a dance, it was—
leaping up
trailing beads of spray
then landing down
in a winged splash—
a joyful rebellion against gravity—
a joyful acceptance of defeat—
spray
and splash
spray
and splash—
ecstasy.
But I’d come there for a blessing
so I waded around the canine
and stepped into the curtain
and let the full force of the fall
pound my head relentlessly.
The water cold but hot in its intensity.
Soon overwhelmed by sensation
I lost every dull thought in my head.
But when I stepped back out I saw
the dog had stopped its revelry.
Standing still, it stared at me—
head tilted to the side. Puzzled
by my trembling solemnity.
I didn’t want to ruin the dog’s frolic
by causing it concern
so I then began my own splash dance.
Which broke the spell—
in an instant the creature joined me.
We jumped up and down
and barked and laughed
and my feeling of purity
meshed with a feeling of joy.
Again I was the child I once was—
the one who’d rebel
against the mud and dust of his world
by going into a ritual
with just one rule:
dance—dance—dance
dance like a divine dog.
Myth Steps: poetry book
dream steps blog
myth steps blog
you tube channel
© 2024, Michael R. Patton

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.
Myth Steps: poetry book
dream steps blog
myth steps blog
you tube channel
© 2024, Michael R. Patton

author’s note:
"Dance dance dance right there on the spot"
-- The Beach Boys
OUR DANCE OF LIFE AND DEATH
A woman standing
on our east coast beach
heard about the child
and felt the impulse
to express herself in dance
and for once, did not hold back--
she wanted to be brave
in a world so cruel.
Moving in a circle
with arms crossed tightly across her chest
she suddenly
lowered to her knees
and bowed in grief
then stood back up
and lifted her face to a merciless sun
then went round again
then fell to her knees
and bowed again
then stood once again
and lifted her face to the sun.
She went on and on in this way--
she did not stop.
And when a poor man walking by
asked her “why?”
she told him of the mother and child
and in a moment he responded
by bowing to his knees
then standing back up
and opening his arms
then bowing down again
then standing again and opening
his arms.
He went on and on in this way--
he did not stop.
Two teenage girls joined them:
they’d do pirouettes
then collapse in the sand
they went on and on--
they did not stop.
And so our dance of life and death began:
a chain of rising and falling bodies
grew down the shoreline.
Many or most on the island
felt drawn—as if in a trance:
I think we felt a need to grieve
over the news story.
But maybe some were also possessed
by a deep desire to express sadness
too long repressed.
The chain of separate links
continued to build--
moving over the rolls of the dune hills
then across a field of wind grass
and onto the main road and into town
and then beyond.
As the sun touched the horizon
the chain arrived
at the other side of the island
where an unknown swan dancer
--light as a zephyr--
floated in a gossamer gown
at the edge of a cliff
to the echo of waves below.
At this point
those who’d begun the dance at the east beach
woke from their trance--
all along the way, the chain fell apart
as islanders fell out
and slowly shuffled home
in the exhaustion
of emotional/physical release.
Hardly speaking--
not needing to speak.
Yes, we’d returned
to our regular state of mind
but our regular state of mind
was now much better.
That night, the child's mother
tearfully thanked all participants
from a camera in her kitchen
but through that fall
and into the depth of gray winter
she struggled under
a persistent weight of grief.
Later, she told of her nightly torment
how she’d walk the floor
going in circles--
her arms crossed tightly across her chest.
She’d pace round and round and round
until she finally fell down
then she’d just lie there--
feeling defeated.
But while holding to
the hardwood floor
she'd slowly recover
some sense of stability
and as the surge of sadness
naturally began to ebb
she’d sense a feeling of life
rising within--
a calm steady force that even
her leaden depression
couldn’t suppress
and in response, she’d stand again
and continue on.
Oddly enough
after each collapse
she felt a bit stronger.
Just as I have
on those occasions when
I’ve fallen down in a fatigue of grief
and remained down
until I sensed a calm force rising within.
Obviously, a common occurrence among humans:
I see many falling down in their dance
then witness a new strength
as they stand to their feet
and continue on.
Poet, Heal Thyself: poetry ebook
you tube channel
© 2022, Michael R. Patton
