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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
author’s note: I think you can find mystery anywhere, everywhere. But some places are just more conducive to the experience. TALKING TO THE WEE FOLK IN CASE THEY ACTUALLY EXIST When the hunter sprayed his friend with buckshot perhaps he was a little bit drunk or perhaps you tricked him because in his callous ignorance he’d tromped over your clover with his big clumsy boots. Or because you heard him laugh at a folk legend loved in times past when people still indulged their sense of wonder. Maybe some will say I don’t like plain facts but when my goosebumps rise the plain fact is: the one within this skin senses mystery lurking. But though I like to imagine that mystery could be you I know the mystery is probably something I can’t possibly imagine. No, forget what I just said! Of course I believe you’re really here-- why else would I ask you to forgive this fool if he slips or trips? Please, I pray-- I’m not obtuse, just transfixed by the dark garden of your forest labyrinth.
Searching for my best beliefs: poetry book
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© 2023, Michael R. Patton
author’s note: I learned the way I often learn: the hard way. ONLY A FOOL ARGUES WITH STONE Long ago a clever storyteller saw the features of a human face on the gray stone of the bluff overlooking the bend in the river then invented the tale of the wise woman spirit who sees all who pass as her children and warns them with an echo: steer away from the rocky shore. A legend we love because both young and old want to feel protected by Mother. Many of those who canoe down the river today will slow their paddles at the bluff and ask that stone sage for guidance. And the ones who truly listen may discern an answer buried within the distorted amplification booming back across the water. I’ve known people who refused to accept what they needed to do until they heard the woman of stone say: you know the truth. But you need not travel to our river when burdened with a question. I say: wise stone spirits can be found all over this planet and if we approach with reverence they will tell us what we need to know-- even if they don’t echo we can hear their thoughts if we quiet our hearts. I myself have sometimes received an answer of truth from a cliffside or a boulder or even a rock in the sand. And though I often want to reject that wisdom I don’t because I’ve learned: only a fool argues with stone.
Listening to Silence: poetry book
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© 2023, Michael R. Patton
author’s note: I’m trying to tell myself the truth. THE WISE WORDS OF THE BUTTERFLY SOUL According to legend... when lost in battle warriors sometimes come back as phantom butterflies to deliver wise messages of guidance. So when I sensed those wings fluttering around my ears I knew you’d returned to me and I waited, hoping to hear magical wise words that would unlock my heart. And then in a sudden burst of freedom I’d know true peace. But you just whispered this short flat instruction then flew away: before you can see the stars you must first lower your eyes. Dreaded action!-- but as the legend says: the dead can see better than we do because they have nothing left to lose. And so I looked down to address that mud heap of grief on my plate while telling myself this second legend: after the prison pauper ate and digested his slop-mess dinner lo and behold!-- the ceiling lifted and his plate reflected a fulsome night of stars. Wise words can’t do the work for us or give us strength but without those wise words I wouldn’t struggle so hard to find the strength to work for the peace of freedom.
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33 1/3 New Fables & Myth: ebook
© 2022, Michael R. Patton
Michael Patton
sky rope (subterranean rappel) 