The music for each of the nocturnes can be found at

Nocturne #3
written to the music of Faure – Pavane
by Mike Patrick

Flickr image by Cosmic Ocean

Somehow, he is more than a snowman.
His tiny stick arms
seem to move,
directing an unseen orchestra.

The falling snow,
filtering from the midnight clouds,
gently swirls to his direction,
bobbing and spinning
amidst the fireplace smoke
in a slow dance.

Once on the ground,
the flakes writhe and contort,
leaping and falling in unison
in a sensuous,
slow-motion ballet.

The moon, peeking through the clouds,
lights his walnut eyes
and reveals the meadow;
painting shadows and highlights
amongst the glittered white.

An invisible mouth
smiles around a corncob pipe
in satisfaction
as the wind dies.
The dancing snow
collapses in exhausted joy
before him.

The maestro’s wooden arms
conduct the final notes
as clouds skitter across the moon
and all falls still.

Only the night applauds.


Posted in Free Verse, Nature, Night, Nocturne, Poetry, Un-rhyming, Unprompted, Weather | Tagged , , , , , , , | 1 Comment


Nocturne #2

Written to Chopin – Nocturne in B flat minor Op.9 No.1
by Mike Patrick

Flickr image by davedehetre

In evening’s silence
we tiptoe from the house
and leave mankind’s lights behind.

In the upper field,
we sit on a wooden fence.
Side by side,
with your arm around me
and your head on my shoulder,
we search the constellations
until you find the perfect wishing star.

You always pick a tiny star
no one else would ever notice,
one you think has been neglected
and looks lonely.
Your wish is always the same:
to always be with me.

I wish upon the brightest star,
the strongest, the healthiest
star I can find
and wish for nothing more
than an eternity of nights
like this;
here with you,
counting stars.

Posted in Free Verse, Love, Nature, Night, Nocturne, Poetry, Un-rhyming, Unprompted | Tagged , , , , , , , | 7 Comments


Poetry and music are interchangeable to me. I feel both on an emotional level. Which emotion, and the depth of that emotion, is controlled by the notes/words and their tempo. A short time ago, Margo Roby asked us to write a poem to music. Ever since then, I’ve been doing all my writing with classical music in the background. Recently, a friend wrote an acrostic to the word ‘evening.’ To me, evening music means nocturnes. Nocturnes paint night scenes suggesting a tranquil, dreamy mood. Many classic music pieces other than nocturnes also suggest the night to me: but then, I’m mostly nocturnal. I’ve made up my mind to make series of nocturne poems, inspired by Chopin’s nocturnes and any other appropriate music I find.

Nocturne #1
written to: Ravel – Pour Une Infante Defunte
by Mike Patrick

Flickr image by boston_camera

The night isn’t silent you know.
The wolf, the owl and the whippoorwill
each add their music to the darkness.
It’s sad music, but not lonely.

It calls to something inside,
something hidden from the light,
but it’s there—in all of us.
The lungs expand,
the eyes dilate,
the heart races.

Facing the breeze,
aromas explode.
The foliage whispers and rustles,
telling stories of strength and failure,
and we live!
We live as never before,
at one with our world
and the night.

The owl’s question is answered
as we join brother wolf
in his hunt—and live
to the music of the night.

Posted in Free Verse, Nature, Night, Nocturne, Poetry, Unprompted | Tagged , , , , , | 7 Comments


Kenia, in her Wednesday Challenge for Imaginary Garden with Real Toads,, challenges us to write a metaphysical poem from one of the metaphysical questions linked in her posting. I chose question #48: Do humans involve immaterial souls?

by Mike Patrick

Do humans involve immaterial souls?
You do. You still speak to me.
You still touch my cheek after I shave.
I hear you inhale,
smelling my aftershave.
Some things haven’t changed.

I almost see you in the mirror
or picking up the mail.
You are almost here
all the time.

Sometimes I feel your kiss.
It still surprises me while I’m reading.
It’s lighter than it used to be,
but it is.

You still sing along with the radio
when I go to talk to you.
There is laughter in your voice.
I know you’re happy
where we’ll be happy—in time.

Posted in Death, Free Verse, Love, Poetry, Real Toads, Un-rhyming | Tagged , , , , , | 13 Comments


The words for The Sunday Whirl’s Wordle #32 are: rush, mellow, gullible, rustle, smug, shudder, fulcrum, sunshine, ruddy, untidy, subliminal, and spinning. They proved to be very difficult for me with the words ‘fulcrum, subliminal’ and ‘ruddy’ driving me crazy. I wrote two complete failures before the first line of While Waiting came to me. It’s another of those poems that will receive a makeover sometime in the future because there is a lot of room for improvement.

by Mike Patrick

Image from The Sunday Wordle

While waiting for another love,
how shall I spend my time?
Shall I rush forth,
gullibly searching for another you?

Shall I wait within my room,
smug in my belief
that pain mellows with age
and love can’t die?

Do I hide in the dark
of my now untidy life and shudder?
How should one face a life
without sunshine,
without ruddy sunsets,
without hope?

You were my fulcrum,
the point that kept my life
from spinning out of control.

Perhaps my time is better spent
within our bedroom’s warmth,
waiting for the subliminal message
of your skirt
rustling as you undress
in my dreams?

Posted in A Wording Whirl of Sundays, Depression, Free Verse, Lost Love, Poetry, Un-rhyming | Tagged , , , , , | 11 Comments


Viv in France wrote a poem yesterday,, that haunted me from the moment I read it. I tried to ignore it. I tried to work on my novel, but it refused to go away. To truly understand the poem, it is necessary to understand the additional background found in this posting: Viv, this one is for you.

by Mike Patrick

The House that Jock Built, image by Viv Blake

My new house has . . . atmosphere:
warm and comfortable, the early light
brings cheer to a kitchen steeped in
the smell of fresh-baked bread.

The church bells sound, calling me,
reminding me of the passing time.
I find myself counting a blessing for each tone,
and I wonder if this is holy ground.

Outside the open kitchen window,
a lovely garden grows.
The scent of roses stirs memories
belonging to someone else.

I find nothing sinister.
The memories are of the joy
of nurturing that rose in its first year;
children laugh in the background.

The previous owner must have outgrown
this place. How else could they leave?
I won’t. This old house once held everything I need,
and I shall fill it again;
let it be the home it’s always been.

Posted in Family, Free Verse, Life, Love, Narrative Poem, Poetry, Un-rhyming, Unprompted | 8 Comments


Again, the Sunday Whirl,, came up with a wonderful set of words for Wordle #31. The words are: diamond, mindless, spark, fires, ice, smolder, oblivious, sky, silence, planet, trapped and drowned.

It was pleasant to write on a lighter subject and a different passion. For a model, I had Sandy’s stories of her son in his youth.

by Mike Patrick

To cheers he walked across the diamond,
mindless of the adoring crowd,
oblivious to the darkening sky,
trapped in a planet of silence.

For the next two hours he stayed submerged,
drowned in concentration.

Only beneath the ice in his eyes
could a single spark be found:
a reflection of the competitive fires
smoldering just below
as he pitched his first no-hitter.

Posted in A Wording Whirl of Sundays, Childhood, Free Verse, Narrative Poem, Poetry, Sports, Un-rhyming | Tagged , , , , , , | 17 Comments