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Poems By Poet Patti Masterman  7/24/2014 4:15:43 PM
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Wish I May, Wish I Might

Every star's a fable,
A story in the sky,
A trail of angel's footprints
(some angels cannot fly) .

Every tale's worth keeping
And writing in a book;
So every star you're seeing,
Just take a closer look:

There's stars wished on by babies,
And stars from lover's eyes,
Stars that saved a sailor
Or intrepid voyager, high.

Stars that guide the night time,
And stars that swiftly fell,
And stars that shine in daylight,
At the bottom of a well.

There are stars in the evening,
And stars before the dawn,
To tell us what the season,
And when the work is done.

There's the first star you remember,
And the last you'll see before
Your eyelids close forever-
Before a star-lit door.

And then you'll be a star yourself,
Shining miles above;
Lighting worlds with distant lamps,
Burning bright with love.
Patti Masterman



Cinderella Limericks

Cinderella was a good girl who went with the flow;
When the clock struck twelve, she knew she must go,
As she followed the good godmothers advice
And she never even had to think twice:
'Don't stay out after midnight, or you'll turn to a Ho.'

Cinderella got kissed by the prince;
There was magic involved, before the kiss:
A pumpkin became a coach
And a cigarette, a roach
And then this whiskey turned into piss.
Patti Masterman



In Case of Fire, Break Glass

Of the most difficult, unyielding opponents, foremost is
The blank piece of paper, staring, unblinking, while
The ideas roll off the other side of it, bleating.
They crash and burn in the silent vacuum of space
Leaving you blank-slated and sucking air-
But there are worse things in life than a papercut.
The worst things in life are done to yourself:
Getting the noose ready, the poisons lined up neatly
Holding the electric wires you step into that bucket
Razorblades clutched tightly just in case as
So carefully you weave the oversized shroud, full of finest black- hole threading
With brilliant flashes of metallic where you ripped your own selfhood,
Bloodied, where you dashed your own hopes
With malice aforethought, just to see yourself cringe
Shrinking Violet and Doubting Thomas that you are.
No outsider can wound you as quickly
With such breathtakingly reckless abandon,
Taking no hostages, leaving no stone unturned.
There is no gag can stifle that voice, that waylayer who dissembles-
The blackmailer who can’t be bargained with or paid off;
You can’t stop the car and leave him stranded on some anonymous dirt road
He is there with you for the long-haul, never doubt it.
Best to give him the minimum of attention
And then run like hell whenever he is distracted, when you’ve
Finally convinced him you always listen to his every malodourous insinuation.
And keep looking, looking, looking in every direction
As long as it takes: for the sun to break through;
The sun that shines on the just and the unjust
Wait for it as if your life depends on it:
Look for when the sun finally breaks thru:
Now look: And wait, and keep looking till the hour of the day you can say,
I see it now; there it is, I have been waiting so long
There is that brilliant blue.
Patti Masterman



A Giraffe Ate Your Tulips

There really is no nice way
To tell you what I saw;
But a giraffe ate your tulips-
He chomped them with his maw.

How he came to be there,
Inside your flower beds,
I really cannot tell you but-
He bit their bulbous heads.

He chewed them up a time or two,
And swallowed each in turn,
Then took a sip of water
At the bird bath, by the urn.

He ate them all quite neatly-
(I think his favorite's red)
And wiped his mouth on branches,
Then scratched his spotted head.

All day I've been debating
Just how to break the news;
But a giraffe ate your tulips,
And then he had a snooze.

He snoozed against the carport,
And he swatted at the flies
With his handy tail-swipe,
When I swear I heard him sigh.

And I'm mostly sure I heard him
Belch a time or two,
Before heading for Mrs. Johnson's-
Where he ate her tulips too.

I know you miss your tulips;
They had the strangest fate,
But a tulip munching giraffe,
You could not anticipate.

You ought to plant more tulips;
I don't think he's coming back-
But maybe choose a different shade-
That giraffes will not snack.
Patti Masterman
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Poems By Poet Patti Masterman