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Poems By Poet Patti Masterman  11/23/2014 12:38:10 PM
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  PATTI MASTERMAN
 
 
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  1597.     

Over There

So the scientists touted the breakthrough, that death had at last
been broached; that final deadline crossed forever, and now we could
communicate with anyone who had passed over. The sky was the limit;
dead geniuses could now be quizzed about the worlds problems, which
didn't even exist at the time they had lived. It was the biggest news story in the entire history of mankind.
Everyone wondered just how different things would be, Over There.
An interview was arranged with a newly deceased woman, wife of one of
the scientists, so he was picked to lead with the questions.
Lists of questions were submitted and a lottery drawn, so everyone had
a fair chance of having their questions answered.
At the selected time, the television and reporting crews assembled, the bright lights were set up, and the clock began its countdown, as everyone held their breath. It seemed impossible, but here it was about to happen..
At exactly 2 p.m, the scientist cleared his throat and began to read from his list of questions, beginning by addressing the antecedent by name.
'Dearest Wilma, you have been selected as the first communicant from
the other side, so whenever you are ready, please begin by telling us your name, date of death, and whatever you can remember about the dying process- utilizing whatever apparatus you the dead have, with which to remember earthly things-' when suddenly, unexpectedly, he was interrupted by vile cursing. It rang out loud and clear on the translating equipment, which had the ability to take seemingly formless signals from the ether and translate them into language, when an appropriate energy field had been detected.
'John Peterson, you blankety-blank-blank-blank, is that you? It's too cold here- and- and- it's dark too; it's just like you to allow me to come all the way here, wherever I've got to, into infernal darkness, while you- you enjoy all the perks of home.. I've got half a mind to scalp you alive, I do. I don't give a crap about your danged old science experiments, I already told you about a million times- Oh!
I knew I should have listed to Mother, all those years ago..you better get me back home, and I mean RIGHT NOW, if you want to talk to me, Mister Chatty man, big shot scientist..'
The airwaves went dead then, and the experiment was sadly abandoned.
It seemed, we should have known all along what to expect, from the Over There..
 
Patti Masterman
   
 

   
   
 

  1598.     

Oxidative Stress

I used to hide inside the worlds I found in books,
Pressing them into corners, into the hidden drawers
Of antique chests, between the covers of Grimoires:
The poetry of being, the holiness of breath-
I wanted to hoard it, to save it all for Someday-

Someday, when the other world went missing,
lost on some highway too far to ever find again,
or changed so much, it was no longer recognizable.

But once alone in that grainy darkness, those swelling voids,
the galaxies rotated, there were breathtaking supernovas
Whenever I wasn’t looking; or wars broke out,
While astounding discoveries were made and went forgotten,
completely unobserved.

My worlds became sterile, because they were never seen
by other living eyes,
And would burst into flame and disappear
The instant they were opened, and real oxygen got in.
 
Patti Masterman
   
 

   
   
 

  1599.     

Pacing Out a Soul

The basement cell where Geronimo was sometimes kept
Had an uneven floor, said to be caused by his constant pacing.
I too pace the walls inside my mind, for it seems to be holding me
Though sometimes I can escape it, through imagination.

There are large boulders and remnants of pottery
Scattered throughout many places, proof of others,
Whose prisons were diverse times; long ago settlements,
Of names now forgotten or scarcely mentioned anymore.

The people were always less durable than soil or stone:
They flowed like liquid from area to area, seeking water, buffalo, prosperity.
Children were their true riches, and longevity their blessing;
If you didn't die in childbirth, you might live a long time.

I feel their artifacts all around me, half-buried in clay and sand;
Many years are like only a moment, to a planet one-sixth the age
Of the total universe. But the past haunts me, watching as it does,
From the eyes of all their children, still walking this earth.
 
Patti Masterman
   
 

   
   
 

  1600.     

Pain You Won't Own

Pain you won't own,
Owns you, in the end;
The dark water comes
And you forgot how to swim.
Friends you don't owe
Try to lift you toward light-
But the moon stays the solitary
Sun, of the night.

Debts you won't pay
Try to sell you, each day;
Your heart on your face
Though you'd die, before saying..
The hooks in your soul
Keep pulling you under-
And there's lightning in eyes
But a strange, silent thunder.

The vault will be silent
The grass will be still
When they put you away
For forever, to seal
The pain you were dealt,
And the debts left unpaid;
They will never be spoken-
For it’s now much too late.
 
Patti Masterman
   
 
 
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Poems By Poet Patti Masterman