Home | Contact Us

Poems By Poet Patti Masterman  10/30/2014 11:49:22 PM
Search For Poems & Poets:


  Best Poems From
<< prev. page

Page: 1 100 200 300 350 360 370 380 390 391 392 393 394 395 396 397 398 399 400 401 402 403 404 405 406 407 408 409 410 420 430 440 450 500 600 625

next page >>



Our words sound like trinkets

Our words sound just like trinkets to us,
Even if not worthwhile to save,
Thoughts crystallized by flowing days
Are precious treasure just the same.

Though they never inhabit actual books
And no one proclaims their virtue;
Even if they don't out-live ourselves,
When life sets our last curfew.
Patti Masterman



Out Of Emptiness

Everything comes out of emptiness
Arriving early, arriving late
Empty coffers empty eyes
Empty smiles and empty cries

Things want to fill themselves with you
Things you say, things you do
Thoughts you think nobody knows
As all upon your face, they grow

In struggling sun, the dying things
Arriving empty, too late to run
Sterile thoughts, too shallow to live
In lives to shallowness, we give
Patti Masterman



Out of nothing came the all

Out of nothing, came the all,
More potent than just fiery ball
Gave birth to water, air and dust;
For in matter dwells deepest lust:
One day the universe itself woke up,
And discovered then that it was us.

We orbit now round matter's throne;
In ages past, like stars we shone,
Our bodies culled from myriad ports
To bear themselves, till Earth aborts:
Inside us, many mansions found,
So that from matter, we're unbound.
Patti Masterman



Out of Sequence

It must have sucked to be a Pompeian psychic
Back in Vesuvius youthful, fiery days; or in Herculaneum:
Flashes of some blackened, ash-filled Armageddon
Always intruding, in even the happiest of circumstance.
Curious, frozen statues, in tortured stances
Always blinking on and off in the background,
Like some hellish, neon warning.
Trying to do a reading for the client,
While tormented by a vision of their hollowed, lifeless shell
Angled towards the horizon, propped on their elbows, even in death.
The whole place; a ghost of it's own past, and future sterility:
The prophets should have been
On the first bus or donkey out.
Instead they are piled up down there with the bodies
At the harbor's edge; all their unspoken predictions
Having made perfect sense, at the end.
Who knew the mountain was a hungry predator
That would stop at nothing, to engulf their
Charming, sophisticated world,
Thus saving it for the future generations:
A snapshot incredulously out of sequential times domain.
Patti Masterman
<< prev. page

Page: 1 100 200 300 350 360 370 380 390 391 392 393 394 395 396 397 398 399 400 401 402 403 404 405 406 407 408 409 410 420 430 440 450 500 600 625

next page >>


BEST POEMS:  (Click on a topic to list and read the poems)
 angel poems
beautiful poems
death poems
friend poems
 girl poems
home poems
hope poems
kiss poems
 life poems
loss poems
love poems
music poems
 nature poems
rain poems
school poems
sex poems
 soldier poems
summer poems
sun poems
war poems
(c) Poems are the property of their respective owners.
All information has been reproduced here for educational and informational purposes to benefit site visitors, and is provided at no charge.. 
Contact Us | About Us | Copyright notice | Privacy statement

Poems By Poet Patti Masterman