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Poems By Poet Patti Masterman  8/29/2014 9:23:24 PM
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A girl in leather shoes

I am a girl in leather shoes
without socks, a girl who has
no need of socks, a girl
who has few friends-
but doesn't need any.

A strong girl, with real opinions
in her head; sockless in her leather shoes,
a girl whose stride is purposeful,
feet secure inside the leather,
a girl who wears nothing artificial,
who takes in nothing not genuine-

And if she should ever sweat,
this brave, sockless girl,
who knows exactly where she is going
safe in her leather
and her strong opinions-
she would never, never let it show.
Patti Masterman



Anti-Love Poem #1

When you've loved someone,
As much as you're capable of,
Just let them go. Even better,
Don't write about them- ever.
If you must, let it be once only
And let that be as their epitaph.
Let the seasons and the wind
Sweep away the painful memories
Don't try to re-start fire from a faded puff of smoke.
And give yourself some time to recover.

If you must write thousands of lines
About what went wrong, or why,
For gods sake burn it- burn it quickly
Don't leave it lying around for others eyes to see
And for the dance line to start forming behind you:
The Designated Mourners of decayed, extinct love affairs
Don't forget to leave some room for the next good thing
Which has been waiting patiently at your door
While you've been existing only in the past
As a one-dimensional loser.
Remember, there's only a one letter difference.
Patti Masterman



JonBenet the Falling Star You Are

She can't remember that last day.

Was it the cord wrapped tightly around her neck,
choking breath and thought? Memory can't be retained
in a brain starved of oxygen. Killer's face
stalking her, with florid concentration-
better to wipe it, like her thighs,
wet with bloodied water. What is being erased:
innocence, virginity, that last Christmas-
The secret Santa visit she was longing for.
This isn't it.

Grace and charm won't save her now,
it has become obvious, she is only child;
merely flesh, miniscule articulated human-
trying to fight some terrible monster
she can't even put a name to. Who knew
the evil in fairy tales really existed? Where
is the good fairy, the hovering angel, the savior
of all good little girls, who've done nothing wrong?
Didn't she say her nightly prayers-
for it must have been this, she was praying against?

Where is Mommy, Daddy; the house so huge and quiet now-
will they never wake? She tries to rise through the floors,
screaming at the sleepers, it's not her time.
But death is the mystery
too large, for her small frame to easily contain.
(With her thin arms raised obscenely overhead,
where frail hands can't scratch at cruel tethers)

The only goodness, that she will forget soon
who exactly she was, and also these strong hands,
that blow which broke her vital mind.
(Before this, all she had known of hands was kindness)

She never looked back again at the shattered window
Of soul; her eyes, where his staring reflection
Wavered forever just out of reach, like a falling star.
Patti Masterman



The Church Is Built On Bloody Bones

The church is built on bloody bones,
Broken martyrs, burning homes;
The church is built on bloody bones-
Not singing angels, golden thrones.

The church is built on murder, rage,
Plunder, anger and pillage;
The church is built on murder, rage-
There's no escaping murders wage.

The church you choose informs your soul,
If you're shattered, if you're whole;
The church you choose informs your soul-
So be sure it's worthy goal.
Patti Masterman
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Poems By Poet Patti Masterman