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Poems By Poet Patti Masterman  7/25/2014 10:05:12 PM
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I Used to Read Every Night

I used to read every night
My thin book, of your heart's own verse:
Pages of threadbare longing
For your sentences recompense-
Words now which mirror,
Unreconstituted prose
That from impotency, arose
Toward my heart, like a lettered blight
Of languages silenced, by words
Our day became more like a night
Though once, I had even transpired
To imagine empires conquered;
Armageddons deftly averred
But now in consternation, I find
I'm to light my own funeral pyre;
Let my tears become my dirge
Of sorry tales that could deafen
Blind men, in a stumbling rage
I'll drag my own chains back to hell,
Since your mercy's worse than your hate
And, as there's no music heard there,
I shall welcome my toneless fate;
Music gave too much hope
For hope, without any dreams
The present song annihilates.
Patti Masterman



Sweeter Air

Give me the sweeter air of his breath,
The smoother wave of his voice;
Voice I've never heard, where freedom
Would sing in plunging starfish octaves,
And rhythmed oceans floating in syncopated bliss,
His eyes of seaweed like a glass-bottomed boat,
Upon the foaming sea of me,
Transparent to the marrow'd depth of my bones
Below his arc of circling nights and days.

And the gulls crying, and the west wind answering
The vagrant tides; a dead pirate's buried cache of shells;
And the mysterious treasures of a single mermaid,
Who once cut legs into her own sloping tail,
Trying to follow him out of the whirlpool.
Patti Masterman



Drowned Piano

Drowned piano, plunging through the depths,
Bubbling out its dark mahogany breaths;
Drowned piano, songs played by the tide
And the harp strings shivering inside.

Drowned piano, the sea's become your hymn,
All about you schools of fishes swim;
Upon your legs, the coral will make a home,
And clams will envy your keys of whiter bone.

Drowned piano, answers a mermaid's prayer;
Startles sea-urchins, with a sight so rare;
Drowned piano, so many miles from shore-
Beloved fingers caress you never more.
Patti Masterman



Love Poems For Sale

Love poems for sale; they're slightly used,
And birthday poems for free-
Though slightly hexed by some old witch
(I think that would be me)

Come one, come all, now don't be shy;
These poems have lots of heart,
Even though they futile were
Back when, I thought them art.

Sterility is not a sin
In literature or love,
But no one wants the bastard child,
Though he kiss the stars above.
Patti Masterman
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Poems By Poet Patti Masterman