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Poems By Poet Patti Masterman  11/28/2014 9:28:08 PM
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White feathers falling

White feathers falling,
When an angel flew close by;
There's nothing up above us,
But I saw him, on the sly.

White downy floaters,
Floating on the sea of air;
In a single eye blink,
I saw him hovering there.

Souvenirs of miracles,
Signs and wonders too:
He knew he lost that feather-
And he said- give it to you.
Patti Masterman



Witness Protection Program

It's a funny thing isn't it, how you're all over the place,
When you say, that you're just trying to find yourself;
While realizing, that maybe you don't want to be any place at all,
And don't really want to be found.
Even while shouting your name, into all the crazy winds
Always pulling you in this direction, or that.
But you're so afraid of boredom; it's been haunting
Since the cradle, threatening to descend
A wave of darkness, to cover hope and creativity,
To snuff out your very identity, as half-formed as it still feels.
A depression of which, must have been your caul at birth;
And will no doubt be your same shroud, at death.
You sometimes wonder if you've been running away, for so long
That you've forgotten exactly what it is, that you're so afraid of
And if it's worth all the hassle of continuously running,
In your own witness protection program:
Let's break all the mirrors, again..
But you know, that habit has you so firmly in it's grip,
There's no escaping now; it's too late, you're not a child now:
No fairy tale can step in to save you, from that bullet.
And where is your god, you might ask, in all of this?
You evicted him so long ago,
That he signed off on your lease-
And there's nobody else wants to own your rabid soul, anymore-
Not even you; and that's got to be the saddest thing of all.
Patti Masterman



A Bear Came To Dinner

A bear came to dinner;
He ate before the bell,
He didn't use his napkin,
I am here to tell.

He didn't cut his steak,
Neatly; with the knife,
And licked his mashed potatoes
Off the plate- it was not quiet.

He didn't wait for prayers,
He didn't pass the bread-
But balanced it, most perkily,
Atop his brown-bear head.

His manners more atrocious,
Than any I have seen;
But heavens, I'm so grateful
He didn't just eat me.
Patti Masterman



All things move in a circular motion

The lathe of heaven's spinning, spinning;
Now the web of time beginning,
Time the holder of the many secrets
We must someday learn;
Time the hearth where lie the days
The universe will slowly burn.

Life springs up; it's breathing, breathing
And the web of life is weaving,
Life revolves through many stages
And no one foretells the whole;
Life, the mold in which we pour
The essence, turns into the soul.
Patti Masterman
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Poems By Poet Patti Masterman