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Poems By Poet Patti Masterman  2/26/2015 10:03:01 PM
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Run Away

When the day comes that I must die
Run, just run away, when I've breathed my last
Don't stay and stab your eyes,
Run for sanctuary, run for peace;
Peace returns the day after next.

When I've departed and left you solitary
Run away, just find some other eyes,
Don't stay and lose another day
From this life, weeping for me;
Sanity is just around the corner.

When darkness comes to cover your days
Run, to any happiness you remember,
Don't give in, don't give up the fight;
Cause you're fighting for us all-
And there's nothing you can't conquer.

(written to Ghost of a Rose by Blackmores Night)
Patti Masterman



The Totem Pole

On a sunlit desert day
Like the other thousands of days
Within the faceless sameness of mud-colored houses
One indistinguishable from the next
Which is considered upward mobility in this city between mountains
She told me of the first family canine
Smarter than the kids, he'd sit up
Perfectly at attention, like a soldier
In his own chair perhaps that very one-
As she pointed with wavering finger-
And better behaved too
The next one was crafted with a duller finish
Sort of a mnemonic clone,
Albeit a different color
He filled the mold well enough
He had soul, but not much chutzpah
He slowly dwindled till just a patch of hair
Remained on his kitchen seat of honor
The last mutt she called orphan
A single-parent dog
Lurking beneath the dishwasher
His random barking a fixture
Behind the bottomless telephone conversings-
Her maxim always that she could instantly replace him
With another duplicate copy, exact matched cell for cell
And true to pattern, like his step-mother
He bit other people who did not sufficiently
Impress; or whom he did not fear.
Patti Masterman



The Twist

Inside us lives a singularity
We may regard with some hilarity,
Thinking it odd, that nature would give
A highly specialized soul, to live;
But only once, that's the gist of it-
Now here, now gone-
That's the twist of it.
Patti Masterman



They say we stand on the shoulders of giants

It's said that we stand on the shoulders of giants;
Of ancestors ceding to us their genetic heritage, their traits:
I feel the truth of it, each time I walk to the garage
And stumble again over that pile of ashes; by the tipped over bucket
I could almost swear it's great great Grandpa,
Caught in the barn fire and burned too badly to keep living;
But he'd already passed on his genes.

And next the old well; grows some ivy, thick along the bricks-
Great Aunt Florence it must be; escaped from her nearby plot
Over by the Lilac bush;
Must have been Granny Bennett, planted that purple monstrosity
To make herself more at home on the new homestead-
Taken there against her better judgment, she felt at the time;
Though if she planted flowers, their bulbs are long since wizened away.

And the scraps of her silky embroidery thread
Lie scattered over the floor of the shed
Where their old belongings were once stored;
Rat and moth-eaten because after so many years
Nobody could figure out who should have what;
And some leftover blackened jars of canned vegetables and fruit
From extinct gardens and fruit orchards.

And underneath all that, ancient dust of their shoes
And pollen from long ago plants:
They, who still repose in their once-fine Sunday best
In the little walled-off lot at the back; no doubt happy
To be free at last, of the never ending work with the hands;
Complacent as forget-me-nots, in snug earthen pots,
Probably would be glad they can't see the weeds now.
Patti Masterman
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Poems By Poet Patti Masterman