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Poems By Poet Patti Masterman  10/31/2014 7:20:39 PM
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We Love a Mystery

We love a mystery-
The hard to get person,
The impossible to possess:
Makes you work, for every second of eye contact;
Any hint of camaraderie, is like the holy grail,
Now within our very sights.
How richly rewarded we feel then,
To get a moment of that attention, bestowed only upon us.
While we have scarcely any energy left over at all,
For even an eyebrow's lift
For our own fawning adorers; busy hanging on our every word,
Their self-sacrificial love for us like a contaminant,
That we just can't abide much more of.
And the fact that they would choose us, above all others
Just makes them that much more sketchy-
Who would choose us over anything?
For we know only too well, our own worth;
There are no mirrors left in our houses,
We go out daily, our hair sticking out,
Food stuck between our teeth, toilet paper tails following behind us-
Stop staring at us with all that seedy worship in your eyes;
It's like a stake being driven slowly through our lives.
Patti Masterman



We must not be sad

We must not be sad to part ways,
Under an ancient moon
Where the glistening waterways move,
And the owl and the nighthawk listen.

With trees that reach out with their branches,
Caressed by a tender breeze,
As softly the amber gloom seizes
The forest that dreams of the moon.

Many oceans are dreamed up by lovers,
Many heavens too soon lost to time;
This ancient love lives on in rhyme, now
And I have many hours yet to give.
Patti Masterman



We Never Sang, We Never Danced

We never sang, we never danced
As some did; every night and morning without fail
We recalled, the world's an automaton-
And earthly pleasures must pale.

We never looked for the rarer sunrise,
We never laid the stars to sleep;
For we knew the world as traitor,
Where all the joys soon weep.

We never sang, we never danced
As some did; we stored the best treasure for days
That darkness had won all the battles-
And none at our feet, wreathes lay.
Patti Masterman



We practice it in our sleep

We practice it in our sleep,
That final flight into the ether-
The one from which we will never come back.

We're riding high, on the cresting wave of moonlight
Sceaming past fires of flaming suns
Far into the cauldron of multicolored night.

The slip-knot of time slows down
Long enough to drag our cocooned soul
Into the nearest sphincter of a wormhole.

Who could have guessed
That darkness would be the bone-marrow
Of so many subtle and exotic hues.

Racing through veils of blown out stars,
We pierce the raving annihilation of space
Weaving to and fro, through the comet trails.

Our voices still many light years behind us,
Stretching out, in the neural photonics of joy-
Only the echoes return, by morning.
Patti Masterman
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Poems By Poet Patti Masterman