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Poems By Poet Patti Masterman  8/22/2014 6:46:42 AM
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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



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



Cinderella Limericks

Cinderella was a good girl who went with the flow;
When the clock struck twelve, she knew she must go,
As she followed the good godmothers advice
And she never even had to think twice:
'Don't stay out after midnight, or you'll turn to a Ho.'

Cinderella got kissed by the prince;
There was magic involved, before the kiss:
A pumpkin became a coach
And a cigarette, a roach
And then this whiskey turned into piss.
Patti Masterman



Colors on a Butterfly's Wing

It's an untaught art and solo maneuver
Time elapsed auto ejection,
Parachuting us upwards:
Everyone on the planet knows how to die.
The breathing slows down, in opposition
To childbirth's heavy panting,
The lovers ragged gasping.
Like trained sprinters, we know by instinct
When to slow the pulse
Like yogis on the nail bed
When to stop moving, stop reacting
Our irises, black camera shutters opening
On that other vista as, newly born
We unfurl at the other end
Of the silver cord
Unfettered there
No longer dashing our foot
Casting off the old receptacle
We stretch, push and pull ourselves into
Previously exotic dimensions.
Everyone knows instinctively
How to slip out the birth canal
And how to slip the bands of body.
In our genetic makeup lies the DNA
For all the colors on a butterflies wing
And perhaps for the secret of flight
Once we leave the chrysalis behind.
Patti Masterman
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Poems By Poet Patti Masterman