Patti Masterman Poems

A world ago
I learned baby steps across the snow
Built sand ladies lying in sculpted rows
Upon the beach. Learned my private lessons well
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In the field there grow lovely flowers,
Growing beauty, for the world to see.
But a gardener soon comes to cut them;
An arrangement in futility.
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I miss the farm that I never had-
Apple blossoms on the old homestead,
With leaning barns and placid cows,
And home-stitched quilt, on my brass bed.
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I am but dust and ashes;
Dust of whirled dust, and ashes from wasted worlds.
Dead universes of dusty relics, the dust shook down
From the first creatures footsteps, from a bird's dust bath,
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Wars are null, void rejections of humanity;
Nondisclosure of pain, irregardless of censure-
The missiles fired, from many miles away
Don't have to see, what agony has to say..
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The world is zero, nada, zilch:
For everything cancels out the other;
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It wounds the Earth
To bury a fallen soldier;
His strong, loving hands,
His laughter forever sobered.
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Because the rain orders the day,
And because the water orders the rain
To and fro; do not be disenchanted
If by rain's marching and water's routing,
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Don't the dead have boring days,
Dull plans; they're in a haze,
Halitosis, their eyes are glazed.
Instead of moving, they just laze.
...