Patti Masterman Poems

The passion grows, hurrying you along faster now
as mad as a derelict muse, whispering impossible things
through the many, weeping pinpricks of a day.
...

When a flower dreams of heaven,
It goes where we cannot go;
The blooms by rain clouds leavened,
Where the fiercest winds can't blow
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The revolutionaries say they want a second chance-
but their heads are off at the necks-
and you know how those types like to lie.
...

While the star-clocks were whirling
The icebergs got intimate
With the oceans blue eyes.
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I want to be your ink blot
So I can read your mind;
I'll be in every smudged thought
Behind your window blinds.
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The nomenclature of clouds is redundant.
How futile to name something, that wells up like the exhaust
Of a giant earth's breathing; each one as different as the day itself;
As a snowflake, or a memory completely surrounded by a hurricane;
...

consonant memories travel superstition's highway;
their rhythms trembling in holy delirium
where the fleshly ghost wears eternities rags,
dancing away time, on insanity's altars.
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Hands know love-
Clasped in beloveds hands; tight enough
Lips know love-
When the hungry other takes them; almost rough
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Now that you are gone
I can tell you about some things.
Now that you're no longer here,
I realized that I missed your card playing
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The darkest winter lives in the heart
And pale are the fires, on dread winter's hearth;
Cold is the welcoming, cold is the blast,
Cold is the future, fresh from the past.
...