Patti Masterman Poems

life looms the original abstract questions into our existence,
then paints absurd drunken canvases on demand-
so that the subject of the experiment imagines
that the film is devoid of symbolic passions.
...

imagine the concrete aesthetic;
miasma of an abstract dream,
as monument to genius:
how we balance our absurd passions
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if some electric joy could paint us
here in the vivid shards of wasted glass,
or create a beauty that's never been drunk
we'd question our surreal imaginations,
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the moon rose plays at loving
the sea rings with a fantasy song
under the depths I was drunk on your love
wine of a warm, sweet passion through which
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everyone carries their own legend inside,
their mythos of how the world was saved, only within them;
within their abiding presence, that cured the deficiencies,
and because, having lived them out one by one, that through them
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a random counterfeit of sweet dreams
leads to the tangent coupling;
thus feeding a voracious hunger
that kills the seed of its plant early.
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Life doesn't determine randomly everything that happens to us
There is a sanctuary, far past the outer spaces we can barely detect
Past the galaxies and the far flung quasars
There's a long hallway where the sounds fade away
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So sad to wound your lover
To see the eyes look down-
As though the heart had dropped
Away, upon the ground
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I wonder if forlorn angels watch from heaven,
Secretly coveting our indecipherable ways,
Our leaps of faith and vagrancies of reason
Stumbling hope which buttresses our days.
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Every instant a new miracle occurs:
The sunlight takes eight minutes to arrive,
Melting the straggling moonbeams at the edge of daybreak,
Replacing them with dazzling many-coloured waves.
...