Patti Masterman Poems

In dreams we go
To places of the mind
Where we have never been
What do we hope to find?
...

Could you have lived?
No, doubtless you could not
Why then must you go on dying complacently
Resurrected each day but hardly alive
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Dollie was one of eight children
Born in the early part of the twentieth century
I met Dollie only through stories
Dollie as a child had taken sick
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Ghostly dreams, our portal to the other land:
Over the lowlands, our eyes follow the monstrous creature,
Knowing not the laws holding the measure of his being.
Built from remnants of earth, does he appear;
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In holy awe, victorious ever,
Killing demons no man can comprehend;
Precious dear vision, alone truth atones.
Holy the relic, such divine homily
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Dancers dance on unvarnished floor
Teardrops cluster on unfinished ledge
All the lacquer in the world can't conceal
Black mold clinging at the edges of silence
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Where do you go, so far away?
Rocket ships can't get there from here
No winged creature could follow that track
There's something in the eyes that chills
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If you look closely enough
You can see the white bones of the magnetic poetry
Sticking out beneath my trousers; I wanted to write poetry
But I followed too many rules, and I rhymed
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During bright hours of the day's perfect reason
We pay our dues, with studied politeness
To debts of logic: But after dark things are different
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Play me
Stradivarius heart
Double jointed variations
Solitudes of depravity
...