Patti Masterman


How The World Engraves Itself Upon Our Being


I do not know how one writes poetry
or how bright stars shine only at night-
Although there are theories to be found, in certain writings
that say stars may be seen in the bottoms of the deepest wells
during daytime- if one stares long enough, without blinking.

I do not understand how the sea
may be heard in a conch shell one has stolen
from the bosom of the ocean,
however I have seen children, listening patiently at the open end;
And also, I do not understand how pearls may arise
in some hidden place, simply from an irritation.

They say the earth is round, not flat-
though I have found only the flat parts, in all my wanderings.
Still, I feel sure there is poetry enough left over in the world
that stars and wells and seashells-
And even the occasional irritant-
can write their story in the sky, the sea,
and in granite and oyster-shell, leaving it safe there
so that our children's children, and even their children, after them
can someday find and read again old tales, reborn.

Submitted: Sunday, May 06, 2012
Edited: Monday, May 07, 2012

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Comments about this poem (How The World Engraves Itself Upon Our Being by Patti Masterman )

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  • Smoky Hoss (5/17/2012 4:16:00 PM)

    You have touched, even entered into, Something here that is deeper than all the worlds waters, a place beyond time. Fantastic poetry, absolutely so. Whatever otherness that flows through nature to create such wonders must surely also flow through your spirit. (Report) Reply

  • Captain Cur (5/16/2012 9:20:00 PM)

    Our poetry is written so our children' children may learn the old tales,
    we will light the stars at noon, our words fill the depths of the ocean,
    become as valuable as the pearl and irritate my muse who is yelling to
    me to bring another her another jigger of rum. Loved the poem, Patti. (Report) Reply

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