Patti Masterman Poems

There are some rooms from childhood
That I still freely roam;
Though to some, the doors are locked-
And they are not quite whole.
...

We flew round the clouds, we really flew,
We circled the clouds, like we owned them;
We pawned some hours, left lying around-
Soon as we could unground them.
...

Your presence is a benediction,
That Time thought of you, here-
And Space is not allowed one word
To move you, far or near.
...

My yard a palace is
Of stately column'd trees,
And hallways, grandiose-
There are no ones, like these.
...

The world is prosaic archaic algebraic
Photovoltaic
through its looking-glass eye
...

The people of the vent
Are rude and never clear,
Their voices mask confusion
Although the coast looks clear.
...

The moon's pockmarked-
But it's in my dreams,
Deeply etched, though invisibly.
...

I try to stay out of dangerous situations
Because I'm afraid of that voice, the one that stays silent too long,
Like a hidden snake, until the perfect moment comes along;
Like when you are standing 69 stories up, on a rooftop
...

Age keeps its withered fingers
Hovering over the crown of your head,
While October runs away like
Retrievers scenting a fox, somewhere
...

I try to put my fingers on time
But the clock keeps on ticking-
Oh delicious mystery,
Where do you keep the keys?
...