Patti Masterman Poems

“This is a subtle art, ” says she;
Her old eyes gleam with secrets rare.
“It’s not the boiling cauld, you see,
That puts the magic in the air.
...

I used to like a drink of drink;
Of fermented grain, and hops, I think
It looked like beer; but tasted great
But my hand was killed by fate:
...

The ancient Persians had a saying
About the body being formed by certain
Elements forced to cooperate as a whole
That together formed the body;
...

Visiting with friends, I spied the paintings
On the walls; every room I chanced upon
Even in the bathroom, was hung a still-life:
Flowers from a clay-fired vase, that hung.
...

When I read all those poems of languishing,
I begin to imagine they were written about me,
by your many facets, your multiples
frames of mind, in tiny deceits of tenacious manipulations..
...

When you dance, the earth's ghost
Moves sublimely through your body,
Sine-waves twist in continental drift
And the suns rays noiseless behind.
...

I don't look too close now,
So I won't see what's missing;
Or what was never there,
Don't want to catch myself waiting
...

In a sky too far,
A new angel sings-
She's gone from here;
She's earned her wings.
...

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.
...