Poetry is the Divine Part of Man

Poetry haters love to make fun of the touchy-feely stuff
as though that defined who or what poetry is.

Poetry is the last time the sun gets reflected
in somebody's eyes, when they're saying goodbye-
maybe for forever.

And it's that first dropp of rain, touches the new brides veil,
blesses her; as she's lifting it off her face
for the first time, after being kissed in the marriage ceremony.

And poetry might be that bubble,
over the sink.. keeps floating away, fully intact;
even though all the laws of physics and gravity may be saying
it ought not be able to go on existing;

And poetry in motion
is a baby, trying to walk and falling down
again and again;
refusing to give up, surrender

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poem by Patti Masterman
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In the Eyes of My Mother and Grandmother

In the eyes of my mother and grandmother
There lived a limpid green coolness:
Moss covered stones, around an ancient well;
Trailing vines entangled about the cenote's mouth;
Scrawled incantations on antique wooden chests
Their treasures concealed in endless green canyons of agate.

At day's end, the same gleaming, green elixir;
I could float on it's pale peridot waves
Or fully immerse myself there, in fright's flight or languor's ease,
Could submerge myself as the beloved, of those intelligent green rays
Ever visible, through the leafy canopy of daily living,
An emerald sky always smiling down from above.

After I saw their green lamps slowly grow dim;
Then extinguish themselves, I could no longer hide myself there:
Their embracing foliage retreated, withdrew
From where the last light had left, as if it had moved too far
To be visible from where it had always shone, before;
Only to save myself then, I ran whimpering away:

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poem by Patti Masterman
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Remembering the Ring

Mother died in the bed in the small, single hospital room
Beside one tall window which revealed
More concrete windowless walls, opposite an asphalt ravine
Where sometimes perhaps, ambulances
Pick up the newly deceased.

She died with that ring on her finger:
Nobody had taken it off; the pseudo wedding ring
Because her rings had become much too large
For her thin and bony, but still oddly elegant hands.
Out in the hall that night, at the most inopportune moment

I remembered the ring; but I could not
No- would not, attempt to take it off
Her poor, forever stilled finger; nor could I go back into that room.
Something in me was repulsed at the idea,
To remove jewelry from the dead

Even if still warm, and full of the thickening blood
Which had always loved me;

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poem by Patti Masterman
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Only The Fake Blood Seems Real

humans have a lot in common with other humans humans bleed
quite a lot I think at the cinema humans have gallons of blood to bleed out in the dying scenes on the theater screens all the flowing
red swims before our eyes till we've grown dizzy and have to get up
and stumble outside then out into the streets grown maroon with living death our triumphant red blood stronger than iron magnets stronger
than ten men blood coating the gutters and storm drains of the city I wonder why we even bother going to the movies anymore? humans have a lot in common with other humans humans bleed with other humans humans bleed quite a lot I think at the cinema humans
have gallons of blood to bleed out bleed out in the dying scenes on the theater screens all the flowing red red swims before our eyes till we’ve grown dizzy dizzy have to get up and stumble outside then out in the streets grown maroon maroon with living death our triumphant red red blood blood stronger than iron magnets stronger than ten men coating the gutters and storm drains of the city I wonder why we even bother going to the movies anymore? humans have a lot in common with other humans humans bleed bleed bleed out in dying scenes on the theater screens all the flowing flowing flowing red blood red red blood
stronger than iron magnets stronger than ten men blood coating the gutters and storm drains of the city I wonder why we even bother going to the movies anymore? humans have lot in common other humans bleed bleed bleed bleed a lot humans gallons of blood blood blood blood to bleed out bleed bleed out in dying dying scenes on screens all the flowing flowing flowing flowing red red red red swims swims dizzy dizzy stumble streets maroon maroon maroon death death death death red red red blood blood blood blood blood drains why bother?

poem by Patti Masterman
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Of Cliques and Monopoly

Doesn't everyone have to forgive themselves
For the half-formed, maladaptive masks
They once wore in youth? In school, I lived for years
Underneath a knitted navy blue cape
All through junior high, worn daily
To disguise newly sprouted breasts
And complementary curves in other places
They must have wondered then
If I had any arms at all, under there?
It was a teenage security blanket extraordinaire
Thank god, the cape finally gave way
Before high school, under it's relentless use.

By high school, I wanted to defy being labeled
Terrified of belonging to one particular sub-group
I lived in a shades-of-blue uniform all year;
Steel blue shirts, navy pants
No bright yelling colors, no makeup..
No school uniform could have been stricter-
I defied both convention and classification

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poem by Patti Masterman
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