Francis Masat:
After 36 years in academia in the Midwest and NJ, Francis lives in Key West with his wife Carol,
three cats, and a bike. His work appears in over 60 literary publications worldwide.
Below are three poems. Additional work can be found by following links provided at the end of this document.
"Empty" is one of the saddest
words I've come to know.
"Love" is one of the happiest
words I’ve come to know.
An empty flowerpot where colors died
still sat by the empty old porch.
A lovely flowerpot where colors lived
still sat by the lovely old porch.
The empty old house holds empty rooms.
A table still held an empty glass.
The lovely old house held lovely rooms.
A table still held a lovely glass.
An empty bed where passion died
still sat in the emptiest room.
A love filled bed where passion lived
still sat in the loveliest room.
"Empty" danced over the joys conceived
and now discarded from my heart forever.
"Love" danced over the joys conceived,
and now enshrined in my heart forever.
Copyright © 2007 Francis Masat
After rain, everything is brighter,
sharper - more intense. Leaves
appear as shimmering mosaics,
as rain cleanses each molecule
of yesterday's hubris and debris,
refreshing each color, hue and tint.
I often stare too long, hypnotized
by clarity of light, by mutating hues,
by the divine wonder of living color.
Textures become multi-dimensional -
sharpening depth and perspective
beyond mere paintings or photographs.
Greens and reds glow bright, vibrant,
inviting me to join them and participate
in their communion of immersion.
Leaves, stones and blooms all glisten
with a luminosity that transcends sight
and embeds itself deep within my being.
Copyright © 2007 Francis Masat
snaking smooth brown
past sandstone tableaus
distance turns the water
to sky-blue twinkling -
a pewter surface gliding
through black forests
on moonlit nights
forever used and discarded
to flow from place to place
tossing my waves and worth
beating myself to foam
on rocks and bars – so many
things swim on me – in me
pushing and pulling
in directions not my own
often I have raged on
unable to stop – or slow
dammed and channeled
I flow in fits and starts
welling up each spring
drifting in a summer dream
carrying the burdens of fall
rolling under ice and snow
I yearn to flow free
of banks and berms
to seek new horizons
to cover with my mantel
to soak the very heaven
that gives me strength
Copyright © 2007 Francis Masat
Links:
Francis Masat:
After 36 years in academia in the Midwest and NJ, Francis lives in Key West with his wife Carol,
three cats, and a bike. His work appears in over 60 literary publications worldwide.
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