Thursday, April 17, 2014

The World According To Carp

The World According To Carp

Twin fins waving below the surface said hello to no one.
He was First Fish. Friend Before Friends.
Elofin, to the Hebrew lung-beings spawned later, from

Wife.
Oh, praise the Serendiptous Waters wherein these met.
Rarer still, the temperature, that in seeming compliance
let them rub against each other for warmth. For it is said, 

Dripping icicles on land were all that fed the rivers then.

And we, as a result, were the first ever to exist, apart.
Cradled upon happenstance, we found ourselves to be
creatures.
Our ancestry thus, we modeled the imprint. Just as cold,
repeating the example given. 
Denying as the branches widened, our definite
incestuous beginnings. [Migration does wonders]!
Now we have varied, roamed to such an extent -- well,
gone are the days when we worried about such affinities.

To a fish, we do tend to stay within our species. Usually.
Occasionally there is a mishap, but producing no offspring.

Care is taken to tell only the right story to our progeny.
And that story is that the carp were the first on the scene.
Really, the unanswerable question comes from minnows.

Parents. Those first ones. From whom were they born?

-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2014 --

Saturday, April 12, 2014

Momentum

Momentum

There is a piece of it right there, I went on.
You kicked it a second time, A piece of what?
Sedimentary layers. [Cliffs stared in silence]

Remember when we were speaking, earlier?
The tan layers pre-date the pink. This sandstone

[I bent down] was here when dinosaurs roamed.

Stopping, turning to face me, I heard these words:
I can only correct you on one point [a gull circling]
It was only you speaking, I was but listening --

-- Is there ever a time when you cease to think?

The horizon shrank to your brow. Planets shifted.
Waves quieted, a thousand books snapping shut.

In the ultimate breach of decorum, you kissed me.
Oh, Every Deity invented since knuckles dragged.
I knew that you were more than anything learned.


- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2014 --

Saturday, April 05, 2014

David Asliver

David Asliver

I've never entertained the changing of my surname.
It would disrespect my father, and his, before him.
I would not do it. But if I had to, for some reason --
a hammock. The Pacific Ocean would come to mind.

Barefoot you swept the dew'ed grass with your toes.
Swayed to and fro as the waves rolled white on sand.
Naming constellations that were to me, a mystery.
Then, as your being focused upon it -- the moon.

You whispered, It is like a sliver in the hand of God.
...My first name means beloved, in Hebrew.
No need to change that, with your fiery gaze upon me.

The crescent of reflected sun in your wide open eyes.

But yes, any magistrate present, handing me a pen
in that moment would find me willfully taking it up.
Signing my new full name on any document --
David Asliver.


-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2014 --

The Checkup

The Checkup

My issue is with the last part of that word. Up.
No one goes to a doctor because they're feeling
too much healthy.
You want to know what is not how it should be.
He taps your knee, fondles you all over.

There is always that moment, cold stethoscope
on the chest --
when you're sure the next words spoken will be,
Get your will in order.
See, there is nothing at all "up" about that!

But I guess we do the same with our cars.
We take them in for a tune-up.
Thing is, now my complaint involves the first part.
Never once have I heard a nice song playing
as I reach for my credit card.


-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2014 --

Saturday, March 29, 2014

For Lack of a Keyhole

For Lack of a Keyhole

Surely, to be suffocated any place on Earth, in water,
or in one's own bed, lungs failing, would be catastrophic.
Medical science will tell you that no matter how you die,
lack of oxygen will always be the cause.

Heart attack. Aneurysm. Stroke. Alzheimer's. Car crash.
Crushed with a wall of concrete. All of it. Lack of oxygen.
Oxygen, of which normal air is only 21%. - Atmosphere
the equivalent of a swipe of varnish on a basketball.

Thanksgiving dinner. Too much turkey in the windpipe
when Uncle Louis tells the best joke you've ever heard.
Now he's doing your eulogy. I think of the astronaut.
Recently severed from the mother ship, and floating.

Here is someone wishing a shark would end it sooner.
He looks at his supply data. Four minutes to eternity.
The world receding at a clip. In those moments he recalls
a professor going on about Luther and his 95 Theses.

The Wittenberg door. How vitally important that was.
Right about now, the Wittenberg keyhole would be nice.
One nostril at a time. In that keyhole. Two minutes now.
He thinks of his wife. His two sons. The Earth is so blue.

… and then no one thinks for him. Only of him.


-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2014 --

Spoon River

Spoon River

Our equivalent of a clock, we agreed
When the wick of this candle is done
we will head out.

Sputtering in a pool of wax, we watched
Waited. Breath-baited.
Then… poof.

The moon complied, clouds clearing.
Clang of the screen door as we ran
undressing.

I flung myself from the pier, looking back.
You hung everything on the notch of a tree
diving in.

So many things in life are disconnected.
Some never seem to come together.
I swept my arms underwater --

Just as they met my thighs, I reached yours
in the shallows of Spoon River.
Kissed them, laced under the shining stars.


-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2014 --

Saturday, March 08, 2014

The Very Hereafter

The Very Hereafter

What if we selected a solemn tree, un-forested.
As unseen and untouched as possible.
Walked around the trunk a minimum of four times.
Fell to the ground and spoke our secretest words
into the ear of last year's leaves, palms down.
Traced the hinting of roots, sunken deep, hidden.
Sensing meanwhile, cloudbursts soaking bark
the moment we were born, thirsty for the sun.
A ring within capturing the urgency of our parents.

Believing! - as we circled this tree, that we beheld
the very hereafter.

Would we be dishonouring religion that preceded us?
Or the tree itself, which will outlive us, likewise.


-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2014 --

I Think My Cat Thinks













I Think My Cat Thinks

He is fully sleeping. REM. Everything.
I mean, zonked. Back turned to me.
I will look in his direction. An ear twitches.

No keys rattling. After a day's absence
I unlock the door to his urgent tenancy.

The plaintive mows [silent "e"] greet me.

We speak of geysers, and their faithfulness.
The one in Yellowstone has not met Kennedy.
It would turn into unheated porridge.

In his presence, I feel myself belov'ed.
And if animals, as some think, have no souls
I wonder if we, who presumably do, do.


-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2014 --

Saturday, March 01, 2014

Bars

Bars

There is that horror of being imprisoned.
And then there is you.
There is that fear of impossible regret.
A decision that cannot easily be reversed.

Bars: a word of such potential ambiguity.
Could refer to chocolate. A drinking spot.
A place where the ocean meets the sand.
An academic world, where lawyers study.

There is that horror of being imprisoned.
And then there is you.
The beauty. The bars of your arms.
Around me. The very opposite of capture.


-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2014 --

Saturday, January 25, 2014

Anthill

Anthill

On a school field trip to Cypress Hills I veered off from the group and did my own thing for a bit.
There was an anthill.
The activity around it, and one would assume, within, seemed quite in order.
So I kicked it.
Immediately, a frantic re-organization was apace. Much more carefully orchestrated than the activity of my own dawdling elementary-school friends, traipsing off to gather polliwogs or whatever was next on the agenda, the leader mumbling instructions --
Here at boot-level was a three-alarm disaster.
Very… localized.

Without even believing in anything, I felt like Satan, and bent low.
To examine my creation.
What could I even do about it? Jesus Christ.
There's going to be some needed re-building here.

A lot of decades have passed from then until now. Half an earthly lifetime.
But I cannot help but wonder… what if the believers are right?
What if everything started out pretty good, until some idiot came by, and all hell broke loose.


-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2014 --

Who Is Darker?

Who Is Darker?

Bright would have no meaning without sun.
Twist the blinds though -- slants appear.
Playing on the floor.
Shadow.
With no light overhead? -- impossible.
Everything is about angle. Emphasis.

So -- I do not discount our brightness.
It was all it should be, if not solar --
Definitely moonlike.
Tide-causing and wonderful.
The very stuff of poetry.

Guilty. I employed a friend of yours to ask it.
And from behind a wall, I listened.
With eyes closed -- the piercing truth, blinding.
This was noonday for me, darling.

You may quote Shakespeare's Et tu, Brute?
But I will be Guiderias:
Feare no more the heat o' th' Sun.

And before you squint again, or convulse --
Ask yourself, which of us -- who?

What is the answer, atop these words?


-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2014 --

Saturday, January 18, 2014

Rain Clouds

Rain Clouds

A lot of what we have been amounts to a downpour.
The unthought need of an umbrella. Cancelled games.
Wet socks. The fantasy of a fire in the place. Hot coffee.
A cat waking to stretch and catch us kissing. Fantasy.

If we are to speak in extremes - who dreams of deserts?
Unrelenting sun, and the last oasis just another mirage.
Camels panting. Rain means tomatoes in the sandwich.
I would not trade anything for the troubles we have had

-- with love.


-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2014 --

Thursday, January 09, 2014

To A Moth In Mexico

To A Moth In Mexico

The party dwindled, trickled, and last to leave
I walked to the top of a hillside gazebo alone.
Crickets, and the lower half of a moon aglow.

Waves crested down below, spilling on rocks
that heard them before the first ear on a head.
And a moth thought to fling itself on lamplight.

I watched it circle and flit. Drawn to anything
other than the night, I suppose. I wondered:
Is it the first time you have done this, Moth?

Do you find it disappointing that this Being...
this last resort of hope or promise of reward
proves in the end to be nothing more than
darkness illuminated? First night in the world?


-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2014 --

Saturday, December 28, 2013

Algorithms

Algorithms

I recall telling you the worst thing about me
feeling shriven when you never flinched
outwardly.

Such a difference between being shaken
and shook. You were the former, knowing
I would never do the latter.

Not to you.
Certain things we hear. Others, we hearken.
Love reaching a sum, via

algorithms.


-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2013 --

Monday, December 23, 2013

Vacancy @ Kitten Breasts Hotel

Vacancy @ Kitten Breasts Hotel

Do not lie to me.
You stared at the sign as long as I did.
We both turned the wheel into the parking lot.
Stranded otherwise, right? No others in sight?
VACANCY sign alight in red, and that was all that mattered.

Honestly, I was shocked to find a cat when I rang the office bell.
Jumped right onto the counter it did, and asked my name.
Even wanted our licence plate number.
And I retrieved the key to our room from a claw.
Do you recall our equal consternation when we got in there?

When we read the notice on the inside of the door?
Our young maids do not desire a tip. If you would tickle them a bit
about the mid-section as they roll around in the morning --
This will be enough. This will be plenty.
This will be more than adequate.


-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2013 --


Magazine

Magazine
 
In the world of homonyms I challenge you to find one grander than magazine.
Put that one down, and listen to me.
This guy has shot a bunch of people tonight and is out of bullets.
What does he do now? Reloads his magazine.

I have never felt softer feet than yours, just now tonight, on this couch.
There is something about the way you lay back and know it is going to happen.
You think it's relaxing. I think it's hot.
We click on CNN. Jesus Christ -- this guy should have been massaging someone.

-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2013 --

Sunday, December 22, 2013

Linked

Linked

I wonder if the word fused is linked to the word confused.
There was never a snowfall like that one, that December.
So we wore the shoes, the snowshoes.
We wanted to have a Canadian experience.

Leaving the warmth of a fully functioning vehicle. Warm.
Launching out into the who-knows-what.
Strapping on those tennis rackets, I looked at your 

unflinching face. Nothing but adventure there.

Miles silently above the drifts, we trod, flakes falling.
Were I to ask the question, I know what you would answer.
Did you ever see anything as wonderful as that lynx?
Neither have I. I have not.

But we do not speak to each other anymore.
And I cannot help but wonder on this empty empty night
if the word link is linked to the word lynx. Does
saving such a memory ruin all that might yet be -- savory?


-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2013 --

Thursday, December 19, 2013

Island of Reason

Island of Reason

There is this line between profligatry, sheer abandon,
wantonness, stupidity, clumsiness -- and reason.
There are as many excuses for skirts as there are men
wanting them shorter. One shouts out, Give me a woman
and I will take another.


That night I watched you dance it all to hell and beyond
with the pilgrim soul in you, intact. You had an anchor.
Every freckle of you calling me to that Island of Reason.
The place where foolishness hits a reef -- crosses the line.
Planting its flag.


-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2013 --

Saturday, November 30, 2013

Serendipity

Serendipity

When I first came across the word serendipity
in a novel, I started looking for it. Non sequitur.
One of those things you can't find, by looking.
But, last day of Farmer's Market, stiff with cold
I wandered the stalls, reaching for a basket.
Dusty blueberries.
What potent of Fate made you reach
as I did, for that very collection?

There is no answer to that question.
But others, other questions, do have answers.
What would a blueberry, bitten 'mid your lips
taste like, saliva-mingled?

I know the answer to that. I know now that the Earth
from a distance is still as blue, no matter the clouds.
You broke through everything in my atmosphere
that night, when we added the whipped cream.


 Ciprianowords, Inc. 2013 --

Stranded

Stranded

All this talk about cart-before-the-horse.
Everyone knows the phrase, and uses it.
All but the animal itself.
No one asks if he ever had better ideas.
Done properly or not, he ends up in front of it
every time.

It's true, I got to know your body long before
I knew much about your soul.
But welcome to modern times. In this world
we forget about oil changes. Driving.
Texting while we do it. No thought to the engine
-- until stranded at the roadside.


-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2013 --

Saturday, November 23, 2013

Designated Day

Designated Day

The furthest thing from my mind a year ago, [no, last month] -- was any thought associated with the idea that we would have to coordinate a time for my presence when you were absent. But such is the business of cohabitation, and its demise.
Resorting to others to manipulate that very window of untogetherness, I arrived to retrieve my stuff. Our [your?] cat greeted me, rubbing against my leg. 

Force of habit, I locked the door behind me, and knelt. Usually, his treats were in order -- so I went to the cupboard, where I found your note:
"Just get your things. And go."
In italics. No x's or o's behind it.
Slipping the key under the door when I was done, my eyes were closed.
And everything -- the hallway, my clothes, the suitcase you left open for me to put them in, the inside of my car, the clouds in the sky -- smelling like you.


-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2013 --

The Surfacing Book Club

The Surfacing Book Club

We read a lot. Past tense and present.
First person and third. Fiction and non.
-- Sounds crazy but it esn't.
We do seasonal things, for instance on

Hallowe'en, a scary book. Christmas,
some children's lit. Over 500 in the tank.
You may ask, Can I join it? Is this
an option?
No. [Two members to thank]

Some things are better left to a minimum.
We have more than enough discussion
between us. Kindred spirits. -- Umm…
No agenda. Quite a repertoire. No rushin'.


-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2013 --

Saturday, November 02, 2013

Halloween

Halloween

My memories of Halloween are of small-town nights.
Fear was entirely invented. It was only about candy.
The only chaperone was a distant dog barking --
 -- and you knew whose dog it was.

Time, inexorable as it is, sometimes changes things.
In this case, I think it sad to picture a parent curbside.
Foot-tapping while "Trick or Treat" is cried.
Have we evolved to this?

My God, we used to run from house to house, unfettered.
More abandon than any actual ghost could have mustered.

Midnight we'd gobble our treasures, frothy-mouthed. 
Laughing quietly, to not wake the sleeping down below.

-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2013 --

Whales Were Talking

Whales Were Talking

Who knows where dreams come from?
During last night's feature film, offstage me
was clutching a pillow -- probably sweating.
Eyes darting under the lids. Even in sleep,
trying to understand something.

Onstage, two gargantuan beasts floated.
The grace, like two candle flames in a world
where fire cannot live, swam.
I heard every strange oscillation, last night.
Only later, waking, did I interpret the message:

We expend our entire lives in an attempt
to stay as far away as possible
-- [pause]
from anything that is in need of -- [twirl…]
a geographically determined alphabet --
-- [dive] to communicate, one with another.


-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2013 --

Wednesday, October 30, 2013

Lonely, and Loneliness

Lonely, and Loneliness

Here is the distinction I make:
No - but first, some preamble:

There was this guy who did not have a lot of friends,
and no physical lover. Family is close, but far away.
He reads a lot, feeds a cat. Sometimes [and usually
it's a Sunday] - he wonders how far he is from talking
aloud, on the street. Not yet swallowing after-shave,
but thinking about the money he could save if he did.

There's another guy who travels a lot. Time away from
his wife and kid bothers him. Next year he will merit
an extra week of vacation, and will not need to apply
his own sun-tan lotion to his back. He misses her, but
his flight is at three. And he's bought a gift for his son.
Damn these extended conferences. Thank "G" 4 Skype!

Lonely.
And loneliness.

-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2013 --