The Firmament

The Firmament

Gold was too brassy; green was too grassy,
and yellow, it seemed a bit bright.
Brown was too muddy; red was too bloody,
and black was reserved for the night.

Purple too bruised, and pink overused,
and orange gave a shout much too loud;
Silver too wild, yet grey was too mild,
and white had a fight with a cloud.

Such was the view at this contest of hue
on the day that the sky should appear;
In the Artist’s opinion, these had no dominion
nor claim to the earth’s atmosphere.

While colors unloving were pushing and shoving
the fairest of all seemed to hide.
With heaven undone, there was only this one
timid shade that had yet to be tried.

When at the last second, by name he was beckoned
toward him the Arm was extended…
And with blue on the brush, even red seemed to blush
and admit that the contest had ended.

For unlike the others, this gentlest of colors
worked softly, without a commotion.
All chaos had fled, as the canopy spread
like a sheet that had mirrored the ocean…

And down on the ground all creation was bound
to direct its attention above…
Where was seen to unroll, clear as words on a scroll
a message, the essence of Love.

As each azure sweep shed its light on the deep
it brought dolphins to surface beholding;
And hillsides were rife with a newness of life
and meadows with crocus’ unfolding.

Now was heaven absorbed, and the earth fully orbed
with a glow only night would diminish;
The masterpiece framed, the Artist proclaimed
“There can be no applause till I finish…”

For now to the sand, He would put forth His Hand
to create that which would give Him praise;
He said, “Adam, it’s blue… and I give it to you
to remember Me all of your days.”

And man, it is said, fell down as though dead
of God so profoundly aware;
The first night he slept, and in loneliness wept
and waking, he found woman there.

In their gardening they, did not always obey
but believing His promises true;
When in need of His love, they would look up above
and read what He’d written in blue.

© Ciprianowords Inc. 2006

To All Slugs In The Grass

To All Slugs In The Grass

My gardening debut will be on morrow morn
when this field and thy home shall together be shorn.
At seven precise, while dew on the grass
still glistens, my rotors will merciless pass;
And if you would escape the unfeeling blade
where ‘tween lawn and slug no distinction is made,
Then heed thou this edict, my slippery friends
for on vacancy then your existence depends…

And publish it wide, from Slug King to Slug Peasant
that shunning advice would be naught but unpleasant.
Be blessed, I have oft been acquainted with pain
and I have no desire to render thee twain,
As groundsmen before me who came without warning
and clogged up their mowers with thee in the morning.
Now leave slimy trails, and freedom pursue;
Make haste, lest at seven, thou be snipped in two…

And forgive in advance my disturbing your sod.
I pray for thy safety, commit thee to God
Who alone knows I have no intention to kill…
and as for my own soul, I pray that I will
Receive His forgiveness, if any be torn.
Now “Away, get thee hence!” and with these words I warn.

© Ciprianowords Inc. 2006

To Catch A Cat

To Catch A Cat

The cooperative ones are so adorable.
Unlike those that squint at the groping hand
in the darkness.
Staying one step ahead of your best effort
to touch them, pet them,
love them.

Masters of elusion, these will be as content
to receive your worship from behind the sofa
as when in your arms.

Don’t be like that cat, he keeps telling himself.
Would it be so bad to be caught?
Try trusting.
Would you not die nine deaths to just purr
for a reason not your own?

The sentiment is within reach, but the results
stay one step ahead of his best effort.
The work is hard.
The whole process as maddening
as trying to catch a cat
that does not need him.

© Ciprianowords Inc. 2006