Where Is Thy Sting

Where Is Thy Sting?

It’s appointed us all once to meet
With the brief earthly mover of spirit.
Though we listen, we seldom can hear it
So softly stalk death’s noiseless feet.

Yet, as stars that blink wide-eyed at night
Only seem to fade shut with the dawn…
We will glisten, though likewise pass on
From the earth to the Heavens, as bright.

(Hos.13:14 – Dan.12:3)

© Ciprianowords Inc. 2006

Soft-Boiled Eggs

Soft-Boiled Eggs

We love soft-boiled eggs.
All soft and all runny
All leaky and sunny
For breakfast for supper
With salt and with pupper.

We love them on toast.
At least one maybe three
And we tend to agree
That it really don’t matter
If the toast has much batter.

Please make us some more.
We have not had enough
Of soft-boiled-y stuff
And then me and my pals
Will dispose of the shalls.

© Ciprianowords Inc. 2006

A Demon Boasts

A Demon Boasts…

“Though I am faceless…

I kick you when you’re stumbling
shake your knees when walls are crumbling
I am your fear…
And I’m the ulcer doubting brings
second guessing thoughts and things
that you hold dear.

My claws have grasped you fresh
each time you’ve struggled in the flesh
I’ve been your strife…
You’re confused and cannot cope
for I’ve sapped you of your hope
and love of life.

In the face of all decision
I convince you that your vision
is too blurred…
And when you must make the choice
there in my vice, your stifled voice
is never heard.

And when life is most distressing
I will whisper that the blessing
won’t occur…
Yet I send you off in hurry
for I birth tomorrow’s worry
premature.

I’m the father of all lies…
When despair is in your eyes
I know you’re mine…
I’ve imprisoned you for years
and persuaded you through fears
to abandon the Divine

…for I am Faithless.”

© Ciprianowords Inc. 2006

Cavemirth

Cavemirth

If I could observe prehistoric cavepeople
The hunt would not interest me (stalking
A saber-tooth until it gets stuck between their teeth).

Nor would the scene where they copulate
In some drippy, echoing vault
And slurp primordial soup afterwards.

Spare me the Olympic-style trot
Toward the world’s first barbecue,
Lightning sticks held aloft.

Steer me instead, to the first joke.
Let me try to decipher a Neanderthal punchline.
Was it a pre-planned gag?
Or just a mastodon tripping over a log
As it stomped past the lounging knuckledraggers?

I want to see them fall off their rocks
Banging their shaggy heads in the dust,
Roaring in perfect English, and
Crying, it hurts so good.
I want to see the first kneeslapper.

© Ciprianowords Inc. 2006