Lottery

Lottery

I learned what the word “arrondissement” meant
And found Nice to be really quite nice.
Merchants, they fought for the money I spent.
I laughed and enjoyed a Seine boat tour thrice.

In Dublin I drank at the Ay! There’s The Rub,
Stayed a month at a place called Rooms Plenty.
I stumbled a lot between there and the pub
Where I wrote chapters sixteen to twenty.

Muse-driven I wandered through country and clime
No bells, no alarms, not one day.
And reveling thus in unboundaried time
Lust-drenched in Madrid I spent May.

Next, [assuaging myself of such adult thrill]
I fulfilled the pure dream of a child.
And that child was me, for I flew to Brazil
And saw toucans in trees, in the wild.

The rest of year one I travelled and learned,
Losing track of my islands of bliss.
I followed the sun where it warmestly burned
And all in year one, just year one, I did this.

Yes, freedom has come in the wake of the Lotto.
Did I write my damn book? Not nearly!
But my hope is alive in the following motto,
“Repeat the above until dead, and yearly!”

© Ciprianowords Inc. 2006

Living On Fourteen

Living on Fourteen

I am convinced of it.
Something adrift in communal laundry-room air
spawns the philosopher / political strategist / polemicist
in folks that are elsewhere, none of the above.

Today, two graying hens, churning more froth
than a chorusline of Maytag agitators
reminded me that in this room
we know everything.

Religion, Louise, has always been a primitive response
to the deeper, intrinsic need for superstition in mankind.
I thoroughly agree, Myrtle, and I am exceedingly glad
that both propensities have gone the way of the dinosaur.

My basket of warm towels in tow, I faintly smiled
and entered the elevator for my minute of ascent.
Reaching my own floor, I stepped out and, still smiling,
walked the length of what is really the thirteenth.

© Ciprianowords Inc. 2006

Finally Forgotten

Finally Forgotten

A cool wind followed me home today
A golden autumn breeze
That chattered in the trees
And scattered fallen leaves
Like kids at play… in the wind.

And with something new to say
The wind whispered an old word
And past memories were stirred
Till at last, as if unheard
They flew away… in the wind.

© Ciprianowords Inc. 2006

Toucan

Toucan

Blue-rimmed eyes and black dress.
You were lunching. For the life of me
it looked like croutons
you were munching. Mixed with fruit.
Silent and beautiful. Wondrous,
the distance you tossed dinner
to your throat. So long
you had me staring.

Does it flatter you to know,
that after all these years,
I still remember
what you were wearing?

© Ciprianowords Inc. 2006

Devastation

Devastation

The hardening is deliberate and cruel,
as is all that will come thereafter.
The only consolation being that so many,
so very many others, share the same fate.

The heat, the sweat, the pain.
Left and right, succumbing to the pressure,
those known to you perish.
Blown apart, ripped open, left white
in shock. Naked guts torn inside out.
A mushroom cloud of exposed flesh,
shards of skeleton clinging to the core.

Throw these now (still exhaling steam)
to the gaping maw, to be mashed to pulp
and lowered into hot acid.
Ground in the mingled bile and bones
of comrades, and finally
rammed the length of a cold hard pipe
into a rotting cesspool…

where there is nothing,
nothing more devastated
than popcorn.

© Ciprianowords Inc. 2006

The Divine Afflatus

The Divine Afflatus

Ye lads, I hereby declare that it was very like a swoon
and as unlike common reverie as would a spaniel
‘gainst a hen both be judged poultry. Furthermore,
were it not that I pricked my thumb unto blood
in the reaching for the quill in its pot, surely
I would have fainted dead before a word.

But such as ye read went down, black upon white,
forewarning, cognizance, and derivation to the four winds.
Yea, as it were, effusions, entirely absent of plan
and so far ahead of pen that I ran to keep pace,
fell out just as ye see here, crumpled before ye.
Thus, stumbling headlong I managed a mere scribbling
as Calliope (for she threw her name behind her)
advanced, and in fact, vanished, as it were.

And so, let us raise our tankards my fellows,
in a toast to those who understand my verse.
And ye others, complain not to me, but thirst,
and blame ye the gods.

© Ciprianowords Inc. 2006

regret

regret

poor fish
gasping for water
not meant to be out here in the sun
hearing this gibberish (others so happy about your mistake).

poor fish
gills flaring… hoping.
are you thinking of the damn hook?
one eye in the dirt, one in the blue, blue sky.
you flip, you toss, but ah, the wrong way
up the bank and down, down (laughter)
dirtier now for all the effort
a bit further from your cool home
and more dead.

ah fish
i too have gasped like this.

© Ciprianowords Inc. 2006