This Bliss

This Bliss

What is the swirling snow?
I laugh.
I have nowhere to be, nowhere to go.
She will hand me the sloeberry wine.
We will talk.
And nestle, together.
Our pooch, his name is Found, sneezes, yonder.
She gets up to let him out, he wants out.
I watch her.
What did I do, to deserve her, and this?
This bliss.
"Go. Scoot. Second thoughts?"
He looks back at me.
"I think you want the outdoors, Found," I say.
He leaves.
She returns.
And I have never been,
More indoors.
This bliss.

© Ciprianowords Inc. 2007

Marooned

Marooned

Having thoroughly rejected society
I assure you, I’ll be fine. But
I’ll need my PowerBook G4.

Fly over me in a plane now and then.
Drop down fresh novels. And
My Harpers.
A microwave would be nice. And
A generator, I guess. Satellite phone.
Batteries. Salt.
Coffee [Turkish-ground], honey, pickles.
Binoculars, a skillet, a pot. And
Matches by the carton.
Deodorant, mayonnaise… My God!
Beer!
An axe, three blankets and a gun.
A flashlight.
Cayenne pepper and Tylenol. Pizza?

I assure you. I’ll be fine.
Wait, one more thing. You know
Those little sausage deals?
Wrapped in dough?

© Ciprianowords Inc. 2007

Things We Say

Things We Say

No two snowflakes are the same.
But how do we test for this?
Imagine how many there have been.
Has someone caught them all?

Perhaps one, clinging to the window
Melts, just as its soulmate arrives.
Or another, landing on fall’s last leaf
Shivers beside its twin, unseen.

Who knows? Yet we do say it.
No two have ever fallen,
Alike. Unique, we are told.
And so we repeat, and trust.

No two snowflakes are the same.
I am in love with you.

© Ciprianowords Inc. 2007

Letting Go

Letting Go

With one eye she watches... her hands in the water;
Just who is this boy? Is he good for my daughter?
She grabs for the towel, these dishes can wait;
She's got to find out now, before it's too late.

They get up to leave as she enters the room
And she begs them to stay just a moment or two;
She's asking "intentions", he's missing a movie
And a young woman's eyes say "Mom, don't do this to me..."

Am I caring or jealous? Am I holding too tight?
Just two of the questions she'd wonder all night...
And would it be easier if he was still here?
(For her husband had left her in June of last year).

With one eye she steals a last glimpse through the curtain...
Just who is this boy? A mom never is certain;
And as they pull away, there's just two things to know...
She's alone again tonight, and it's hard to let go.

© Ciprianowords Inc. 2007

To The Reader

To The Reader

I haven’t a clue
Who I’m speaking to
Nor concern
Where these verses are leading.
But it’s worthy to mention
And draw your attention
To the fact
That you seem to keep reading.

Though we’ve never met
Nor spoken as yet
I believe
You will soon get the gist;
That whether you know it
Or not, I’m a poet
And literal
Ventriloquist.

From my fingertips
Without moving my lips
I convey
What I want you to hear;
As they say “It’s your dime”
And I’m spending your time
Just to brag
On myself in your ear.

You’ve really no choice
For I’ve taken your voice;
To read on
Is to listen to me…
There’s power in the poet
Like a hand in your throat
That swallows
The words that you see.

Does it leave you offended?
Your pride’s been upended;
We’ll never
Sip tea and be chummy…
But, with me that’s all good,
Drinking ruins the wood;
And I’ll need you again
…as the dummy.

© Ciprianowords Inc. 2007

All We, Like Actors...

All We, Like Actors...

God,
honoring our freedom to ignore Him
slips quietly backstage,
and while the play goes on
marvels at how often the actors
flub their lines…
chuckles… even applauds
the surprising ad-libs, but
by curtainfall is disappointed
to have overheard how badly
(how unprofessionally and needlessly)
so many things in the script
had been
re-written.

© Ciprianowords Inc. 2007