Her Lips

Her Lips

She was the first person who loved me that did not
bother me. Before ever meeting her lips, my own
existed to do just that. To touch hers.
Not so much kiss, per se. But to touch.

But in touching, a dictionary opened,
and an aged Oxonian, smiling, dipped his pen in ink.
Laughing, he revised a former statement.
It had said, ”to touch with the lips as a sign of love.”

He stroked this out and looked at a wall.
On that wall a scene of an afternoon picnic unfurled.
Barley waving, aspens whispering, a robin hopping,
and a step from a cliff. On his page, with conviction,
he wrote – “undefinable”.

© Ciprianowords Inc. 2009

The Deal

The Deal

Long before we knew what the deal was
we made a deal. Usually two lawyers will be
at each other’s jugular. But there we were,
occasionally - it felt this way -- looking over
at a bewildered jury, arguing the same point.
No-one more vigorous in agreement, than us.
Where is the litigant? What is this about, then?

It’s about something more people should be
shouting about, you railed. I stood, Objection,
your honor, I would say what she said [pointing]
but would jump up and down while doing so!
Sustained, said the venerable old goat.
Did you see me wink [at you?] Did the jurors?
And I gave up my gardening for this? thought one.

True enough, our day in court was a big farce,
the epitome of a mistrial. Mostly for not existing.
At The Pier, dangling our feet in the water, we
agreed on a promise, vowing never to forget
who we were to ourselves, and to each other.
And we kept that promise, not shaking on it.
Just looking into the sunset. That was the deal.

© Ciprianowords Inc. 2009

Drummers

Drummers

To believe in a different set of principles.
We say one person is marching this way
and another, that. The while, our self
lockstep with everywhere it has been,
ever seeing all it has seen, walks.

What does the person distant hear?
Too often mere rumble, echoing
through the trees or against the walls.
As rhythmic as anything they’ve beaten,
surety travels. Conviction and loyalty --
Discord, reeking of tribe.

If civilization means a thing, it involves a
heart loving harmony. An ear hearing
that it cannot produce sound. A mind
knowing that all are equally wrong.
Drummers drumming, not in a different way,
but in an other way.

© Ciprianowords Inc. 2009

Hopping

Hopping

Somehow we found the place, two immigrants,
a scrawled address, and a "Canadian" cabbie.
Fellow immigrant, all similarity ending there.
And the weather. What sadistic deity approved
of this temperature? Yes, yes, that’s the place.

Crumpling that piece of paper, I settled the fare.
The night took us, and with a slamming door, we
ran toward a promise of warmth, glove on glove.
Everyone was there. Two empty chairs we filled,
cold-rumped and laughing. I unwound your scarf.

Telling the waitress your favorite, then mine, I
turned to see you kissing Jill, in greeting. And
something I know not what, told me, that instant,
that I had never seen anything more lovely than
your five skipping hops, to my one stride, tonight.

© Ciprianowords Inc. 2009

The Hunny Jar

The Hunny Jar

The hunny jar had only so much of an aperture.
Wasn’t made for big heavy paws.
So here was this bear whimpering –
and for all I am worth, I swear, a piglet
elbow-deep in the jar.

They spoke to each other, but my heart
drowned them out, and not in fear.
This bear had a red demi-shirt on.
And he was curling his toes, his paws,
as the piglet-thing squeaked and laughed.

Drawing forth a hooflet, the bear’s tongue
lashed out, in a murmur of delight.
You tickle, you tickle, the piglet falling
from the tree stump giggled, and
unbelieving, I stumbled into the bracken.

Bear and pig froze, wide-eyed, as I crouched,
holding my breath, and a dollop fell, uneaten.
Could it be, do you suppose, one of the humans?
whispered the bear. The pig was silent,
but his eyes. Oh, how his eyes changed.

© Ciprianowords Inc. 2009