Lamps

Lamps

Everything is in the pointing I mean this way
and that without one damn for you one damn
Concern for where you were Point over there
so they can see something else A wrench in
the neck Re-direction You do it because you
must And it hurts and you burn and give light
Kick with your tail to get out of that socket
Cause diversions to unscrew yourself Anything
to tell someone you never ever were the lamp
I am the bulb I always have been I am the b--

-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2013 --

Atlanta Nights

Atlanta Nights

The days were nice, too. But the nights.
There is a thing about an Atlanta night.
The moon itself [there in the branches]
keeps you talking until morning's birds
chirp you to sleep.
Trust me. There's always an unfinished
topic to be sewn up, on an Atlanta night.

-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2013 --

Fragrant Shampoo

Fragrant Shampoo

It was not one of our nights together.
I kissed her goodbye, breathing perfume.
My thoughts, squintier than my eyes, never
said a word, but the mind did assume --
 
things that are wrong. Deader than bone.
Like broken glass in a certain slant of sun
will ignite what has no heat of its own
suspicion gave vent to the one

question I should have never asked her.
You're seeing someone else? Tell me who.
Wrong sentences altogether. And we were
never the same since. It was shampoo.

-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2013 --

Gravitas: A Narrative Pseudo-Poem

Gravitas: A Narrative Pseudo-Poem

In 1990 Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi wrote a book called Flow.
[Subtitled] The Psychology of Optimal Experience.
By "flow" he referred to a state of intense concentration.
Complete absorption with an activity.
The flow state is an ultimate moment of intrinsic motivation.

The ancient Romans spoke of gravitas, meaning weight.
Seriousness and dignity, connoting a depth of personality.
The image is that of a sculptor, engaged in creating.
The clamour of hooves does not cause a chisel to skip.
No marble nostril falls to the ground. No blemish results.

When I think of a modern-day equivalent to these terms
I envision John Mayer performing his song Gravity, live.
He is doing something that never existed pre-moment.
And in such a fashion, it was not imagined, even by him.
A stream that cannot but fall downhill, due to angle.

-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2013 --

The Talking Salmon

The Talking Salmon

What if there was a salmon that could suddenly speak?
Express rather clearly what it was experiencing.
And not salmon plural -- but just one salmon.
The first thing he would realize is that water, the medium itself, is not conducive to the verbalization of anything.
Secondly, he experiences loneliness. Try as he might, every other salmon only notices an uncommon amount of bubbles.
Thirdly, he finds that certain words are not pronounceable. His salmon-lips cannot form them, yet he longs to say them. For instance, he wants to tell other salmon 'This is water' -- and the last word cannot be formed. His brain has evolved beyond his lips. They do not bend, yet.
He swims. He wanders a bit, from the group. The sheer anxiety of knowing something foreign to others bewilders him in that moment. The current is calmer under a large rock, and there he finds himself -- swaying -- struck by an unfathomable thought. 
And yet the words are so clear:
Animals on land.
Never before has such a thing occurred to him. The words have created it. Surely this must be.  Else why would I be thinki…?
The salmon digs his snout into the riverbed, grains of it in his mouth. He scratches onto the stone - images of what he is imagining. And the others swim past, some casting a brief glance, but none really heeding the message. At least for the time being. At least for now. But a few, they do seem to linger a bit longer, before moving upstream.

-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2013 --

I Don't Want To Live Without You

I Don't Want To Live Without You

One thing I do love, is your disdain for clichés.
The trite, simpler words, and repeated phrase
fail terribly when it comes to specifics. Agreed.
I feel the same - so much like borrowing need.

I committed the crime minutes ago, on a street.
You surely saw my eyes well up? It was sweet
to not question me. Those seven words I said? 
They mean to me that without you I'd rather be..

-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2013 --