tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-295448952024-03-07T22:54:31.465-05:00PoetrypuddleSometimes, I write poems.Ciprianohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00254338542624853230noreply@blogger.comBlogger439125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29544895.post-36635369123022743182021-10-10T23:19:00.002-04:002021-10-10T23:21:30.347-04:00From Within A Book<p>
</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b><span lang="EN-CA" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;">From Within
A Book</span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;">Day and
night is the same here, unopened.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;">Holding my
breath I hear footsteps stopping.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;">A release
of pressure, someone’s been chosen</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;">But not me
-- my shoulders relax.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;">The
pressure returns, my comrade replaced.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;">A tapping
on my spine, then, hesitance – silence.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;">Gripped at
the head I fall backwards, and spun ‘round</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;">Exult at
being held.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;">Years since
feeling fingers on the back of my jacket</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;">…They are
there now. I shine upward.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;">Being of
interest is to be yanked apart in the middle</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;">-- So I am.
No, do not, dear eyes, take me out of context, so!</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;">But this is
the process. I am elevated, up, up, leaves fluttering</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;">Hoping to
not be re-shelved.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;">Darkness
returns and the footsteps resume<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;">But now I
am swinging along with them.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;">God, may I
not be tossed aside and forgotten.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;">Compel this
reader, this one, to begin at the start.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;">-- Let me
reveal to them all that I know.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">
<i><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Garamond", serif;">© Ciprianowords <span></span>2021</span></i>
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{page:WordSection1;}</style></p>Ciprianohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00254338542624853230noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29544895.post-13722558582117331012018-10-29T22:39:00.003-04:002018-10-29T22:39:47.089-04:00Progress<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333; font-family: "trebuchet ms", sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Progress</span><br /><br />I would love to see a Neanderthal staring at an iPhone XR.<br />That would be such a great shot for my latest Instagram.<br />Maybe he or she would use it to carve through some sinew.<br />Bash it against the cliff face, and throw it into a cavehole.<br />Reception was always bad out here anyway.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><br /><br />I would love to see a stegosaurus eating dinner, glancing<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><br />sideways at the "funk" [default] sound of an incoming text.<br />Tripped a bit to the right but regained himself... kept eating.<br />Glanced upward as a pterodactyl passed, swatting away an<br />evolving human as the latter raised a rough-hewn dagger.<br /><br />I would love to see a student, of any kind, enrolled anywhere<br />that could sit in a Starbucks for three minutes, and you know<br />that their parents have all of their fingers and toes crossed,<br />hoping against hope that their children know something,<br />about anything -- I would love to see that person ----<br /><br />switch off their devices devoted to the attainment of stupidity,<br />turn to their friend with the highlighter on auto-pilot, and say<br />in the most diplomatic of tones, "Listen....<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><br />I've only got one shot at this thing. Please quit talking.<br />Please shut your shit off, or we are going to be dinosaurs again."<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;" /><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333; font-family: "trebuchet ms", sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: #cccccc; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333; display: inline !important; float: none; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"></span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: xx-small; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms", sans-serif;"><span style="color: #333333; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="color: #333333; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">© Ciprianowords, Inc. 2018</span></span></span></span>Ciprianohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00254338542624853230noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29544895.post-64592212910588265982018-10-07T23:00:00.004-04:002018-10-07T23:00:52.389-04:00<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">I See The Sun Rising</span><br /><br />But how do you see it?<br />You know, in the midst of all this<br />I am going to see the sun rising.<br /><br />You have a different horizon in mind. <br />In mind -- there never was any light.<br />Everything was less than a shadow.<br /><br />Forgive me if my eyes are better.<br />Forgive me if they always have been.<br />Forgive me as I adjust the fool's cap.<br /><br />Listen, as the physicist explains to us<br />that the sun, as a new day dawns<br />has never, ever, moved.<br /><br />Realize, for the love of God,<br />that as wrong as we both are,<br />I am less wrong. I <i>was</i> less wrong.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><i style="-moz-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><span><span style="color: #333333; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">© Ciprianowords, Inc. 2018</span></span></i></span></span>Ciprianohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00254338542624853230noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29544895.post-49978015117040079522018-09-08T03:33:00.002-04:002018-09-08T04:58:01.238-04:00All The Shiny Faces<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> All The Shiny Faces</span><br /><br /> <b>Arrival:</b><br /> "I don't know if I, if <i>we</i>, would have been able to live through such a thing."<br /> Sue reached out and placed her hand on his, still on the gearshift. They watched as others filing into the chapel greeted each other, a few having a final smoke. The shaking of hands, no smiles. Boiling clouds threatened rain, and Mark made a mental note to skip the interment ceremony as he turned to his wife and said, "Hon, the worst thing is that there is no 'we' for her. She's got to go through all of this pretty much on her own. If it's hard for us to be here today, just think of what's happening with..."<br /> "I know. I know. I don't want to think of it. Let's just get in there before we're walking through mud. Jesus Christ, this seems like the worst day of <i>my</i> life, let alone.... <i>dammit</i>..." <br /> They sprinted, double blips of the car locks engaging as the first thunderclap reverberated against the surrounding hills, making it to the held open door as the first drops hit the ground.<br /><br /> <b>Inside:</b><br /> Taking their seats at the very back was all they could do. Some people remained standing, having arrived just after them, piped-in music already playing. Sue unwound her scarf and settled in as one by one, friends of the deceased spoke of the only one present who would never speak another word upon this earth. <br /> A pine box </span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">was the focus of every bleary eye</span>, as though every atrocity perpetrated on the planet were brought to focus for these few moments only upon that lonely square footage. <br /> "When I first met Rachel, I knew that we were going to become best friends...."<br /> "And there we were, at the very edge of the Grand Canyon, and I will never forget it, she turned and said to me..."<br /> "We had every intention to marry. The ring I gave her is with her right now, inside.... I'm sorry, I'm sorry... I can't...."<br /> A young woman arose and made her way to the piano, and the introductory notes of one of the most beloved hymns of all time filled the entire hall as yet one more peal of thunder, quietly in the distance, announced itself -- and she sang out --<br /> "A-a-a-maaa-zi-ing grace, how swee-ee-t, the sound.<br /> Tha-aa-at saved, a"<br /><br /> "No. <i>NO</i>. <i>Not</i> amazing," a woman rising in the first pew wailed<br /> "Oh my God, Mark," Sue leaned into his shoulder and burst into tears.<br /> The pianist stopped, looking up in horror as the woman continued, "My daughter was <i>murdered</i>. She was CUT DOWN at the age of nineteen. What kind of a <i>GOD</i>," and with this she flung her black umbrella at the lectern on the podium and it clattered back down across the coffin lid, "are we singing about here?"<br /> The pastor quickly motioned the nearest ushers to apprehend the grieving mother but others nearer had already surrounded her, and as the congregation looked on she was removed beyond the door of the vestibule where all but her voice was gone. He approached the lectern palms forward as moans and grief-stricken sobbing erupted from every row in the church. The girl at the piano hung her head so low that it struck the keys and she fell to the floor in a faint. Still, from beyond the vestibule door the mother could be heard weeping. <br /> After several minutes, the rain now drumming slantwise on the stained glass windows, the pastor, wiping his eyes and coughing several times, finally managed to speak.<br /> "Friends. Friends. People."<br /> Ushers gathered up the pianist into a sitting position in the front pew.<br /> "Friends and family. We have gathered here today to mourn [flash and thunder] the tragic loss of someone very dear to all of us. With what has taken place just now it would be an understatement to say that we are all shaken to the very core of who we are, and our thoughts and prayers are going out right now to Rachel's mother, whose grief surpasses what any of us can imagine as possible for any human being to endure. Out of respect for the expression of her feelings, I wish to retire my own message that I had prepared for this service." <br /> And with this he retrieved a few sheets of paper from a little black folder and cast them forward where they fluttered down to rest near the umbrella which now lay on the floor near the casket. "For, truth be known, her words were the very ones I fought against as I prepared my brief sermon to bring to you today. It would be a dishonor and a profound disservice for me to publicly superimpose my own contrived thoughts upon something that she would have said to you herself, in privacy." <br /> He then followed with directions to the cemetery and instructions as to a luncheon that would take place later, closing with this:<br /> "The Lord bless you and keep you, the Lord make His face shine upon you, and be gracious to you. The Lord lift up His countenance upon you, and give you peace."<br /><br /> <b>Departure:</b><br /> At least the rain had abated. The wipers were on automatic intermittent.<br /> Sue's face was more wet than the windshield. In fact, she could not stop crying. <br /> Mark reached his right hand out to hers.<br /> "I was proud of that pastor," he said. "I mean, what else could he really say, after what Ellen said? You know, a single mother, struck by the hammer of Thor, basically. What the hell are you supposed to say after that?"<br /> "I know. I thought the same thing. But even while he was trying to salvage the whole thing, I was only thinking of Ellen, crumpled in a heap in that back room. I barely could register what was being said by anyone after she threw that umbrella."<br /> "I think he kind of ruined it a bit at the end though, if you want my honest opinion."<br /> "What do you mean?" Sue asked.<br /> "Well, all that stuff about the shiny faces. It's like, what is it really going to take? What is it really going to take before we quit ending everything with the God damn shiny faces stuff?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><i style="-moz-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333; font-size: 13px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="color: #333333; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">© Ciprianowords, Inc. 2018</span></span></i></span>Ciprianohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00254338542624853230noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29544895.post-30338121521147330392018-09-01T00:50:00.004-04:002018-09-01T01:14:59.790-04:00The Dichotomy<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">The Dichotomy </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">There are two kinds of people in this world.<br />The dichotomy has nothing to do with black or white,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">rich or poor, male or female, or intelligence quotient.<br />[...Now you are curious.]<br />But no, they are not to be divided according to:<br />Religious or atheist. Radical or conservative.<br />Astronaut or earthbound. Dog-owners/Cat-owners.<br />[...Now you are thinking, I have read better poems.]<br /><br />And yet, the main difference has nothing to do with:<br />Successful poets and the illiterate. Unattractive/Gorgeous.<br />Americans and everyone else. Capitalists/Communists.<br />Etc., ad infinitum. <br />No.<br /><br />The clearest separation between what a human being is<br />and what a human being can be, involves the tear ducts.<br />It is to be found in the space between those who weep<br />only from pain, loss, grief, sorrow, knowing too much -- <br />and those who fully break apart at inexplicable moments.<br /><br />It's normal to be <i>both</i> of these things, but God help us,<br />far too many of our species only ever experience the former.<br />When sheer pleasure, attainment, joy, and unprecedented wonder<br />fail to deeply move us, moisten us -- God help me.<br /><i>Remember</i>. Every sunrise and sunset, a song in the memory. </span><br />
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #333333; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">© Ciprianowords, Inc. 2018</span></span></span></i>Ciprianohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00254338542624853230noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29544895.post-29687701812763669852018-08-24T23:41:00.000-04:002018-08-24T23:41:48.890-04:00If I Live To Be 100<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">If I Live To Be 100</span><br /><br />Definitely a heap of bones by now he or she is.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">One chilly Sunday morning my own lifetime ago <br />I drove the winding highway of a mountainside <br />and rounding a curve, braked for an entire herd<br />of them milling about as though no calendar had <br />ever entered the mind of man. Whether their<br />huffed breaths mingled with mist, fog, or cloud <br />was of no concern to any, nor ambling so close to<br />death or a Monday beside the precipice, a worry.<br /><br />All of this I intuitively understood as, slowing my car<br />to negotiate my way through this menagerie, one<br />broke free and began to trot along beside my open<br />window. What endless mystery behind the horizontal<br />black slit of those eyes. Such re-definition of the word<br />beauty made itself known to me in that moment, that<br />I was compelled to reach out. And if I live to be 100<br />I will never forget when my offering was accepted.<br />Sharing the remnant of my sandwich with that goat.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><i style="-moz-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">© Ciprianowords, Inc. 2018</i></span></span>Ciprianohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00254338542624853230noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29544895.post-62670298797147515662018-02-24T01:24:00.001-05:002018-08-24T23:58:31.414-04:00Hope For Us<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Hope For Us</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size: small;">I have been involved in confrontations that left me speechless,<br />and minutes later, the perfect response formed itself in my mind.<br />You beat yourself because rightness has never been so right —<br />the person is still within view — you could catch them if you ran.<br />Is it even human to cool down and brood in private vindication?<br /><br />Spin them, let them have it both barrels and you would sleep better.<br />But they round the corner and are gone. Is this the end of it now?<br />No. Truly, if your vitriol were to be seen in time-lapse photography,<br />the initial sentence is now morphing into indented paragraphs.<br />There is even a dedication page before your essay of recrimination.<br /><br />This may be nature, but not human nature. Not the way things work.<br />If you are in doubt, think of how many times your perfect response<br />was best left unsaid, and your enemy un-spun. Your best thoughts<br />not at the top of your head. Your clenched fist unyielding because<br />it still thought it was clinging to a vine. We’re still evolving.</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><i style="-moz-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: #333333; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">© Ciprianowords, Inc. 2018</i></span></span>Ciprianohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00254338542624853230noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29544895.post-36714733515853209102016-11-01T01:30:00.003-04:002016-11-01T01:53:44.021-04:00Trees<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Trees</span><br /><br />How many postcards? Calendars. Framed Ansel Adams prints.<br />Documentaries with people strapped to them, willing to die.<br />The source of our oxygen. The reason lungs breathe in and out.<br />Habitat of the loftiest and most noble of all the earth's creatures.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">And yet…</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">most susceptible to lightning. Axes. <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">T</span>he need for toothpicks.<br />Not to mention drywall. We make oars fro<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">m</span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> dead bodies</span> to push <br />ourselves across the very substance they cannot live amidst,<br />seated <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">i</span>n vessels made of the same.<br /><br />This thing that fire most wants to eat, we write our novels against.<br />We lick a stamp, and press it on what once lived for centuries --<br />thanklessly dying that we might wish Uncle Ted a happy birthday.<br />Some of them t<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">hrowing shadows</span> when Shakespeare dipped a quill.<br /> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">And yet…<br /><br />Not one of these have ever even known that they were alive.<br />We, who are so very much aware, but so less useful in our elements,<br />who are we to think that not only shall we live on this planet,<br />but also forever after endure -- endlessly, on another far greater one?<br /><br />And yet…</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">we do. Some do think this.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">© Ciprianowords, Inc. 2016 </span></i></span>Ciprianohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00254338542624853230noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29544895.post-29155958341184689872016-10-31T23:47:00.000-04:002016-11-01T00:24:55.081-04:00They. Them, You.<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">They. Them. You. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">They say, whoever they are, that you cannot know the girl<br /><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">u</span>ntil you see her when she does not know you are there<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">.</span><br /><i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Y</span>ou will never know who she is.</i> So I gave it a try, tonight.<br /><br />Halloween night. Halloween party, out with all your friends.<br />And there I was too, ordering a drink, my back to the bar.<br />Focused on your table -- everyone there was riveted to you.<br /><br />Whatever story you were telling, I would have liked to know.<br />I sipped, I watched, and had brains enough to wait. To wait.<br />When you were done, I made my way over, as if by accident.<br /><br />Instead of being shocked, embarrassed or angry, you turned.<br />That smile to forever haunt every recess of my unworthy life.<br />Making way for me you asked me to sit down, but I begged off.<br /><br />And just as I was making my way out, I heard your friend say<br />above the din,<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> "</span>Is <i>that</i> him? Girl, you we<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">ren't</span> telling half of it."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">There is a <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">manner</span> of shame that has to be confessed, to end.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">This is why, hours later when you<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> have</span> returned home to me </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I am leaving on the table this rhyme-less poem<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> for you to see.</span> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I want you to know the <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">exact type of idiot you are involved with.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I want you to know that the princess costume you were wearing</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">tonight<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> -</span> as you take it off now -</span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> </span>is not telling the half of it.</span></span><br />
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<i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">© Ciprianowords, Inc. 2016 </span></span></i><br />
<br />Ciprianohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00254338542624853230noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29544895.post-62151443248872471632016-09-30T23:50:00.000-04:002016-10-01T00:04:45.985-04:00Dickens Again<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Dickens Again</span><br /><br />Surely there are more momentous things to worry about.<br />Autism. Attention Deficit Disorder. Tuberculosis. Gayness?<br />They crept in closer, concerned. Worried. Surf pounding.<br /><br />All this ocean, what is our son up to. Chronic masturbation?<br />An opening in the tent revealed him<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> -- i</span>n all his fullness.<br />They had seen that same devilish grin before, in the library. <br /><br />Immersed in the page at hand, thumb ready to flip to the next<br />he turned, saying to them, <i>Do you have nothing better to do?</i><br />They didn't.<i> It's Dickens again</i>, Dad said, sighing in the wind.</span><br />
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">© Ciprianowords, Inc. 2016</span></span></i>Ciprianohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00254338542624853230noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29544895.post-25698088618965094242016-09-25T03:39:00.002-04:002016-09-25T04:10:29.258-04:00Monkey Bars<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Monkey Bars</span><br /><br />Who am I, really?<br />I walked through a park tonight, shadows long before me.<br />Twice my height, thanks to a lamp-light behind.<br />In the same exponentiation, oh the tricks my mind played.<br />For there I was, climbing and tumbling -- as ever I was.<br />But in my current state of being, I could never achieve this.<br /><br />I even heard the sounds, those of my childhood.<br />A different playground -- and that is when I stopped moving.<br />Swinging like a chimpanzee, with as many cares for tomorrow.<br />How is it that I can see it -- what database stores such a thing?<br />I did it, I did it, I did it, I did it, I did it, I did it, I did it, <i>I did it. </i><br />But I could never do it. I could never do it. I could never do it.<br /><br />Now.<br />Who am I, really? An amalgam of memories of who I was? <br />If so, I could jump up there, and make a circuit of these bars.<br />But I cannot do so. If time is relative to distance, how can this <br />apparatus be so near to me and the experience so far off?<br />So impossible. So improbable. So impossible. So distant.</span><br />
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">© Ciprianowords, Inc. 2016</span></span></i>Ciprianohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00254338542624853230noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29544895.post-24274311842391600972016-09-25T00:59:00.000-04:002016-09-25T01:12:57.417-04:00<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">The Stars Help To Express It</span><br /><br />Holding hands on the balcony, he looked up at the night sky.<br />Then, her face.<br /><i>You know, have you ever considered the fact the the universe is expanding? I mean, the constellations we have observed and named -- the whole thing itself is so… provincial. </i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>In a million or so years from now, those formations will have shifted -- we observe them from an extremely limited vantage point, that is itself shifting.</i> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">[Inspired now, he kicked off his sandals<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">, </span>the lotus position, and touched her face…] </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>-- Andromeda, Aquarius, Cygnus -- all of these will not at all look as they do today darling, were you and I to be sitting here a million years from now. Not to mention that our own Earth will most likely not be around to observe any of these from, nor our Sun still shining, having collapsed in upon itself and…</i><br />Noticing her glass empty, he grabbed the bottle from the ice bucket --<br /><i>Darling</i>, she said, tightening her grip. <i>Darling</i>, he said --<br />[<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">A</span> new train of thought made its way to the last remaining synapses…]<br /><i>Do you see it, though? It is the naming, the fixing, that is wrong-headed.<br />If you were one, one bottle of wine, you would have to be un-named. Un-dated. <br />No one. No sheik, no ten sultans, could afford you. And a million, a million years from now…</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">She was smiling. Oh, that smile.<i><br />Darling, I think it's time we went to bed.</i><br />In the tone, in the very tone that the universe would say such a thing. <br />I followed her.<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> </span>Soon to see constellations that no one, were the Earth to somehow survive its inevitable demise, see.</span><br />
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">© Ciprianowords, Inc. 2016</span></span></i>Ciprianohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00254338542624853230noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29544895.post-82695323097918754162016-09-24T23:50:00.002-04:002016-09-25T04:04:38.793-04:00Camels<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Camels</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size: small;"><i>One of those urban myths, without the urban part.<br />That's got to be what it is</i> he muttered, cracked lips oozing pus.<br />Bending low to a dream of grass… no, it was just sand again.<br />Everywhere. Dunes, mirages, and every <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">oasis</span> a <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">falser</span> <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">fantasy</span>.<br />The other, hump bent sideways -- knelt for a turbaned rider.<br />Head turned but reply-choked by his own crushed camel-spirit.<br /><br />Forced<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">.</span> <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">O</span>ff they trotted on their eight scorched two-toed feet. <br />Hmmm… what's beyond this hill of dust? Look. Yet <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">a</span>nother one.<br />Which of us wanted to go anywhere near here in the first place?<br />[That last part was unspoken by either of them, not unthought].<br />Just before they reached their thrice-hyphenated destination, #1</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">gasped <i>Has even one of these things ever asked if we were thirsty?</i></span></span></span><br />
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">© Ciprianowords, Inc. 2016</span></span></i>Ciprianohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00254338542624853230noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29544895.post-76230741393136928692016-05-07T03:25:00.002-04:002016-05-07T04:08:22.796-04:00A Certain Table, A Certain Tree<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">A Certain Table, A Certain Tree</span><br /><br />Remember when we agreed to this.<br />There is no question mark after that.<br />Because I am talking to myself here.<br />Admittedly - it was many years ago.<br />You are to be excused from the duty.<br />Time erases many things, even time.<br />And as any doctor will tell you<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">,</span> every<br />heartbeat is unequal. Fingerprints --<br />really. One thing constant, the beating.<br />Yours has not stopped, nor has mine.<br />Beating and beating away in darkness.<br />But we have changed our addresses.<br />Our lifestyle would not be recognized<br />by the other. Re<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">cal<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">led</span></span>, but illegible now.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I trained myself to accept the inevitable<br />while I believed in what I wanted<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> --</span> <br />which will always be yourself. <br />Today, I realize that you have done a<br />different task with yours, your heart.<br />You have managed to occlude it.<br />And I wonder if you should congratulate<br />yourself. I cannot know that for certain.<br />I have traveled one thousand miles<br />to be here at a certain table, under a<br />certain tree, at a certain hour, to wonder<br />which of us has been the greater fool.<br /><br />I am no scientist. I am no pontificate<br />in these matters. I <i>do</i> know, however, <br />that if the sun, which has no personality<br />whatsoever, wanted to be late eight minutes<br />the world would freeze to death, in the next.<br />I have waited here beyond that, beyond thirty.<br />And so I concede your victory in frozenness.<br />My wish for you is not unhappiness, but glory.<br />I hope that the reason you are not here is<br />because you have managed to forget it all.<br />That you are feeling warmth. <br />That I have been usurped.<br />That, in your memory of me, you do not think me <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">an idiot</span><br />for sitting here… waiting for what was not meant to b--<br />…wait<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">.</span><br />is…<br />Is that the red scarf I gave her?<br />Is that <i>you</i>… running in front of a taxi?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i><span style="font-size: xx-small;">© Ciprianowords, Inc. 2016 </span></i></span>Ciprianohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00254338542624853230noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29544895.post-89305134050511448652016-05-07T01:36:00.005-04:002016-05-07T01:46:12.395-04:00Conviction<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: large;">Conviction</span><br /><br />What does it mean to stay true to such a word<br />that should itself be in dire need of a lawyer?<br />Nowhere else in the dictionary is such lack of<br />control in evidence. In one sense, your neck <br />snaps - this entirely upon the opinion of others.<br /><br />In another, you alone know what is the truth.<br />Yet you will lay your head on the block for it.<br />Surely the difference will cause the monarch<br />to not reach Mexico on time, to not find the tree.<br />The sun to rise in the west. Rain to fall upwards.<br /><br />Geese to spell another letter than V flying south?<br />When you were most sure of yourself, looking up<br />you saw that the clouds confirmed your resolution.<br />They formed the very image of your mother's legs<br />splayed, and you bearing witness upon the world.<br /><br />None of this will happen when the blade is raised<br />and with innocence you look down into the bucket.<br />Justice will never be synonymous, with conviction.<br />So, to answer the first question, you were justified.<br />To the second I want you to know<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> - t</span>hey fly askew.</span></span><br />
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">© Ciprianowords, Inc. 2016 </span></i>Ciprianohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00254338542624853230noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29544895.post-66213286413064717952016-01-17T22:27:00.002-05:002016-01-17T23:57:40.508-05:00Our Grand Assumption<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: large;">Our Grand Assumption</span><br /><br />No one alive today is any one thing, even if we examine raccoons.<br />We know it of ourselves, but how impossible to convince another.<br />Amazing that the closer we get, other options become preferable.<br /><br />Exaggerated phrases leap from every closet, ending with <i>always</i>.<br />Sentences prefaced with <i>You never</i>. Or, <i>Why is it that you never?</i><br />Doors are slammed to negotiation and peace talks are only on TV.<br /><br />Like the majority of the earth that is covered with water, so is this.<br />This uninhabitable world assumed upon the great majority of lungs.<br />A pressure. A fissure. A crevice in the ice, wherein we fall endless.<br /><br />This is why, on this, our anniversary of it all, Our Grand Assumption<br />I want you to know that only the first line of this poem is about you.<br />Come nearer -- that I might kiss your bandit rings, garbage stealer.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2016 --</span></i></span>Ciprianohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00254338542624853230noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29544895.post-84824149225463798232015-06-20T01:07:00.001-04:002015-06-20T01:14:06.511-04:00The Opposite of Uncertainty<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">The Opposite of Uncertainty </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Closing our eyes from the glare of too much<br />said and unspoken, breathing in exhalations.<br />My God -- we fell together because of gravity.<br /><br />Feathers from flying doves reach the ground<br />due to earth-forces that do not rely on thought.<br />So. What were we thinking when we landed?<br /><br />Let me speak for myself on this, in retrospect.<br />We were thinking of the opposite of uncertainty.<br />Of moons that never wane. And an eternal orbit.<br /><br />Even in the night, it has always been daylight.<br />Would you agree? We need not squint today<br />as the shudder passes through. Everything yes.</span><br />
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2015 --</span></span></i>Ciprianohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00254338542624853230noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29544895.post-31843514789088472022015-05-25T02:36:00.004-04:002015-05-25T02:36:38.891-04:00Expectations<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Expectations </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Because she did what was always expected of her<br />she was well-received by everyone. No doubt.<br />But then a great flame in her died at a certain point.<br />She was known as a marvel, a great success early on,<br />until marrying a man that could stifle bonfires with his words.<br />In retrospect I regret never declaring my own feelings.<br />I loved the pilgrim soul in this girl.<br /><br />I loved the pilgrim soul in this girl.<br />In retrospect I regret never declaring my own feelings.<br />Until marrying a man that could stifle bonfires with his words<br />she was known as a marvel, a great success early on.<br />But then a great flame in her died at a certain point.<br />She was well-received by everyone. No doubt<br />because she did what was always expected of her.</span><br />
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2015 --</span></span></i>Ciprianohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00254338542624853230noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29544895.post-58059695040326131522015-05-16T05:21:00.003-04:002015-05-16T05:48:38.745-04:00Al Dente<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Al Dente</span><br /><br />How will it look on a serious envelope. I swear this was my first thought when I moved from the far more respectable sounding Maryanne Avenue, and performed the necessary address changes required. To make matters worse, the number of my flat was 123. <br /><i>123 Noodle Street.</i><br />Who lives at such a place? Curious George?<br />Clifford the Big Red Dog? Ernie and Bert? <br />I'm a <i>lawyer</i>, for God's sake!<br />Still unpacking boxes I received a letter from my mother, in which my greatest fears were realized.<br />She told me to throw all unrecognized mail at the nearest wall.<i> </i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i>If it sticks, son, open it. If not…. cook it for three more minutes.</i><br />I wrote back the same day.<br /><i>Dear Mom:<br />Often, in my arduous, sweat be-drenched days of courtroom litigation I comfort myself in the reminder that in this cruel world I have at least one person that will be my protector. My rock. My lighthouse in the storm. Oh, mother -- even you have let me down. Even you, even you, are not quite al dente.</i> </span><br />
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2015 --</span></span></i>Ciprianohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00254338542624853230noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29544895.post-69037641891512414452015-05-16T02:41:00.003-04:002015-05-16T04:01:01.066-04:00Every Fifth Line<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Every Fifth Line</span><br /><br />Feeling that you are the only one.<br />Knowing that no one understands.<br />You can do life better than others.<br />One day I will be recognized as me.<br /><br />Until then --<br /><br />People, the normal ones, the stupids<br />will believe the sun revolves the earth.<br />That if you sail far enough, you fall.<br />But for the round shape of your head<br /><br />all is square.<br /><br />Hey smartypants! Listen to someone!<br />We all started out as a human zygote<br />just this side of a swinging chimpanzee.<br />And from there, we invented Q-Tips.<br /><br />All the while --<br /><br />the very atoms looking into the telescope<br />might as well be on the comet observed.<br />Slivers in an arrived ship pulled from a finger.<br />The problem is our need of pronouns.<br /> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">we have no shape at all.</span><br />
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2015 -- </span></span></i><br />
<br />Ciprianohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00254338542624853230noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29544895.post-488963474739507922015-02-21T01:30:00.000-05:002015-02-21T01:46:02.340-05:00All Trains Are Serious<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">All Trains Are Serious </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Have a good look at the ways we get around.<br />There is almost no limit to the sudden variations.<br />Hyphens on a highway say next to nothing about veering.<br />We just listen to the radio and hope everyone pays attention.<br />What is a mid-Pacific squall, or even the next big wave, to a ship?<br />Captains pulling their hair out. Drinks and children overboard.<br />Let's no one even get <i>into</i> an airplane for God's sake.<br />Because in the clouds there are not even the hyphens. <br />Truth is, your neighbor stepped out of bounds while jogging <br />and was struck dead by that out-of-control horse and carriage.<br /><br />Then there are trains. And no one can blame the environment.<br />Admittedly, they are as prone to accidents as anything else.<br />But seriously -- they were perfectly on course when it happened.</span><br />
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2015 --</span></span></i>Ciprianohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00254338542624853230noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29544895.post-19922859898185277132015-02-07T01:06:00.002-05:002015-02-07T01:11:15.660-05:00Monarch<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Monarch</span><br /><br />Which came first, the butterfly or human royalty?<br />What is the etymology of the entomology?<br />Dictionaries relegate insects to a secondary meaning.<br />For my money, they should be first.<br /><br />This -- this one-tenth of an ounce -- this bug<br />navigates its way to a certain mountain in Mexico<br />every third generation. From Canada.<br />Powered by milkweed and true monarchial instinct.<br /><br />Prince Charles, chauffeur-driven via the best GPS <br />would end up in New Jersey. Holed up in a five-star. <br />Exhausted and complaining of the room service.<br />Not to mention Henry the 8th. Whence did it originate?<br /><br />Was it an awe-filled scientist, breathlessly declaring:<br /><i>This -- this is the epitome of what humanity should revere.</i><br />Or was it a servant in the shadows of a castle whispering:<br /><i>Everyone here is as majestic as... those butterflies!</i><br /><br />God help us, and be damned all language <br />if it was that secondary thing.</span><br />
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2015 --</span></span></i>Ciprianohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00254338542624853230noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29544895.post-46034463685975909942015-01-31T00:00:00.002-05:002015-01-31T00:18:11.614-05:00Lava<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Lava</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>It is amazing, the flagrancy we humans will expend<br />for a momentary thrill. Take a fireworks display.<br />Have any two people walked away from a night of bursts<br />and discussed a single one in detail? Evaluated it?<br /><br />But it was somehow enjoyable <i>en masse.</i><br />One will explode in a brilliance of red. The next, white.<br />And there was the happy face. And then the hearts.<br />The climactic crescendo -- a conflagration of expenditure.<br /><br />And we make our way back to the car. Everyone does.<br />But when you and I get in ours, a certain electricity tells me -<br />There has never been an invention of man, to match<br />what happens when you erupt - It is not red, it's crimson.<br /><br />Lava.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">There is no smoke rising from the heat of your body<br />when I kiss you back down to earth. On our new island.</span><br />
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2015 --</span></span></i>Ciprianohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00254338542624853230noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29544895.post-4341172071825872632015-01-07T02:38:00.001-05:002015-01-07T03:15:54.215-05:00The Smell Of It All<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">The Smell Of It All</span><br /><br /><i>I</i><br />recall leaning forward to the envelope. If anything<br /><i>bought</i><br />my suspicion it was that. For all appearances<br /><i>you</i><br />had failed to send it off. I'd every intention of doing<br /><i>that</i><br />for you. But oh, the scent was rising. And then, the<br /><i>very</i><br />name, uttered in your dreams at night appeared, the<br /><i>fragrance</i><br />seeping through. All within me screamed, This is the<br /><i>last</i><br />thing I want to do to you. Invading the privacy of your<br /><i>Christmas</i><br />cards. What kind of a man would do this? I opened it.<br /><i>And</i><br />what did I find, my darling? The unfathomable act of<br /><i>you</i><br />betraying me. The smell was now ugly. Words inside<br /><i>sent</i><br />astray, the last breach of integrity. You love<i> </i>him?<br /><i>It</i><br />is to end this way? Want him to smell my gift to you?<br /><i>To</i><br />"be in his arms, on New Year's Eve"? You wish to be with<br /><i>him?</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2015 --</span></i></span>Ciprianohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00254338542624853230noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29544895.post-33241750750461244942014-12-13T01:23:00.002-05:002014-12-13T01:26:00.468-05:00What It Is Not<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">What It Is Not</span><br /><br />For so many nights we stayed up past bedtime discussing<br />Discussing… dis<i>cussing</i>, and I was wowed by your <i>cussing</i><br />about the idea of what love is. But there was that one night.<br /><br />We decided to focus on what it was not. And had a revelation.<br />Sometimes you can get to know a thing better simply by<br />tag-team cussing about what you do <i>not</i> think it is!<br /><br />We decided, unanimously, that it cannot be coerced.<br />That is, it is perhaps the opposite of force. Whatever love is.<br />Love to us became when two people say <i>Finally… I am free.</i><br /><br />I poured another merlot. A sliver of moon shimmer in the glass.<br />You asked a question that ended in the word remorse.<br />There and then, we consigned that word also to the depths.</span><br />
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2014 --</span></span></i>Ciprianohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00254338542624853230noreply@blogger.com1