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Best Poems Written by Frank Cipriani

Below are the all-time best Frank Cipriani poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Frank Cipriani Poem

Corsets

Your fingertips slide across
The time of day.
You watch the seconds pass
As you argue with the cantankerous hands
Of the clock she bought for you and you alone.
It's that time at last.
She says,  "Darling remember, four o'clock sharp."
In a timbre that lingers through you body
 and exits out from your eyes.
The thought resonates the true emotion of that time.
That place and time.
Your lover, she wrote to you.
In a hollow sarcastic tone that read as if it meant
"I never want to hear your name again.".
A frozen slate of world, begging to be etched.
You hurt when you are reminded,
But hurt worse when you forget.
The sequestration of emotion
 Your solemn mind has made.
She can now turn her head away from the clock,
That intimates the pain.
A thought drowning in the depth of memory,
Foreseen but not embraced.
The lover left the unlovable.
Now there's no time for hate,
Because it's daylight savings dear.
So it's only Three o' eight.

Details | Frank Cipriani Poem

Ii

You're bent out of shape
There are holes in those shoes that you can not replace.
Gaunt like the tree branch you rode through the storm.
You release your fount of harsh tones
That will surely repreive your sarcastic charisma.
The angst building a citidel of noiselessness inside
The capital refund of your minds unease
As if all spirit inside of you
Has all but deceased.
You are not the jolting entity
You were made out to be
But I see the preson incognito, beneath the flashing neon
Lights of the discotheque that reigns sovereign over
The other androgynous evening rendezvous'.
Don't shroud yourself in the pseudo substantiality
Of your undeniable accomadations.
For who is the creator?

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O' Plague Me, My Peers

They're the cat that catches my secondhand on the porch.
They're the ones who quietly dropped your torch.
They're the random pedestrians that swear to god.
They're the pseudo-believers of the original and odd.

I am the context in which they speak of.
I am the palm that dwells beneath the glove.
I am the jury who corrects their flaws.
I am the judge who speaks their laws.

We're the people who dance to no sound.
We're the ones who make our own worlds go 'round.
We're immortal together despite common suspicion.
We're not alone in this world, that's the human condition.

Details | Frank Cipriani Poem

I Think of It In Music

What a life I lead,
When my tones break free
And my stomach churns to spew my soul.
What a life I lead
To make my wounds not bleed
What a life I lead to make me whole

Can you weave my web
Could you spin my thread
Are you the one that occupies my head

What a life I've lead
When my alive feels dead
And my stomach refuses to churn any longer
What a life I've lead
All these things in my head
I can not help but feel that much stronger

Details | Frank Cipriani Poem

A Mind Confound

This place is a prison surrounded by thousands
of seemingly endless ruptures of light
Glittering like bees armed with non-permitting swords
That shine in the graceful glow of the moonlight,
Constantly drinking the colors of the night
in the unfamiliar glamour and prejudice of a repetitive dream.
How long does a man have to wait before he realizes he’s lost?
Is he in a place of sadness, or a place of elegance and class?
Watch him escape as the red scraping fingers
Pull him back from his all but meaningless intentions of escape.
He is dragged back inside the unidentified
Noises of the party goers in his head.
They are circling his cell as he imagines a parade
Of pleasant sorts is going down the halls.
This noise cascading upon him as a wave of sirens
Reminds him of the unforgiving world outside. He is a prisoner,
A confined man from the outside world... yet he still is kept
Contained in the emptiness of him solemn mind.
You would watch and scoff to see his pitiful attempt
At his one day of freedom that could have been true.
He begins to think any thought that so chooses
To disrupt the R.E.M. related events. The parade has stopped,
And everyone’s frozen. His mind is at rest and he remains in his cell.
The parades are gone, dead from the suddenness.
He remains in his cell. These figures of various people
Remind him of what the world can be and why he wanted,
And hates to leave his confinement. He does not think on smart intentions though.
He stays in the prison accepting a new doctrine
That no more will people conspire against him
In order to get the false sense of restitution
From him thinking that everything is at peace. The world was his motive
And now it’s his cause. And with that cause,
His righteous notion will forever bare this dream.

Details | Frank Cipriani Poem

Petals

Your words are the fire
Whose ashes spread sickness
To the rejecter whose
Plot seems to thin as it thickens.
From the coiling stem of a timid flower
Daring not show its petals
For they've yielded their power.
A blossoming hope struck down with gall
that shy little flower gets too grand and too tall.
But the plague is still spreading
From the east to the west,
As the winds of the ocean
Borrow in mountain's breast.
Power, vast power, radiates from it's petals,
But it now stands alone in this place of foul weather.
Soot has encompassed all the land to be seen,
And diseased all the flowers and most of the trees.
This rebel, this blooming beauty
Is outcast again, for doing it's duty.

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Word Morph

Without your body, my world is COLD

You were bound to my love with a sentimental CORD

I wouldn't have minded if you sent me a card CARD

It got lonely and dark in the burn-victim WARD

But no blazes could compare to how you make me WARM

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Green

Its the grass that tickled out feet
Those many moons past.
It's the leaves dangling gently
Off of canopies we've surely walked under
Those many tides back.
It's the pulse in your eyes,
Beaconing colour from the pupil.
The most natural shade of them all.
It's the start of a beginning
that flashed by thorough.
It's green darling.
Green in it's beauty and in it's shine.
It's the acrylic that painted
Your coat in the coldest of days.
A green night and a green day.
To remind me of you, my lovely.

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Compliment

Taper your senses
Choose a way to plan your path.
Climb your own fences
Crack the ice and then laugh.
Sew the fate of your choice,
Don't turn you into them.
Every person has a voice,
And darling, yours is a gem.

Details | Frank Cipriani Poem

We All Know One

A brazen sharp tongue that protrudes from your mouth
Paints pictures of settings of dissenting from dominance,
And convention, alike. Refuse the primary places
Where great things can happen.
To conform is to die, and death is no option.
To be one of them would mean to digress
From all you think you've fought for,
All the "toil" and "stress". Bold external diversity,
But thoughts seem alike. Both sides striving for the top
Of a food chain of sorts that nobody can control.
The legendary chasm that separates the kinds
Of people that we are and our anxious rare minds.
But where would he draw the dividing line center?
On the place of the public, or one only he can enter.