Tuesday, May 02, 2017

Debris (For Shiloh)


Lost out here
Amid the bubblegum wrappers and improvised explosive devices
Since 911 it’s been our world because the terrorists won the very second we gave into fear

I’m not debating this
I have no conspiracy theories to offer
I just know things have changed as even Canadians now lock their front doors and grizzly bears find themselves carrying a concealed weapon

Hoping Shiloh will teach me what it means to be genderfluid because I believe even this old dog can learn a few new tricks
I don’t mean to say that genderfluidity is a trick and I hope you’ll accept my apology for my rough edges and the non-specific insults I toss out like baseballs at a home opener or meatballs rolling up another Sisyphus steep incline

Found somewhere out in left field
Discovered amidst the constipated intestines of another puffy rock and roller hell-bent to live a clean life as their opioid addiction ends up stopping them in their purple tracks
Elvis was no better as he sought absolution from one more crooked politician as he went off the reservation and his handlers continued spoon feeding him the obfuscated truth

I’ve fallen in love so many times with the idea of falling in love I’ve lost count
The streak of possessiveness I lay down on this hyperbolic highway creates only misfortune and collateral damage where once only chutes and ladders existed
I’m not much good to anyone and I am starting to question just what good all of this poetry will prove to be as I die with no one left to visit my grave

Charles Cicirella

Thursday, April 13, 2017

I may be silent, but that hardly means I’m any less smitten with Katie Boyd.

Just because I haven’t written a poem for Katie in a while doesn’t mean I’m not thinking about her or that I’m any less in love with her.
I’ve been warm for her form and intoxicated by her whirling dervish mind ever since the world crawled from God’s cold, dead hands and became its own force to be reckoned with.
Evolution is but a cliff note and if you don’t believe me just ask Charlie once he’s done playing with his tortoises and hanging out with Snoopy and Woodstock.

Look I hardly know what I’m going on about and that’s all on account of Katie Boyd and how she affects my mind.
It’s as if I’m drunk and I hardly even had a sip of wine. In fact I’ve been drinking diet grape juice all night and haven’t smoked any pot in far too long a time.
She’s the girl next door I always wanted to get to know, but was too afraid to approach because I figured she was way too cool for the boring and trying likes of me.

I’ve been a wallflower long before wallflowers came into vogue and I don’t expect to bloom anytime soon even though I’m nearly fifty years old and being an adult is something I should have committed to a long time ago.
I don’t have any blueprint and perhaps that’s the issue at hand because I never plan for anything and when it comes to preventative medicine I’ve always opted for less pills and more prayer.
Her inquisitive eyes and winsome sighs brought me to this jumping off place where the rubber meets the road and the hopeless romantics either get with the program or end up left out in the cold.

Charles Cicirella

Calling Out to You from the Darkness


It’s both dark and light here.
The light takes on the characteristics of the dark and vice versa.
It’s the way things have been since God created Man and Man turned his back on the Son.

We resist what we do not understand and in due time that’s all we’ll have left as another Passion Play is written in blood and our hands are washed in chlorine gas and sniper fire.
There’s no good reason to fight against the ghosts in the machine except that the ghosts today are not the same ghosts from yesterday and when you say Macbeth in a theatre you best be ready for the roof to collapse in on you.
I was just a lonely stagehand when I spied you up on that stage like a nightingale or resistance fighter. The way you carry yourself will forever impress and impregnate the situation with opened ended questions and mixed signals.

I desire to make love to you in the backlot of some nightscape we both know we’ll never escape from.
As I enter you from behind and you moan in ecstasy everything will be as it should be until it’s not and we’re blindfolded and executed for crimes against our vaulted psyches.
You’re the one I always imagined would come to me in the middle of my most prosaic and profound of night terrors. I was covered in sweat and all you were draped in was a towel and your very hot and rhapsodic skin.

The darkness got in my eyes before I attempted to kiss your mouth one final time before the curtain came down and another government is driven from power.
Don’t you believe it when they report on how smooth a transition is going when nothing could be further from the truth and our fractured Democracy is down for a very long and tortuous count?
I’ll never forget when you asked me to lick you from the inside out and how the noises you made reminded me of when I was in the womb and taking cover was the only option left to reexamine.
You’re a child of God and together we make up a divinity both divine and claustrophobic in its unintended consequences and lost horizons. And I’ll love you until the end of time.

Charles Cicirella