Monday, August 28, 2006


All about poetry so here's some of my poetry!


Plumbing the depths of my soul
Looking for a way in
Looking for a way out
My best friend found his escape hatch in 1998
He crosses and recrosses my pedestrian mind everyday.

I mustn’t forget I’m a poet though I do sometimes for months
On end then it comes back to me like in a dream and I thank
God that I possess a creative soul.

I rode bicycles with my girlfriend recently it took
Me back to an easier time when I could ride away
My anxiety – lessening the load of my tyrannical mind
With my own man power and some good lungs.

We mustn’t take for granted how fortunate we are to be alive.

Charlie June 7, 2006

dreamsleep (counselor)

When we sleep we dream and when we dream we often sleep and that’s the way it is and the way it has to be because we are sleep astronauts – pioneers of the building and the deconstructing of predisposed sleep states having nothing whatsoever to do with sleep tyranny or sleepy socialism and trust me when I tell you Karl Marx never really prided himself on being much of a hypnotist – Twain knew more about the importance of passing oneself off as an opiate of the masses than he would ever care to admit and when Hunter S. Thompson put that gun in his mouth and tasted the barrel for the first and last time I do not believe he was impressed with
how mortality may have tasted or where this state of desperation would ultimately leave him – did he honestly believe Hemingway was a champion for blowing his brains out and did he think that he was anymore in control of his own life by choosing when and where it was he would perish – he was still dying like an animal – an animal who at one time had so much to say about a dying American dream – a dream gone bust long before anyone could really cash their chips in – somewhere over the rainbow druggies fly yes I believe that one like I believe Garland was not really unhappy and just enjoyed her strange mixture of alcohol and pills – when we go to bed we always think we will wake up never giving much or any thought to what happens next – what happens if we wake up and the coffee maker is on the fritz – what if we wake up and caffeine has been outlawed – what if we wake up in another land a place where being out of step is more than frowned upon and you are shot by other predisposed dreamers for believing in your dreams – when we sleep we are free – free of the constraints of a society too long civilized by its own boredom and duress – a society where free speech has become an oxymoron and any idiot is allowed to state their opinion and then force you to swallow it like a cyanide capsule – I am sleepy – my eyelids have grown very heavy and this piece of writing is not turning out like I had expected – here I thought it was going to be a love poem and instead it has become a diatribe about this or that raw nerve exposed to brazen truth before it even had a chance to put on its pajamas and sleep undisturbed for at the very least a century or two..

Charles Cicirella

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