Nick

http://charlespoet.podomatic.com/entry/2016-06-29T14_50_38-07_00

He was the well-rested wave in a restless ocean.

He was the Snap, Crackle and Pop in the cereal no one eats because it’s good for them.

He is the stable force in an increasingly unstable world.

Didn’t matter how much time had passed or how much water was under the bridge.

With Nick undisciplined mix-ups did not exist because he didn’t give people shit and in return no one gave him shit back.

He was the guy the smart girls wanted to date and he was the guy even the dumb folks called their close friend.

I would contact him after years of us having not talked and the second he answered the phone he’d say “hey Charles” with such an unbridled enthusiasm that never sounded like a put-on because Nick McGovern was as genuine as they come.

Then I’d start telling him about a recording session I was planning and how I’d like for him to play bass on it and he’d instantly say “Cool, when and where?”

Recording with him was always an immense and pleasurable experience because the bottom he laid down was as deep as a river and as warm as a s'more’s campfire.

Charles Cicirella

6/29/2016

Scratch and Sniff

http://charlespoet.podomatic.com/entry/2016-06-22T23_08_55-07_00

Another poem about sticking my finger up my ass.

Another poet creating skid marks not poetry.

A burst of inspiration hit me all at once like a meteorite.

Archie Bunker and Rimbaud all rolled into one skuzzy irascible ball of simpleton and visionary.

I don’t believe I was taught as a child how to wipe my own ass.

At the very least I don’t recall this lesson taking place when I was conscious.

At the very best I was sick the day they explained why cleanliness is next to Godliness.

Being alone so much of the time is becoming harder and harder to pull off, but it’s still better than ripping the Band-Aid off a fresh scab and pretending it doesn’t hurt like the dickens when Satan forces himself inside of you with no warning or lubrication.

And to be perfectly honest I never much cared for Quentin Tarantino.

I think this poem is over.

I think this poem is done.

It’s time to watch the final episode of the vastly underrated Person of Interest and pack one more bowl.

It’s about time I bowled a 300 game and got over my fear of bowling shoes. It’s about time I kissed you smack-dab on the lips and stopped caring what people think.

Charles Cicirella

6/22/2016

“Love and only love will endure”

http://charlespoet.podomatic.com/entry/2016-06-17T21_42_02-07_00

Truer words have never been spoken

Or broken

And if you don’t believe me

Just ask Bob or Neil

When they’re in the mood to share and dispense some hard fought wisdom.

She was standing by the river

I envisioned pushing her in and then jumping in to save her,

But I never learned to swim or feel remorse

So I decided what’s even the point

When old dogs learning new tricks is such a worn down and shaggy dog cliché.

And you never really understood me

Not even when you were nineteen and I was 36

And you sat on my lap in the basement of that bookstore in that college town.

Your buttocks so firm as you looked into my unemployed eyes

Wondering if I’d ever get my shit together.

And we fight like the dickens when we believe our life is coming to an end

Most of the time though we take time for granted like a grandparent we only visit when it suits us and we have a birthday coming up.

God may be a concept in which we measure our pain, but I’d hate to be on the wrong side of the barrel when everything finally comes to pass and The Everlasting Man returns to take back what’s rightfully his.

Charles Cicirella

6/17/16