6:25 PM

http://charlespoet.podomatic.com/entry/2015-10-03T16_02_38-07_00

Listen with an open heart.

Don’t focus on what you think your ears are hearing because that is often misconstrued.

If your heart is smart it will differentiate from that which is important and that which is just more gossip and angry words.

I was so tired I was ready to sleep right on this killing floor.

Sometimes I feel like I was a planned abortion and if you get where I’m coming from perhaps we can do it to each other in a foreign tongue behind the dumpster of the nearest A&P.

Look I don’t mean to offend you or intend to make you uncomfortable with the words I throw against the wall like a mural or meerkat Last Supper. I’m surprised Word does not recognize the word meerkat. What that says about mongooses in general I don’t really know.

Speak with an open hand.

Don’t clench your fists and think that will get you to a better place.

Dictators are for the birds and I still do not trust the Castro brothers no matter how many Holiday Inns or Ramada Inns go up 110 miles from Florida’s shores.

I have a hankering for a tin of Willie’s Reserve. Some idiot on FB who clearly didn’t understand the thought process behind this product asked if there’d be a prize at the bottom like Crackerjacks. All I could think was the THC fog you’ll soon find yourself enveloped in will be prize enough you simpering fool.

Sometimes I feel like a motherless child while other times I know there must be more than meets the eye to this whole to do over the Madonna and Child and how rested and chiseled they appear in their Roman digs at the cultural epicenter of the world.

Look I don’t mean to distend or render your beliefs hopeless or hapless in any way, shape or form. It’s just that this toxic environment is doing us more harm than good as another pro-lifer runs for President and another pro-choice advocate runs for cover. That’s what’s leaving me feeling more and more like what’s the point and why are we allowing so much intolerance to go unchecked and underestimated in the political arena.

Charles Cicirella

9/22/15

Caterpillar Astronaut

http://charlespoet.podomatic.com/entry/2015-10-03T15_28_39-07_00

Headphones on.

“Tiger in My Tank.”

I’m restless.

Reservations prod me toward the edge of another Tomorrowland cliff.

You write poetry like its disco and it sickens me to my very core.

Squeeze the words out of your brain-tube and paint as thick as Vincent did when the muse was going down on him, but refused to let him finish.

I’m catatonic.

Patron saints like Walt Disney animals exist all around me speaking in their squeaky voices trying to get me to do things that wouldn’t be good for anyone.

I say let them build the Mosque next to the DQ / Orange Julius, next to the Elks Lodge, next to the Temple behind the car wash.

You’d think people who were religious would be the most tolerant when exactly the opposite proves to be the case.

Except for the temper tantrum Christ had over the money changers when he cleansed the Temple he appears to have been all about love and mercy and yet too many zealots are killing in his esteemed name.

I want to go the distance, but before I pledge allegiance to another flag draped in blood I want you to reassure me the Children’s Crusades are a thing of the past and you will not be aborting another fetus merely for sport.

Headphones on.

The Albino is making my ears bleed.

I’m sonorous and afraid you’re much too shallow for my erroneous tastes.

I will never forget that day at the roller skating rink when I thought it would be funny to hide Brenda Marcus’s wallet and all hell broke loose when it actually came up missing.

We’re all caterpillar astronauts in search of tang and freeze dried ice-cream to keep us happy and somewhat pacified.

He was a demon, but not a bad demon. In fact when it came to his demon exploits he only did good like so many civil rights leaders and Hells Angels profess doing.

Now grab hold of my horns because I am going to take you for the ride of your multifaceted lives and when we’re through running through the streets of Pamplona I promise to return you back to your sedentary and solitary life of Springsteen concerts and kale salads.

I’m just another mover and shaker stuck in the suburbs who has no one to blame but himself. And when you are through wringing out another filthy white or blue collar come join me on the upper deck before this Titanic ship starts to sink and the band begins to play “Autumn.”

Charles Cicirella

9/22/15 

“Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.” Hebrews 11:1 King James Version

http://charlespoet.podomatic.com/entry/2015-10-01T00_04_18-07_00

Close your eyes.

Tell me what you don’t see.

It will be okay or it won’t. That’s not for us to say.

When is the last time you fell to your knees and prayed?

Do you remember the first time you asked for forgiveness and were washed clean of your sins?

There’s no more time for monkeying around. You’re either in or you’re out. That’s it. Game over.

We flaunt our excesses in plain view of God not caring that we’re repeat offenders and should be thankful for the life we’ve been given.

The Golden Calf’s got nothing on Jesus Christ Almighty and trust me when I say to you Noah was more than just some old Jew with a penchant for animals.

We must lift ourselves up from the muck and the mayhem and the wrecking ball nightmares that have kept us from peaceful slumber for most of our dilapidated and regifted lives.

Open your heart.

Tell me what you feel once you squeegee the tears and the blood from your rose tinted windshield.

It will be okay or it won’t. Who the fuck knows or cares when you’re down and out and nobody loves you and only God is willing to accept you into His House.

Charles Cicirella

9/28/15