Slather on the Mustard

http://charlespoet.podomatic.com/entry/2015-11-25T03_35_40-08_00

I’m hungering for your intellect.

Let’s objectify each other’s minds.

Until we’re satiated and out of time.

I’m craving your principled stands sticking it to the man.

Let’s take a road trip to the other side of this fractured world.

Until we’ve exhausted our bank accounts and good will.

I double dog dare you to slather the mustard on your corndog until it resembles the yellow line running down your “The sun’s not yellow it’s chicken” back.

Patriotism is such a loaded word especially when the second amendment kills more people than it protects.

Yes it’s true I’m a liberal, but I’m hardly a bleeding heart and I will refuse to call myself a progressive until the day I breathe my last exhausted breath.

Senator Bernie Sanders being a Democratic socialist isn’t what’s keeping him out of the Whitehouse. Take it from a fellow Hebrew when I tell you it’s his being Jewish that makes it less than palatable for most people to vote for him.

We’re all about showing our love for Israel, but when push comes to shove most people could care less if Israel was pushed into the Sea of Galilee.

It’s not that I don’t want to give thanks. I’ve just never been very good at seeing the glass half full and oftentimes wonder why we cannot just smash the glass and stand or fall on our own two feet.

I’m not hiding in the closet, but I still refuse to discuss my sexual orientation with you. Oh, I’m as straight as they come, but even if I wasn’t what business would that be of yours?

I grew up with Bruce Jenner on the Wheaties box and I’m wondering if putting Caitlyn Jenner on that same box has been seriously discussed. I can’t stand Bruce and I’m really not sure what to make of Caitlyn and yet when I was eight years old it meant so much to me to see him on that box of cereal and I believe it would mean just as much, if not more, for children to see Caitlyn Jenner on that same Wheaties box.

Charles Cicirella

11/25/15

Fear Cripples You (For Shareen Mansfield and Shawna Ayoub Ainslie)

http://charlespoet.podomatic.com/entry/2015-11-21T04_40_12-08_00

I’d say let’s watch our tone, but what would be the point?

We’ve all done things we’re not proud of.

We’ve all had our grip on sanity loosened as a darkness feeds on our psyches and we’re bound to come up short, and we’re no longer bound for glory.

I’d say stop throwing stones if you live in a glass enclosure, but we all live in glass houses and sometimes it’s not enough telling right from wrong or separating good from evil.

I was afraid of my own shadow until realizing I was using myself as a punching bag and if I wasn’t careful I’d consume my very soul and be left with nothing but doom and gloom in its wake.

Fear cripples you by making you feel like only in its embrace are you safe. It creates its own comfort zone of deniability and before long only hate speech is emanating from your exit wounds.

We must treasure the time we have left, right and center and stop catering to the lowest common denominator as we drag ourselves back into the sunlight.

I’d say we best watch our tone, but what would be the point when the white noise of political correctness is all around us and we’ve forgotten what it means to love our neighbors.

I was standing my ground gathering up all of the strength I possibly could when they pinned a Star of David on my chest. At first I couldn’t believe this was happening, but then I began to understand too many people use history as a closed fist and not as a wide open expanse to the future.

Charles Cicirella

11/21/15

The Fog of Love

http://charlespoet.podomatic.com/entry/2015-11-20T18_24_25-08_00

Lost in the dark stank of your love.

I’m drowning and not even Dear Abby can right this ship.

I’m full of rice and beans and lots of other stuff I refuse to own up to without my attorney present.

The fog of love is not happenstance or for that matter even circumstances gone awry.

There were no coincidences when we met other than me being asleep in front of that ballpark in South Bend and you at another gate waiting like a bandit for the world to end.

It’s time for me to lay down because oftentimes only sleep can cure what ails us and that includes the stench of guilt dripping from our every exposed and unexposed cavities.

Memory Lane did not quite suit me so I put on a football uniform and pretended I was an athlete for a spell. No one believed me and before you know it I was back on the bench wishing a cheerleader or band geek would take pity on my wallflower standing.

I sit here waiting for the words to come and when they don’t I do my best to fake it until I either make it or break into the teensiest pieces and parts of another comatose poet, hell bent on diving headfirst into oblivion without even a spell checker to right my wrongs.

I know you thought I was a better man so I bet it came as quite a shock when the curtain was pulled back and you realized my strings could be pulled just as easily as any puppets and my survivor status was about to be revoked for failing to answer the call when Darwin came knocking on my tortoise shell.

Lost in the perversity of another hangover that could have been so easily avoided.

I don’t believe Charlie Sheen has a compassionate bone in his soulless body and what’s with all these self-serving actors who have everything handed to them on a gold or silver platter and still expect unprotected sex even when they’re HIV positive because “he was famous long ago for playing the electric violin on Desolation Row.”

It’s true not all of us have tiger’s blood or are on the path to “WINNING”, but we mustn’t forget being a complete unknown often outweighs all the red carpets, free gift bags and free drugs because going through life as an anonymous entity really is a gas, gas, gas and beats the rude awakening of no longer being a celebrity and not even being able to land a commercial for toe fungus.

Charles Cicirella

11/18/15