Saturday, December 01, 2007

Doubting Thomas and the Electric Light

When the end of the world arrives it will be like nothing you could have ever possibly conceived of just like when the world first came into being and you were off some place doing something you refuse to admit to now. Bob came into town riding on the back of an ass or with some disingenuous medicine show - a troupe of snake oil salesmen who believe in the power of prayer like once you believed in Mother Goose and Father Night. And God said: 'Let there be light.' and Dylan walked out onto that stage because it was time for his chosen work to begin and for everything else to fall away like a snake's old skin or a child's perfect laughter. We begin in a disassociate state of 'Mama's in the fact'ry she ain't got no shoes daddy's in the alley he's lookin' for the fuse' and before you know it it's all over and that which was off the mark hits the bull’s-eye dead center and the guitar is your only lover now. When the end of the world comes up around the bend don't forget that the pistol is loaded and a game of solitaire is oftentimes more rewarding than Russian Roulette could ever hope to be.
Charles Cicirella Saturday, November 24, 2007

Saturday, September 01, 2007

Self Portrait 2

Ocala National Forest

Followed yellow butterfly
Discovered Evolution and Thought.



There’s no objectification
There is no reason
No longer divided
Ready to fall

Woke Up
Sleep uneventful
No tossing
Little turning

I want for her to twist me
Around her littlest finger
Look into my eyes with her
Passion and her violence

There will be an Exodus
Nothing to do but wait
And crumble.



Don’t take drugs
Don’t drink alcohol
Don’t have sex
Wasn’t breastfed
Lactose intolerant
Threw away all my yellowing piss stained underwear
Threw her away just because I can’t seem to get straight
I’m narrow
Not often open minded
Weighed 120 pounds for a long, long time now I weigh 140 soaking wet
I’m about 5’2 maybe 5’3 if I stand on my tiptoes
I don’t hit myself in the face as much as I use to
Maybe it’s the Lamictal maybe not
Still swear like a sailor
Still not working enough to stand on my own two feet
Still writing poetry.


Swanson Classics Mexican Style Fiesta

I miss the aluminum foil tray
Miss God tucking me in at night
Don't miss Pontius Pilate passing the buck
Miss being Jewish and praying to one God.

I don’t miss beating myself up like a piƱata
Don’t miss the frustration of being told no
Don’t miss not eating and not drinking
Don’t miss not feeling and not thinking.

I wish I’d not used all of the sour cream
Wish I’d taken it slower and easier with you
Wish I’d been a nicer more respectful boyfriend
Wish I had learned to love you before it was too late.

Charlie 8/9/2007 11:31 AM


you say eternity
I say infinity
let's call the whole thing off

you say oblivion
I say oblivious
let's get it on

Don't stop!

Charlie 8-12

Gin Rummy

I saw
I felt
I know

This heat
This fire
Your warrior heart
Your burning sun

No one is holding out any longer
We were hostages until shooting
Ourselves in the head

I saw you as a child
Spied you as an adult
Hiding in plain view
Terrified of being found out

I want to wrestle both our demons
Until there’s nothing left but shiny stones
I want to learn to swim, meet a mermaid
And settle down for good.

August 17, 2007

Do Unto Others

It’s time to unwrap the package
A gift of angels
The sacrifice of a pale white horse
Regression replaced by rebirth.

I thought she got my sense of humor
Until she became permanently angry
Over my refusal to support myself.

Went out today to deposit my paycheck
Was in a trance as I overheard other’s conversations
Left a waitress a four dollar tip on an eight dollar bill
It’s time to unwrap this package.

August 21, 2007 5:11 PM


Smell the coffee
Smell God
Smell God brewing the coffee

Smell bodies burning
Smell God
Smell God burning the bodies

Is there any real discipline?
Our dogma dogmatic
Instant karma suspect

When push absolutely comes to shove
Is it better to be a do-gooder or a

Smell the moonlight
Smell God
Smell God hiding in the moonlight

August 29, 2007 11:13 PM


Three Monarch butterflies came to visit me today
I believe they are protector spirits and that they
Not only represent God but are God.

I feel safe when you’re around
More certain of why I am here.
When cradled in your arms I feel
Less likely or willing to give up
On myself.

One Monarch flew straight at me, then virtually out of nowhere
A second one appeared, both danced around me making me feel
Happy and free.

God blesses me
Made it crystal clear
I wouldn’t die with the rest of them
That I was here for the young hearts.

September 1, 2007 12:03 AM

Convergence 2

A convergence must happen within
Before we can look our DNA in the face
And dispel all this negative energy
Taking hold.

September 1, 2007 12:48 PM

Monday, August 06, 2007

Self Portrait 1

These poems are from a series of new poetry discs I'm working on entitled 'Self Portrait'. There are 7 CD's in all - ten poems on each disc.


Took a walk around the block
Looked straight into the sun
Heat soaked into my skin.

Made eye contact with a dog
When I turned around it was still there
A woman chatted with her daughter.

A squirrel charged toward me
Bees buzzed like a symphony
A bird chirped hello.

June 15, 2007


Tell yourself a secret
Don’t tell anyone else
Seal your mouth shut
With black electrical tape,
Pretty flowers or a devilish

Visit her when she’s gardening
Don’t wait till she’s in the hospital
And you can not find a place to park.

My story is not a tragic one though
Sometimes I like to pretend that it is
I told her I was a delicate flower and
She told me I was full of crap.

Tell yourself you only have 6 months
To live and see what, if any, response
This elicits from all the inner children
You refuse to speak to or support.

June 17, 2007


No one owns your body
Not him
Only God
Only you

No one owns your mind
Not anyone
Not God
Not you

We are flying in the face of adversity
Clawing at the tiger’s striped skin
Staring in the face of a brimming volcano

No one can or should tell you what to do
Not him
Only God
Only you

No one controls your thoughts
Not anyone
Not God
Only you

Charlie for Joey 7/17/07 12:02 AM


Drink the coffee
Goes right through
Too much sugar
Too much cream

Watch the news
Too much intolerance
Too many broken heads

Try to love you
End up alone
Try to love myself
End up loving somebody else

Alone too long
Selfish, stupid, a child
Wearing an adult’s skin
Alone for too long
My behavior insufferable
Praying for another type of sin

Drink the poison
Goes right down
Too many I told you so's
Too many daydreams

Charlie July 2007


The lions aren’t hungry
I’ll surely be ripped to shreds
When they will be is anyone’s guess

I’m not a lion
Not even a wolf in sheep’s clothing
I once was a snake then I shed my skin

We aren’t here to fuss or fight
Aren’t here to be wrong or right
It’s pretty obvious if you just open your eyes

I’ve lost my appetite
I never cared much for apples or oranges
The fruit of knowledge an oxymoron

Come closer
Don’t worry I’m not going to kiss you
This time you wont get off that easy

The lions have gone south for the winter
Something about plummeting property values
I want to be cremated when I’m born again.

Charlie July 2007

needs and wants

I need to write another poem
About my ear and how it listens to the Earth
I need to say something I’ve not said before

I want to contact her
Stop confessing my sins
Just love her once and for all

Yes I am dissatisfied
Yes I question what went wrong
No I never had a master plan or hidden agenda

I need to decide once and for all if it's destiny I'm heading toward
I need to figure out how when I feel like I’m ruined if that is a strength or a weakness

Yes I very much want to live
Yes I very much need to give

Charlie July 2007

We must ready ourselves to fight

White snow turns black ash
White light turns black light
Bright day turns blackest night

We know black
We know white
We must diffuse the grey

We know life
We know death
Limbo must be erased

You are never out of your depth
No matter what you may condition yourself to believe
Hope does not lie dormant – fear a waste of time and energy

Time does not exist
We outlast past, present and future
There are no remedies until we fight

Snow turns to ash
Day turns into night
Sun protects us – moon deplores us

We know God
We know ourselves
Introduce yourself to possibility

Charlie July 2007

King of Kings

He was singing a song.
He was wearing a paper crown.


Judas Saved Jesus From A Life of Perpetual Crime

No one was betrayed
No one was forsaken
No one sought refuge

No one died in vain.

Jesus Saved Judas From A Life of Perpetual Shame

No money changed hands
No blood on anyone’s hands

No shifting winds reclaimed any one Kingdom.


A Pocketful of Posies

I like you like I like the sun
And I ain’t telling anyone
I like you like I like the flowers
No I ain’t telling anyone.

I believe in you like I believe in the Sacrifice
And I’m telling everyone
I believe in you like I believe in the Cross
Yes I’m telling everyone.


Sunday, June 10, 2007

In the ruins of your balcony (for Joni)

I look into the eyes she painted,
The eyes our creator created
Eyes of nausea
Eyes of peril
Eyes of violence

My lips sealed by the kiss of a blue butterfly
My nose smashed and repaired by a raging bull
She stands close by a white silhouette doing her best
To remind me we’re both human and wanting

The remains of another prescribed day
Looking at your yellow railroad warning us if we breathe in
The air around Tom Paine there will be nothing left but our
Imprint and impassioned souls

She’s not painting anything less than my real face
White shafts of paint and plaster shoot from my head like
Greek or Roman pillars and I’ll never forget the way her
Antiquity smelled like wildflowers

I study the remnants of a portrait she breaks down
With every fire stroke of her bewitched fairy tale
And I’m both horrified and elated

I’m still a young lion, a novice savage desiring
Sinew and space to consume or take sanctuary in.

June 10, 2007

Saturday, June 09, 2007

Fragmented (Portrait of Charles Cicirella by Joni Soule 2007)

Life is
Too short
To think
Too much
Or not
Too Much
Ocean (Part Two)

She was the first
I ever met

She asked if I knew
How to swim
I did my best to lie.

Charles June 7, 2007
Ocean (Part One)

I met Jesus on the beach
His hands
fish hooks

He asked if I knew
the fishmonger’s wife

Charles June 7, 2007
Extrapolation (Part Two)

I believe I have a greater purpose
I refuse to tell you what it is
The one & only time I talked about this
I was looked at like I was crazy
And I never want to feel that way again

Where there is life
There is hope

Someone once told me hope equates fear
I no longer choose to believe this
Fear equates fear

Out in Nevada at a rest area reading Thomas Merton
Waiting for God
I must motivate myself to act
Waiting on God
The drive & willfulness exists inside of me
God has always been right here

Charles June 5, 2007
BIRTH (Part One)

There is a poem fighting to get out
I feel it moving around
When it starts to scream and kick
I will attempt extracting it

I am not your father
I am no one’s father
What I write is often not
What I am feeling and still
I attempt wrestling
Supposed genius
From this starved,
Unyielding intellect

One word leads to the next
Haven’t I seen you here before
One line begets another
Didn’t we once attempt
To love each another

There is a person fighting to go in
I can feel him beneath the surface
It makes no difference how much you resist
He’ll scratch out your eyes before surrendering
To this endless diatribe

You are not my mother
You are no one’s mother
What I believe is not often
What I cop to and still
I’m praying for something

One poem possibly leads to the next
Haven’t we already played this out
One poem like a watchtower admits failure
Haven’t we seen better nights and days
One failed relationship will hardly end your life

Or so it would seem

Charles June 2, 2007

Must swim out of here
Find some other place
Emptiness never ending
Loss of hope a cold chill

Did I make this bed of isolation
Construct it from childhood memory
Remember calling myself on the telephone
How I never picked up until the last ring

So self conscious as a kid
Before I began writing never felt comfortable in my own skin
Martyrdom created from ancestry and failed attempts at discovering peace
Both my inner and outer selves screaming for autonomy

Must light the fuse destroy this fortress of solitude
A kind and benevolent doctor prescribed poetry
Must get back in touch with synchronicity and sacred trust
Tell myself the secret withholding nothing not even reverie

The template of our lives forged in silver and gold
Blueprints checked and rechecked before granted wings
Read the syllabus convinced there was nothing left for me
How wrong I was as my beginning and ending became one.

Charles May 28, 2007
Heat and Flame

Standing next to me
I feel her heat
Reminds me of summertime,
When I was a child
Before I was born

Standing next to me
I witness her flame
Reaching fever pitch
Revelatory in
Primal speech

There is another plane
Beyond borderline and
Graveyard, a smiling desert
Filled with living souls
And roving gamblers

Our existence the gift and the promise
Heat and flame directing us toward
Inner strength and declarations of

Charles May 26, 2007
Alphabet Oxygen Soup

words untie the noose
tell right from wrong
pull down the curtain
last longer than breath

We must fight sickness
ghosts in the machine
God killers

does your skeleton possess the key to the lock
walk through walls unscathed
believe in magic
understand we’ve been sent
not abandoned here

words tie everything together
are closer to me than my next of kin
I wore an oxygen mask for the first thirteen years of my life
then I sat down and began to write and have not once looked back.

Charles May 23, 2007

Sunday, May 20, 2007

OPR (Check In – Check Out)

Dig your heels in
Kick start your hog
Boot up your computer

Ready yourself for the fight of your life
Transcendental meditation a key
Bliss awaits us when we dive

The clock struck midnight
I did not recognize its chime
The director screams Cut
And pandemonium arrives

When I sit down to write
I don’t set out to be optimistic,
Pessimistic or realistic it just happens
Or it doesn’t either way the cards must be
Shuffled and dealt

I live in a glass house, windows covered in
The steam of my own breath
There are no honor killings
It’s not paradise but we do our best

I will try to be more understanding, open minded
And kinder to the enemy within
When I was born I screamed, “I’m just a patsy”,
But no one seemed to hear and it still seems that
Way today

She sits in her room on a chair near the T.V.
Like the caterpillar sitting on the mushroom
It would appear she has all the answers when
In actuality she possesses no useful knowledge
About anything

If all we do is find fault in others what’s the point?
If we’re not contributing anything other than collateral
Damage why go on?
“Theres blood in the streets, its up to my ankles
Theres blood on the streets, its up to my knee”*

Charlie May 20, 2007
*”Peace Frog” (Morrison Hotel) – The Doors

Friday, May 18, 2007

Screened In

I escape into music and movies
My entire life a one act play
Where the hero and the villain
Are one and the same.

Forced to choose Pro-Life or Pro-Choice,
To believe in either The Immaculate Conception
Or the Big Bang and I’m not entirely convinced
Either one represents anything more than another war
On a consciousness I no longer can defend in good

I’ve been asked where I was when the world began
And I answered right here scratching myself like some
Primate too smart for its own good. I’ve been asked what
If any regrets I have and I admit taking my cat Apple Cider
To the APL is one of the most regrettable things I have ever

I escape into the Internet and creative endeavors
Aware that what I have to share no one may actually
Care to hear. I’m screened in with the knowledge
Suicide is not an option nor has it ever been.

I’m muddling along with an identity I’m not quite certain
I any longer trust or believe in.

Charles May 18, 2007

We are bleeding
Don’t care how over the top that sounds
We are bleeding like stuck pigs.

No one gives a damn
A higher consciousness thrown out with both the baby and the bathwater
A highway of diamonds mined and left barren.

Our minds diagnosed with brain cancer
Our hearts ridden with lost causes and misanthropic mind games
Our love for life traded in for conspiracy theories proven all too real.

Gimme some truth?
No longer can it be separated from cloak and dagger wild-goose-chases
Gimme some truth?
Why so you can placate it until it no longer represents anything but a misguided Sermon on the Mont.

We are bleeding from the outside in
You say the situation is not yet that desperate
And I say to you the situation is beyond desperate and has been broken and out of commission long before you hid yourself in an ivory tower with all the amenities necessary to keep you and others like you solvent for a thousand years.

We must arm ourselves
Gut instincts and bullets only thing that will now get some actual results
Street philosophers and castaway professors must extract themselves from their tenure and breathe new life where only death remains
We must find a way to dial back the rhetoric and push through this once hallowed now haunted and forsaken burying ground.

Let’s save the world now.

Charles May 18, 2007

Saturday, May 12, 2007


I’m a prisoner of a war fought within.
Spending too much time inside my mind
And not enough time in this body.

I’m tired of my reckless behavior,
Tired of going against the grain
Tired of watching so many movies
Knowing exactly how they will end.

They poisoned our pets
Next they’ll come after us
First they’ll round up the artists,
Philosophers and hopeless romantics then they’ll
Come after the educators, Jews and Christians.

No one is safe from this self inflicted wound,
This stigmata we once believed noble and without
Vice. You can only live for so long alongside a
God Complex before it consumes your life.

The false-poets and false-prophets told you this day
Would come, stood in the center of town going on
And on about the end of the word and the beginning
Of silence.

When ends refuse to meet and static electricity no longer
Raises the dead what will it take for us to finally wake up
And pay attention to this monster we created in our own
Image and then so blatantly ignored.

May 12, 2007

Enemy Combatant

media soaked in blood
fear used as a tool to rule the ruling class
war on drugs
war on terror
doesn’t mean anything
empty words
empty promises
blowing in this american wind

media soaked in piss
the president of these united states
giving unto us a golden shower
as the vice president deals in black gold
and blowing away anyone who dares
question his police state politics or
questionable business practices

i’m tired of all this doom and gloom
tired of a golden horizon just out of reach
tired of words like freedom, liberty, democracy
having come to mean nothing and I’m sick and
tired of the apathy we as a people settle for everyday

i can not watch the news anymore
too much of a heartbreak
can no longer stomach the political twisting
of words and bodies as we become more deeply
entrenched in someone else’s problem, someone
else’s headache

we didn’t create this mess
we didn’t vote for these war mongers and war profiteers
we did not sanction all of this blood spilled in the name
of what? in the name of who?

too many trapdoors
too many tongues wagging and flags waving
as we go an extra mile and in fact only become
mired in more shit and amputated limbs

we’re shooting at the wrong people, killing the wrong bad men
we must turn the rifles on ourselves, burn our own villages to
the ground before it's too late.
Charles May 12, 2007
Living Proof

I feel most alive when writing
It’s just that way
So it goes..

Questioning everything
Is this sentence too long
Should I use a comma or semicolon
Why am I working in another kitchen
Ready to blow out my brains with the
Realization that the greatness I believed
Was around the next bend is just another
Stuffed shirt, another painted sunset.

I don’t feel displaced when punching the keys,
Don’t feel so out of my element or wishing I were
Some other place. The other day I took a walk down
This street I use to know when a teenager, my friend
David Molinaro lived there with his Uncle Lou, sisters
Sharon and Linda and her daughter Melissa, it was a
Time of experimentation and confusion, a time of alliances
Formed and then forsaken.

Living proof that our dreams can work for or against us
We know only as much as we’re designated to know the rest
Is made up as we travel down a highway of silhouettes and
Shadows. Kneeling next to my bed reciting The Lord’s Prayer
I hear my voice in the darkness as both a stronghold and a vice.

May 6, 2007
Jesus Wept (2007)

Crawl inside the Earth
True sacrifice outlawed
Crawl inside benevolence.

What part you playing
A sheep in wolves’ clothing,
A pragmatist with no common sense

Crawl outside Heaven
Do you wish you were younger,
Crave money or a quick fix

Will you ever be happy,
Curiosity quenched, gluttony sanctified

Crawl on your hands and knees
His Father mistook him for someone else
Crawl inside the Sun and burn.

May 2, 2007

There are lines
There is a face
There is a body

I am driven
I am possessed
I am ready

There are limbs
There is a tree
There is a forest

Potential purrs
Potential barks
Potential howls

There are lines
There is a face
There is a body

May 1, 2007

Sunday, April 29, 2007



Modesto, California
Another dustbowl
Another dead-end

I remember Death Valley
Hans the German tourist
Orange juice and oatmeal



Lancaster, California
Another pawnshop
Another dead man

I remember dry heat
Pony rides



April 29, 2007
day to day

walking across the bridge the other day
thought about diving, plunging, flying
not because I ever would
not because I ever could

walking across the bridge today
wind blowing on my face
cars hurrying by too busy to stop and smell the concrete
I felt tremendously alive
there were no constraints holding me back
no bars leveling the playing field by offering nothing
but isolation

I live in this body and no one else’s
in fact we’re all only renting until moving on
to another kind of summer house
I drank the glass of water that was half full until it was empty
I evaded responsibility until I had all the time left in this world

we must live and let live like it’s our last day on Earth
scraping the bone of our brains until the pencil bends than breaks
a thousand mirrors and not one reflection that makes any sense
a million impressions made and only the first one really counts

when my uncle died the only thing I took from his house was
Marlon Brando’s autobiography, when my best friend hung himself
I knew he was no longer committed to much of anything
there are no escape hatches
failsafe is never foolproof.

Charles Cicirella
April 28, 2007
(for Lynda Sams)
"two minute whiplike threads of protoplasm"

I’m not afraid of the dark
Afraid of a demon reaching up and stealing my identity
I am my own demon, angel, transient being.

Duck ponds remind me of our love affair
As do promiscuous squirrels and Mediterranean food.
First time I rode a bike in over ten years was with you.
I’ll never forget how much you sounded like Howlin’ Wolf
Or Bob Dylan when he says, “thank you”.

You told me I was a bad writer and it cut me to the quick.
Not sure why your opinion means so much or why
I became so overwrought when you refused to listen.

Going to the library bittersweet since our breakup,
Checking my email nowhere near as exciting nor is
Talking about music or looking at clothes.
I was like a kid in a candy store when we first recognized
Each other at that ballpark on the outskirts of town.

I know you don’t understand what it is I’m doing or why my life
Is always in such a state of disrepair while I dispense of the rules
And go my own way. I want so badly to be a hero, a visionary, a
Romantic figure and perhaps I am or perhaps I’m not.

We stand alongside an infinitesimal number of golden rules
Praying we don’t break beneath the pressure or begin seeing
Ourselves through someone else’s eyes and all I want is to
Figure out how to not look back so I can move forward
Instead of sideways or backwards.

April 25, 2007

Saturday, April 21, 2007



An Invocation – butterfly medicine – horn of plenty – she constructs her own ark with every stroke – no recycling – no petty jealousies or awkward silences – no fillers or artificial flavors – no sweatshops – no predators – no incest –

stop feeding on America the spectacle – America the brain dead – America the grotesque –
her painting purified – nothing profane or indignant – she refuses to rest on her laurels or settle for less -

we were in a room – heat and flames shooting up toward Heaven – her mouth filled with Bazooka bubble gum – mine stuffed with blue cotton candy – two children comfortable enough in their own skins to go down to the shore and dance in the lava –

I become a great explorer when gazing into her horse and buggy visions – into future Gospels no one but a fairy could have created – an Invitation – a well honed wake up call – siren of solitude – she controls nothing not even herself thank God

Charles Cicirella
April 21, 2007
(for Joni)

Wednesday, April 11, 2007

The Grand Illusion

put the phone to your ear and wait for her call – wait for patriotism to stop breaking your heart – for the blood on our hands to disappear and for what the flag supposedly represents to mean something more than a dollar earned is another politician bought and paid for – all this posturing - speechifying – declarations for an independence no one actually lives and dies for unless that is you’re a soldier of misfortune sent to fight in someone else’s civil war – we’re all slaves to a corporate mindset doing too good a job wiping out the middle class

being forced to fall on our own swords over and over again until there’s nothing left but television static and chicken soup for more dead souls – we must learn to stop adapting so easily to a reward system rewarding only the haves and never the have nots - we must wake up and realize we’re prostitutes not patron saints

I’m not proud of the carnage piling up like crackling leaves in the name of America the beautiful – America the proud – America the dispassionate – America the profane – America the damned and forsaken – the bald eagle fed to a murder of hungry Christians in a coliseum of our own devising and despicable natures

The legacy being handed down to our children a legacy of fear and ignorance all too readily proven by the mistakes we continue making in the name of progress and staying the course.

Charles Eric Cicirella
April 11, 2007

Wednesday, March 21, 2007

Blue Heaven

There is a feeling – a feeling of remorse and resurrection – of redemption and merciful disintegration – you ask how mercy can exist when something is falling apart – you ask where is God when the shit really hits the fan and I answer God is not only in the details but is the details and we must all, including God Almighty, repent – the Son of Man every man, woman & child’s best friend and I can not wait till this storm passes and everything is put right or at the very least propped back up on the bricks it rests upon –

There is a lasting impression that lasts only so long before turning inside itself and returning beneath the red dirt – there is an important lesson in learning to self-protect rather than self-project all of your weaknesses and fears on this or that phantom or shadow – art, sex and God you pick the order doesn’t matter what does matter is this rite of passage to accept the humanity existing deep within and alleviating the stress and pressure by accepting who you really are and exactly why it is you’ve come this far –

Sunrises and sunsets hang around her neck like daisy chains of birth and death – a star child whose only purpose is to shine brighter than the sun and to never give up even when her race has been run – the obstacles and impassioned hysterics – the realization that you really are a Fairy Queen and that everything around you that has turned to shit must be taken in stride for you’ve been cast in a rebellious nature that can too easily become a prison or hospital and you know this to be true just like you know it’s not too late to excavate the canvasses covered in chosen paint from your mind’s eye and exhibiting them for all to receive – remember what Jesus said those who love & follow Him will never be accepted or understood or even protected from the approaching storm and still we must step lightly upon this new moon – this new landscape disguised as hell and in truth is Paradise –

the paintings which have been transformed from your crutch to a ladder to a crucifix call out for not another crucifixion but instead want for you to finally be healed – to heal yourself in the Oneness and the Glory of self love and self preservation – we have been called here in vast numbers to perform miracles – called upon to do His and Her work in the likeness of God – in the likeness of ourselves bent over in servitude and celebratory anguish – I see and accept the revelations in your ancient eyes now you must do the same – you must again get in touch with what has always driven you over the ocean floor and across the expansive desert –

a feeling like no other – the knowledge that Sainthood has never been the point and that we are not reckless no matter what the lions and slaves may think – we are romantics in the truest most literal sense of the word and yet titles nor labels nor our given names can sustain us any longer
Charles Cicirella March 18, 2007 (for Joni)

Saturday, March 17, 2007

Intermediate Satisfaction

The first line is a life sentence – a pleasure dome – the rebel without a cause – Ochs wanted to be James Dean – who didn’t want to be James Dean in the fifties when everything was cooler and not taken for granted – in the beginning Genesis seemed like a good idea on paper anyway then God got smart so He sent His only Son down to Earth to sort through the mess and look how that turned out – Crucifixion is not noble matter a fact it sucks – why has thou forsaken me? truer words have not been spoken then tossed away like loose change or early morning mass – Jesus did not die in vain at least that’s the word on the street – I’m not joking trust me I’m not packing like Milton Berle – why do you think Marilyn Monroe was smiling? She’d had a piece of Uncle Milty before he got old & easily replaced by something younger & nastier – Marilyn also had had a piece of JFK & Robert Kennedy before they were snuffed out like a brush fire or unwelcomed advance – Phil Ochs walked out onto that Carnegie Hall Stage outfitted in gold lame delivering the message that Elvis like King still mattered no matter what idiotic people may choose or not choose to believe – belief is a funny thing it can change like the seasons or be resolute in its unfailing ability to shake things up like a belly dancer or belligerent drunk – the first line gets you to the next and the next after that just like one little white lie ties up every loose end by falsifying supposed truth over & over again.

Charles Cicirella
March 17, 2007

Thursday, March 15, 2007

Odyssey Two


My Blue Ether

My Blue Heaven



We begin here – right here – a cornerstone in our minds – our thoughts like strip joints – B-Movie actresses scantily clothed – I’m Fred Astaire or Tarzan – You’re Auntie Mame or Holly Golightly – I’m playing the harmonica on a train – on a floating cloud – Woody Guthrie down the line – the Bulls are hot on his Freedom Trail – Woody’s guitar a machine gun – fascists must be put to death in every century – just listen to how the strings react to his nicotine stained fingers – he ain’t just strumming – we ain’t just square dancing – take your partner – your best gal by the hand and run through the wild flowers naked – you are a flag blowing in the unarmed wind – you are a gun bereft of bullets – a conscience actually connected to a mind’s eye – another killer strung up by his or her flimsy alibi – another execution caught on a cell phone and spread across the Internet like a royal-straight-flush – she stared at her reflection in the knife – the knife did not flinch – I remember the corner butcher – the prize fighter who was not much of a prize and I feel replenished
full of apples and oranges
full of smiles and laughter
full of fruits and vegetables
full of golden tickets and pink sunsets
full of inter-dependence and outer perspectives
bathed in mystery and more mystery we must stand our ground
be it hallow or haunted, sacred or profane
it’s too late to back down now

Charles Cicirella
March 14, 2007

Saturday, March 10, 2007


Is this all there is – no I wont believe it – can not accept it – the code we are fighting for ancient – the sacrifice being made crucial – we were blind now we can see – our hands are eyes – a third fourth fifth eye sitting atop a human pyramid – we are not vanquished no matter the pettiness all around us – our voices a ladder to Heaven – to the waters above and beyond Heaven – I’m tired of the mumbling – the bullshit hanging down around everyone of us like a martyr on a cross – a thief or a Savior what’s the bloody difference when ends refuse to meet and false starts are all that seem to exist – I’m tired of walking on eggshells – tired of accepting the label of bum – scumbag – hobo – should I jump on the next train that comes along and ride – is oblivion hell or purgatory or is limbo in fact a paradise that for whatever reason suffers from bad press – I’m tired and I know you’re tired too – tired of happenstance – circumstance and taking a stand when too many people have their heads in the sand – sheep led to a senseless slaughter – ostriches sent to yet another oily war – our soldiers brave and yet they are being led astray – sent to fight by silver-spoon-aristocrats who could give a damn if they die or are maimed – we must stand up against our oppressors – realize that Paine’s Common Sense and Thoreau’s Civil Disobedience still very much exist today and are perhaps even more crucial than they were yesterday – paint - blood and the visionary fortitude to see beyond a landscape writhing in the flames of a patriotic state that no longer stands for anything but more tired coercive rhetoric – land of the free - bull feathers – pursuit of happiness – there is no such thing when it’s our own government terrorizing the state – I’m hungry for liberty – hungry for a comeuppance that must arrive before any of this is set straight – we all possess a Warrior Spirit – we all possess an internal clock that tells us what time it truly is – we must nourish ourselves – learn to nurture ourselves before it’s too late..
Charles Cicirella March 10, 2007

Saturday, February 03, 2007


Listen to her quiet calm
She sings like Hank Williams
Listen to her quiet psalm
Her prairie body embodies a Tower of Song.

I do not believe in ghosts
Precious memories rock a rocking boat
I do not believe in the power of myth
Raucous daydreams capsized this cruise ship.

The world is a glacier melting from the outside in
We are its passengers some imprisoned others set free by their faith
There are many marathons but only one true race to the finish line
When I looked into her eyes a paradise realigned.

Listen to her quiet storm
Never failing to amaze and excite
Witness her cowboy boots
Kicking up the dust of man.

January 27, 2007

January 27, 2007

Saturday, January 27, 2007

I Am Here

I Am Here

I am here
Fixed on the nothingness
Of a blank stare.

Job applications flutter
In the pinewood air
Needing to be filled out
Or tossed away.

I do not have a passport
So I can not escape to another country
My imagination bankrupt
Self evident truths no longer
A dime a dozen.

I barely remember the wheelbarrow
You pushed me around in and how
I once teetered on a cliff of my own devising
Finding it both reckless and romantic.

I am not here
In need of electroshock therapy or something
That would either jolt me in or out of this
Forced reality.

The world supposedly needs people like myself,
Dreamers who have never quite grown or given up
Lately though I am not entirely convinced me or
The world will ever see eye to eye.

When the nothingness all around becomes a
Comfortable blanket of hoarfrost and delirium
Is it time to pull the plug or perhaps get a new
Take on everything exhaled from your frozen
Heart and head.

January 21, 2007

Sunday, January 07, 2007



I must begin again
There’s no other way
I must go out before an in
Can be revealed to me.

Am I a twin?
Two halves of a disenfranchised soul?
The Alpha or the Omega of my own
Latent apocalypse?

Seize the day
Seize the ruins of a civilization gone mad
Seize the madness of both success and failure.

The paint on the canvas represents love
Or the paint on the canvas represents nothing,
A joyous nothingness you’ve been at odds with
Since you were vacuumed out of the womb.

People see you doing nothing and they believe
You’re doing nothing when what they can not
Even begin to comprehend is how very much
Is going on inside your heart and head.

What am I the personification of?
Why don’t I bathe more and look at myself more
In the mirror?
Is it because I can not stand to see what I have become
And that even with no verdict handed down I’m still guilty
Of every crime they say I’ve committed.

I wanted to tell you how much I love you
And yet I knew it wouldn’t make any difference
Now that you’ve come to the conclusion that
I am worthless and everything written in blood
Has been washed away with the rain and snow.
Charlie 1/07

Saturday, January 06, 2007

Behind Blue Bars

Behind Blue Bars

When we’re talking I am not writing
When we aren’t talking writing returns
The art needs my full attention
I must sacrifice myself for anything good to come

This isn’t meant to be sinister
I do not intend to become my very own haunted house
I just feel like I am suffocating when I am in touch
And when out of touch the art is my only confidant

The Nazi’s have broken out of my head
All the best wars have already been laid to rest
You probably will not understand this
Probably wonder what I am going on about

When we’re making love I am not communicating
When we are at odds the communication stops and starts
I remember you jumping up and down on the hotel bed while we listened to Blood On The Tracks; it’s the first time in a very long time that I discovered someone who was not holding anything back.

I know I disgust you
I’m not sure if I disgust myself.

Charlie 1/07

Thursday, January 04, 2007

Behind Blue Bars

Hanging Gardens

Heart Behind Blue Bars



She is wounded
Deaf and dumb
Stronger than most.

Write this prophecy down
Write it with teeth and eyes
Write it in menstrual blood.

Skywriting for the birds
Musicians covered in feathers
The Great American novel shit.

He is immortal
Ragged and dirty
Stupider than most.

Build a Church in your heart
Build it with your third eye
Build it on sand.

We are wounded
Injured and spiraling
Stranger than strange.

Charlie 1/3/07