Sunday, December 14, 2008



(for Jim Volk & Albert Ayler)

Angels speak to us through your otherworldly music. Otherworldly not just another catch phrase when it catches us off guard and do you remember Irv’s Deli on Coventry? Of course you do. Of course that which occurs today could very well go unrealized tomorrow. When I finally got around to calling, her number had been disconnected and she had flown the coop like some cooing pigeon or restless terrorist. I’m not kidding. The last time I told a joke her mid section was still taut and my loneliness did not roar so loudly in my Bedouin ears. When we are alone in your upstairs studio I don’t need to make sense of anything because it all comes through so effortlessly and I prefer to forget everything including my own name as we float together down a translucent staircase. I desired a breakthrough I could call my very own, something that aligned itself with the Sun and did not treat Icarus so shabbily. I wanted to believe in something before it was too late and all the night-owl-worms recognized their alibis as worthless currency. What else can or should be done as this civilization does a belly flop into a Beverly Hills swimming pool drained of H2O over two thousand years ago. Rome still smolders as America gets its clock cleaned by the Chinese and what can any of us really expect when a sense of entitlement gets the best of us with every secondhand breath we take. I’m not a lover or a fighter. I’m not a romantic or a recluse. I’m not a Christian nor am I a very good Jew. I am a ghost haunting a doppelganger writing something possibly resembling poetry and you are a mystic very few will ever truly understand because the doctors prescribing all the really good medicine have lost their nerve and their prescription pads.

Charles Cicirella
Saturday, December 13, 2008 3:40 PM


(for Lori)

I was born in the desert.
Everyday I wake up in the desert.
I’ve only ever felt at peace in the desert.

Walking through the desert like walking through a field of mirrors.
Your mind plays tricks on you when you are in the desert.
Signs all around you when you are hitching through a dark desert night.

I remember the fish sandwich I paid for with the last three dollars to my name.
The rest area I stayed in for nearly three days before being rousted by the cops.
Thomas Merton befriending me and how writing shielded me from the cold.

I look into your answers and all I hear is the desert calling across long distances.
The Church a sanctuary for sinners, the desert a sanctuary for murderers and romantics.
I try to tell you some truth but it all comes out wrong because the suburbs kill.

You were born in the desert.
Everyday you go to sleep dreaming of the desert.
The only place you feel safe is in the desert.

Friday, December 05, 2008 2:18 AM

Savior’s Tears

Standing in the rain
It’s cold
I am scared

Wind keeps me company
Cuts through my malaise
I wish I was stoned

Mother Nature answered my personal ad
I couldn’t believe my luck
I am busted and I have been blessed

Savior’s tears cover me like choice cuts of aged beef
You know there was a time I wouldn’t have understood
I am humorless

Praying in the snow
It’s freezing
I am happy

Friday, December 05, 2008 1:50 AM

Friday, November 28, 2008

The Constitution of the World

The Bible a diving manual.
Dead Sea Scrolls a key and a divinity rod.
Our minds bigger than this world.

Do you remember when you were a child and nothing appeared out of reach?
Can you recall the first time you came face to face with your limitations?
The grave one more starting pistol like the womb and an open heart.

The Constitution of the World something that must be reckoned with before you can go the distance through desert, ocean and holy space.
The Constitution of the World never reveals its secrets until a trust has been reworked and the last sacrifice becomes the first in a series of cataclysmic events.
A constitution of words haunts mankind like a ghostly martyr in a wilderness of defiance.

The Bible a bridge to this world and the next.
Dead Sea Scrolls a life raft willing and able to rescue us once we’re ready to ask for help.
Our minds far larger than you can imagine once your imaginings are set ablaze.

Charles Cicirella
November 27, 2008 4:43 PM

Thursday, November 27, 2008

I Will Find The Words

Start walking
Don’t ever stop
Glory our destiny.

Don’t wanna believe in genocide
But I know it’s with us everyday
Because in some people’s hearts
There is a darkness that wont go away.

I will find the words even though it’s too late for us
Finding the words both a blessing and a curse
Running out of breaks far more serious than running out of money.

Shadow governments will never eradicate the will of the people
A good breakfast the most important meal of the day
Don’t forget to brush your teeth and make your bed.

Here we go again
Don’t ever stop believing
You have been chosen.

Charles Cicirella
November 27, 2008 1:45 AM

Tuesday, November 25, 2008


(for Lori)

I know pretending will not last forever
I know eating a lion is not all it’s cracked up to be
I know when the snow arrives it’s only temporary.

I’m not convinced I have ever really been in love
I’m not entirely certain I’m really that good a man
I’m not sure being a romantic is all that romantic.

Perhaps I’m more scapegoat than lamb
Perhaps I’m more bronze than nickel
Perhaps I’m not all that idealistic.

My wherewithal got up and went
My willpower willed out of existence by an unwillingness to adapt
My gut instincts ended up in the gutter next to my whitewashed dreams.

Still I possess something resembling hope
Still I believe in something or someone that still believes in me
In the still of the night our shadows converge in a back alley of our own creation.

Charles Cicirella
November 24, 2008 11:36 PM

Wednesday, November 05, 2008

The United States Of Purple

It begins now
It begins today.

A change has come
A real leader to lead us
An honest to goodness statesman to show to us our better angels.

Racism has always been a non-starter
An ignorant means to no end whatsoever
A violent, vicious dark age now eclipsed by the audacity of hope.

Don’t be fooled by the naysayers
Led astray by the doom mongers
A united front replaces rhetoric with real love.

It begins today
It begins now.

A new President to lead the way
A new President to save America from itself
A new President to show the world how it’s done.

The United States of America like a turtle on its back
The United States of America like a fish drowning
The United States of America like a Confederate Soldier with Amnesia.

The United States of Purple a game changer
The United States of Purple a blossoming flower
The United States of Purple a personal, passionate choice.

Charles Eric Cicirella
November 5, 2008

Monday, November 03, 2008

Pouring Down Rain

(for Cary)

Grab compass, crucifix, crutch.
I’ve removed blindfold, billfold, alibi.
Turned up volume on treacherous smile.

We’re gonna burn as one next time around.
All the best knowledge mustn’t dissuade us.
I slipped on the ice and was taught a lesson.

Climb out of coffin, compact car, nuclear submarine.
I promise I’ll cease and desist from promoting a united front.
Turn up heat on everything you hold both sacred and profane.

October 26, 2008 9:19 PM

Sunday, October 19, 2008

Now I'm A Crow

(for Lori)

Listen to her crying,
Crying for worms.
Her loving dysfunctional and
Severe; her loving keeps you
Guessing and praying.

We pray on our knees like dead soldiers
Propped up by some mad dictator.
We pray like hungry children craving cereal
And a parent’s serial knowhow.

I imagine climbing into each other’s skin,
A hobo suit like Manson talked about during
One of his many rants from a desert outpost
Where young women became his slave and
Young men turned into innocent bystanders.

Now I’m a white devil
Now I’m a prisoner
Now I’m a peasant
Now I’m a surgeon
Now I’m a rolling stone
Now I’m a traveling salesman
Now I’m a painting
Now I’m a pyramid
Now I’m a poem
Now I’m a black night
Now I’m a blank page

Listen to her crying for someone to fill her with love,
Someone who does not question who she is or why
Her arms have become black wings.

October 19, 2008 1:14 PM

Thursday, October 16, 2008

We Gotta Move

We gotta move
No denying that

You are Chosen
You are Blessed
You are Beautiful

We gotta love
Yes, yes, yes

Give yourself a gift of life
Hand yourself over to the mystery
Passion swims throughout our DNA

White book etched in red
White book proves we’re not dead
Pages like leaves change colors in autumn.

October 15, 2008 8:02 PM
(for Lilac)

Communicating With Ghosts

My best friend a ghost
And I speak to him
With my mouth closed.

My best friend a cauldron
Of strangulated guitar chords
And dire circumstance.

I will never forget the first time
I met his inner voice and how
We collided like freight trains blinded by light.

There’s so much I wish I could tell him
So much that got lost in translation
My best friend a ghostly remembrance.

They say take the high road
They say the path of least resistance is a godsend
But they never tell you how outdated recovery can be.

Twelve steps to Jesus
Seven steps to Buddha
Three steps to the gutter.

I went on the road in a white van
Preached about Divine Providence
The whole time O.J. was on trial.

My best friend stayed behind
I knew he was jealous that I was capable of letting everything go
My best friend hung himself because it was the only mode of Communication he had left.

October 15, 2008 1:11 PM
(for Charles Wince & Jim Shepard)

Tuesday, October 14, 2008

Promised Land

(for Lilac)

You are a land promised.
A land I wish to visit again.
The voices I hear are not my own.

I remember driving you back at night.
Sitting in the car and listening to the frogs.
How waiting for you always filled me up.

You are a land of promise and prosperity.
A land small children laugh and play in.
The voices we hear are not in our own heads.

I see you from across the room.
Light falls around you like bayonets.
The stand we take must be our own.

October 13, 2008 11:05 PM

Saturday, October 11, 2008



there’s a poem being written in my head
wants to come out and play for keeps
wants to call you on the telephone

there’s a poem standing on a bridge
cool breeze delivering these words fresh
I’m not telling tales out of school

you’re an empress of the blues
knew it first time I tasted your cooking
you’re a master of blending and purring

there’s a poem being written in the cosmic traffic
chicken soup for the soul a big fat disingenuous lie
discovering a stranger in a strange land god medicine

I feel the blues everywhere I go
they stalk me like pillars of pepper & salt
there’s a poem being written in my blood

for you

Charlie October 11, 2008 3:39 PM
(for Val)

This, That and the Other Thing

Write you a poem
Right some self prescribed wrong
Glue the wings back on a butterfly.

I’m listening to Jim
I’m not obsessing
A golden rule still holds dominion.

We talked on the phone
The silence brought us closer together
So thankful you saved me from self-wreckage.

Caucasian White plays in my Grado Labs SR60 Cans
It’s like a dead angel kissing you when your heart is open
It’s like driving off the road toward oblivion or Columbus, Ohio.

Thursday, October 9, 2008 12:04 PM

(for Val)

Space The Final Frontier

The sun a spaceship we enter and ride.
The moon a covered wagon
We sleep inside like drunk cattle.

When I dream I swear it’s not of you.
I dream only of strangers sleeping with strangers.

I wish I understood personal space
And why intimate encounters are too often
Devoid of prayer or solitude.

The sun a mother-ship we must learn to respect.
The moon an automobile in need of clean fuel.

August 30, 2008


I’m a poet
I’m a Jew
Been writing this same poem for two thousand years

I was ignored
I was crucified
I was forgiven for someone else’s sins

I’m a romantic
I’m a cynic
Been complaining since before I was conceived

You are a princess
A refugee
Been planting the same seeds for twenty two years

You were placated
You were compensated
You were driven out of the garden for crimes you refused to commit

Together we are a dream come true
The monsters under the bunk beds gave up their ghosts when we United
Nightmares were less scary when we listened to each other with open Hearts.

Charlie July 24, 2008
For Lisa Lisa

Sunday, May 18, 2008


Dust Up (1)

(for Jim LaClair)

Choking on the ashes of my dreams
They crucified a crow two thousand years ago
It was spoken and then it bled.
It was written and then it burned.

Does this civilization deserve any better than what it’s getting
When up is down and down is up and I really don’t feel like lying
Any longer about the state of things or why a fall from grace can be
So damn appealing.

She is gonna take a bite out of the big apple and I,
Well I feel like some kind of sewer rat hell bent on
Self discovery through the denial of One and maybe
The healing has begun or maybe just maybe we must
Wait patiently for another two thousand years but
I’ll tell you this; my Chosen status will sustain me for only so long.

Choking on the dust from dreams not yet dreamt
And I didn’t step out in front of that truck; no that would have been
A waste of both my time and my energy.

Charles Cicirella
May 15, 2008
12:20 PM

Dust Up (2)

(for Jim & Jacki LaClair)

Burn baby burn
Don’t forget nor forgive
Your origins and how far
You’ve come.

There was a burning bush
And water that was turned
Into wine and there is a Father,
And a Son and a Holy Ghost
And you needn’t ask any questions
Because the answers have all been
Vetted and shot into our veins like

You were there when the world began
A teacher teaching that a breath of life
Can and does make all of the difference
And you must meet your maker more than
Halfway if you really want to see a return
On your investment.

I remember falling in love for the first time
And how weightless she was; yes I recall
Holding her hand when romance was still in
Vogue and selling your soul was not so easily

Learn baby learn
How worthwhile it is
To build a ladder to the stars
And climb on every rung.

Charles Cicirella
May 16, 2008

12:33 AM

Dust Up (3)

(for Lisa)

Fire not water next time
My dreams are coming back to haunt me
Telling me of things to come and how
We must be prepared to fight our stereotypes
And lay down our guns.

The writing has been on the wall since before many of us
Were born or for that matter born again and a child will
Lead us and maybe her name will be Joan or Mary or
Rose; all I know for sure the status quo and all of its excuses
Is not getting any easier to accept or ignore and at some point
A minority must raise its voice saying once and for all enough
Is enough; we’re not going to take it anymore.

I remember the very first time I ate crow and how it tasted
Nothing like chicken. I remember the first time I held you
In my arms and how it felt like for the first time in my life
I was doing something right.

Charles Cicirella
May 16, 2008
7:08 PM

Romance Not Ridicule This Time

(for Lisa)

Need to move on
Something I’ve never been very good at
Or quite understood.

Too often for me unrequited love
Is like a ghost beckoning me to the edge
And that time we were at Bob’s Big Boy
And I refused to smile what was I thinking
And why was it so hard for me to be human.

I know I need to stop thinking about you
But I wont do it, rather keep myself holed up
In this juke joint of spirit and unconditional surrender,
Rather travel on this highway of unperturbed silence
Where the hum of the Greyhound’s wheels puts me down
Like a rifle once welcomed Old Yeller to slumber.

Need to move on down the road apiece
Where the faces are not so easily reconciled
And the songs on the radio come gently into my mind
Like a cool hissing summer rain and our outlaw status
Ceases and desists from breaking our hearts again.

Charles Cicirella
May 17, 2008
11:47 PM

Rainbow Pie

(for Townes)

I write what I feel
Sometimes black
Other times white
Oftentimes in between.

How does it feel to be at the top of your game;
To be so high you don’t even know what low feels like
And you never entertain conspiracy theories because
The left has always let you down someway, somehow.

I write what I experience
Sometimes hard
Other times soft
Oftentimes in between.

And I remember when we were in the womb together
Getting all squishy as we hung out learning our trade
Never not once looking back; yes I recall how divided I was
When you were delivered first, knowing I would not see you again
For a very long time.

Are either one of us truly the Son of Man and does any of this
Even matter when we’re at opposite ends of the spectrum
And daydreaming is too often frowned upon.

I do not write slight of hand.

Charles Cicirella
May 18, 2008
12:32 PM

Saturday, April 26, 2008

no distinction no nobility no romance

We’re mired in shit - kissed oblivion smack dab on the lips and all we got was tongue – I push everyone away and then I wonder why I am alone – another dead man – dead poet – dead Jew waltzing to his grave – his last stab at fame and homosapien ill advised fortune – I wanted needed to watch the puppy dog Asian girl hostess bump and grind as she seated me and knocked me out with her big eyes and bigger virtues – here we are waiting our turn – turn to burn beneath a disingenuous sun – a sun that knows no wrong only right only fortitude and what it means to go the distance but still come up short like some serial killer who is afraid to pull the trigger and take their first victim – we’re all victims aren’t we? each and every one of us out there on the fringes before being pulled back into the fold and shown just how badly we need to be accepted – need to be loved instead of abused and conditioned to only love those who kill us with diseased kindness and strangulated Cyclops parenting misadventures – I am not coming out to play – rather stay locked deep inside with my dog Bogie – Noodle – my cat Abby – Pookie – find some other way to survive – to make all the freckles on my skin disappear or finally reconnect making me invisible once and for all – make me imperfect in the eyes of the supposed beautiful people who only know how to judge and hate – I am looking for Kong or a Universal Mother something or someone that can and will erase all this envy and jealousy baking inside of me like lava or lactose – we’re mired in our own rainbow bliss if only we could give ourselves half a chance to do more than just recover – more than just live another day – another resounding triumph – another horn of plenty blown – another insignificant other given the slip in this or that departmentalized store of urban waste and pisspot renewal – performing with you was so great – watching you perform was so true – we lit Doowac on fire with our ancient notes and futuristic strokes – infamy is in our rifle scopes – we are not scapegoats – will never be the patsy for a shadow government to use up like tampons or tissue paper – when we pull the trigger – tighten the noose - everything will change for the better – self preservation has seen us through – no more self denial – Anne Frank wanted me to tell you she is sorry for leaving so soon