Friday, September 30, 2016

Meet Me Down By the Pylons (For Katie Boyd)

Meet me underneath the sycamore trees, by the river at the side of the dusty road.
I knew you were a poem the first time I looked into your potbelly stove eyes.
It’s futile to resist because irascible poets like myself don’t understand the word no.
And Heaven for me would be going to the record shops with you on a Saturday afternoon.

There was a snake in the pantry and I was as scared as a kid at their first communion.
Katie showed that snake who was boss as I stood on a chair and covered my eyes like a Victorian lady.
And the music is in our heads as we hunker down and take cover from all the monsters under the bed and outside in the garden.

“Close your eyes in fields of wonder. Close your eyes and dream.”
There’s no stopping any one of us when we get a running start and believe we can fly.
And I was frozen from fear until I looked into your fluttering butterfly eyes and understood to heal we must first defrost and embrace the heat of a new morning.

Charles Cicirella

Wednesday, September 28, 2016


not pointing fingers
that’s not my intention
just from where I stand
being monomaniacal
is a losing game
especially when
the only subject you’re
well versed in
are pictures of yourself

what about a change of pace
a photo of some bushes
or a Wendy’s drive-thru
in the middle of nowhere
grab yourself a fifty cent
Frosty and a Baconator
and give the self serving
smirk and unlasting
impressions a break
for a change

you may ask why am I
obsessed with someone
else’s love affair with their own image
and trust me it has zero to do with
sour grapes because I don’t even drink
no it’s more because too many seem to be
caught up in this person’s self inflated
celebrity and it sickens me to see another
Guyana playing out before us like a
slick, indifferent butter knife to the gut
there has to be something more worthwhile
to waste our nights and days focusing and
unfocusing upon like maybe politics or
the state of virtue and where it’s gone off to

Charles Cicirella

Friday, September 23, 2016

Lyn #8

No more words
Just our bodies


Daylight bankrupted us
Nighttime plagued us

We will not rally
We cannot cry

I’m not a gamesman
Don’t bother with mind games

His only Son forsaken
The Everlasting Man  


How many more sacrificial lambs
How many more Bo Peeps will have to go without their sheep?


And I want to hold you, but I want a lot of things I’ll never get
And I want to make love to you before twilight again spits in my eye

No more words
Just bodies colliding


Charles Cicirella