Sunday, February 26, 2017

Playing with Fire (For John Burroughs)

Rarely if ever do we see eye to eye
Still I believe in him like I believe in the sky
He has his fan club and detractors as do I
"Why Don't We Do It in the Road?" like the Beatles did

He’s grieving now and my heart goes out to him
I mean that with not an ounce of false sentimentality
It’s the poets who keep us in check when everything’s out of balance and even the grocery clerks bring only death and destruction
I remember Brando bigger than life in Apocalypse Now and how Francis had to keep him on the straight and narrow when all Marlon wanted to do was kibitz

Let’s take to the streets like a pack of wild dingoes and show these evil do-nothings what civil disobedience really looks like when the people have had enough and high treason is on the table
Meryl had it so right when she spoke at The Golden Globes and I’d love to hear what she has to say tonight at The Academy Awards
You’ll never convince me that the only honest to goodness people live in flyover states especially when it’s only the bleeding heart liberals that seem to actually ever give a damn about their fellow man, woman and child
John and I need to start doing features together because we have a similar style that peels the pain off of every barn door from here to Poughkeepsie

Ego trips are not for the faint of heart
Neither are the true dark nights of the soul when your flashlight is out of juice and your headlights do a shit job of illuminating what lies within
Sometimes the best thing we can do is deny, deny, deny and when that doesn’t work facing the lion, tiger or bear head on will do the trick if you’re done playing games
I don’t have any advice as I find myself in the fetal position more often than not these days crying my eyes out for a humanity that refuses to any longer give itself the benefit of the doubt

Charles Cicirella

Eleventh Poem (Black as Night)

It’s all coming back so clearly.
This is what I am meant to do.
I know it like I know nothing else.

The words are friends and paramours.
Sentences like boa constrictors wrap around me till oxygen becomes my halo.
I must dig deep as my toes smash into the silt and sadness of joy.

Sex was never at my command not like the art of creation and the creation of God.
Love an elusive shadow I wax poetic about when losing sight of obedience.
You always understood where I was at even when this hermit crab was distant like the ringing of cathedral bells.

It’s all here for the taking once you unclench your fists and learn to love from within.
Dreamscapes freeze me out of my own reality as I get on the bus and ride blindfolded through my night terrors.
I will lay this poem down and then I will rest like a koala or harlequin.

Charles Cicirella

Thursday, February 23, 2017

Twelfth Poem (Rollin’ in the Big Muddy) (For Valerie June)

Holy rolling music.
The wilderness has never sounded so funky.
Pure joy as the sun shoots from her “Astral Plane” like a cosmic mechanic on overdrive.

We’re no better than those we condemn.
The death penalty a ticket punched to another place.
I learned to hold my tongue only as long as these chains hold me and they will not hold me for very long.

I can hear you chugging through the night on an ever ready train heading everywhere.
The light makes no mistakes as guardians like yourself spread positive love.
A revival of epic proportions bringing us closer together as an honest to god torch singer presents to us a burning bush juke joint that we ignore at our own peril.

Charles Cicirella