Monday, February 21, 2022

Rocky (For the Kran family)

Even though no one else sees the resemblance, Lee has always reminded me of Burt Young.
I’ve known him most of my life and I honestly don’t have a bad word to say about him.
Both he and his wife Sharon always treated me exceedingly well and their generosity and kindness never fails to regenerate my faith.
So many people talk about paying it forward while doing nothing even close to that while Lee and Sharon were always thinking of others and how to payback for the blessings bestowed upon them.

I don’t recall a time when Lori and I weren’t friends and I’m even counting the moments when one of us was holding a grudge or allowing some silly disagreement to place us in a timeout.
Sometimes years passed before we saw each other again and yet we’ve always picked back up where we’d left off because that’s what true friends do.
I was there when Lee and Sharon renewed their wedding vows and I believe there’s still a video of that out there somewhere.

I’ll never understand why people have to die. I wish like the Energizer Bunny we could continue onward-forward-infinite through the end times and toward a new beginning of everlasting bliss.
Of course for all I know when we are no more what awaits us is even fuller of possibilities and a new, fledgling hope.
I know Lee is missing Sharon something terrible and that they will be reunited. I hope that gives Lori and Randy some peace at this difficult time.

He’s Rocky, fighting the good fight and making sure he’s always a champion in the eyes of those he loves and who so dearly love him back.
Writing poetry for the family is a great honor because they are true Guardians of the Eternal Flame.
Lip service gets no one anywhere in this crazy, cockeyed world, but if you live your truth like Lee does I can assure you that God looks upon you favorably.

Charles Cicirella


Saturday, February 19, 2022

Lie down.

I lie down and process God.
That may mean nothing to you, but it means everything to me.
Sleep is rejuvenation from the cult of status quo uneasiness.

I believe this is a poem and I write it both knowingly and unknowingly.
My willful and unwilled selves have trained for this for many birth and death cycles.
Here I sit and stand alleviating all stress by letting go of pre-ejaculated fears.

Why do we dilly dally waiting for what is believed to be an eminent attack?
A surprise party must still be planned by someone and so there must be a way to cease and desist from the delivery of balloons and the arrival of a clown or magician.
I’m not joking in the least little bit when I say discovery is for the birds when the beasts have already decided to consume everything lower than them on the food chain.

I lie down and profess my sins.
That may mean nothing to you and even I question its legitimacy.
Real or fake these parallel universes plague me like a Lynchian nightmare.
Jimmy Scott never seemed more fatalistic than when singing under the sycamore trees.

This is not a confession nor a statement of fact.
It’s one person’s unobserved observations drawn and quartered through streams of red velvet cake consciousness.
Here’s where it begins and ends as a populace is silenced through their own censuring of the written word.

Charles Cicirella

Saturday, February 05, 2022

I'm in it for blood.

I’m in it for blood as my hands become covered in the consonants and vowels of a billion unborn poems.
There’s no denying poets play God as we enter the operating theater praying "Day of the Locusts" is not in the mix.
“I'm a steamroller baby; I'm 'bout to roll all over you.”

I believe it’s my moxie turning people off, that and the stench of fearlessness wafting off of me from all the poets I’ve left in the beaten down, academic dust.
Irascibility is my middle name because I learned a long time ago making friends will get you absolutely nowhere as they stab you in the back for their fifteen minutes in the unbleached sun.
Hank Williams Sr. had it right dying of a heart attack at the age of 29 in the backseat of his 1952 powder blue Cadillac.

I’m in it for blood; fuck the glory and the megalomania oftentimes rearing its ugly head as you win another 5 games on Jeopardy! while forsaking all of your heart torn followers.
There’s something to be said about going gentle into that good night especially if you’re a drunk and always make a mess of things while attempting to get it right.
“Hey, hey, babe, I got blood in my eyes for you. Hey, hey, babe, I got blood in my eyes for you.”

Charles Cicirella


Started this poem a thousand times and still nothing was set in cement.
I think that’s why I find you so refreshing on Twitter because you clearly are realistic while also keeping a sense of mystery about you.
You cannot force funny and most people don’t understand that while your clever asides never fail to slay the dragon that exists inside of me.

I know you’re a married mommy, but there is no denying how sexy you are as you flirt like a champ, pulling out right when it might get interesting.
Your facial expressions are epic as you tell a thousand stories with a raised eyebrow or curled "King of Rock and Roll" lip.
So many people playing catch up on social media while you lead the pack with your smoldering sexuality leaving tarts half your age wondering what has hit them.

Started this poem a thousand times and nothing quite fit until I stopped trying and opened myself to the muse that is Laura Marie.
You leave me catatonic and in a state of gleeful abandon as I forge ahead with your kind words and sharp tongued PowerPoint presentation.
Snark without heart is a colossal waste of time and you know that and so much more as you make us all your fans and even more than that honest to goodness friends. Thank you.

Charles Cicirella

Friday, February 04, 2022

Self-loathing vs. Self-preservation

Clean all of the chemicals from your vessel.
All those crutches do is put you in the ground quicker.
Sound mind and body is the key to the kingdom.

The pain of birth and the pain of dying are two very different sides of a coin that spend the same.
In the end we begin and in the beginning there’s an ending we can never quite fathom.
The stillness of the night breaks us down as our adult selves hide in the terror of a new day breaking.

Expel all the fear, loneliness and negative energy and become as weightless as a red cardinal or black crow.
All the doubt festering inside you must stop foisting upon yourself like unholy relics or blasphemous deeds from a torturous past.
We are magicians and must learn to heal ourselves before consumed by our own disinterests.

The discovery of joy and the realignment with our innocence is a decree written in blood, served in the soul kitchens of good deeds paid forward.
Divine providence angels watch over us at the most perilous of times and do our bidding when we are threatened with excommunication from the Temple Mount.
Close your eyes and allow me to tell you a secret that will both heal you and protect you from this day forward.

Charles Cicirella