(for Dawn F.)
You need to give yourself more credit
You need to give yourself a head start
You need to need without worrying so much about the ramifications or repercussions of giving a damn about another living, breathing human being.
I’ve had friends who were lions
I’ve had friends who were tigers
I’ve had friends who were grizzly bears
Oh my goodness I’ve had a petting zoo worth of acquaintances, lost and found in an Emerald City of supply and demand gone awry.
You need to begin the process of healing and rejuvenation
You need to need something apart from that which appears before you as a safety net or comfort zone.
You need to relocate the fairy-tale-princess held captive inside of you before all the stores close and the starry night blinks out from either lack of interest or intrigue.
I shouldn’t be telling you what you need
In truth I haven’t a clue what I need
I’m just another doggie-for-sale in a department-store-window located somewhere over-the-rainbow or around the next slow-train-bend in an upturned road of automated commerce and blues-tinged-song lyrics.
Highway 61 calls out to us like it must still call out for Zimmerman.
Highway 61 a folded tartan napkin desperately trying to locate the culture it once purged like are- you-experienced-vomit or vociferous prayer.
Highway 51 runs right by my baby’s door and that’s no secret nor is it much of a confession.
We must stop dancing so insidiously in the shoot-out-the-lights dark.
I believe we desperately need revisit the casinos inside our holy-uncompromised-selves and get in touch with this slot-machine-mentality brimming beneath a comic-book-facade we too quickly dismiss as unnecessary and undeserving of human love or animalistic desires.
We must soon recreate the first day we were born and wish upon every shooting star crucified before our tired eyes like a traveling salesman or unmitigated song and dance man.
“Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound,
That saved a wretch like me.I once was lost but now am found,
Was blind, but now I see.”*
Charles Eric Cicirella
November 12, 2009
*Amazing Grace by John Newton (1725-1807)
Sunday, November 15, 2009
Julianna Muse
The fire inside of me is burning to get out.
I want to eat an ice-cream sandwich.
I want to watch old movies and eat Chinese food with you in bed.
Here I am for the world to see but the world ignores me and the secrets I conceal are really not worth the paper they’re scrawled upon.
Here I am like Alice in Wonderland except I am not blonde and I do not believe in making friends with rabbits who carry a timepiece.
I am right here riding along with my dark passenger completely unaware of how vulnerable and naïve I oftentimes am.
I know you’re not a gilded lily.
I know you’re not a foreign film whose subtitles are difficult to read.
I know you’re not the Holy Bible shoved inside some motel drawer like an unpopular weather report or melting hot fudge sundae.
Julianna Muse is a rock star.
Julianna Muse is inspiration incarnate.
Julianna Muse is the most beautiful and moving prayer I will ever meditate upon.
The fire inside of me wishes it knew how to roller skate.
I want to eat a piece of pecan pie heated up with a scoop of vanilla ice-cream.
I want for us to drive through a sandstorm together listening to big band music, forgetting that we ever felt alone, unwanted or undesired.
I know what you are thinking.
I know I am too smart for my own good.
It’s true I have fallen upon my own sword too many times for this to not work out.
The fire inside of me is yearning to meet your fire head-on.
Charles Cicirella
November 12, 2009
I want to eat an ice-cream sandwich.
I want to watch old movies and eat Chinese food with you in bed.
Here I am for the world to see but the world ignores me and the secrets I conceal are really not worth the paper they’re scrawled upon.
Here I am like Alice in Wonderland except I am not blonde and I do not believe in making friends with rabbits who carry a timepiece.
I am right here riding along with my dark passenger completely unaware of how vulnerable and naïve I oftentimes am.
I know you’re not a gilded lily.
I know you’re not a foreign film whose subtitles are difficult to read.
I know you’re not the Holy Bible shoved inside some motel drawer like an unpopular weather report or melting hot fudge sundae.
Julianna Muse is a rock star.
Julianna Muse is inspiration incarnate.
Julianna Muse is the most beautiful and moving prayer I will ever meditate upon.
The fire inside of me wishes it knew how to roller skate.
I want to eat a piece of pecan pie heated up with a scoop of vanilla ice-cream.
I want for us to drive through a sandstorm together listening to big band music, forgetting that we ever felt alone, unwanted or undesired.
I know what you are thinking.
I know I am too smart for my own good.
It’s true I have fallen upon my own sword too many times for this to not work out.
The fire inside of me is yearning to meet your fire head-on.
Charles Cicirella
November 12, 2009
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Julianna
Climb inside the fire
What haunts you often makes you whole
Treasure buried beneath our memories.
Before I was a poet I was nothing much
Before I was a cow I was a dolphin
Before I became a star I did not matter.
Do you remember first time you sat around a campfire?
Do you like your marshmallows roasted or in hot chocolate?
Do you ever dream you are Amelia Earhart?
Climb down inside the volcano
What hurts you often makes you stronger
Cloudbursts buried above our humanity.
Before you were a vision you were out of sight
Before you were a ballerina you were a mermaid
Before you became a muse you were a fairy goddess.
Do you recall the first time you rode a bicycle?
Would you rather dream when you are sleeping or when you are awake?
Do you ever wish that everything would stop making so much sense?
Enter the friendly fire
What scares you to death often brings you back to life
The secrets behind your brilliant eyes give you away every time.
Charles Cicirella
November 10, 2009
What haunts you often makes you whole
Treasure buried beneath our memories.
Before I was a poet I was nothing much
Before I was a cow I was a dolphin
Before I became a star I did not matter.
Do you remember first time you sat around a campfire?
Do you like your marshmallows roasted or in hot chocolate?
Do you ever dream you are Amelia Earhart?
Climb down inside the volcano
What hurts you often makes you stronger
Cloudbursts buried above our humanity.
Before you were a vision you were out of sight
Before you were a ballerina you were a mermaid
Before you became a muse you were a fairy goddess.
Do you recall the first time you rode a bicycle?
Would you rather dream when you are sleeping or when you are awake?
Do you ever wish that everything would stop making so much sense?
Enter the friendly fire
What scares you to death often brings you back to life
The secrets behind your brilliant eyes give you away every time.
Charles Cicirella
November 10, 2009
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Chai
(for Malkah)
Strumming your guitar
Strumming your sixth sense
Strumming the Heavens with your cup over flowing
Words like paint burst forth like droplets of blood and honey
A messenger arrived in the night bursting with sunlight
A lantern of foresight burns inside you
Rilke spoke of the bees of the invisible
He spoke loudly and he spoke clearly
Rilke like Milton communicated with God out of pure devotion
Your every move lights up the sky like shooting stars
Do you recall sitting on Mark Twain’s knee as he spun you the tallest of tales?
Every time you walk out onto the unfashionable stage an angel learns how to fly
We’re all children still in some fashion or another capable of responding to both suffering and joy
Even a Pale Horse must be led to water from time to time and made to drink.
Charles Cicirella
September 21, 2009
Strumming your guitar
Strumming your sixth sense
Strumming the Heavens with your cup over flowing
Words like paint burst forth like droplets of blood and honey
A messenger arrived in the night bursting with sunlight
A lantern of foresight burns inside you
Rilke spoke of the bees of the invisible
He spoke loudly and he spoke clearly
Rilke like Milton communicated with God out of pure devotion
Your every move lights up the sky like shooting stars
Do you recall sitting on Mark Twain’s knee as he spun you the tallest of tales?
Every time you walk out onto the unfashionable stage an angel learns how to fly
We’re all children still in some fashion or another capable of responding to both suffering and joy
Even a Pale Horse must be led to water from time to time and made to drink.
Charles Cicirella
September 21, 2009
Saturday, September 19, 2009
Innuendo
(for Malkah)
title came yesterday
then I forgot
slept instead
Charlie Patton screamin’ and hollerin’
Mississippi Delta
roaring in cans
no innuendo
no impropriety
no indirection
title arrived late last night
wrestled me to cold ground
like a tentative whisper
I knew when it materialized
it would be for you Malkah
a convertible poem for a convertible kinda girl
roll windows down
throw out peanut shells
Gabriel’s Horn both infinite and finite
Charles Cicirella
September 19, 2009
title came yesterday
then I forgot
slept instead
Charlie Patton screamin’ and hollerin’
Mississippi Delta
roaring in cans
no innuendo
no impropriety
no indirection
title arrived late last night
wrestled me to cold ground
like a tentative whisper
I knew when it materialized
it would be for you Malkah
a convertible poem for a convertible kinda girl
roll windows down
throw out peanut shells
Gabriel’s Horn both infinite and finite
Charles Cicirella
September 19, 2009
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
I Don’t Feel Like Driving Through The Sun Today
(for Malkah)
Air conditioning just went on
Dust is everywhere
Carl Sagan isn’t returning any of my calls.
I don’t feel like driving through the sun today
Don’t feel like pretending I like you or that I actually ever did
Last time I felt anything medication meant aspirin not a bullet to the head.
I was flipping burgers when I got the call
He stood on a little garbage pail and ended his life
It’s been eleven years and I still couldn’t say how I feel.
Sure I miss him
Sure I miss feeling like someone actually gets me
Sure I miss not having to explain every little thing.
Can’t wait till the air goes back on
Maybe it will help disperse some of this dust
Maybe Carl Sagan will rise from the dead and tell us what it was like meeting Walt Disney.
I don’t feel like looking or even touching the telephone today
Did you ever cover up your television realizing once and for all how much it controls us?
First time I got high I was rolling around in the grass not smoking it.
Charles Cicirella
September 14, 2009
Air conditioning just went on
Dust is everywhere
Carl Sagan isn’t returning any of my calls.
I don’t feel like driving through the sun today
Don’t feel like pretending I like you or that I actually ever did
Last time I felt anything medication meant aspirin not a bullet to the head.
I was flipping burgers when I got the call
He stood on a little garbage pail and ended his life
It’s been eleven years and I still couldn’t say how I feel.
Sure I miss him
Sure I miss feeling like someone actually gets me
Sure I miss not having to explain every little thing.
Can’t wait till the air goes back on
Maybe it will help disperse some of this dust
Maybe Carl Sagan will rise from the dead and tell us what it was like meeting Walt Disney.
I don’t feel like looking or even touching the telephone today
Did you ever cover up your television realizing once and for all how much it controls us?
First time I got high I was rolling around in the grass not smoking it.
Charles Cicirella
September 14, 2009
Saturday, August 29, 2009
Sweet Potato Pie
(for Dawn)
You are perfect
You are so fine
Perfectly timed
Perfectly aligned
Wishful sinner
Wishful beginner
I like pie
I like your sweet talk
You are something else entirely
You are no one’s back up singer!
CEC
8/15/2009
You are perfect
You are so fine
Perfectly timed
Perfectly aligned
Wishful sinner
Wishful beginner
I like pie
I like your sweet talk
You are something else entirely
You are no one’s back up singer!
CEC
8/15/2009
permanence versus impermanence
(for the Seeger family)
everything torn away,
but nothing torn down
and that which can be redeemed
will always be held sacred in our
lonesome blue cornflower hearts.
he strode into the saloon like a lone gunman
whose only purpose was the integrity
he knew must be upheld at any and every cost.
Atlas shrugged and Mike didn’t even blink
as vampire killers go he was as cool as a cucumber
flying beneath a status-quo-radar he knew he mustn’t
pay any actualized attention to for his work was far too
important to carry through and carry out before twilight
called him back home.
permanence versus impermanence such an empty debate
when too many real artists are going down beneath Noah’s flood
and his new lost city rambling ways taught a lesson to even the
oldest and most obstinate of dyed in the wool shaggy dogs.
a pioneer of future heroic feats whose beautiful Spirit will shine
forever more like Vincent’s brushstroke and Charley’s pick-strum
technique and there is high-water everywhere, but the music this
man created will never be washed away, will never be shot full of
holes, will never lead us astray.
Charles Cicirella
Monday, August 10, 2009
everything torn away,
but nothing torn down
and that which can be redeemed
will always be held sacred in our
lonesome blue cornflower hearts.
he strode into the saloon like a lone gunman
whose only purpose was the integrity
he knew must be upheld at any and every cost.
Atlas shrugged and Mike didn’t even blink
as vampire killers go he was as cool as a cucumber
flying beneath a status-quo-radar he knew he mustn’t
pay any actualized attention to for his work was far too
important to carry through and carry out before twilight
called him back home.
permanence versus impermanence such an empty debate
when too many real artists are going down beneath Noah’s flood
and his new lost city rambling ways taught a lesson to even the
oldest and most obstinate of dyed in the wool shaggy dogs.
a pioneer of future heroic feats whose beautiful Spirit will shine
forever more like Vincent’s brushstroke and Charley’s pick-strum
technique and there is high-water everywhere, but the music this
man created will never be washed away, will never be shot full of
holes, will never lead us astray.
Charles Cicirella
Monday, August 10, 2009
Genesis
(for Dawn)
the beginning of the beginning of the beginning of the world begins
and we are children
laughing
levitating
above swing sets
above clouds
we impersonate mayhem
we depersonalize mystery
the end of the nothing of the nothing of the world ends
and we are laughing stocks
stoic
silent alarms
under trees
under foot
we are unmade beds
we are the lumps in our own throats
the something of the something of the world does something new
and if I knew what it was I’d teach myself and others to speak in a new tongue
instead of all these dead languages projected inside our heads like Nostradamus on a bender..
Charlie
7/25/09
the beginning of the beginning of the beginning of the world begins
and we are children
laughing
levitating
above swing sets
above clouds
we impersonate mayhem
we depersonalize mystery
the end of the nothing of the nothing of the world ends
and we are laughing stocks
stoic
silent alarms
under trees
under foot
we are unmade beds
we are the lumps in our own throats
the something of the something of the world does something new
and if I knew what it was I’d teach myself and others to speak in a new tongue
instead of all these dead languages projected inside our heads like Nostradamus on a bender..
Charlie
7/25/09
inclusive emotion
(for Laurie)
civilization
pottery shards
unicorn mystic
key to the highway
brazen intellectualism
beautiful bombshell
mermaid guardian
keeper of the keys
how do you keep so much truth
distilled inside of you like celebratory wine?
I believe you are a weather vane keeping the
secrets of mother nature safe and sound
human beings are not civilized
God did not invent progress
progressive thoughts minted God like senseless
dollars and cents
pottery constructed from defiant dreams
smoke and mirrors both divine and conquer
she is not an illusion nor is she formless
we are all keepers of an internal flame.
Charlie
July 18, 2009
civilization
pottery shards
unicorn mystic
key to the highway
brazen intellectualism
beautiful bombshell
mermaid guardian
keeper of the keys
how do you keep so much truth
distilled inside of you like celebratory wine?
I believe you are a weather vane keeping the
secrets of mother nature safe and sound
human beings are not civilized
God did not invent progress
progressive thoughts minted God like senseless
dollars and cents
pottery constructed from defiant dreams
smoke and mirrors both divine and conquer
she is not an illusion nor is she formless
we are all keepers of an internal flame.
Charlie
July 18, 2009
3:33
Another dark night of the soul.
Another black hole I refuse to get sucked into.
Enough is enough until even enough neither satisfies nor satiates you.
I’d say I was out of my mind except not certain I was ever in my mind.
I’d say I will never give up the fight and yet the towel may have been thrown in over two thousand years ago on a Place of Skulls.
Belief is never an illusion and illusions are best when understated and pickled in brine.
I would whisper sweet nothings in your ear if I could find your ear and if I honestly believed saying nothing would make much of a difference at this time of insurrection.
Another dark night of the soul.
Another poem written in chicken scratch while my best intentions are left out in the cold.
I wish I had a box of Good & Plenty and there was an old theater I could escape inside.
Now I’m reminded of when we watched Henry Fonda and Charles Bronson in “Once Upon A Time In The West” and how everything we needed was right there.
Now I’m reminded of a time when pushing fast forward and rewind didn’t press so urgently on my heart and mind.
Charles Cicirella
May 27, 2009
Another black hole I refuse to get sucked into.
Enough is enough until even enough neither satisfies nor satiates you.
I’d say I was out of my mind except not certain I was ever in my mind.
I’d say I will never give up the fight and yet the towel may have been thrown in over two thousand years ago on a Place of Skulls.
Belief is never an illusion and illusions are best when understated and pickled in brine.
I would whisper sweet nothings in your ear if I could find your ear and if I honestly believed saying nothing would make much of a difference at this time of insurrection.
Another dark night of the soul.
Another poem written in chicken scratch while my best intentions are left out in the cold.
I wish I had a box of Good & Plenty and there was an old theater I could escape inside.
Now I’m reminded of when we watched Henry Fonda and Charles Bronson in “Once Upon A Time In The West” and how everything we needed was right there.
Now I’m reminded of a time when pushing fast forward and rewind didn’t press so urgently on my heart and mind.
Charles Cicirella
May 27, 2009
Saturday, May 09, 2009
One and the Same
I am watching this life behind many eyes
I am passing through many different minds
I see, hear, sense but can not touch you
If I had the strength to wish upon a star I’d be a God but that is no longer a possibility in these impenetrable days of waste and nights of lost prayer.
I am no longer willing to fall upon my own sword or lend you the determination to shirk the responsibility you owe so faultlessly to yourself.
I am no one’s kindred spirit
My inner children refuse to speak to me
Future Gospels the same as ancient days.
I am a remote viewer, remote lover, remote sage
I am the refuse you refuse to accept before turning the page
I am the amusement park closed down over a thousand years ago out of pure spite.
I was in Vegas
Took Communion
The Priest an Indian Giver who demanded I return the Host.
Charlie
May 9, 2009
I am passing through many different minds
I see, hear, sense but can not touch you
If I had the strength to wish upon a star I’d be a God but that is no longer a possibility in these impenetrable days of waste and nights of lost prayer.
I am no longer willing to fall upon my own sword or lend you the determination to shirk the responsibility you owe so faultlessly to yourself.
I am no one’s kindred spirit
My inner children refuse to speak to me
Future Gospels the same as ancient days.
I am a remote viewer, remote lover, remote sage
I am the refuse you refuse to accept before turning the page
I am the amusement park closed down over a thousand years ago out of pure spite.
I was in Vegas
Took Communion
The Priest an Indian Giver who demanded I return the Host.
Charlie
May 9, 2009
Days On End
I can feel poetry flowing through my veins.
I’m not The Terminator.
Can decide for myself what crimes to commit or not to commit.
I’m not a serial typist.
When we forged our deal we were supposedly in love.
A deal requiring us to be honest and trustworthy.
Did either one of us really have the wherewithal to make such a deal?
When the going got rough why did we so callously throw our love out the window?
Say what you will you still went back on your word while I left too much to chance when swallowing my words for naught.
I believe we were complicit for not spending enough time going out of our minds.
I believe we committed the perfect crime by allowing the passage of time to pass judgment on our desires and our passions.
I can feel providence flowing throughout my body.
I’m not The Second Coming.
Can’t decide which pair of pants to wear or why it’s so important to even wear pants.
I am complicating things again by pretending things are in fact complicated.
Charlie
May 1, 2009
I’m not The Terminator.
Can decide for myself what crimes to commit or not to commit.
I’m not a serial typist.
When we forged our deal we were supposedly in love.
A deal requiring us to be honest and trustworthy.
Did either one of us really have the wherewithal to make such a deal?
When the going got rough why did we so callously throw our love out the window?
Say what you will you still went back on your word while I left too much to chance when swallowing my words for naught.
I believe we were complicit for not spending enough time going out of our minds.
I believe we committed the perfect crime by allowing the passage of time to pass judgment on our desires and our passions.
I can feel providence flowing throughout my body.
I’m not The Second Coming.
Can’t decide which pair of pants to wear or why it’s so important to even wear pants.
I am complicating things again by pretending things are in fact complicated.
Charlie
May 1, 2009
Fits & Starts
I am watching a story
This story is my life
The beginning and ending
Are secrets in my heart.
I am not telling you anything you don’t already know
Not spilling any deep seeded secrets or revealing any long
Forgotten truths. I’m not a harbinger nor am I a perfect storm.
Everything takes place in fits and starts
My birth was like this and so will be my death
You don’t remember but it only happened yesterday
You were born a smooth artifact and will pass away just the same.
I am viewing a picture show
This show another Power Point Presentation
The Alpha and Omega are tragedies and comedies alike.
You are nothing I haven’t experienced before
You’re nothing new and still you make everything feel new
You are a positive flowing influence and a purring pussy cat.
My dreams take place in fits and starts
My dreams a dwarf donning clown makeup and smoking a cig
My dreams a Bruce Davidson photograph come to life
You don’t remember, but I was there when you were created
I was the one with all the bad intel but with a heart of pure gold.
I was the one burning to tell you the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth so help me God.
Charles Cicirella
April 24, 2009
This story is my life
The beginning and ending
Are secrets in my heart.
I am not telling you anything you don’t already know
Not spilling any deep seeded secrets or revealing any long
Forgotten truths. I’m not a harbinger nor am I a perfect storm.
Everything takes place in fits and starts
My birth was like this and so will be my death
You don’t remember but it only happened yesterday
You were born a smooth artifact and will pass away just the same.
I am viewing a picture show
This show another Power Point Presentation
The Alpha and Omega are tragedies and comedies alike.
You are nothing I haven’t experienced before
You’re nothing new and still you make everything feel new
You are a positive flowing influence and a purring pussy cat.
My dreams take place in fits and starts
My dreams a dwarf donning clown makeup and smoking a cig
My dreams a Bruce Davidson photograph come to life
You don’t remember, but I was there when you were created
I was the one with all the bad intel but with a heart of pure gold.
I was the one burning to tell you the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth so help me God.
Charles Cicirella
April 24, 2009
Sunday, December 14, 2008
NEW POEMS
GHOSTS 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
Desert
(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.
Charlie
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
Charlie
Friday, December 05, 2008 1:50 AM
(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
Desert
(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.
Charlie
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
Charlie
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
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
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
I KNOW
(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
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
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.
Charles
October 26, 2008 9:19 PM
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.
Charles
October 26, 2008 9:19 PM
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