Tag Archives: lost love

New Poems and Pics from NOLA on Medusa’s Kitchen

Thursday, July 03, 2014

High Heels & Short Dresses

—Poems and Photos by Todd Cirillo, New Orleans

She owns a .357 Magnum,
tells me—
that she is a very good shot.

I have yet
to forget
a birthday
or special occasion.


Our first meeting
was like that moment
when someone feels something
and wonders
“was that a raindrop?”
with no idea
of the storm
that’s about to hit.


She is stunning
with a disheveled style,
wears purple glasses,
no ring,
flashes a great smile,
bounces through the crowd
with an athletic way
handing out flyers
for a free concert
this weekend.
I promise myself
that if she comes my way
I will tell her
these little words
that can change everything.

I watch her
move through the people
and don’t care what they are thinking,
then she is in front of me,
small hand with flyer outstretched.
I take it and ask her name,
introduce myself
and fulfill my promise
by saying all of those little words
to her.
She keeps smiling.

At the end I ask,
“Do you have a significant other?”
she touches my shoulder,
leans in close
and whispers
those little words
that change everything,

“Of course I do.”


for Bill Gainer

Sitting at the bar
I think of you
while listening
to Bob Dylan,
not the, Like a Rolling Stone
or Tangled Up in Blue Dylan
but later, current Dylan–
voice like three packs of cigarettes,
sandpaper and rotten whiskey.
The Dylan that is hard to understand
but can still write lines
like a motherfucker
when you listen closely.

I ordered three fingers
of Bourbon
even though
I don’t drink Bourbon,
but I know you did
on those dark and tense neon nights
of years ago
when you too spoke loud
and clear.

I drank the Bourbon slowly,
looked around at the girls,
paying particular attention
to their shoes
which you like so well.
Dylan sang,
the whiskey burned hard and fast,
the heels were high,
the dresses short
and I thought this might be a long way
of saying
that even though
the times went a-changing,
I think of you
and your voice,
loud and clear.

and that  you too,
still write lines
like a motherfucker.
 Bill Gainer and Todd Cirillo
Our thanks to ex-Grass Valley poet Todd Cirillo for today’s delectable delights. Todd is co-editor and publisher of Six Ft. Swells Press. He continues to run up bar tabs under the neons while flirting with dangerous words like love, lust and longing. Look him up at afterhourspoetry.com or youtube.com. Todd can be found dancing in the second-lines which pass by his home in New Orleans.


Today’s LittleNip:

There are bigger cities than New Orleans, more beautiful cities than New Orleans, and more important cities than New Orleans but there is no city more interesting than New Orleans.

—James Carville


Todd Cirillo



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Filed under Drinking, Poetry, Publishing, Small Press, The Writer's Life, Uncategorized, Writing

The Blues Just Ain’t the Same Without You Baby….

This one is still for you….who remains my musical junkie equal.

Who Knew

There are days

when we

will put on nothing but

Sonny Boy, The Wolf,

Mississippi John Hurt,

Muddy, Son House,

John Lee Hooker

and, of course,

Robert Johnson.

She will pick an album

then I will pick an album.

We will go through

breakfast, lunch

and dinner,

kissing in between,

laying in the grass

talking about clouds,

holding hands,

alternately putting

our heads into

each other’s lap.

In the background–

cotton fields, trains,

devils, jealous lovers

and broken hearts.

Who knew

the Blues

could make us

this happy?

–Todd Cirillo


Filed under Poetry, Publishing, Small Press, The Writer's Life, Uncategorized, Writer's Block, Writing