Wednesday, November 18, 2015

Tuesday, April 23, 2013

dreaming of oak

Sunday, November 11, 2012

Oakley in his teepee, in his space suit with his uncle Bill.

Saturday, September 22, 2012

Oak & Ritchie Rich

Tuesday, July 10, 2012

John wrote this for Oak

The Mighty Oak
By John Ciccariello © 2012

Thinking back, I saw you standing around.
Your back was straight as an arrow,
with you blond hair flowin' down.

Seems to me
it was only yesterday,
You told me “you'd see me later”,
and I told you “see you around”.....

After surgery, you looked
healthy and strong,
The sun was shining on you,
with your dreadlocks hangin' down.

Seems to me
it was only yesterday,
But I can remember your smile
like it happened today.....

           This damn disease
           leaves you standing all alone,
           with the knowledge of what could happen,
           salvation, throws you a bone.

           Back in town you stand,
           your callin' me for a ride,
           but I can't come to get you
           cause MY life and times is on the other side......

I think about you,
think of what I had to say,
the night that you were hurting,
and it wasn't right or wrong.

It seems to me,
it was only yesterday,
I asked you if you could stay,
but I told you “if you can't move-on”....

           This damn disease
           leaves you standing all alone,
           with the knowledge of what could happen,
           salvation, throws you a bone.

           Back in town you stand,
           your callin' me for a ride,
           but I can't come to get you
           cause YOUR life and times is on the other side......


John Ciccariello

Thursday, April 26, 2012

Sunday, January 9, 2011


Thursday, November 18, 2010

11 years ago..............................

Oak art

Sunday, November 7, 2010

Halloween Oak

Saturday, October 2, 2010

Oak and Bill and teepee


Thursday, September 23, 2010

Last summer

For Oakley 

Remembering what you said
I took the last remaining ear of sweet corn
From the dry cackling stalk
And sat down watching the bittersweet turn color
“we eat them right in the field,
never cook ‘em, way, way best that way”
you told me, the son teaching the father

after your last summer working the corn field
off Scuttle Hole Road
this temporal contiguity, not the least lost in this fleeing moment
nor the sun and cool rain in the kernels
no longer knowing if I am here
remembering you
or you are there remembering me

Tuesday, April 27, 2010

Oak chillin 1997

Thursday, November 19, 2009


By John Ciccariello • 2000
I miss you brother nephew father men
The wife of my brother, my nephews mom
We lost you around the medical confusion bend
Careening out of control, to the great beyond.
We have lost him I cried
Don't stay if you're not here; fly.

Oak you became all
Encompassing the lost to this date
So young to you he called
Our god, our life, our fate.
Your body with its inherent strength and power
I remember you straight to this living hour.

Wednesday, November 18, 2009

Ten years ago today

The frail and singular fortress of the dissolving self

and there where we carried him, yes that was the part of it, the only part of it we could actually say for sure, and put his feet about him, his arms and hands arranged, that upon the air of one who knew this and bore the likeness of us where we contain the cellular of just having been there and this is how we bore the air again through bands of wet flesh,
sparks, or simply by just being there as living serpent, younger, and even still as serpent, this deception, this here and there, assisted by a twist and an ocular likeness, calling him the living serpent this, of stars, sparks, dragging him in to call here and there, thin yellow affairs, distant pulling of tide, to hide what should be a resemblance to him, fixed and stoic, considered remarkable, this, of course, of course, must be before the fire that could on his table or flesh hung younger and again for him with considerable resemblance about the curve of your eyeball, the air of one who had been in this world, one who would fuse sand particles like heavy bands of karma, his own personal stuff, perhaps more than the last time fixed upon the inside curve of the darker shadows, the night, were it possible to father such a son and him, of darker shadows here and there, simply clad as fire, yellow letters in stillness, in resemblance with bits of fire, sky on the inside, on the resemblance to him, being through himself as living serpent yes, living in the black sky, the stars aghast at the here and there.

and yet, the sand, his affairs, the gentle responding curve of his eyeball had all been seen as well and also where the smoke must have been as signs of life about him that could provide him that air of these two and the fire, the night, the writing of thin yellow lines,the expression even then younger, and nearly as could be discerned a deception, assisted by speaking once again one for the other.

he was not breathing.

but the thing about light, the part of it as expression, the part of it that makes what is, is, this here and there, this part of him, the part he couldn’t help but see as resemblance, having been an ocular deception, the likeness of even, yes even, the living serpent, this, who would not have had expression other than bits of this here and there, this, of course, was not about to be discerned; this of course, must have been part of his affairs that would call for the last of his own personal stuff, seen as remarkable as were his particles, the sparks, even the hearts of unseen people making it possible for him with considerable resemblance to have discerned the deception

still that night, curiously, it was remarkable to him that by opening this door, he would never be the same, his life, his world, the things he held most dear to his heart, this here and there could be no longer and would call to him loudly at first, then fainter, and then fainter still from the earth, time, this spot, endlessly malleable, irreversibly benign what became in that instant the landscape of his resemblance, the arena that held his words, the frail and singular fortress of the dissolving self without speaking, without a fixed upon course, without reason or pattern of thought, he realized he would forever carry the same rank and considerable bearing made possible that night by such formidable deception

the great black snake, just being there, not responding, the ache, the dull useless throbbing, just being the here and there of it, even just being the solitary traveler
through it all.

Photos from Dan...................

Monday, February 23, 2009

also frm Ben....

this from Ben.......

Wednesday, November 26, 2008

Wednesday, August 29, 2007