By Bruno Talerico
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If life is a cycle, thenit begins at the endand ends at the beginning.I can strike something,but if I miss the mark,isn’t it also called a strike? Stillness is disruptedby the movementof my lips, tongue, and breath.By the time the word is spoken,the first syllable of futureis past.By reading aloudthe word silence,I destroy it.© 2026…
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Magic resides in fire and moonlight.Spark lights, fuel ignites, music incites. Smoke pours, ash implores, spirit soars.Hearts sway, souls play, bodies obey. Desire to dance in firesrequires vanquished fears of blisters and tears.Be not afraid, piper’s been paid, begin the parade:dancers, prancers, neuromancers. Magic resides in fire and moonlight. © 2026 Bruno Talerico149/365
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As our proximity to the end approaches zero,the value of each moment approaches infinity. Death, the ultimate mathematical limit,gathers the momentsof our lives into a single unit,The integral, area under the curve of life,the sum of an infinite accumulation of infinitesimal changes. The derivative is a heart marking the pace,the rate of our days,bounded by…
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The universe growsinto the adulthood of infinitywhile earth descendsinto the gravity of the abyssand my love for youhovers between.© 2026 Bruno Talerico147/365
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Waters of wisdom flow over and through me, cascading from above, cleansing and refreshing, flowing over and through me,washing away judgements and prejudice.Waters of wisdom flow over me and through me, leaving only clarity and love.© 2021 Bruno Talerico 146/365
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sun rise birdsongsinging reveillesipping hummingbird at the feeding station sunlit house on the hill shiningbee swarmcontent in my treeam i hearing voices or wind?a beautiful day unfolds inciting gratitude new dawnnew daynew ideas© 2026 Bruno Talerico145/365
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Never believe completelyin someone else’s belief system (bs). Don’t believe totallyin your own belief system (bs). Remember:If you don’t have faith, there is always a reason. © 2026 Bruno Talerico144/365
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We are characters, busy elves in a fairytale,polishing ballroom floors,blinded by the stage lights,unaware that we are onstage. Immersed in “important” activity,we are easily distracted—by fleeting pleasures. Perhaps, like this poem,we are lost in our own analysis,marching on and onwithout understanding. So busy with life,we often overlook the magicof every moment. © 2026 Bruno Talerico143/365
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Mom loved to give presents—thoughtful, meaningful gifts—that was her best talent. Yesterday my brother Eric and Iwere moving furnitureto make room for Dad’s hospital bed. Under the bed, that Mom and Dadhad slept in togetherfor sixty-seven years.We discovered a treasure chest. Covered in dust,it didn’t seem like much at first—just one of those long, flat,…
