By Bruno Talerico
-
we are waiting in our comfortable placespretending there is a beginning and an endpretending there was no birthwishing there is no death our fateis to vanish into the emptinessinto the infinity that never existed the infinite that always exists there is no one,there is no me, no youthere is only the golden thread of eternityonly…
-
when the mist comes uplaying there like a blanketfog rising like a whale surfacingghosts flit past and throughmisty grounds of silent dreamshiding in the futurethe modern mind says “it’s not real”walking alone in the darknessfootsteps echoing behindghosts arrive unbiddenshaped by memoriesghosts standing solid in empty doorwaysghosts made by blood and by choicehiding behind garden gatesfaces…
-
A bird, a leaf, the wind.These words linger in torchlit alleys.Strange music flows from golden horns.Serene blossom-scented music,settles uncomfortablyon a blistered landscape.Golden-eyed hagsings from a haggard throat,accompaniedby choruses of crusty crones.Why do we weep? Like dust in the throat,words long forgotten.Different answers, all incomplete.Sometimes life catches you off-guard,then, you noticethe answersleeping soundly in your hand.©…
-
It is a criminal actthat should be punishableby virtual deathto explain works of art.Sometimesopening our mouth to explain,nothing comes out.Oh what a blessing!© 2025 Bruno TalericoStafford challenge 285/365.
-
The gathering begins as tearsand evolves into celebrationof a beautiful loving person.Your legacyis family, friendsand joyful memories.You are no longer with us,but always presentin our hearts.© 2025 Bruno Talerico Stafford challenge 284/365.
-
How many pasts exist that we are unaware ofbecause they weren’t recorded on tablets or papyrusin a language we can comprehend?How many pasts do we fail to acknowledge becausethey didn’t leave behind what we recognize as fossils,pasts that we can’t perceive becausewe no longer recognizecomplex messages in plain sight?Petroglyphs that we claim to understandas mystical…
-
I’m a Murse with a capital M.The mechanic, electrician, carpenter,fireman, policeman, and soldier genesare all totally recessive in me;therefore, I became a nurse, teacher, and poet.I’m not your stereotypical all-American man.Lacking the talent of a handyman,rather than swinging a hammer,I pencil lavish iniquities.Instead of twisting a screwdriver,my mind is constantly twistingideas into knots and words…
-
Any time, day or night in Las Vegas,for forty dollars and eighty-nine cents,I can purchase a cartonof Timeless Time cigarettes.There is a violence,a compressed ambient violence,to the creeping of minutes,the marching of hours,the racing of years.Trauma stops time,attained rhythm collapses.For survivors, time starts over, it resets.What came before becomes separate.Time commences with the disaster.What came…
-
when i tell you my storythere will be discrepanciesin my account.don’t ask meto verify my lifeby giving you statistics.that is liketrying to use scienceto validate religion,it robs the world of mysteryand makes me into a sequence of milestones rather than a human being.© 2025 Bruno TalericoStafford challenge 280/365.
-
RaindropsPitter patter.Pitter patter.Like a thousand catsprancing on the tin roof.Is one of themmy missing Matisse?© 2025 Bruno TalericoStafford challenge 279/365.Matisse The Cat has been gone for several months, but I still occasionally feel her brush against my leg or hop on the bed while I sleep.
Desert Dweller 