By Bruno Talerico
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I dread the silent darkness,the formless unknown, morethan the terrors of my imagination. Under the stars, sitting on green grassand autumn leaves, I shrink from the abyssopened on all sides and into the future. Peering,my mind sees nothing solid,nothing to be grasped as certain,except uncertainty itself. Only theory-thickened obscurity. Science feels like a mist of…
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Peeking over the hill, the sun seessilver threads adorned by dewdrops—reality blossoming fiber by fiber.Energy woven into matter:strands of brown soil, green chlorophyll,red death and golden lifespun into elaborate tapestries.Living beings from lifeless sand,trees from rock—flatworms and amoebaschurning pond water. Proteins and lipidscarefully stitched into musclefed by carbohydratespowered by mighty mitochondria.A fragile body guidedby brain…
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In the small hours of night,when even the crickets go silent,beneath the silencethe metronome inside keeps time.Is it my bloodthat won’t stop pulsing in the dark—the planet turning in its sleep—or the cosmos keeping watch?© 2025 Bruno TalericoStafford challenge 331/365.
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The river flows slowlythrough the desertpast the leaning sycamore.Is what I have done my life?Is itmy mistakesand small successes?Is it what others say about me,admirers and critics old friends and strangers?Is it the spark that ignites,the flame’s warmth,or the candle’s reassurance?Is it ink on the paper,scribbled journals,or notes on napkins?Or is my lifea dropin the…
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Walking alone on a windswept beach,waves crashing, seabirds singing.A single set of footprints—I retrace stepswe once walked together,your name fading with the breeze.Broken shells, driftwood,gifts of love,undertow hiddenbeneath calm water.Love is doing what is best for you,whatever the cost—When you said “leave,”I obeyed, eyes stinging from salt spray and tears.Pain is a lesson best taughtby…
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Be careful what fears you pollinate.How much dough gets spent onhaunted-house tours—fifteen dollars a head?Some step into the daywith pockets full of darkness,still shakingas they clock in.Do haunted peopleoutnumber haunted houses?One hand clappingwon’t feed a familylike two hands working.© 2025 Bruno TalericoStafford challenge 328/365.
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In my experience, the more I pay attentionto the currentinstead of the words,the better I understand.© 2025 Bruno TalericoStafford challenge 327/365.Image from the internet.
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Sometimes I wonder if Bradbury, Bukowski, and Abbey were friends—after all, their surnames areshoulder-to-shoulder on the shelf,elbowing each other within the alphabet.Ginsberg, Hemingway, and Ibsen too.Neruda and Rilke are parted by an ocean,and Zappa and Patterson are alphabetically distant.But there are doubled letters in their names,like a backbeat pounding in my brain, so now there’s…
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This is not coincidence,this incident of words before your eyes.Words find us, whispering truthswhen our spirit is ripe for whispers.Entities we encounter,each, a destined traveler crossing our path.Those we meet, mirrors, reflectinglessons we’re meant to absorb.What unfolds is the only scenethat could grace the stage of now.Each moment, meticulously designed,challenges the rebellion of mind and…
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I can’t imaginethe pain you are feeling.You can scream, shout,or cry on my shoulder.I’ll just sit here a whileand be.© 2025 Bruno TalericoStafford challenge 324/365.
Desert Dweller 