By Bruno Talerico
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Nights begin in earnestwhen white light shimmerslike a satin gown. Lucy rarely makes sense,but in the big scheme, details don’t matter muchwhen the sky stareswith evergreen eyes that glimmerlike diamonds on velvet.Sterling silver souloffered in sanguine sacrifice.© 2025 Bruno TalericoStafford challenge 303/365.Inspired by two favorite songs:Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds and Soul Sacrifice.
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As the sun settles behind the mountainI know this is the last time I will ever sit at this tableoverlooking desert grasslands. Habits are lies that lull us into feelingthere is something lasting.Nothing really lasts.If I come to this place tomorrowoverlooking desert grasslands,it will again be the last time.There will be nothing lasting about it.Last…
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While living on the north rim,I woke each morning to gazedeeply into the heaven and hellthat is the Grand Canyoncarved by the mighty Colorado.Each week pedaling my bikethrough desert heat and desiccating windto Point Imperial and Cape Royal,my breath stolen by dry desert air,gazing through Angels Window a vertical mile down into the grand abyss,…
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Chant your longings into the mist.A kindred spirit will listen.It is folly to drift and hide desire.Instead—dig deep; uncover the Self.© 2025 Bruno TalericoStafford challenge 300/365.
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The universeisn’t a vast sea of compassion. Buddhism says: “Life is suffering.” Existentialism says: “We need to find meaningin inherently meaningless life.” Christianity proclaims: “Humankind is inflictedwith temptation and imperfection.” Other philosophies admitlife’s fundamental pessimism.Each in their own way concedessuffering is the breath of reality. The universe—a frozen lake—is indifferent to life’s tragedy. The unblinking…
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Because it favored me,life asks for rewardsa gift, a privilege, not a right.Once awarded, I must continue to earn itthrough honesty and discipline.The pen.—The page.—The unfinished lines—reminders that I am alive.I wish it could,but writing cannot rescue usfrom hardship, age, or death,still, with each sentence,it revives.© 2025 Bruno TalericoStafford challenge 298/365.
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Angry gods thunder painful lessons:flood, fire, famine, plague.Nature collides head-on into humanity’s poor choices,yielding dust instead of fruit, sand instead of grain.This year there are thirteen moons.Will those who fish miscount the tides?Will we continue to fail as planetary stewards—or make penance, replant forestsand pray for redemption?© 2025 Bruno TalericoStafford challenge 297/365.
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standingat the base of the mountain staringawestruck by the blueness of the skyi wonderif reaching the peakwill bring me closer to heaven© 2025 Bruno TalericoStafford challenge 296/365.
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Winter awakens.Autumn is dead—summer’s sacrifice. Winter is survival. Curled into fetal position,enduring scarcityin a world of gray and white,surviving in the timeof short days and longer nights. Spring, newly conceived,sets root, launches fresh green shoots,in winter’s womb she grows strongerand more complex by leaps and bounds. Days lengthen andthe time for revolution arrives.Waters break. Winter…
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Shit, piss, blood, and vomit,though unpleasant,do not deter me from my dutiesto nurture and comfortin the face of adversity. Being one-eighth Scottishmeans some of my genescome from Norsemen, savageswho hacked gods to piecesand hung their flesh from trees.Brave explorers and noble warriorswho fear onlyfeeble old age and death in bed.Perhaps that explains my abilityto thrive…
Desert Dweller 