By Bruno Talerico
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Everything living and nonlivingis speaking, shouting, singingif you know how to listen.Nature is the gods’second set of scripture,all of existence,good and evil, pure and impure,is the language of the gods.Spirit and nature drink to one another,sing and dance together,and tell one another abstruseand comforting miracle tales.Take delight in creatures and things;all are the writings of…
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As I stare fixedly out the windowat the grey, rainy winter afternoon,my mind meanders, eventually settling strangely enough on fundamentals.It is fundamentals that arethe building blocks of society,without which culture collapseslike an agitated soufflé. The fundamental nature of pizza,like the edge of a sharpened chef’s blade, is that it is meant to be piping hot,delivered…
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Goat men and fox womenfloating on the turquoise sea twirling umbrellas inpineapple-scented drinks.Random thoughts swirlin alcohol-shrunken brainsas they driftinto unconsciousnessand dawn casts its shadowon the night’s magic.© 2025 Bruno TalericoStafford challenge 291/365.
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Human bodies:hearts, lungs, kidneys, brainsflesh and blood soft by comparison,therefore outlivedby thorny cactus. © 2025 Bruno Talerico Stafford challenge 290/365.
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The strengthis in walking across the street.Like opening unlabeled boxesfull of crazy toys.Pure abstract poetryat the outset: standardflowing into distinctlydistracted deviations.Soda-cap kid’s greasy fingersrub clean, raw linenlike good spontaneous jazz, unpolished, incomplete,curled with spiders cupped in small hands.Newness expected and accepted.Cool insects drilling—importantly irritating, cursing like frozen lakesjumbled as homemade jambalayanearer and nearer:it’s coming.© 2025…
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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…
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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…
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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.©…
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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.
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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.
Desert Dweller 