By Bruno Talerico
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In an apocalyptic landscape, on the fringesof a dying metropolis, there is a bar.The camera over the door is probably dead.Doesn’t matter. Afternoon gives way to evening,wind howling like a coyote, hollow whirling soundsas it sweeps against shuttered windows,like in an old Western movie,necessarily threatening.Inside the bar were a few people,stable in their positions,carefully cultivatingthe…
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Into slothand occasional melancholy,into vicesof romantic realities—earning a living,raising children,loves found—and lost.Where do the years go?Into travel and play,music and drink,talk, laughter and saving the world.Where do the years go?Into watching cloud formationsfloat across planetary skies,but also into sloth and melancholy.I don’t regret a moment of it.© 2025 Bruno TalericoStafford challenge 252/365.Picture is my visa…
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A visitor in the cathedral of forestA tourist walking among treesthat have offered sanctuary to dozensof human generations.I exist only for one fragmentof a moment in the life of the universe,rooted in this worldfor a minuscule bit of history,a lifetime far shorter than that ofthe chanting sycamore,the dancing oak, the swaying willow.A tourist on brief…
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Muffled in misty fog,Gaia’s emerald worldglistens with dewdrops.Odin’s mountain,cloaked in grey.Clouds soft as eiderdown.Neptune assaults.First with hailstones,then drowning the landscape with drenching torrents.Sky suddenly tornby gleaming daggers,bolts of lightning, soon followedby peals of Thor’s thundering laughter.Autumn gods at play.© 2025 Bruno TalericoStafford challenge 250/365.Image from the internet.
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It is not an accidentthat you are reading this.Words come into our liveswhen we’reprepared to understand.Whoever enters our pathis the right person.Every interactionis meant to teach us.Whatever happensis the only thingthat could have happened.Every situation is perfect,even when mind and ego resist.Whenever it happens,it is the right time.When we are readyfor a new experience,it will…
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When mother naturepaints the skyI grab my iPhone andsnap a picture. Does that make me an artistor a journalistWhen words pop into my head,I grab my pen and write them down.Does that make me a poetor a secretary?© 2025 Bruno TalericoStafford challenge 248/365.
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Is it wise to askfor information or advicefrom a felon convicted of fraud,a probable sex-offender,a liar, a thief, a traitor?By definition,The Orange Rhino has authority,but is it wise to question him whenthe answer is likely to be,at best, inaccurateor, at worst, an outright lie?Are the questions we want answeredbetter directed towardthe people who voted for…
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Sometimes the solutionswe are seeking aren’tin the places we’re looking.Life is loadedwith thingswe can’t explain.It’s easierto focus attentionon the things we can,though possibly,not as interesting.© 2025 Bruno TalericoStafford challenge 246/365.Image obtained from the internet.
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Gazing out the windowI see an almost complete world.Only two things missing:You,having passed on to the great unknown,and me, sitting hereobserving from my comfortable chair.Peering into my heart,I see an incomplete world.For you are no longer beside me,and I am on a different path,no longer the person you knew.© 2025 Bruno TalericoStafford challenge 245/365.
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Crones seated on worn rabbit skintend cauldrons, bubbling spiced limes;faceless mummers mimebusily bumbling bees.Hearth firewandering aimlesslyseeking safe passage—or escape.Crystalline dewfall quenchingViking thirsts and Roman lusts,deflating Norman egos.© 2025 Bruno TalericoStafford challenge 244/365.
Desert Dweller 