By Bruno Talerico
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oh first summer raindamp dust and creosote scentwet footprints on tile© 2025 Bruno Talerico Stafford challenge 136/365
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morning mist risesvibrant scent of petrichorcat prints on pavement© 2025 Bruno TalericoStafford challenge 135/365.
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On pedestals in high towersoverlooking racing rats,autumn breezes blow.Tarnished chromereflects disturbing beauty.Blood on his sleeve, he walks among the living,but doesn’t belong. bible in his head,daggers in his heart.Professor of war,master of sin,he savors bloody-rare filet.Through smokey window,someone starves unnoticed. Jealous specters chase dreams,fleeing nightmares in mass graves.Rusted statues stand proudlyin pools of blood,asking with…
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In the hazy glow of lifemoments blend like the gleam of old whiskeyand profound questions measure my worth.Am I Happy? Do I embrace my daily routineor does drudgery haunt the day’s close?How much time do I stop to savordelights and passions?Who are the good people,cherished souls drawing near?Do I tend those bonds or do sands…
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When I walk in natureand look insideI realizethe whole world has fallenand is open to receive me.People and landare good medicinefor each other.© 2025 Bruno Talerico Stafford challenge 132/365.
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In the absence ofsatellite, cable or cell phone,connected to earth and sky,I am constantly learning to listen to somethingmore interesting than the talk of men.No need for academic literature,analyzing and sorting worries,or mystical literature,presenting prayers and praise,but occasional, oblique,unformed words.Sunlight reflecting wisdom off rare puddles in the sand. © 2025 Bruno TalericoStafford challenge 131/365.
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The watchers, the critics,the onlookers sitting on the sidelines,the ones who have never taken a shot,will never be as close to the bull’s eye as the arrow that hits the outer ring.It’s Okay to miss the mark.© 2025 Bruno TalericoStafford challenge 130/365.
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Everything we do is fictionuntil it becomes fact.Dreams of flying,dreams of space travel, dreams of speaking your mind, dreams of not dyingor of returning after life, fiction.He died, but his adventures,the legends he started, live onunimpaired by his presence.Everything we do is fictionuntil it becomes fact.© 2025 Bruno TalericoStafford challenge 129/365.Inspired by Jeannette Winterson and…
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Baby blues eying the rarest of blue moons.Blue thoughtson another blue Monday:Singing the blues is sometimes happy—vibrant like bell bottomsor cool as ice. Not always pale like blue blue skies or black and blue like fading bruises.Blues are rarely comfortablelike faded indigo, or royal as turquoiseand never clear as crystal.Like the saddest deepest sadness,the bluest…
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The intent of this dumb little poemis not serious.Do not take offenseat this comic(not cosmic) poem,for that would be likebeing naked at church,and would revealyour inadequacy as a reader.© 2025 Bruno Talerico Stafford challenge 127/365.
Desert Dweller 