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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…
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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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Desert Dweller 