Desert Dweller

Ejected
from warmth of the womb
without claws or teeth for defense, 

trusting
that others will
provide, protect,
nurture and guide.

In most cases
we learn to walk and talk,
to avoid danger and defend ourselves.

We grow taller
and wider.
Learn to make babies, money or both.

At some point
we stop growing taller,
but continue growing wider,
growing jowls, double chins
and grayer or lesser hair.

We may grow wiser
as we begin shrinking
until we disappear into dust
and scatter.

© 2025 Bruno Talerico
Stafford challenge 158/365.

I go out with pocket knife and water bottle
to explore the pre-dawn desert.
No destination except toward the river.  

I crawl under the barbed wire
and head downstream.

The rock-strewn wash
transports me into a magical world
of cactus and desert willow,
a land of long shadows.

Walking on uneven ground
has a way of forcing focus
on the here and now,
forcing a slower pace,

which draws attention
to the fine soft sand
and smooth green, gray, and black,
water-worn stones
beneath sandaled feet.

Thirty feet below the surrounding desert,
the wash meanders
-grasses caught in trees at eye level
clear evidence of previous floods,

a serious reminder to watch the sky for clouds
and observe the banks for routes of escape
should the monsoon burst forth
and unleash a seething chocolate-brown
flash flood.

From wide fields of gravel and sand
the channel narrows.
The only path shows tracks
of other creatures who have traveled here-
rabbit, coyote, lizard, birds,
all wandering down-canyon
toward the promise of water.

As I round a last bend,
desert transforms into forest- 
ancient cottonwood trees, witnesses
to geological and human history.

I can hear ghosts whispering stories
of persecuted indigenous peoples
driven from homes
by violence and disease,

stories of the last beavers,
hunted to near-extinction
to make top-hats
for fashionistas in New York City.

The towering cottonwood canopy
casts dappled shade 
the damp slippery path
weaving through tangled roots
dressed in camouflage
of last years fallen leaves.

Here and there
tiny green sprouts
push through the leaf litter
in search of scarce sunlight. 

My skin tingles from the cool breeze
and I feel connected, joyful,
grateful to be here,
in this magical place,
at this precise moment. 

I would not trade this moment
for fame or fortune.
I will not give up this hour.

© 2025 Bruno Talerico
Stafford challenge 157/365.

Why do the drums beat so slowly?
Why is the flute crying?
Where has the sun gone?
What warning comes with the west wind?
When I reach the crossroad,
what will I demand
in exchange for my soul?

© 2025 Bruno Talerico
Stafford challenge 156/365

Gargantuan gargoyle reads William, 
walking like an Egyptian
in Chinese mode,

pondering “what a piece of work” 

while stepping cooly on burning coals
sorry,
¡ ate your breakfast plums.

© 2025 Bruno Talerico 
Stafford challenge 155/365.
Apologies to William Shakespeare and William Carlos Williams.

Breezes and clouds,
like a wonky
exclamation point, 

proudly proclaim
monsoon rains
may be on their way.

© 2025 Bruno Talerico
Stafford challenge 154/365.

I Don’t Love You Because You’re Black
I love you because you are kind
and intelligent.

I love your warmth,
your strength,
your vulnerability.

I love you because you are enthusiastic,
because of your joie de vivre,
because of your talents, hopes, dreams,
your compassion.

I don’t love you because you’re Black.

I love you because
you listen without judgment,

comfort without advising,

help without expectation.

I don’t love you because you’re Black.

I love you because you cry when you’re in pain,
laugh when you’re happy,
skip and dance in celebration.

I don’t love you because you’re Black.

I love you because when you’re near,
I feel energized, challenged, and invigorated.
I love you because
when you’re close, I feel safe, nurtured, and loved.

I don’t love you because you’re Black.

I love you
because you’re a beautiful human being.

© 2020 Bruno Talerico 

if you don’t like this poem, try substituting the bold-letter words with any of the following:

gay, straight, lesbian, asian, american, atheist, transsexual, fat, talented, muslim, old, wealthy, hispanic, addicted, 
conservative, disabled, christian, skinny, indian, artistic, caucasian, a gambler, liberal, asexual, religious, brown, intelligent, poor, mormon, vanilla, illiterate, young, creative, alcoholic, libertarian, gorgeous, buddhist, lazy, jewish, african, kinky, a hooker, centrist, a soldier, a politician, a priest, a bird-watcher, hindu, a nurse, athletic, a lawyer, a ravens fan,

The Moon is Earth's only natural satellite. It orbits around Earth at an average distance of 384399 km (238,854 mi; about 30 times Earth's diameter). The Moon is tidally locked to Earth. This makes the Moon's near side face Earth always with the same lunar hemisphere, and synchronizes its rotation period (lunar day) to its orbital period (lunar month) of 29.5 Earth days. Conversely, the Moon's gravitation causes tidal forces on Earth, which are the main driver of Earth's tides.

That’s Amore

This morning sister moon
bares her brighter half,
crystalline white
peppered with slate and blue,
floating balloon-like
in the cloudless sky.

Does she see me
from that lofty height?
or am I
an insignificant speck
on the blue planet
beneath her feet?

Does she perceive my love?

© 2025 Bruno Talerico 
Stafford challenge 153/365.
One of two comparison/contrast poems.

The “guppy” is a blimp 208 feet long loaded with surveillance equipment---The annual operating cost for a border surveillance blimp (Tactical Aerostat System or TAS) is $5.3 million, according to U.S. Congressman Henry Cuellar. This includes maintenance and upkeep, but Border Patrol agents actually operate the blimp and its surveillance equipment. The larger, more permanent TARS units can cost $8.9 million fully outfitted, according to U.S. Customs and Border Protection.

That’s Indifference 

This morning

Government Guppy

exposes himself

featureless pallid-white fish

afloat in cloudless blue sky. 

Gas-filled balloon

tethered to earth.

Does he hear thoughts

with microwaves and sonar,

or see me with infrared,

or am I

an insignificant speck

in the dirt below?

Does he perceive my Dis-ease?

© 2025 Bruno Talerico

Stafford challenge.152-1/2 /365

One of two comparison/contrast poems.

Knowledge keeps no better than fish.
--Alfred North Whitehead

Every education
brings forth
a point of reckoning. 

I know more than I care to 
about the rape of mother earth,
the ravage of the biosphere,
and the truth of human selfishness.

I reckon
I will pay more attention to
counting ants or spiders, relaxing in the shade,
contemplating the stars or my navel.

I reckon
I will be friendlier,
more forgiving,
and more grateful 
for each sunrise, each sunset,
each strawberry and each chili dog.

I reckon
I will take fewer showers,
go to fewer appointments
and take more naps
in the hammock beneath 
the old elm tree.

I reckon
those things
I pay less attention to 
will work themselves out 
despite my lack of input
or interest.

© 2025 Bruno Talerico
Stafford challenge 152/365.

What is a father
without his son?

Lost, lonely, sad.

Purpose taken away.
Identity shaken.
Role changed.

The challenge:

Take on a new role.
Find a new identity.
Discover another purpose.

What is a father
without his son?

Just a man.

© 2025 Bruno Talerico 
Stafford challenge 151/365.