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If I could explore you, eyes closed, with only my thumb, through a shroud that exposes only one inch of flesh at a time and you could respond with shivers and wiggles, I would not know if you are Christian or pagan, conservative or liberal, wealthy or poor. If I could explore, eyes closed with…
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Some think poems should be hard to interpret, loaded with literary references and arcane linguistics, loaded with fancy words, weird rhymes, meters, metaphors, and meteors. I think they shouldn’t. © 2026 Bruno Talerico 190/365
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Lessons learned are in the past. Lessons applied are in the future. This poem is a lesson here and now. Now is where you stop being who you were and become who you are. © 2026 Bruno Talerico 212/365
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In a poem, each fragment of life becomes myth. Images come to life, yet not literally. The poet’s world is metaphor, meaning and images layered like a birthday cake. Neither sentimental nor inscrutable, poets cultivate artistic readiness; readiness to be surprised, readiness to be inspired by words and gestures, readiness to be moved by sensations:…
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I want to unwrap you like a book fresh from the bookstore. I want to open your cover to smell the ink, to leaf through the pages savoring every passage. I want to leave marks underlining phrases doodling in your margins leaving corners bent on favorite pages. Terrify me with the storm, make me clench…
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One can never be certain of the best thing to do— nonstop flight to Saskatchewan in February or hike across the Grand Canyon in July. Keeping it in perspective, one can certainly be thankful for never having to choose between octopus kimchi and spam, or having to select chemo, radiation, or surgery. © 2026 Bruno…
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Death is a party and we are all invited. So wear comfortable shoes, bring something to share, be yourself, and don’t be afraid to laugh and cry. When you know how to live, you’ll know how to die. © 2026 Bruno Talerico 211/365
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The poetry farmer composts negativity and plows fields of language. They plant seeds of doubt—and hope, constantly weeding out superfluous words. They irrigate conceptual roots, fertilize intellectual inquiry, and harvest fruitful ideas. Poetry farmers dig life. © 2026 Bruno Talerico 197/365
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The desert stretches, pretending to be empty, but water knows otherwise. Cottonwoods lean in to hear stories from a river that remembers each flood and every thirsty year. Perched on top of my pack, tail curled, the tuxedo cat surveys the trail, patient and confident—after all backpacking was invented for felines. At camp, we share…
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Everyone knows mirrors reflect,but some understand that they also absorb. A lover’s eyes peer beyond the superficialinto the unexplored cavern under the surface. Everyone knows mirrors reflect,but some recognize that mirrors have depth. Lovers don’t only look, they see—the spirit inside. ©2026 Bruno Talerico 175/365
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Desert Dweller 