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Watching the newsI feel stupefied. World is ending, but not today. Drums are beating.Are heads rolling? © 2026 Bruno Talerico 70/365
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door opens doves fly off whoosh! neighborsfrantically chasetheir wayward cow sun beamsmorning birdsong light breezy perfection © 2026 Bruno Talerico69/365
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doves coo, birds sing spring springing lavender flowers bloom surrounded by desert pollen fills the air spring sneezing © 2026 Bruno Talerico68/365
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golden globe risesilluminatingcotton clouds wind obscuresmountainswith desert dust white flowerson green stalksquiver © 2026 Bruno Talerico67/365
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Haiku blushes;sestina sighs;cinquain laughs bitterlyat judges tallying novelty like beans. They mistrust hush, pulse, resonance,demanding fifty separate tokensbefore admitting poem. Such contests reward dictionaries,punish necessity, and crown clutter. Real poems arrive lean, luminous, sufficient,carrying oceans inside teacupswhile clerks count pebbles,missing tide. ©2026 Bruno Talerico65/365
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tuxedo clad kittencatches flies on the flyproud lion in small package © 2026 Bruno Talerico66/365
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Whether I see a mountain or the valley below is contingent upon my orientation. Destinations are defined by action and direction. The Garden and The Infernoare in opposite directions on the same path,pleasure and pain separated only by a gate. Sitting on the fence leads nowhere. © 2026 Bruno Talerico64/365.
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The foreword to a novel, painted in crude brush strokes,is usually written after the story’s end. Several hundred million years have elapsedfrom the first amphibian crawling on landuntil a creature existed on this planet,that could describe that event. I exist in this moment,unique offspring of that crawling amphibian,a lone, frail primate,bearing consciousness of the universe.…
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We fear beginning without knowingwhen we will be done. Living is ourflesh and blood adventure.Spirits journeying togetherinto waiting after lives. Human beings: One day we’re born, we live, we grieve,we celebrate, and one daywe pass onto become ancestors. It all matters. Life is not linear.It is cyclical and labyrinthine,obstacles, solutions, learningsand unlearning, ebb and flow.…
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Blossoms flutter on ancient trees,still capable of bearing fruit. A black bird fully formed takes flight.Some paths are more hazardous than others. Select a wrong one, and the destination grows farther with each wing beat. Each detour, each obstacle, an opportunity. The quest is its own reward. Some words are old, their significance forgotten.Bits are…
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Desert Dweller 