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Anthony Biaanco Poem
between stars and fireflies...
a quiet conversation
Copyright © Anthony Biaanco | Year Posted 2013
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Anthony Biaanco Poem
We have fences around homes...
locks on doors
bars across windows
video cameras-
motion detectors
and panic rooms.
To protect the only sanctuary that we have.
Even heaven has a vetting gate to keep evil at bay.
but they call trump a heartless, racist...
for protecting the only sanctuary that we have...
We kill a half a million babies a year.
Then riot over the inhuman treatment of a chicken
that we are about to devour.
Tens of thousands of homeless, hungry Americans w/o healthcare.
My illegal alien neighbor gets everything for free.
Sports around in a Cadillac escalade (though used)
and has a seven-day weekend.
Copyright © Anthony Biaanco | Year Posted 2019
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Anthony Biaanco Poem
Stayed
in the sun
to long
today
The skin became like the bark of a tree.
The soul turning to brittle scars
for uncaring worlds to see.
My face
is a pile of
old owl bones.
Sewn into banks of midnight creeks.
Even the plump, over ripened ones no longer look at me...
If their tires were desert flat,
their oil grim reaper black.
they'd manage to paint a wormy, water colored smile...
Slide it through my barbed wired heart.
So long as I could spin the jack...
So I spin it until their potholes turn to satin.
Stayed
in the sun
to long
today
The mind has smoothed over like pebbles in Saturn rings.
A forgotten spice in the conversation of life.
An hour later the word snuggles up to me-laughingly.
Tomorrow or forever(whichever comes first),
I'll stay wrapped inside.
Until my skin turns back to ivory
to an easter egg yesterday
to a time of bouncing ball and spinning jack.
When the mind was a great silky nest.
The face a flowered meadow place.
Where watercolors swirled all day,
the heart worms kept at bay.
I'll stay hidden within the weeds,
till the jewels of memories soothe
every scar - every stripe.
The molten knots of cruelty.
till the sweetened fruit reclaims the tree.
Until then only my curtains breathe...
...stayed in the sun
to long
today.
Copyright © Anthony Biaanco | Year Posted 2013
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Anthony Biaanco Poem
Your wings aren't broken,
just bruised and singed.
From holding them too tightly
against the burning breast of indifference.
Battling storm, surf, sweet siren songs
blood fish praying for your falter...
but you fought them off one by one.
Atop the waves
you've seen many beautiful things...
that little patch of green dancing on the sea.
Where you landed ever so briefly.
Salted eyes tended by birds of paradise.
They sent you off with satchel ...
filled with shell and song.
Each offered a feather to blunt the alone.
Remember that smiling dolphin
the one with mirrors in the eyes
offering silver shoal and golden heart
to rest your weary soul and mind.
Then you sang a duet with him
a nearly perfect -pearly blend
of sweet chirps and minty clicks.
You almost stayed but fliers are not of the sea,
swimmers are not of the sky...
so, you just drifted by... on by.
Here you are today
perched upon a graveyard fence.
Huddled in a nest of pure blackness,
Isn't it time to unfurl those wings again.
Soar onto the next journey...
Wear the colors of paradise
offer a shell to the surf
to quell the forever hurt.
Another dolphin awaits you
this one has rainbows in the eyes
and the divine gift of gilded flight.
Copyright © Anthony Biaanco | Year Posted 2016
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Anthony Biaanco Poem
love,
gently rustles silver leaves
gliding through open windows
a golden summers evening
love,
like a cardinal's rubied wing
warming the brutish bluish soul
of winter's icy cheek
love,
like a spray of ocean blossoms
bursting from a magicians sleeve
into caverns of lonely hearts
rooting oh so very deeply
love,
like a siren sweetly offering
a sextant for the wayward bow,
just before it strikes the reef
and leaves in a flaming howl
love.
Copyright © Anthony Biaanco | Year Posted 2014
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Anthony Biaanco Poem
spring thaw
the ice breaks-
into song
Copyright © Anthony Biaanco | Year Posted 2013
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Anthony Biaanco Poem
Easter morning- children grown
a pair of cold white eggs
sitting in a silent bowl
Copyright © Anthony Biaanco | Year Posted 2012
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Anthony Biaanco Poem
Do we have "enough" .
Will silver flakes of winter's blade
cut us down
or build us up.
Will our pasts behave like choir boys, stay in time
or re-emerge and scream and sting our eye.
Make us blind to hope and happiness.
Do we have "enough" to pluck the guts
from the chasms of experience.
To fashion buds of love
from the fiery depths of ego's lust.
Have we evolved "enough" to trust again...
when our old gray world blitzes in.
Swinging concrete fists of what's the use and what ifs.
Fill our starving souls with blackbird piss.
Do we have enough-enoughs to become an "us".
Copyright © Anthony Biaanco | Year Posted 2014
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Anthony Biaanco Poem
A spaceship called Hope... made from future's grand mist,
is perched upon a launch pad of manic chemicals, and loss.
With stun gun emotion, mother earth regurgitates.
5-4-3-2-1
Her metal finger meets the button...
she releases her ballast...
Blast off!
My brain engulfing G forces.
Soon to become a mustard seed
in the speed of light garden.
Filled with gravid redheaded planets,
giving birth to fat-headed moons.
The stars are cheering, like starving mad islanders.
Light years have passed.
Ground control has lost contact.
(by choice or by accident).
The rations are depleting,
but I'm serene in a starry tranquility...
I've blown by a million past lives.
Apologized half-heartedly to an alien God.
Who wished me well, pointed toward a giant black hole.
Then disappeared into the vapor trail
of lost potential and cachexic hope.
Its eerily over.
There's no more virgin oxygen.
Only the stale argon of saints and tyrants,
casting shadows of black hallucinations
chanting:
"Little seed...little seed...Didn't you know this was a one-way flight?"
I gaze out a stained-glass window for the last time.
Church bells are ringing from the parched throat of time.
Four golden letters peel from the side of the star dusted ship.
Satiating the madness of stars...
"Little seed...little seed."
Copyright © Anthony Biaanco | Year Posted 2014
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Anthony Biaanco Poem
Violet
star stream
flowing
across
the
soullessness
of
mundane dream...
Whispering "everything's alright.
She's thriving like a spring fed rose in saintly gardens.
An angel brightly glowing.
...of this dream.
I staggered along a ragged path.
Through a battlefield of metal devils-called "quartered living.
Faith folding and unfolding.
Garnished with ogres slinging burning orbs of fire.
Halos of insanity...
This is when violet star sashayed in.
Soothing me
Shielding me
Her weeping rosary telling me.
That she loved and missed my heart.
Re-fastened our very being with a satin dream kiss.
That had tattered in the talon of time...
lifted me across the bloody broken battered fields.
...into the arms of forever
where the beat of pristinely only flies.
So fly my love, fly ever so softly into me.
If dreams mean anything
I know it won't be long.
till we dance the dance of butterflies.
Over green sprigs and lacy things in a warm summer wind.
In the heart pond of gilded tomorrows.
We'll gently drift about.
Make origami sunflower love.
High upon a gilded glade...
If dreams mean anything
death is just a splash
of black pebbles
in a violet starry stream....
If dreams mean anything,
Copyright © Anthony Biaanco | Year Posted 2012
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