Details |
Anthony Bianco Poem
between stars and fireflies...
a quiet conversation
Copyright © Anthony Bianco | Year Posted 2013
|
Details |
Anthony Bianco Poem
We have fences around homes...
locks on doors
bars across windows
motion detectors
and panic rooms.
video cameras
The powers that be have armed 24/7 security.
but they call Trump a heartless, racist...
for protecting us from leeches and madmen.
Obama and Clinton had a potent vetting gate.
But nobody dared to complain or call them a racist.
Tens of thousands of hungry, homeless Americans.
My illegal alien neighbor gets all the freebies
My taxes put the shine on his Cadillac Escalade.
He flaunts a flashy amiga and sports a seven-day weekend.
Copyright © Anthony Bianco | Year Posted 2019
|
Details |
Anthony Bianco Poem
Stayed in the sun too long today.
My 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 ones no longer look at me...
If their tires were flat, or oil grim reaper black.
they'd manage a water-colored smile...
So long as I could spin the jack...
So, I spin it until their potholes turn to satin.
Stayed in the sun too long today.
The mind has smoothed like pebbles in Saturn's rings.
A forgotten spice in the conversation of life.
Tomorrow I'll stay wrapped inside.
Until my skin turns back to ivory.
To an easter egg yesterday
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 heartworms kept at bay.
I'll stay hidden within the weeds,
till the jewels of memories soothe
every scar - every stripe.
Till the sweetened fruit reclaims the tree.
Until then only my curtains breathe...
...stayed in the sun
to long
today.
Copyright © Anthony Bianco | Year Posted 2013
|
Details |
Anthony Bianco 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 Bianco | Year Posted 2016
|
Details |
Anthony Bianco Poem
Love,
gently rustles silver leaves
gliding through open windows
a golden summer's 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 magician's 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 Bianco | Year Posted 2014
|
Details |
Anthony Bianco Poem
Easter morning- children grown
a pair of cold white eggs
sitting in a silent bowl
Copyright © Anthony Bianco | Year Posted 2012
|
Details |
Anthony Bianco Poem
spring thaw
the ice breaks-
into song
Copyright © Anthony Bianco | Year Posted 2013
|
Details |
Anthony Bianco 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-enough(s) to become an "us"?
Copyright © Anthony Bianco | Year Posted 2014
|
Details |
Anthony Bianco Poem
A spaceship called Hope... made from the 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 a 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.
It's 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 Bianco | Year Posted 2014
|
Details |
Anthony Bianco 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 pristine 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 Bianco | Year Posted 2012
|