Joe Bisicchia

Joe Bisicchia Poems

There is likely hesitation,
but he takes the cross.

A voice can only say so much.
...

Having mastered complexities of math, science, and alphabet,
all that education now comes down to this:
affixing one and one together late on Christmas Eve,
hooking up latest kids' gadgets with no sense of ease.
...

And what awaits to be seen,
faraway as sky,
close by as the backyard,
ever closer to the heart?
...

My face to the morning mist,
again I misplace what I could see,
my little sailboat of dreams,
out there so close it had seemed,
...

We felt her voice lift joyous from that deathbed.
She wasn't a poet; but was. Her last poem: her final breath.
It left without a word, as if the most peaceful sound ever said.
And we wept.
...

And so, the hanging fruit has always had a seed.
What did we do with it? What shall we?

Never quite silent, the tree, even in peace,
...

face, face, face, face, face.
face, face, face, face, face, face, You.
face, face, face, face, face.
...

And my arteries run;
they race with the streets,
my depth chasing the lines underneath,
my arms chasing my dreams.
...

9.

Rocks have personalities
I think
maybe.
Got to get to know them.
...

Sally sang.
No one savored the sound.
She settled
having sung for herself
...

How commonplace this job has become,
carrying out the basket of the guillotine.

Makes it easier, or so it sometimes seems.
...

Can't remember the clothes she wore,
if any,
but I can still see that bright pink sofa,
puffed with slender curves,
...

We know ourselves,
the backs of our hands.

Perhaps
...

Silent clown,
you let us laugh.
And to you, the music
we add.
...

If only this.
If only that.
If only
no regret.
...

Outside, just another frigid blizzard.
And so, as all our cold trekked roads run adrift,
our feet have come to this.
...

Judging by the droplet, a rivulet
down my back in sweat,
not sure what's more terrifying—
the sight of the mounting spider,
...

Caveman
knows God
covers with leaves
his fallen son,
...

They spread their wings, and let go
their things,

and though seem to die,
...

Be with me
at Huffman Prairie
on the ground.
It's where flying machines
...

Joe Bisicchia Biography

Joe Bisicchia writes of our shared dynamic. An Honorable Mention recipient for the Fernando Rielo XXXII World Prize for Mystical Poetry, his works have appeared in numerous publications. His website is www.JoeBisicchia.com. - - Joe Bisicchia's works have or will soon appear in: pacificREVIEW, Willawaw, Rabid Oak, Noctua, Revue Post, Aji Magazine, Chronogram Magazine, The Paragon Press, Sentinel Literary Quarterly, Dark Wood, Writing Knights Press, Gimmick Press, The Wire's Dream Magazine, FIVE: 2: ONE, Vox Poetica, Hobo Camp, Junto Magazine, Mannequin Haus, The Bookends Review, Glass: Facets of Poetry, Entropy, Linden Avenue Literary Journal, Encircle Publications, Anti-Heroin Chic, Punch Drunk Press, Edify, Fourth & Sycamore, Philadelphia Stories, Muse-Pie Press, unFold, Coldnoon, Qua Magazine, The Tipton Poetry Journal, Time of Singing, Torrid Literature Journal, Diversion Press, The Wax Paper, The Path, The Poet's Haven, Sheepshead Review, Verse-Virtual, Balloons Lit. Journal, Kitty Litter Press, The Inflectionist Review, Black Heart Magazine, Dark Matter Journal, Poets Collectives Anthologies, Poetic Matrix Press and others.)

The Best Poem Of Joe Bisicchia

Simon Says

There is likely hesitation,
but he takes the cross.

A voice can only say so much.
His goes hollow.

He learns to look not at the loss
but at the example
he will follow.

And in the end,
he gives it back
to Him.


Published by Time of Singing,2018

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