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?

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


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

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.

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


Wings are intricate things,
yet simple.

So without much thought,

Overcome the cage,
and open the gate.
Ego is a bird;
it should fly.


Like awe of earthly things, science explains you,
even though I'm sure it wasn't so easy to figure.

After all, how did they go and hold you down?

And I eat memories after Sunday services while the worldview of larvae melts into the crows and the sorrows bounce upon this gray roof. I sense she smiles regarding those birds tall like a long night's crime, but smaller than her, and much more forgetful. We move on with a rumble, yet still.

While all that's thought sweet like tar goes crumb-to-dust, sky is faster. Every new roof soon goes old over time. Important stuff lasts ever so sweet so many stories up and forever, she says. Stories and stories, none to forget. She is smart as Mother Earth, and maybe is indeed her. And thanks to her, I am not afraid. She knows the scurrying monkeys like to toss up small things. Like prayers upon her steeple, and memories to eat while savoring my copies of assorted carbon coffees from the sudden rain, none of it regular, yet regular.

love is
kind love
is patient

Even if severed and separated, or sent far, far away like the sun,
lost and forgotten, Truth shall reappear one soon day.
For Truth is.
As begotten.

There's joy in believing in an Unending Being,
loving enough to be human being, heaven sharing.

All year long.

And so it is, finally July 25.

Feel the tide arise like eyes arriving to a party,
and like Christmas lights strung the whole way

We saw Santa this summer
on a motorcycle.
Like us, he was stopped at a new red.
Impressive how he seemed the patient fellow.

To be a needed pal,
how fabulous.

And there's more to that.

radiant sun.


It shot out of nowhere,
down from the sky
and pop!

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 - - 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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