Joe Bisicchia Poems

We float.

Our eyes go to the line
as brilliance
...

Got so much to do, places to go, people to meet, barrels to burn, but maybe life's sweet as waiting on Hope Street and watching sun drop behind empty parking lot next to closed bowling alley and closed barber shop where swirl has stopped to sleep.

And maybe it's sweet as sun's return trip via a boomerang off the moon, waiting on Hope lifting your cold arms stretched wide, allowing rays of moonlight rise and fall and tickle your firm fingertips. But sometimes sun and moon are just too hard to see, let alone welcome with open arms.
...

There is a cricket down there, or two or three.
Thinking darkness of the unknown is the Grand Ole Oprey.
No wine in a while, but none needed. I am in the upper light.
Wonder, wonder, wonder of life.
...

In a desolate corner of Nevada, here,
ever still,
she has an unquenchable presence.
...

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,
...

And once again, ephemeral goes our night sky, yet not.
Effervescence remains. The glow of stars.
Our hearts.
...

Please, if you will,
share with me the directions
from Here to There.
I bet There may be somewhere,
...

Friends,
peace
is not our journey's end,
but the way to it.
...

She said love's a phenomenon,
heavenly but meant to be down to earth.
I lifted her atop a pedestal.
She had just wanted to see eye to eye.
...