weeping crowmoon hangs lowwords slash in single fileblood plunges on Italian tilean infant takes four steps to momdad is raking leaves on browning lawnred-headed nurse prays for the dead this dawn I am dedicating this poem to nurses, doctors, and anyone working in any capacity within the healthcare industry. A special thanks to our…
Category: Isolation
compulsive
counting, countingdoing daily safety checksexhaustion visiting eyes of seven God ignoring pleas to go to heaven tiptoeing, tiptoeingever aware of sleeping beastglass floors cracking under toeswhile nervous fingers are picking nose
Without An Anchor At Sea
tethered to you, my darling, like a fragile marionettesilk strings made from worms gathering their blue emotionslonging for an overdue petrichor, I yearn for a divine cloud burstmy anchor, yet your strength vacillates floating, sending me out to seastill, after all these years, you do not identify with my mournful delicate marrowjoyful, gardenia scented summer…
My Gladiator
This piece is dedicated to and inspired by the fragrance writer, the poet who can find any scent you or your beloved enjoys. In the days of the Roman Gladiators, their natural scents were collected and sold as expensive perfume for rich patrons. in her white stola, she hummed by the lone gladiator gate,sixty…
Live on Spillwords “Spotlight on Writers – Joni Caggiano”
I am honored to be interviewed on Spillwords NYC. If you like my work and are curious about my life please visit the link above. If you enjoyed learning more about what makes me tick, please show me some love by clicking on the little heart. To see my author page on Spillwords NYC click…
Disappearing Slowly
Photography by Gabriel Matula – Unsplash – Poem by Joni Caggiano on Saturday, June 5, 2021 Shall I rise today and put on my face? If so, which face shall I paint. I suffer like a lamp whose light no longer shines or a piano whose keys are missing, yet still strains to coerce a…
My New Poem, “Memories Buried In a Box,” Now Live at MasticadoresUSA
I am honored to be published in MasticadoresUSA (Editora: Gabriela Marie Milton, Director: j re crivello) I am the seasoning in your food, infused with blood-tinged lovegrave diggers plow a hole into my left eye, now crossedblack memories are buried there, along with my visionlifeless in a woeful, cardboard box, are my wedding ringsmy father’s…
My New Face
faces are skin for viewing, not for judginghiding one side of mine to forget the slaps it tookI ask us why is it so difficult for us to embrace our look if my face was right, my thin body wrongthe sea’s entire palette of blue surrounded mein my teenage years, something not many bothered to…
The Lonely Widower
This poem is dedicated to all the people that are alone that I know, love and pray for on WordPress and the world. This is a difficult time for everyone but those who don’t have family or friends that visit are lonely – take a chance guys and gals! I dedicate this poem to John…
Fledgling
in the waking hours, I hear your breathcrusted sands of the past are in your eyesreminders of painlies that lick the dustsheets that once knew lusterstolen from an innocentdevouring me like a vulturelost, I linger like the fledglingafraid to leaveafraid to stayliving in the in-betweendying in the shadows