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…

His Love is Far Reaching

pounding heartbeats, the torrid sun drying blue blood, which drips as silently as Damascus sighs, my blood rides on the Crimson-winged Finch in the Holy Lands, we sit in the shade of the immense fig tree, meeting me here too long ago, a human turning inside out, each time you touch my lines where a…

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…

Atacama Blooms

looks that peel my painful, prickled skin slowly off my bodystepping on me as if I were a small stone beneath the dirtbarely enough of a bother to remove this insignificant gritlost in the Atacama desert riding a llama who talks of my fatethere is a storm of grave proportion in Chile’s parched desertwithin a…

The Poet’s Tender Heart

love, a raindrop, a snowflake, or the uniqueness of the flight of the leafmoon shades of green bringing forth a canvas within the ocean’s kelpsongbirds sing for both you and me underneath the power of the same blue skyblack keys suit the music of your mystifying and powerfully winged wordswhite keys that are jealous are…

Regrets of a Southern Death

gazing at her photo as if measures of time were echosof the rapid beat of a hummingbird’s wingfor if he dared to linger upon the fading vision that was once hereven a second longer, her death would occur all over againexcept for his memory, she was salt mixed with brown ash, bone andfour long screws…