“Disappointment Has a Name” My Interview with Best Seller, Nigel Byng

Disappointment Has a Name A candid conversation about writing from pain, telling the truth on the page, and longing for home. Nigel Byng sits with poet Joni Caggiano for a candid conversation about his book. 1. When writing your poetic manuscript, were there junctures when you felt your pen had a life of its own? When composing…

My New Short, True Story “Hindsight” Now On Hotel Masticadores

Hindsight All my childhood memories flooded my lungs like murky waters from a broken dam, making it difficult to breathe. I loved my dad and couldn’t ignore his earnest pleas to bring his granddaughter home. My mom’s visit when Christina was born was both a blessing and a curse. Still, I had made my choice,…

My New Poem “Lies” Now Live On Hotel Masticadores

Lies gaze upon the bloodless moon, but do not profess to know her passion touch my minikin self, yet know, it’s buds hold no words from my ink alone, no one cares to cherish my heart, which hovers loosely upon a thread woven by the larval stage of a moth, which treasures me dare not…

“Prayers Answered,” A Christmas Story Now Love On Hotel Masticadores

Prayers Answered Snow clung to a small mulberry tree in the distance.  It was a sad reminder of the old cotton fields nestled close to where Josie used to call home.  Snow was something different, like something pure.  Still, Josie was lost in a state of misery.  She peered through the narrow window that overlooked…

“Childless Tents” by Joni Caggiano ©️2025 Now Live on HotelMasticadores

 Childless Tents Kisses like sun dropsdipped in sweet pollen,play youthful cheeksplump with wonder. Faithless somber notesof sorrow yet tarrylost atop the velvet backof an anxious Buckeye. Goldenrod is changingfor Fall calls her new palette,and aging fawns in toastedwoods, seek their lost spots. Funnel spiders dot lawnslike lifeless, white hair-nets perched as childless tentson strands of fading…

“Days Mourned” By Joni Caggiano©️2025

Days Mourned dark-eyed junco’s flit in emergence froma serpentine branchof the Dragon’s Claw Willow, where theycleave as one on their ranch like beads of unknotted pearls, sweetinfusion of her sweat draws his lipstoward the gray skirt sliding off alluringsun-tinged, rose-scented hips rhythm, melding movement as oneclouds drifting, both sateddizzy from her consummate beautywhiffs of long…