When I read the beautiful poetry in your books, Mich, there are innumerable and compelling lessons shared, as well as joy and sorrow. In other words, they are filled with soulful and meaningful bits of real life, which make your work so enthralling. After Rain Skies is representative of so many women and men globally…
Category: tenderness
“Polished Composure” by Joni Caggiano ©️2025 Now Live on HotelMasticadores
Polished Composure Timid love alights in garland eyes as I remember the tranquil sway of cattails in spring. Laughter and love permeate the air we breathe. My sun-kissed skin glistens with the reflection of the clear, chilly pond water. The yellowish-orange bills of the great egrets keep tune in this symphony of sound. Now wet,…
“Saturday” by Joni Caggiano ©️2025
Saturday cropping memorieslike daisy haircutsbuttery scent sashaypigment blendingmerging, like yolksvision murmurs from easelhis canvas callsendless love linestrokes from brushhis connection to lifetimid she saunters behind golden hatuntil delicate his murmurations of lovemingled with ardent touch cause her to capturerays of sunlightwarm with passionmoments forever lured into lovewith an artistand his frame Hoping that in this…
My Sword Now Live On MasticadoresPhilippines
I am a soul that spirals within the languid cylindrical cavity of a flute. Fragrances pass through me, caressing my heart like a compassionate breeze that carries earth’s gifts. Through the eyes of a bee, I forage for sweet tenderness lost in the rough concrete of my childhood home. Fear, pain, and sorrow lay a…
Flaming Sunset Now Live On HotelMasticadores
touch my skin through silk, as air-born feathers malleable to your tender strokes, I close my eyes release me, take me from my bone-thin ancient tethers space disappears, my beloved refuge, pursue me assimilate my soul, as a window weeper whose pain is tainted by my clarity of the indignant power of the sea…
“Song Bird” now live on Hotelmasticadores
Whispering, your tongue holds back crestfallen thoughts. Nails grip my thighs with the blinding voice of anguish. Winter squalls belt my heartache. Dusk’s eyeless shadows linger at open windows. I tether my sensitivities to a fishing hook that hangs by a hair plucked from my head. My wren and her heart-stopping song are lost. Her…
