Works by Joe Bisicchia
Sounds Like Home
In the heat of the soon to be night,
in a world of windows,
sun settles with a saxophone.
Published in Aji Magazine, 2017
Found You in a Haiku
face, face, face, face, face.
face, face, face, face, face, face, You.
face, face, face, face, face.
Published by Rabid Oak, 2019
Maker of the Sun
Let me show my thankfulness for this in my eagerness to persist my walk with You
now and even into the darkness. See it in my stride.
Even though we shall walk through the valley of death, I walk with You by my side,
always in the light.
Published in Fourth & Sycamore, 2017
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There
Every moment into the next,
creation’s wonderment goes step by step,
life anew, life always the same,
beginning to end, to the beginning again.
A definition of disposition:
not choosing the shape of your fin,
or the sea you’re in,
but how everyday you decide to swim.
So goes the journey to heaven.
May it never be too far a distance to go there
here.
Published by FIVE:2:ONE, 2018
Catch Daddy!
Song of the Mime
Silent clown,
you let us laugh.
And to you, the music
we add.
For far more than words,
our beings know each other.
And every new day,
the sun
without its own sound,
will overpass.
But the birds sing.
Published by Dark Matter, 2015
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We see each other.
Ball bounces.
Busy world
hard to hold,
hard to let go.
Me to him,
him to me,
again and again.
Again and again,
him to me,
me to him.
Hard to let go,
hard to hold
busy world.
Ball bounces.
We see each other.
Published in Forever Journal by Poetic Matrix Press, 2016
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Monte Carlo
In the mirage,
in sun’s bending of street,
when the racing stripe
warps wrinkled
as clouds pass as do all images,
as all ephemeral messages,
as all invitations do to inspire us to
look through penetrable haze
on the way to the sun and beyond,
we shield our face,
see our way,
and race.
Published in Forever Journal
by Poetic Matrix Press, 2016
Simon Says
There is likely hesitation,
but he takes the cross.
A voice can only say so much.
His goes hollow.
He learns to look not at the loss
but at the example
he will follow.
And in the end,
he gives it back
to Him.
Published by Time of Singing, 2018
the incredible shrinking man
Judging by the droplet, a rivulet
down my back in sweat,
not sure what’s more terrifying—
the sight of the mounting spider,
or the sound of its footstep.
Published in Qua Literature Magazine, 2016
History of the World
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,
rustles as the breeze bends us.
We know all the green and allow it to envelop our sky,
and hypnotize.
In the dreams, in the veins of all the leaves,
sits the puzzle piece. Nothing new. Down to the roots.
Love is a word, an ongoing verb.
There is need, always was and always will be.
The hanging fruit has a seed.
Near the heart.
What can now start?
Published by Anatolios Magazine, 2019
Headlines
More than ink.
See
more than a one side sheet.
Who’s written as penned in?
We’re much more
than what we breathe out.
War chatters our teeth.
We’re far from each other.
But souls are in between.
Together, our lives shout.
See.
And read more than ink.
More than fonts
that electronically blink.
Published by Better than Starbucks, 2017
Run
I am speed.
I want
to run
as if all I could do
is make earth move,
and all of its breeze
be what I breathe
down the street
toward home.
Published in Forever Journal
by Poetic Matrix Press, 2016
All Shook Up
Same sun
ends, soon begun.
That morning,
1957, Silvio
went without words
at the news—
Elvis Prezzli
non è italiano.
But somehow,
no problemo.
Both sang at sunset,
a turned up radio
somewhere
in Milano.
Published by The Path, A Literary Magazine, Summer, 2016
Technically Speaking
Having mastered complexities of math, science, and alphabet,
all that education now comes down to this:
affixing one and one together late on Christmas Eve,
hooking up latest kids’ gadgets with no sense of ease.
Has me thinking of a chimpanzee on the way to the moon
pushing all kinds of buttons, pulling all kinds of levers,
knowing all kinds of wires and all kinds of connections.
Technically speaking,
that chimpanzee first needed to translate all kinds of jargon
and then turn it into all kinds of brilliant action.
To him, he had to treat it like some kind of poetry.
That could be me. But,
I have no idea what that poor chimpanzee had to go through.
Technically speaking, I’m a baboon.
Published by Rabid Oak, 2019
Of Regret
If only this.
If only that.
If only
no regret.
Our errors,
our mistakes,
dreams,
mount the cold fact.
Game never stays still.
Such is life.
It goes as it will.
And we react.
It goes.
And we make.
We overcome.
And we make.
Published in Forever Journal by Poetic Matrix Press, 2016
Unobstructed
Be with me
at Huffman Prairie
on the ground.
It’s where flying machines
are made.
Fashion in me reality
of all that can be.
And before
and after
let me sit.
And, as the sky runs,
let me savor it.
Published by Kitty Litter Press, 2017
"hope street" - pacificREVIEW
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