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Best Poems Written by Anthony Biaanco

Below are the all-time best Anthony Biaanco poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Conversation

between stars and fireflies...
a quiet conversation

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Out of the Sun

Stayed 
             in the sun 
              to long
               today
 The skin became like the bark of a tree.
 The soul turning to brittle scars
 for uncaring worlds to see.
             My face
            is a pile of 
           old owl bones.
Sewn into banks of midnight creeks.
Even the plump, over ripened ones no longer look at me...

If their tires were desert flat,
their oil grim reaper black.
they'd manage to paint a wormy, water colored  smile...
Slide it through my barbed wired heart.
So long as I could spin the jack...
So I spin it until their potholes turn to satin.
               Stayed 
              in the sun
               to long
                today
The mind has smoothed over like pebbles in Saturn rings.
A forgotten spice in the conversation of life.
An hour later the word snuggles up to me-laughingly.


Tomorrow or forever(whichever comes first),
I'll stay wrapped inside.
Until my skin turns back to ivory
to an easter egg yesterday 
to a time of bouncing ball and spinning jack.
When the mind was a great silky nest.
The face a flowered meadow place. 
Where watercolors swirled all day, 
the heart worms kept at bay.

I'll stay hidden within the weeds, 
till the jewels of memories soothe 
every scar - every stripe.
The molten knots of cruelty.
till the sweetened fruit reclaims the tree.
Until then only my curtains breathe...
       ...stayed in the sun 
              to long
                today.

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Hypocrisy Democracy and the Seven Day Weekend

We have fences around homes...
locks on doors
bars across windows
video cameras-
motion detectors
and panic rooms.
To protect the only sanctuary that we have.
Even heaven has a vetting gate to keep evil at bay.
but they call trump a heartless, racist...
for protecting the only sanctuary that we have...

We kill a half a million babies a year.
Then riot over the inhuman treatment of a chicken
that we are about to devour.

Tens of thousands of homeless, hungry Americans w/o healthcare.
My illegal alien neighbor gets everything for free.
Sports around in a Cadillac escalade (though used) 
and has a seven-day weekend.

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Love Leaves

love,
gently rustles silver leaves
gliding through open windows
a golden summers evening
               love,
like a cardinal's rubied wing 
warming the brutish bluish soul
of winter's icy cheek
                            love,
like a spray of ocean blossoms
bursting from a magicians sleeve
into caverns of lonely hearts
rooting oh so very deeply
                                    love,
like a siren sweetly offering
a sextant for the wayward bow,
just before it strikes the reef 
and leaves in a flaming howl
                                          love.

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Bruised But Not Broken

    Your wings aren't broken,
just bruised and singed.  
From holding them too tightly 
against the burning breast of indifference.
Battling storm, surf, sweet siren songs
blood fish praying for your falter...
but you fought them off one by one.
    Atop the waves
you've seen many beautiful things... 
that little patch of green dancing on the sea.
Where you landed ever so briefly.
Salted eyes tended by birds of paradise.
They sent you off with satchel ...
filled with shell and song.
Each offered a feather to blunt the alone.
   Remember that smiling dolphin
the one with mirrors in the eyes
offering silver shoal and golden heart
to rest your weary soul and mind.
Then you sang a duet with him
a nearly perfect -pearly blend
of sweet chirps and minty clicks.
You almost stayed but fliers are not of the sea,
swimmers are not of the sky...
so, you just drifted by... on by.
   Here you are today
perched upon a graveyard fence. 
Huddled in a nest of pure blackness,
    Isn't it time to unfurl those wings again.
Soar onto the next journey...
Wear the colors of paradise
offer a shell to the surf
to quell the forever hurt.
   Another dolphin awaits you
this one has rainbows in the eyes
and the divine gift of gilded flight.

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Spring Thaw

spring thaw
the ice breaks-
into song

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Cold White Eggs

Easter morning- children grown
a pair of cold white eggs
sitting in a silent bowl

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Enoughs

Do we have "enough" .
Will silver flakes of winter's blade
cut us down 
or build us up.
Will our pasts behave like choir boys, stay in time
or re-emerge and scream and sting our eye.
Make us blind to hope and happiness.

Do we have "enough" to pluck the guts 
from the chasms of experience.
To fashion buds of love 
from the fiery depths of ego's lust.
Have we evolved "enough" to trust again...
when our old gray world blitzes in. 
Swinging concrete fists of what's the use and what ifs.
Fill our starving souls with blackbird piss.

Do we have enough-enoughs to become an "us".

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The Lost Flight of Hope

A spaceship called Hope... made from future's grand mist, 
is perched upon a launch pad of manic chemicals, and loss.
With stun gun emotion, mother earth regurgitates.  
5-4-3-2-1
Her metal finger meets the button...
she releases her ballast...
Blast off! 
My brain engulfing G forces.
Soon to become a mustard seed
in the speed of light garden.
Filled with gravid redheaded planets,
giving birth to fat-headed moons.
The stars are cheering, like starving mad islanders.

Light years have passed. 
Ground control has lost contact.
(by choice or by accident).
The rations are depleting,
but I'm serene in a starry tranquility...

I've blown by a million past lives.
Apologized half-heartedly to an alien God.
Who wished me well, pointed toward a giant black hole.
Then disappeared into the vapor trail
of lost potential and cachexic hope.

Its eerily over.
There's no more virgin oxygen.
Only the stale argon of saints and tyrants,
casting shadows of black hallucinations
chanting:
"Little seed...little seed...Didn't you know this was a one-way flight?"

I gaze out a stained-glass window for the last time.
Church bells are ringing from the parched throat of time.
Four golden letters peel from the side of the star dusted ship.
Satiating the madness of stars...
"Little seed...little seed."

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Black Pebbles and Violet Streams

Violet 
star stream
flowing 
across 
the 
soullessness
of
mundane dream...
Whispering "everything's alright.
She's thriving like a spring fed rose in saintly gardens.
An angel brightly glowing.

...of this dream.
I staggered along a ragged path.
Through a battlefield of metal devils-called "quartered living.
Faith folding and unfolding.
Garnished with ogres slinging burning orbs of fire. 
Halos of insanity...

This is when violet star sashayed in.
Soothing me
Shielding me
Her weeping rosary telling me. 
That she loved and missed my heart.
Re-fastened our very being with a satin dream kiss. 
That had tattered in the talon of time...
lifted me across the bloody broken battered fields. 
 ...into the arms of forever
where the beat of pristinely only flies.

So fly my love, fly ever so softly into me.
If dreams mean anything
I know it won't be long. 
till we dance the dance of butterflies.
Over green sprigs and lacy things in a warm summer wind.
In the heart pond of gilded tomorrows.
We'll gently drift about.
Make origami sunflower love.
High upon a gilded glade...

If dreams mean anything
death is just a splash 
of black pebbles
in a violet starry stream....
If dreams mean anything,