Van Gogh, Wheat Field

It is what you might call
omen-brushed yellow, a virulent
scare, its quotient graded just
below dark, and subtly so.
A sky raining crows,
like a scandal of mustaches,
or handlebar dissent.
Yellow crosses
daring a blight,
or braving a mouthless ebb,
Agony and Ecstasy, yes,
but a forced marriage
or hospitable togetherness?
Hard to say
when Harmony,
harvesting its own voice,
is reaped by the scythe
of Dissonance, a sermon’s
last lips annointing Treason
its warden
and glory.

About John Biscello

Originally from Brooklyn, NY, writer, poet, spoken word performer, and playwright, John Biscello now lives in Taos, New Mexico. He is the author of three novels: Broken Land, a Brooklyn Tale, Raking the Dust, and Nocturne Variations, and a collection of stories, Freeze Tag. His fiction and poetry has appeared in: Art Times, nthposition, The Wanderlust Review, Ophelia Street, Caper, Polyphony, Dilate, Militant Roger, Chokecherries, Farmhouse, BENT, The 555 Collective, Instigator, Brass Sopaipilla, The Iconoclast, Adobe Walls, Kansas City Voices, and the Tishman Review. His blog--Notes of an Urban Stray--can be read at Broken Land, a Brooklyn Tale was named Underground Book Reviews 2014 Book of the Year.
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2 Responses to Van Gogh, Wheat Field

  1. “omen-brushed yellow…” excellent phrase.


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