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Monthly Archives: November 2016
Disclosure
In perpetual flirtation and basking courtship with Beloved, I, warming to petition and gospel, humbly sign my name, if only to ghost an echo channeling undisclosed remains.
Posted in Poetry, Uncategorized
Tagged courtship, devotion, gospel, John Biscello, love, passion, petition, Poetry
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Bird’s Eye View
(For Leonard Cohen) As the bird on the wire trills its last delicious electric notes, the vibrato hum begins to resound in Heaven.
Posted in Artwork, Uncategorized
Tagged bird, bird on a wire, Heaven, John Biscello, leonard cohen, Literary, memoriam, music, song
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Endanger
In the Beginning, when all was scrim and nostalgia to be, there was the Word, a dark sensual organism prefiguring Symbol, and in the mouths of babes desperate to dream aloud and chasten their hunt for meaning, the Word became … Continue reading
Posted in Poetry, Uncategorized
Tagged endanger, gospel, John Biscello, sea, voices, word, words, writing
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The Emperor’s New Robe
What may, in the bristling long run, turn out to be a hooded blessing in disguise; that is, Hubris, Ego and Arrogance, as sickled agents of corrosion, Greek in scope and epic cinema, turn an Emperor’s new robe into a … Continue reading
Symmetry
It is only when you learn how to tango like a crab along the sea’s mirrored edge, that language, as master to its own silence, hastens words to dance with the symmetry of intent.
Rose in Winter
Inherent is this basking fragility which announces the wild rose, bending devoutly to kiss the earth, as shadow to first love, mighty in its lasting yearn and abandon.
Posted in Poetry, Uncategorized
Tagged John Biscello, Literary, love, Poetry, rose, shadow, yearn
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Aria for Two Voices
It was perfect in that our distances mirrored one another’s fragile attempts for lasting intimacy, and in reaching we were guaranteed to come up empty yet singing.
Posted in Poetry, Uncategorized
Tagged distance, intimacy, John Biscello, romance, song
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Fort
It has become my last refuge, a solitary outpost upon which the broken bit of sun seared into my palm, mirroring stigmata, has given my name as refutable evidence and signature.
Posted in Poetry, Uncategorized
Tagged childhood, fort, John Biscello, Literary, Poetry, solitude, stigmata, writing
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John Biscello 