Author Archives: John Biscello

Unknown's avatar

About John Biscello

Originally from Brooklyn, NY, writer, poet, performer, and playwright, John Biscello, has lived in the high-desert grunge-wonderland of Taos, New Mexico since 2001. He is the author of four novels, Broken Land, a Brooklyn Tale, Raking the Dust, Nocturne Variations, and No Man’s Brooklyn; a collection of stories, Freeze Tag, two poetry collections, Arclight and Moonglow on Mercy Street; and a fable, The Jackdaw and the Doll, illustrated by Izumi Yokoyama. He also adapted classic fables, which were paired with the vintage illustrations of artist, Paul Bransom, for the collection: Once Upon a Time, Classic Fables Reimagined. His produced, full-length plays include: LOBSTERS ON ICE, ADAGIO FOR STRAYS, THE BEST MEDICINE, ZEITGEIST, U.S.A., and WEREWOLVES DON’T WALTZ.

Conscripture

Posted on November 3, 2020 by John Biscello

It is not me you are looking for, it is you. We dress and undress as mirrors, conscripting images to burn and cherish, to reveal and reflect the many sides of a lighted front, a sideways turn, modeling love in … Continue reading →

Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Blue Moon Rising

Posted on October 30, 2020 by John Biscello

You are you. The moon is the moon. Do not get confused. But remember … You are both meant to glow, without apology, beyond the veils and darkening scrim.

Posted in Poetry | Tagged , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Time-Stalkers

Posted on October 30, 2020 by John Biscello

To stalk time is a fruitless exercise, a phantom’s unscratchable itch. And yet … within the process of stalking lies the power of invention, conduit to nuptial surges in sync with the secret odysseys we undertake to make of our … Continue reading →

Posted in Poetry | Tagged , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Review of Invisible Ink

Posted on October 30, 2020 by John Biscello

(Review of Patrick Modiano’s novel, Invisible Ink.) If there is a suitcase, forged documentation, café-life and tons of mileage accumulated tramping the streets of Paris, it’s a pretty safe guess that you are inside a Patrick Modiano novel. The French … Continue reading →

Posted in Books, photography, Press, Prose, Publications, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

I Don’t Know

Posted on October 30, 2020 by John Biscello

After I love you the three most powerful and talismanic words in the language might be I don’t know, instant reducer of ego, canal-cleanser for deeper listening, ventilator of humility and breathing room, not to mention a reverential nod and … Continue reading →

Posted in Poetry | Tagged , , , , , | Leave a comment

Glisten

Posted on October 30, 2020 by John Biscello

It is sudden, this life, a billowing pop-up tent for the quick and the dead. And how true that, its frayed denouements of thread lead you back and back again through that labyrinth, its spool of yarn the ravels of … Continue reading →

Posted in Poetry | Tagged , , , , | Leave a comment

You Say You Want a Revolution?

Posted on October 30, 2020 by John Biscello

The secret to becoming a true revolutionary, lay yourself out upon the world’s limitless altar  of secrets, and praise the hidden roots of everything you encounter daily, heart bared as proof of light’s need to air.

Posted in Poetry | Tagged , , , , | 2 Comments

Naming Desire

Posted on October 29, 2020 by John Biscello

Whoever I am, I have always depended on the kindness of words– such strange company, these solitary verses.

Posted in Poetry | Tagged , , , , , | Leave a comment

Moonstruck

Posted on October 29, 2020 by John Biscello

I never learned the secret delicious recipe of making a poem from moon, or the bluest glacial moon-cheese from any of my teachers. It wasn’t their fault. They might have regarded the moon as something distant, something belonging to astronauts, … Continue reading →

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , | Leave a comment

Send to Returner

Posted on October 29, 2020 by John Biscello

At the edge of a weathered postcard, the faintest glisten, by which memory holds true and offers proof—There were people, a trip, a sea, clouds, fragile patterns, mist.  There was this life, where we dreamed, and so this postcard, this … Continue reading →

Posted in Poetry | Tagged , , , , | Leave a comment