Author Archives: John Biscello

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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.

Sway

To sway, with corset no more to bind, hips parlaying grace, to rivet greening desire.

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N.

Sssshhh, gently now, gently, Love, the slippered guest, the tender trespasser, enters the house of wet leaves, softly, finger pressed to asking lips, no more questions, just this: the sound of rain, pealing, to bless storied thirst.  

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Daisies

To have, to have not, in the end, it’s all the same– thrill to wet daisies.

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Arc

Here, learning to craft, birth to arc, John Biscello– my life’s truest art.

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The Passion of Joan of Arc

(Review of The Passion of Joan of Arc, the silent film classic, which is celebrating its 90th anniversary.) Celebrating its 90th anniversary, Dreyer’s film remains starkly modern in its composition and complexion, fixed in an otherworldly and hallucinogenic present. Jean Cocteau … Continue reading →

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Pour

I get lost, looking, so much sky to soften course, so much light, slow poured.

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Wilds

Slow down, my brave child, where wilds grow, soul is taken– You star your own fate.

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Feathers

Song, caught in her hair, something about torn feathers, running, blue to form.

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Begin

No need for the past, living mythology, you, here and now, begin.

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Unabated

Hope, that thing unfettered, soul’s window flung open, to bask, to air myself, unabated, no past to claim or follow.

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