Author Archives: John Biscello

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About John Biscello

Originally from Brooklyn, NY, novelist, poet, performer, playwright and filmmaker, John Biscello, has lived in the high-desert grunge-wonderland of Taos, New Mexico since 2001. He is the author of six novels, Broken Land, a Brooklyn Tale, Raking the Dust, Nocturne Variations, No Man’s Brooklyn, The Last Furies, and No One Dreams in Color; 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 plays have been staged and performed both nationally and internationally.

Benign

Alighted, to course sweetly toward benign silence– To mend, flowers kiss.   (Watercolor by Henry Miller)    

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Sheep

Wild sheep chase, ending in void’s double exposure– who’s following whom?   (Artwork by Izumi Yokoyama)

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Train

I understand, you let the wrong one in again– doors close, doors open.   (Artwork by Nigel Van Wieck)

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Swallow

Night swallowing its own tale of snake swallowing its own tail of night.   (Artwork by Izumi Yokoyama)

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Sylvia, Triptych

Perhaps, Miss Sylvia, if there had been more sand on your beach, more sea to wash away the dead skin of pallid thoughts, more moonstruck nights rattling close to your fingers as you typed out the country of your heart, … Continue reading →

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Wonder

Each spring they return, bound to renew small wonders– Innocent by turns.   (Artwork by Izumi Yokoyama)    

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Blue

That year, in Paris, distant blue was all the rage– the clown’s mood thickened.   (Painting by Edward Hopper)

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Ice Cream

Like ice cream, this dream of life, wintering its soul– How lovely the melt!   (Artwork by Hiroshige)

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Happenstance

You mean to tell me that God is Bo Peep and her sheep are not sheep at all but rather dream-spiders spinning intricate patterns and noodle-strand mandalas to freestyle a movable feast in some obscure forest known by some as … Continue reading →

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Autobiography

To know myself, a rogue aggregate of loving atoms, a happy shivering clusterfuck of luminous baubles banded together to forge and assume an alleged identity, no papers or pulpit required, to fulfill an arc, and heart-guided directives, to be a … Continue reading →

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