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.

Birds

Posted on November 7, 2017 by John Biscello

By whirling reams of papered birds, the writer’s flights, short-lived, earn the keep of dreams daringly emptied.

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Charred

Posted on November 7, 2017 by John Biscello

I was there, nameless gluttony of charged particles, when the dream-trees were felled by alabaster whorls of lightning. From the siege I salvaged a charred branch, which became my staff, my walking stick, and I began to wander in search … Continue reading →

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Sleet

Posted on November 7, 2017 by John Biscello

Scattered, like numinous sleet of commas, the faeries intimated bright shards of language, not yet discovered or long since forgotten.

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Awe

Posted on November 7, 2017 by John Biscello

To walk in fields of blue lightning, to see with a child’s snow-driven eyes, is to receive awe and grace; the tasseled forks of God’s split tongues and blonde fuzzies coercing you to savor.

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Braid

Posted on November 6, 2017 by John Biscello

How quickly we forget the nearness of grief, and remember, with rated thorns, a past nettled to braid.

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Hermit

Posted on November 6, 2017 by John Biscello

Hermit, of singed tassels, have you raised hell quietly deeply within, to better discern and negotiate the holy seethe of flames? Have your voices, and their cold blue chains, grown numinous through years of patient greening? Hermit, how wonderful that … Continue reading →

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Perigee

Posted on November 6, 2017 by John Biscello

Exultant, by virtue of perigee, fools and moons forever dance and flirt on the candied rim of eternity.

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Minnows

Posted on November 6, 2017 by John Biscello

Numinous slivers, minnows of wriggling light– how angels migrate.

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Scorpion

Posted on November 6, 2017 by John Biscello

Scorpion, who fears thy immortal symmetry imprinted upon a lidless void? Who dares tread upon your inky black trail of shelled pearls and amative resin? You, Sex, You, Death, You, primordial sleep and whipped wake of Pan’s ancient cloven song– … Continue reading →

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Crayfish

Posted on November 6, 2017 by John Biscello

Crayfish, obsidian, antennaed, slick with frothy scum as you crawl up from the brackish rim of a forgotten pond, my heart recalls you as an ancient mystic, an oracle of medicine, who needs not license nor recognition to exact vital … Continue reading →

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