Author Archives: John Biscello

Unknown's avatar

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.

Creed

As soon as your pen makes first contact with the page you have done yourself the great and holy service of destroying that viral boogeyman, Perfection, which has buried far too many acts of expression and faith, a dream-life darkened … Continue reading →

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

Night Gallery

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

What Leaves May Come

Dance of the Shadow Leaves, a Triptych.

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

Drum

Drum over me God, I am water under the bridge, threaded with silk and sewn with bones flowing, undammed, into the percussive folds of a liquid body, my name and past ceded to babbles of foam upon a colossal, quivering … Continue reading →

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

Solitude #43

In my solitude, I have found myself wanting to shrink even further, into a speck of light, like lint from a star’s navel, or a velvety swath of dark absented from its tailored source;  in my solitude, I long to … Continue reading →

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

Burn

The out of womb blues, torch song on code red alert– Slow burning for home.

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

Baby Romantics

Baby Byron didn’t yet have language, so he twisted and contorted his face into a mask, a distressed aria sounding his discomfort. That it was existential, and not hunger, thirst, tiredness, or physical pain, meant nothing to him. Without language … Continue reading →

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

Dive

Writer’s deep sea task, how to breathe underwater– Air of faith, no mask.

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

Cherish

Blossom, hue of vetted contradiction, between cherish and fade– Hours, like thorns, slow burn to chasten.

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

Many Ghosts

Many people in my life have been consumed by fiction. Fiction is a monster. Fiction is a glutton. Like ego, like an insatiable wrath, it never gets enough, is never satisfied. Fiction has consumed and absorbed many people in my … Continue reading →

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