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.

Fret

Incite, the heraldic crash of the ocean’s champagne fete, or, how the waves, lattice and white-maned, sire the sea’s cadent fret.

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Spoor

Hazarding a cede, to spoor feral shoots, or, Inspiration, a ward’s vigilant yield toward a mysterious charge.

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Sow

Inviolate, the shallow impress of bird’s feet in snow, or, how love, in chronic yield, metes time to sow.

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Toll

Winter, tolling the climes of Grief’s wraith, or, how the feathers of first snow, falling, chasten the dead in lasting refrain.

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Climes

Grief, engendering the climes of Winter’s wraith, or, how the sound of white fire, falling, in reverse, encloses the dead in penitent refrain.

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Fetters

Between worlds, the vetted reaping of Memory, where wings once brushed rash pink, or, how an angel, ennobling fetters, loses sleep to grievous mortal claims.

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Filigree

And on the eighth day, gospel and inviolate, the Moon went on a bender, pouring silver chaste with salve, or, how the world, toddling due course, filigreed the necessary dark by grieving jointly.

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Pearl

In the shadow of a stray leaf, the ribbed modeling of pearlescent light, Autumn’s plein-air portrait, in miniature, unsigned.

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Fold

small hands, immeasurable in their dignity and brood, folding paper cranes as grief rises to level tender shoots

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The Ash Tree

She, supplicant to none and all, faring Heaven’s lighted grief, boughs between silent worlds, citing impartial Grace.

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