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.

Dust Bunny

“I went to the kitchen and fixed myself another drink. Then I went over to the door leading out to the deck and looked through its glass window. The sky, mottled and ominous, looked like it was on the verge … Continue reading →

Posted in Books, Press, Prose | Tagged , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Interview on The Last Word

Podcast of my interview on The Last Word. Listen here. Show description: John Biscello, author, poet, and playwright. The writer’s life and work traces his odyssey from Brooklyn to Taos with a dose of magical realism along the way.

Posted in Audio, Books, Press, Prose | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

stones, passing

At the carnival I was most intrigued by the stone-swallower. A waifish bronze-skinned lady with dark hair, plaited, and slender fingers. I was rapt, watching the way she carefully arranged the stones to form a sort of pyramid at her … Continue reading →

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

Elegy

small hands folding paper cranes as grief rises

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

Cafe

At the small, time-worn cafe, the woman in the bell-shaped hat of crushed green velvet, palms warmed by the chipped enamel mug of dark coffee, this woman, setting adrift a gondola of words to cross the unsayable, reaching, with grave … Continue reading →

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

Drift

How to live patiently, in praise of mysterious drift, the questions burning dark in your heart, stolen keys fitted to foreign locks; you, spy and thief to your own drama, holding shadows to high standards, must abide with fierce intent, … Continue reading →

Posted in Poetry | Tagged , , , , , , | 3 Comments

Regarding Miss Stein

How the petaled complexities of the infinite rose is a rose is a rose sires tender turns through mounting cursive.

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

Finite Jest

Picking God’s scabs with a savage hangnail— define satire.

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

Witness

Divine, immeasurable wedlock between infinitely charged particles; I, humbly engaged, to bear witness

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

Julie

I. Eyes. When I called them winterblue, you said, oh really, the O a fat bright balloon twisted into a curious animal. Really, I insisted, and explained how, when written, I’d compound winter and blue, words holding hands to get … Continue reading →

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