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.

Tenor

Posted on October 28, 2020 by John Biscello

The difference between I am here and I was here is delicately slight, and not really a matter of tense but rather one of plaited tenor and climate, in which degrees, separating our ghost from our dreams, keeps us shivering … Continue reading →

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Darkroom

Posted on October 27, 2020 by John Biscello

In the darkroom of your own solitude the slowly developing photographs of your life can be recollected forwards, as if chronology were a fugue, and you its vigilant timekeeper, twice removed.

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Signed, Sealed, Delivered

Posted on October 27, 2020 by John Biscello

You can, if you wish, file a million and one embittered complaints to the Universe, but none will bring the strange and mysterious results that a single shred of glimmering gratitude can, its kiss the tenderest seal upon symmetry’s origins.

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Love Is

Posted on October 27, 2020 by John Biscello

I miss you already, the sun-kissed daisy whispered to the migrant flake of snow, which clung like a hopeful bead to the daisy’s delicate petal before dying a lover’s death and melting.

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Red Balloon

Posted on October 27, 2020 by John Biscello

A red balloon says so much about the sky, and the weightless wonder of children, when desire, bated aloft by the sun, gives free-spirited chase to the play of light on basking reams of nimbus and lore.

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Song of Hope

Posted on October 26, 2020 by John Biscello

They kill poetsin these partsdon’t they?When I got hereI saw Walt Whitman’swizened head out backimpaled on a stakeflies buzzing round itsconcomitant rot and stenchI heard one of the locals sayit was the worst kind of tourist trapthis voodoo orbfunctioning like … Continue reading →

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Transcience

Posted on October 26, 2020 by John Biscello

Where were you last night, my dreams asked of my silence— Between worlds, I longed.

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Nowhere is Now Here

Posted on October 26, 2020 by John Biscello

“Voyages are accomplished inwardly”–Henry Miller This dreamer’s life, sentenced to passive worth and fired stillness. Cross my heart and hope to die, there is, I promise, nothing whatsoever to prove or assert or confirm, no doors to walk through (you … Continue reading →

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Inspiration’s Track

Posted on October 26, 2020 by John Biscello

Inspiration is not a matter of chance, or waiting, or a magic spell that demands bated breath and fretted suspension— it is the fact that you pick up a pen, your fingers growing warm and intimate with its weight and … Continue reading →

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Icy Hot

Posted on October 26, 2020 by John Biscello

Between worlds, vying for merger, the reigning glacial celibacy of stars, and the marvelous frisson of pure mortal throb— Where you are not, find your ghost’s bluest breath of want upon a mirrored caste of longing.

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