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Category Archives: Poetry
Fool’s Play
To marvel dumbly, and trespass, with a sense of the infinite backlighting a wink– this, the way of the Fool, or sacred is as sacred does, when trusting the air in its holy relationship to plunge.
Posted in Poetry, Uncategorized
Tagged fool, in air we trust, John Biscello, poem, sacred clowning, taking the leap, the plunge, the reign of naivete
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The Earthling Chronicles
The Martians, in their conscious longevity, stamped our passports and immigration documents long before our legacy of amnesia broke and we came to realize that everything, including our sense of planetary privilege, has been a sham, a lost man’s desperate … Continue reading
Calling
The crow, weighing on the snow-skinned branch, caws with dark religious insistence, like a sailor homesick for love, or its remaindered sibling. There is an unremitting hoarseness to Eternity that disguises its calling in still feathers and winter’s light.
Posted in Poetry, Uncategorized
Tagged caw of the wild, crow, eternal returns, John Biscello, poem, Poetry, winter's light
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Inspiration’s Track
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
You Are Here
To venerate, the privilege of air inside the ceremony of lungs and chance, where you, as an honored guest, get to ripen and breathe the adventure of your name into a free-range universe.
Awakening
Did I look down, or peer within when I saw the golden grass waving like liquid tendrils of light? At the soft, rounded edge of dream, a beckoning to fall, to endear charm to the fool’s play calling your truest … Continue reading
Throb
It is the caste of throb in which words, palpitating, line up to serve a poem’s desirous need to know your longing as an open source.
Firsting Impression
It happens fast, this life— the first trembling chapter of an impending sneeze, the half-slitted stutter of a lid’s ambition to wink– We are, timewise, less than these things in the gaugeless cosmic scheme. And yet beyond these words, and … Continue reading
Red Balloon
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.
Posted in Poetry, Uncategorized
Tagged free play, John Biscello, migration patterns, poem, the unbearable lightness of balloons
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