Category Archives: Poetry

Cloud Nine

Posted on February 15, 2017 by John Biscello

Dylan Thomas falls from his barstool in Heaven— God, tending bar, picks him up, turns to Job—Who am I to judge?

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Metamorphosis

Posted on February 10, 2017 by John Biscello

On the day I was turned to stone all mirrors were instantly abolished and silence became that gilded golden thing I had heard so much about and the stillness of time slowed to a moist chafing pardon where I was … Continue reading →

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They Are Their Own

Posted on February 6, 2017 by John Biscello

Do you know where your children are? Or rather who, in their ripening pedigree and new language they are in the process of becoming? Make no mistake they are not nor have they ever been yours belonging infinitely to the … Continue reading →

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Meaning of the Mob

Posted on February 1, 2017 by John Biscello

The Meaning of the Mob.  I say, the Mob, meaning the Definitely Uncertain, Fixed—a liberal form of physics— or the clotted swarm wallforming brick by brick, a mosaic pattern.      Pick a number, any number, it’s a given. A given what, … Continue reading →

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Inheritance

Posted on December 29, 2016 by John Biscello

Amidst divisive riot, the clear sound of two tears mating upon the crest of a sunken cheek; a mother’s grief, near to fasting and silence, the warmest cross to inherit in holding the meek inviolate.

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Winter, a Love Story

Posted on December 22, 2016 by John Biscello

Winter’s brides, wearing long white scarves of sleet and song, touching pale sky to blue lips, breathing memory and frost; their sorrow and spectral want grows hands  that enclose me, a robust crush, matrimonial in its grip, until I am … Continue reading →

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First Love, Winter

Posted on December 22, 2016 by John Biscello

Boy and girl, sledding tongues, no words— Winter, warming up.

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Gateway

Posted on December 2, 2016 by John Biscello

  It is here in this place, this chaste hollow, where my heart, bare to touch and asking, reveals itself in equal measures as gospel and wound, singing softly its locks and ravels to reach another’s lighted room, unbarred.

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Scar

Posted on November 24, 2016 by John Biscello

A jigsaw scar of light, outsourcing God’s inscrutable heart, a movable sear lost and found everywhere, as the mouth of the cave brightly attests.

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Call

Posted on November 22, 2016 by John Biscello

Channeling the fire in my throat to meet my heart’s rising call, or, how the mating of arson and grace breathes new life into immeasurably just cause.

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