Category Archives: Poetry

Seeds

Posted on October 28, 2020 by John Biscello

The other day I met a monk who juggled watermelon seeds with his tongue. When I asked him how he did it, he spit the seeds at me, a staccato stream of seeds as if the monk were no monk … Continue reading →

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This Way In

Posted on October 28, 2020 by John Biscello

Between passages, a dark pause to recollect the lighted means home.

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Martian Lore

Posted on October 28, 2020 by John Biscello

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 →

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Storytelling

Posted on October 28, 2020 by John Biscello

Void is boring, a dull throb. It has no stories to tell. And yet, from the gaping orient of emptiness arises every story imaginable, a turning to peaks and sea-changes galore. It seems void is the company we are destined … Continue reading →

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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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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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