Category Archives: Poetry

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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Harmonics

Posted on October 26, 2020 by John Biscello

We, the people, the portal-jumpers, re-seeding our modes of vision and being, to score the heart’s greening bounty, as if notes to a torch song, buried and nearly forgotten, and now being recalled to give Grace her due and amazing … Continue reading →

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Found Blue

Posted on October 25, 2020 by John Biscello

We do not enter the bluest hours, they come upon us, tender fugue and gallows silk, where we, in blatant trembling sheerness, are revealed to ourselves as the bated wisps between air and perish.

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Firsting Impression

Posted on October 25, 2020 by John Biscello

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 →

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Ascension

Posted on October 25, 2020 by John Biscello

Crisped at the edges, gilded wings of the Phoenix fanning flames to rise. Image by Izumi Yokoyama

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Throb

Posted on October 23, 2020 by John Biscello

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.

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Weathervane

Posted on October 23, 2020 by John Biscello

In the climate change of one’s heart, a weathervane, doubling as compass, pointing to true north, as we, the wandering homesick orphans, are called forth to brave the wilds of a new breaking dawn.

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You Are Here

Posted on October 23, 2020 by John Biscello

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.

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