Category Archives: Poetry

Postcard from the Edge

Posted on May 25, 2022 by John Biscello
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Scar Country

Posted on May 24, 2022 by John Biscello

Blonde thimbles of sunlight pour onto and speckle the faded terra-cotta roofs, the play of light on hidden scars, the song with unremembered lyrics.Four towels draped on the railing of a terrace to air-dry. Two green, one blue, one red.The … Continue reading →

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Sound and the Furies

Posted on May 20, 2022 by John Biscello

My novel, The Last Furies, was partly inspired by the life, legend and poetic reckoning of the Symbolist brat-prince, Arthur Rimbaud. As a hybrid work, that is both an endless remix of a novel and a sorcerer’s cryptic handbook, the … Continue reading →

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Nipples don’t Kill

Posted on May 8, 2022 by John Biscello

In the feral country of nipples,where she-wolves raisetheir pups to howl unashamedlyat the moon,many many men,unconsciously ensnaredin puritanical roots,fear, scorn and revilethe mystery of the female nipple,its organic promise of milk and eternitytoo vagrantly radiantfor many many men’s eyes to … Continue reading →

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The Source

Posted on May 8, 2022 by John Biscello

For mothers everywhere: Their hearts, registeredas infinite beacons,have gone gentlyand luminously into nightsnot so good and pitch-black, bravingflytrap folds and god-awful rowsto soothe, mend andrestore the bruised vitalsof daughters and sons;they go, infused with bright rage,green force driving homenocturnes and … Continue reading →

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Homage to John Fante

Posted on April 5, 2022 by John Biscello
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John Fante

Posted on April 4, 2022 by John Biscello

April 8th will mark the 113th birthday of Mr. John Fante. His delightful landmine of a novel, Ask the Dust (published in 1939) along with the other three novels which chronicled the exploits of his feisty alter-ego, Arturo Bandini, remain … Continue reading →

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Tatters

Posted on March 23, 2022 by John Biscello

For many years I asked Grief to wait outside my window, a peripheral guest chancing obscure, fugitive details, and lighted tatters. Have I been a poor host, stranger to my own ghost and remnants?

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The Argument

Posted on March 23, 2022 by John Biscello

Reality and me have disagreements all the time. Reality is, by nature, inviolable. And a bit of an existential bully. I am, by illicit union, a child of fiction. And tender in the center. Reality and me don’t always see … Continue reading →

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Zoom Reading this Wed.

Posted on March 15, 2022 by John Biscello

Info here.

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