Category Archives: Poetry

Enigma

Posted on October 5, 2020 by John Biscello

Rapt fascination– when the enigmatic meets the readily apparent in an effort to fashion and sustain identity from the lore of diminishing returns.   #2 in the Untitled Film Poems series Image by Cindy Sherman

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Legacy

Posted on October 5, 2020 by John Biscello

After watching the bruised legacy of her childhood pass her by out of the corner of her eye, she had developed an astigmatism which, in effect, bred her glaring suspicion of distance, and violent need of its diffuse edges.   … Continue reading →

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The Writing Life

Posted on September 25, 2020 by John Biscello

These are the tools of my trade. I have written in spiral-bound notebooks, college-ruled, for a long time. They are always of varying colors. Red, yellow, blue, purple, black. Never green. I write with a Zebra F-402 ballpoint pen, black … Continue reading →

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In Search of Lost Time

Posted on September 18, 2020 by John Biscello

A meditation on memory, longing, storytelling and spiritual homesickness.

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Coils

Posted on September 8, 2020 by John Biscello

To caper at the edge, where the seething lyric happens, poetry with slits and fast teeth, where the hours of phenomena are boiled and reduced to a single quivering instant, an umbilical knot of light upon tenderest scraps and coils.

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Ravels

Posted on September 7, 2020 by John Biscello

At the wound’s core, dark luscious ravels of text, courting, inviolate measures, the fathomless brood of Beauty’s End.

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Craft

Posted on September 7, 2020 by John Biscello

How a writer, cave-timing dark and solitude, annoints an ember by crafting the small hours into a flagrant torch.

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Curse You, Red Baron!

Posted on September 4, 2020 by John Biscello

It was Snoopy’s way of living through Charlie Brown’s shame and ignominy, his low self-esteem. Dogs are sensitive that way. Snoopy co-opted Charlie’s gnawing desire for a heroic life, or at least to do something right, to feel right inside … Continue reading →

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Shed

Posted on September 3, 2020 by John Biscello

It is never in your best interest to fashion yourself in a corset of old dead skin; shed, as a sibilant directive, breathes ceremony into the places where you ache, to die, and begin again.

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Everybody’s Got One

Posted on September 2, 2020 by John Biscello

I was once asked to create a safe happy place to which I could go during times of distress and turbulence, and there it was, as it had always been– a wooden bench set under a streetlamp in a park … Continue reading →

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