Category Archives: Uncategorized

Banana: Love, Andy

Posted on May 17, 2016 by John Biscello

A religious protuberance, a monkey’s Marxist gag. To be eaten, to be peddled, to be inserted or diagnosed, a digestible comic device, precursor to aerial pies and throwaway wives. Banana. As a word, it teases and amuses, does not take … Continue reading →

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Flicker

Posted on May 16, 2016 by John Biscello

(In response to Josef Sudek’s “Morning Viaducts”) Can you hear, the cobbled morning streets gathering in thick coarse hands the staccato clang of hooves and thin gray voices arising from the ghosts of people caught in a sudden sonata? Can … Continue reading →

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Red Herrings, Chinese Whispers

Posted on May 16, 2016 by John Biscello

  Excerpt from my new novel Raking the Dust: Over the next couple of hours we compressed our lives into annotated and selective biographies that we laid on the table, right next to our drinks. That’s how D.J. came to … Continue reading →

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O’ Keefe, Yellow Flower

Posted on May 15, 2016 by John Biscello

The sex of yellow, its pealed strife and resin. Or how a specter, a sensual crumple and crepe, butter-tongued, makes time with a pair of honeyed tonsils, coercing a holler, a yodel, aria raging blonde over brood, the Belle’s Seduction, … Continue reading →

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Craft

Posted on May 13, 2016 by John Biscello

A chipped blue vase, void of flowers, holding so much perfect air, how we, abiding a course of reform, charge particles with intent to respire, craft bred by labor’s lighted resolve.

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Raking the Dust for Review

Posted on May 13, 2016 by John Biscello

Bloggers, scribes, bibliophiles, word-warmers, and miscellaneous creative kin: In exchange for a free digital version of my new novel Raking the Dust, I am seeking honest reviews to be posted on Amazon, Goodreads, and one’s own blog/website. If interested, please … Continue reading →

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Gondola

Posted on May 11, 2016 by John Biscello

Distance, the middle ground between lovers locked in psychic undress; a ritual burlesque exposing wounds, we reverse course and seed safe harbors at the expense of metaphor and masks; intimacy skinned to savor a new course, near to grace, unfiltered.

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Furls

Posted on May 10, 2016 by John Biscello

Feted, by an angel’s glassy hands, slow-burning river of sound, pooling white fire in rounded furls.

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Staring at Paintings, Hungry

Posted on May 9, 2016 by John Biscello

Hemingway wrote that he’d go to the Luxembourg, hungry, and stare at the paintings and this was a great way to see art.

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The Source

Posted on May 8, 2016 by John Biscello

This poem dedicated to mothers’ everywhere. Their hearts, registered as infinite beacons, have gone gently and luminously into nights not so good and pitch-black, braving flytrap folds and god-awful rows to soothe, mend and restore the bruised vitals of daughters … Continue reading →

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