John Biscello

Monkey Shines

Posted on April 30, 2019 by John Biscello

Feed the trained monkey

powdered love and sugar pills–

No, he plays for fun.

Posted in Poetry, Uncategorized | Tagged haiku, John Biscello, organ grinding monkeyboy, piano, primal instinct, the love button | Leave a comment

Glint

Posted on April 29, 2019 by John Biscello

When all is said and done

the horses will continue to run

in circles

under the sun

to the taffied delight

and unbridled glee

of children

who claim their rightful inheritance

of joy

by the simplest means

available.

Posted in Poetry, Uncategorized | Tagged carousel, horseplay, John Biscello, joyride, poem, sunny day in the park, the joy of living, tio vivo | Leave a comment

Night at the Opera

Posted on April 29, 2019 by John Biscello

Is the monkey mind

tethered to the man

or to the box

in which the man

keeps his thoughts locked?

Music plays,

as a tin cup rattles its petition for change,

and eveything continues,

as is.

Posted in Poetry, Uncategorized | Tagged and the music played on, broodhism, John Biscello, mind grinder, monkey business, organ-grinder, poem | Leave a comment

Revolution

Posted on April 29, 2019 by John Biscello

miller on bike

Miller on his bike,

joy riding through the cosmos–

the lore of cycling.

(Photo: Henry Miller and his bike)

Posted in Poetry, Uncategorized | Tagged bicycle, haiku, henry miller, John Biscello, just ride, poem | Leave a comment

Window

Posted on April 29, 2019 by John Biscello

Withdrawal intends

its own wan truth and fading–

Twilight becomes her.

(Meshes of the Afternoon, Maya Deren, 1943)

Posted in Poetry, Uncategorized | Tagged 1943, avant-garde, Cinema, haiku, John Biscello, Maya Deren, meshes of the afternoon, poem, window scene | Leave a comment

It’s a Kind of Magic

Posted on April 29, 2019 by John Biscello

Crafting from a wordless place,

the Sorcerer’s stones

became young girls trying to escape

the grip

of an audience

that preyed

on magic

and cinema.

(Image by Maya Deren)

Posted in Poetry, Uncategorized | Tagged avant-garde, Cinema, girls, John Biscello, Maya Deren, poem, sorcerer, the way in, the way out | Leave a comment

Of Time and the River – John Biscello

Posted on April 29, 2019 by John Biscello

Short prose piece on Free Verse Revolution

Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Origin Story

Posted on April 28, 2019 by John Biscello

The music stayed still, grew

its own body to rapture

and grieve,

in concert with

a species of veil

crafted from small, rare birds

and the meshes

of patterned weeping.

(Image by Man Ray)

Posted in Artwork, Poetry, Uncategorized | Tagged form following function, John Biscello, Man Ray, net worth, poem, Surrealism, woman in veil | Leave a comment

Hers and Hers

Posted on April 28, 2019 by John Biscello

Never the same woman twice,

reality assigns symmetry to fractures,

while crossing infinite lengths

in blurred pursuit

of fated mending.

Posted in Poetry, Uncategorized | Tagged Cinema, david lynch, doppelganger, John Biscello, light and shadow, lost highway, patricia arquette, poem | Leave a comment

Silent Night

Posted on April 28, 2019 by John Biscello

Start with the glacial base,

the hunk of unforgiving crystal

on which the tree is mounted,

then trace the filigreed limbs

of the tree, its shadow

a twin belonging to the woman

modeling Winter

as a softly fringed species

of smoldering wraith,

and come to your end,

panting, inflamed,

aware of how much distance

can be covered

by way of yearning.

Posted in Poetry, Uncategorized | Tagged it's beginning to look a lot like Christmas, John Biscello, louise brooks, poem, silent days and nights, Winter's runway | Leave a comment

Feed the trained monkey

powdered love and sugar pills–

No, he plays for fun.

When all is said and done

the horses will continue to run

in circles

under the sun

to the taffied delight

and unbridled glee

of children

who claim their rightful inheritance

of joy

by the simplest means

available.

Is the monkey mind

tethered to the man

or to the box

in which the man

keeps his thoughts locked?

Music plays,

as a tin cup rattles its petition for change,

and eveything continues,

as is.

Miller on his bike,

joy riding through the cosmos–

the lore of cycling.

(Photo: Henry Miller and his bike)

Withdrawal intends

its own wan truth and fading–

Twilight becomes her.

(Meshes of the Afternoon, Maya Deren, 1943)

Crafting from a wordless place,

the Sorcerer’s stones

became young girls trying to escape

the grip

of an audience

that preyed

on magic

and cinema.

(Image by Maya Deren)

The music stayed still, grew

its own body to rapture

and grieve,

in concert with

a species of veil

crafted from small, rare birds

and the meshes

of patterned weeping.

(Image by Man Ray)

Never the same woman twice,

reality assigns symmetry to fractures,

while crossing infinite lengths

in blurred pursuit

of fated mending.

Start with the glacial base,

the hunk of unforgiving crystal

on which the tree is mounted,

then trace the filigreed limbs

of the tree, its shadow

a twin belonging to the woman

modeling Winter

as a softly fringed species

of smoldering wraith,

and come to your end,

panting, inflamed,

aware of how much distance

can be covered

by way of yearning.

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