Hearing Aid

Posted on April 19, 2019 by John Biscello
jackson-pollock-paintings1
The graffitied veins
of the cosmos
bleed a ruptured interplay
of so much noiseless static
in God’s ears
drumming
to shape wonder.

 

(Artwork by Jackson Pollock)
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Some Kind of Forecast

Posted on April 19, 2019 by John Biscello
isabella_rossellini_01
The weather tonight?
Snow on fire, with a chance of
desire, dark and wet.

 

(Image: Isabella Rossellini)

 

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Ballads are Forever

Posted on April 19, 2019 by John Biscello
inky
Moonsongs
cry their own rivers
through the cloudmade
mouths of babes
in woods
at night
when all the livelong world
is a lush ballad
awash in the whirling
flakes of broken hearts
slivered with mercy
and there is always
room for wonder
croons the bough-glued babe
who is a fool once
and forever.
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Humanity

Posted on April 19, 2019 by John Biscello
IMG_0039
She came to know him
through the brushwork of fingers–
Light, the common touch.

 

(Image of Charlie Chaplin meeting Helen Keller)

 

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Outsourcing

Posted on April 18, 2019 by John Biscello
image2
The woman, smiling,
gave her man one more reason
to feel endangered.
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Icarus by Any Other Name

Posted on April 18, 2019 by John Biscello
icarus
Embers of a flight,
it wasn’t rocket science–
Maybe next time, kid.

 

(Artwork by Matisse)
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Dinner Date from Hell

Posted on April 18, 2019 by John Biscello
hungry-ghost-gaki-zoshi-arthistory
They take, and they don’t take lightly–
Vicious cycles sometimes have faces
with barren eyes
and aphid bellies
full of insatiable desire–
Consider the state
of your soul’s diet,
and exorcise regularly.
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Gray Matter

Posted on April 18, 2019 by John Biscello
hound
While waiting for the bus
that stopped running
many years ago
the empty bench dreamed
of a world where people
still had time to sit
and drift along in reveries
that led nowhere
slowly.
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Patterning

Posted on April 18, 2019 by John Biscello
harlequin
Strains of lunacy,
befalling poets and clowns–
Homesick for the moon.

 

(Artwork by Cezanne)
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The Wash

Posted on April 17, 2019 by John Biscello
glenwood-angel-grieves-bw
It is not her grief
but ours, seeking pure outlet
beyond mortal scars.
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