John Biscello
Author, poet, playwright
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Haze
Posted on
February 28, 2018
by
John Biscello
Imperturbable,
the necessary golem
roots in the cradle
where lullabies fan, and hover,
as if haze to gently respiring
bloom.
(Sculpture by Constantin Brancusi)
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Recoil
Posted on
February 28, 2018
by
John Biscello
The weddings didn’t come off,
for either one. Limbo,
reciting their grief, and frozen recoil,
held them aloft, sisters
annointed by a rogue strain
of etheric default.
(Artwork by Linda Stojak)
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Man on a Bicycle
Posted on
February 28, 2018
by
John Biscello
The man, to make a living,
had plastered hundreds of faces
upon walls, but there was something about this one
which held him captive. It wasn’t just
the stardom of her name, its siren-call,
but the sheer magnitude
of artifice, its grotesque beacon,
which brought the man back
to the carnivals of his boyhood,
when the radiant symmetry
of illusion and promise
was in startling bloom,
and not yet thinning out
to wither.
(Photo by Brassai)
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Scene
Posted on
February 28, 2018
by
John Biscello
She was an accident
waiting to happen, came the whispers.
Not the kind of woman you’d want
to be seen out with, muttered one Mack to another.
I always knew she’d wind up like this,
cried a woman, mirroring her own fears
to the crowd at large.
Yet it was the little boy
who noticed her shoes, fixated
on how beautiful they were,
how untouched,
and he would shock the leering mob
when he crossed the line,
tenderly removed one shoe,
then the other, and lay
his small, weeping face at her feet.
(Photo by Weegee)
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Anne and the Clouds
Posted on
February 27, 2018
by
John Biscello
Anne, lovely
disturbed Anne,
pinned by gravity,
and bedded to cobbles,
cherishing
the vagrant destiny of clouds,
and calming distance.
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Diane Arbus
Posted on
February 27, 2018
by
John Biscello
The camera, doesn’t revolt
upon you, per se,
but its mirror, when reversed,
convicts an image
which forges your name,
if not your identity.
(Photo by Allan Arbus)
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Soft Focus
Posted on
February 27, 2018
by
John Biscello
After the fall,
and subsequent radiant slumber,
the child awoke
to find the new world
awash in lullaby, and dream-soft
slips of focus.
(Photo by Heather Ross)
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Scarecrow
Posted on
February 27, 2018
by
John Biscello
Sometimes, the inner life
of the Scarecrow
is modeled on a park bench,
where a glyphic repose
of crowblack trees
levels his brood
to mortal dismay
in a wizardless world.
(Photo by Diane Arbus)
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Fairy Tale
Posted on
February 27, 2018
by
John Biscello
It is the
other
stepsister,
the disinherited one,
known only as The Vamp,
who played dark foil
to Cinderella’s happiness,
when she seduced and blackmailed
the Prince, ignited a calculated run of scandals,
and forced Cinderella to yield the glass slipper,
which she painted black
and had vulcanized.
In this photo,
just recently unearthed,
she models both vanity and victory,
yet, ironically, some years later,
all that would remain of the burned Vamp
would be this leg, and this foot,
remnants of renegade taxidermy.
(Photo by Alfred Steiglitz).
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Poolside
Posted on
February 27, 2018
by
John Biscello
The water listened to the girl disappear
and hissed. It was a warning that no one
should try and follow her, every last fragment
now belonged to incalculable depths.
She was safe from trespass
and further fracturing.
(Photo by Heather Ross)
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