Tag Archives: Blue

Feathers

Posted on April 15, 2018 by John Biscello

Song, caught in her hair, something about torn feathers, running, blue to form.

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Blue

Posted on March 25, 2018 by John Biscello

That year, in Paris, distant blue was all the rage– the clown’s mood thickened.   (Painting by Edward Hopper)

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Freeze

Posted on March 16, 2018 by John Biscello

Ice skating past dark, on a frozen pond, alone– Where they swam, last spring.   (Artwork by Mark Rothko)

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Kind of Blue, Too

Posted on March 9, 2018 by John Biscello

Spiders to Mozart, what luminous webs and notes we weave, snot-strands from God’s blown brass, tapestries of the eternal boombox, breakbeats to spacefolk to bebop within a deep forest kind of blue, the music, recorded or un, plays on and … Continue reading →

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Bulbs

Posted on March 9, 2018 by John Biscello

Incandescence, how bulbs aspire to fragrant gospel.    

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Keen

Posted on March 9, 2018 by John Biscello

Her secret refuge, at childhood’s keen edge, flirting with grace on the rim.

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Ink

Posted on March 9, 2018 by John Biscello

She scattered white light through the context of blue ink– Heartbreak, Chapter Two.

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Music

Posted on March 9, 2018 by John Biscello

To listen with eyes, in a forest of deep blue– Music spiring dreams.   (Image by Christian Marclay)

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Corset

Posted on December 18, 2017 by John Biscello

In a vain attempt, she corseted herself in green wind and cellophane, votive to a thin whip of air. As she lay there, colors emptying to gray, before the round voices and fast hands came, she fell in and saw … Continue reading →

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Street

Posted on October 29, 2017 by John Biscello

Shuttered, close to mute, street’s ebbing pulse, gently clasped– painter’s cede to blue.

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