Tag Archives: bones

Last Picture Show

Posted on November 20, 2025 by John Biscello

Does time-resin sting our eyes? Does desolation call forth our most solitary angels? Our loneliest most homesick angels? Desolation allows to become a vagrant, rooted in blessed nobody, divergently attuned to an original script. The wind writes in the … Continue reading →

Posted in Poetry, Prose | Tagged angels, bones, desolation, eternity, meditation, nostalgia, Poetry, Prose, real-time, speculation, time | Leave a comment

Bone Jig

Posted on November 11, 2022 by John Biscello

My mother’s bones. My mother’s bones resounding in my ears piercing my eardrums. Death rattle of the dusty gourd. Of the earth’s grief calling to us to restore. Calling upon us to become wardens attendants to vibrations crossing passages. To … Continue reading →

Posted in Cinema, photography, Poetry, Prose | Tagged bones, dance, dead can dance, excerpt, Maya Deren, mother, novel in progress, Prose, story, the dead, twilight, words | Leave a comment

Keeper of Bones

Posted on November 3, 2022 by John Biscello

Now again I have become my mother’s keeper. Once I saw her sitting out in the yard staring out blankly and when I asked her what she was doing she said she was taking care of the world. She said … Continue reading →

Posted in Poetry, Prose | Tagged bones, mothers, Prose, seasons, sorcereesses, story, turn turn turn, words | Leave a comment

Process of Echoes

Posted on October 19, 2022 by John Biscello

Grief attends to the bones. And does so listening to the spaces between the hollows where the ghosts are held hissing where loss compounded by fractures gives rise to near distant voices crying out on behalf of all that’s gone … Continue reading →

Posted in Poetry, Prose | Tagged bones, fracture, fragment, ghosts, grief, Poetry, Prose, words | Leave a comment

Sylvia Plath

Posted on April 4, 2018 by John Biscello

To be a mother, and to double as a dark sorceress, a cleaver of dried bones, could not have been easy. Especially in the 1950s. They burned witches then, as well as reds and blacks and faggots, and other things … Continue reading →

Posted in Poetry, Prose, Uncategorized | Tagged 1950s, bones, craft, John Biscello, passion, poem, Poetry, Prose, prose poem, sorceress, strip tease, Sylvia Plath, vaudeville | 3 Comments

Bonepick

Posted on February 24, 2018 by John Biscello

I tell myself stories in the dark, Anya. Whether or not they help is either of primary consequence or none at all. Sometimes you have to walk through the boneyard in order to reach the garden. This what I tell … Continue reading →

Posted in Prose, Uncategorized | Tagged anya, Beauty, bones, Brooklyn, death, garden, John Biscello, love, no man's brooklyn, novel, rebirth, romance, story | Leave a comment

Musing

Posted on November 9, 2017 by John Biscello

Birdless solitude, Winter’s song, slow, deep, solemn– Musing upon spring.

Posted in Artwork, Poetry, Uncategorized | Tagged Andrew Wyeth, Artwork, birds, bones, cold, haiku, John Biscello, landscape, Muse, nature, poem, Poetry, pond, snow, solitude, tree, Winter, winter scene | Leave a comment

Bensonhurst

Posted on October 20, 2017 by John Biscello

Bones of my birthplace, splintering in rapid tow– There’s no place like home?

Posted in Poetry, Uncategorized | Tagged Bensonhurst, bones, Brooklyn, haiku, home, John Biscello, poem, Poetry, rapid transit, subway, train, urban | Leave a comment

Stir

Posted on September 17, 2017 by John Biscello

Scraping grave remnants, the woman’s canceled bones stir– You will know my name.

Posted in Poetry, Uncategorized | Tagged bones, grave, haiku, John Biscello, mask, photo, poem, Poetry, reclaim, resurrection, woman | Leave a comment

Six

Posted on July 9, 2017 by John Biscello

I was six when I found out I’d never become a super hero. We were in the kitchen. Me, my mother and father. My father’s hand was around my mother’s throat. He had a wild, bloodshot, not-there look … Continue reading →

Posted in Prose, Uncategorized | Tagged bones, family, father, John Biscello, Literary, mother, no man's brooklyn, Prose, story | Leave a comment