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Meta
Tag Archives: childhood
Sanctuary
“It is on the plane of the daydream and not on that of facts that childhood remains alive and poetically useful within us. Through this permanent childhood, we maintain the poetry of the past. To inhabit oneirically the house we … Continue reading
Posted in Poetry, Prose, Uncategorized
Tagged childhood, dreams, gaston bachelard, home, John Biscello, poem, poetics of space
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Wonder
Ask a child, any child, what the difference is between Monday and Thursday? No matter how they respond, look them in the eyes and tell them how wonderful they are.
Red Balloon
A red balloon says so much about the sky, and the weightless wonder of children, when desire, bated aloft by the sun, gives free-spirited chase to the play of light on basking reams of nimbus and lore.
Posted in Poetry
Tagged childhood, clouds, floating, John Biscello, Light, poem, red baloon
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Childhood’s Edge
Estranged, yet aloft, in a world her vision sculpts– Adulthood far off. Photo by Josef Sudek
Posted in Artwork, photography, Poetry
Tagged childhood, haiku, John Biscello, josef sudek, photography, Poetry, prague
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Kissing Anya
Young love, urban lore, coming of age, and the nature of forever. An excerpt from No Man’s Brooklyn.
Posted in Audio, Books, Prose, Uncategorized, Video
Tagged boy and girl, Brooklyn, childhood, coming of age, John Biscello, no man's brooklyn, novel, urban lore, young love
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Glow
Childhood and coke parties. Excerpt from No Man’s Brooklyn.
Posted in Audio, Books, Prose, Uncategorized, Video
Tagged Brooklyn, childhood, family matters, John Biscello, New York, novel, Prose, urban lore, Video
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Once Removed
Estranged, yet aloft, in a world her vision sculpts– Adulthood far off. (Photo by Josef Sudek)
Posted in Artwork, Poetry, Uncategorized
Tagged childhood, estrangement, haiku, in the country, John Biscello, josef sudek, photo
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Promontory
I, perched on a craggy promontory overlooking my childhood, and its entire formless geography, saw them, my friends, all of them: a mutant strain of cryogeny, a mummified quivering changelessness, as if youth hadn’t been lived through but pickled. It … Continue reading
Swing Set
There was that day you wore your hair in pigtails. You were thirteen. Pigtails and a pale blue summer dress. I think the dress was new. My mother had died three days earlier. You and I … Continue reading
Posted in Prose, Uncategorized
Tagged childhood, grief, John Biscello, little prince, no man's brooklyn, pigtails, young love
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