Tag Archives: creation

Could Be Heaven

Posted on November 18, 2020 by John Biscello

No sin of which to speak, always beginnings, rogue, feral, growing wild among the greenest seasons of fire and becoming, or, siring the form of a dancer dancing in the clouds, lightning at her feet, as the rain begins to … Continue reading →

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The Source

Posted on May 12, 2019 by John Biscello

Their hearts, registered as infinite beacons, have gone gently and luminously into nights not so good and pitch-black, braving flytrap folds and god-awful rows to soothe, mend and restore the bruised vitals of daughters and sons; they go, infused with … Continue reading →

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Ode to West Wind II

Posted on June 21, 2018 by John Biscello

History, written by the wingless, selling secondhand feathers to falsify flight’s truest course; turn a sharp eye to the sun, Birds of Paradise, arc, plein air, to claim in transit the legends of west wind.

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Plaything

Posted on June 15, 2018 by John Biscello

Fictionalize me, martyr me to your crosses and lost causes, give me a form by which my double can register touch, and seeds of desire, twitching and sputtering in the blue flames of fabulous opera, make me the husky baritone … Continue reading →

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Still Life w/ Selfie

Posted on May 11, 2018 by John Biscello

  How I, my ego-fiend-self, craves and wishes and desires to take ultimate credit for the words and poems attaching themselves to their mortal host, John Biscello, thinly grafted to his signature and persona, but deep down I understand all … Continue reading →

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Sculpt

Posted on May 10, 2018 by John Biscello

To sculpt, with just the right amount of brandish, and restraint, how you, art to your own crumble and chasten, exact marvel, slowly, at the Muse’s favored bidding.  

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Room Service

Posted on April 22, 2018 by John Biscello

Form-fitted to God, the Muse brought in her posse– Room for improvement.

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Word

Posted on March 2, 2018 by John Biscello

Not burning, not siege, not flood, not cold front, not atomic scourge, can destroy the Word, a lasting first, and inviolable measure, voiced to raise itself eternally anew.

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Comeback

Posted on January 28, 2018 by John Biscello

Everything we attempt and seal creatively, every last and first word completed, reigns as beautiful failure, a mortal short-hand and forger’s touching testament to the Source, rounding what dreams may come and fade and come again.      

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Of Time and the River

Posted on January 3, 2018 by John Biscello

   One thing we cannot recover is time.    Perhaps that’s what I have been trying to do.    Perhaps that’s what every writer, as a fugitive stalker, as a heartsick orphan, as the fool-hero in their own movie is … Continue reading →

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