Tag Archives: dreams

Birds

Posted on November 7, 2017 by John Biscello

By whirling reams of papered birds, the writer’s flights, short-lived, earn the keep of dreams daringly emptied.

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Awe

Posted on November 7, 2017 by John Biscello

To walk in fields of blue lightning, to see with a child’s snow-driven eyes, is to receive awe and grace; the tasseled forks of God’s split tongues and blonde fuzzies coercing you to savor.

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Crayfish

Posted on November 6, 2017 by John Biscello

Crayfish, obsidian, antennaed, slick with frothy scum as you crawl up from the brackish rim of a forgotten pond, my heart recalls you as an ancient mystic, an oracle of medicine, who needs not license nor recognition to exact vital … Continue reading →

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Orphans

Posted on November 6, 2017 by John Biscello

In all the children’s mouths, so many screamless nights amounting to timelocked dreams, adopting a feverish hue and deep freeze all at once, the birth of orphans who wander in fugues, haunting their own lives, seeking blessed reunion with who … Continue reading →

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Balm

Posted on November 5, 2017 by John Biscello

To write a poem that demands nothing from anyone else, truly asks for nothing, except to become, is the purest placeholder for the Muse’s proferred balm.    

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In Praise of Dark and Light

Posted on November 5, 2017 by John Biscello

Everyone’s dark is coming up and it isn’t going to be pretty, as well it shouldn’t be. Beauty, as a rugged force, as thorny swaths of dream-thistles, blooms through night-fasting, and respiring enclosures of dark. Beauty marks the hidden faith … Continue reading →

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Dreams

Posted on November 5, 2017 by John Biscello

Do not chase your dreams. Learn to keep still, truly still, and your dreams, rent from astral matter, will find you ready.

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Tissue

Posted on October 27, 2017 by John Biscello

After her heart fell to seed for the first time, the young girl wondered– How many tissues throughout mortal history had been used to absorb the world’s weeping, fragile, tenuous nets for dreams that slip through?

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Morph

Posted on October 25, 2017 by John Biscello

The Bardo Hotel, respite for amorphic guests– Where change becomes you.

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Sylvia in Blue

Posted on October 24, 2017 by John Biscello

Gauging twilight’s depths, the poet draws blinds to dream– Hope, worn to silence.

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