Tag Archives: ghosts

Plot Twist

Posted on October 8, 2020 by John Biscello

As if in a dream, or mottled gloam, she found herself bailing on the small needy child with grotesquely long tapered fingers– she found herself leaving home to an unmarked plot and its numberless ghosts. #38 from Untitled Film Poems … Continue reading →

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Ghost Story

Posted on June 4, 2019 by John Biscello

The turn of the screw, set her ghost to shivering– The blues became her.   (Artwork by Linda Stojak)

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Haunt

Posted on August 23, 2018 by John Biscello

Even last call could not keep the dead away from their favorite haunt.

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Ghost Story

Posted on August 23, 2018 by John Biscello

Running on empty every voice wondered where its body had gone.

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Cinema

Posted on July 31, 2018 by John Biscello

In a starless sky, night hastens to remind us– Ghosts pass softly, fade.

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Ghosting

Posted on June 15, 2018 by John Biscello

(Excerpt from Broken Land, a Brooklyn Tale) I closed my notebook and sat motionless at my desk for a long while, feeling flat and infirm. Then, not able to put it off any longer, it was time to disengage my … Continue reading →

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Scandinavia

Posted on June 14, 2018 by John Biscello

(Excerpt from Broken Land, a Brooklyn Tale)   I am standing over myself: a runt-skinny kid lying flat on his stomach, right elbow hunched, the stubby pencil in his left hand ferociously scribbling on a piece of unlined white paper.  … Continue reading →

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First, Lasting

Posted on May 31, 2018 by John Biscello

In the shrine that we build for first kisses, lies the furloughed still-warm lips of Childhood’s ghosts, forever puckering to seal love, airtight in its untold lore and claim to rose.

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Runes

Posted on May 10, 2018 by John Biscello

Hungry ghosts, gorging, moon-bellied, rending gristle from earthly scavenge— my god, these monsters and their appetites, swallowing illusions whole, to feed empty its runes of fire.

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Treaty

Posted on May 8, 2018 by John Biscello

The warring, within, ended. No one won. White flags, adorning the masts of souls, became the rage and pacific vogue. Ghosts kissed demons, demons kissed children, children blew kisses into the air, christening echoes. I woke up, sudden to my … Continue reading →

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