Tag Archives: in praise of

Song of Hope

Posted on October 26, 2020 by John Biscello

They kill poetsin these partsdon’t they?When I got hereI saw Walt Whitman’swizened head out backimpaled on a stakeflies buzzing round itsconcomitant rot and stenchI heard one of the locals sayit was the worst kind of tourist trapthis voodoo orbfunctioning like … Continue reading →

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Virtuoso

Posted on April 16, 2020 by John Biscello

Virtuoso, by turns, this dazzling concert of light, golden, sounded, the pooling reserve of free jazz, ordered to measureless standards, rounding into sublime.

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Devotional

Posted on March 20, 2020 by John Biscello

Remember me to the ease of light, its pause and passage, we are not long for this earth, which swallows us, and our lovetagged bones, as a matter of natural course and radical recomposition, all the gifts, and hopes unwound … Continue reading →

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The Moon and Me

Posted on January 19, 2020 by John Biscello

I never learned the secret delicious recipe of making a poem from moon, or the bluest glacial moon-cheese, from any of my teachers. It wasn’t their fault. They might have regarded the moon as something alien and distant, something belonging … Continue reading →

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Tapestry

Posted on June 29, 2019 by John Biscello

Rehearsing the rites of grief, and touched by symmetry, we tailor the sheerest lengths of love, stitch by determined stitch, skeining the lore of fading hours to a most marvelous hitch and letting.    

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Holy holy

Posted on December 26, 2018 by John Biscello

By turns, the sworn blue tenor of lyric and charge, a few simple words warmed over in holy bask and offered to the close-knit belles and folds of slow-felt darkness, a writer’s pinkish interior gauze to hem the silvery saying … Continue reading →

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